Author's Note: whoo, this one was a chore to write... progression easy, dialogue haaaard. A bajillion and a half words in one story and I still don't feel comfortable writing dialogue for Rachel. Seriously. Chickie drives me up a wall sometimes.

After the last glee rehearsal of the school year, which had been more of an impromptu jam session with Mr. Scheuster after the final exam period, Quinn wandered slowly to her locker to retrieve the last of her books while Rachel headed to the auditorium for her own extra practice ("One can never be too prepared," she had said when Quinn laughed at her gently. "Just because we made it to Regionals in our first year as a club does not mean I can or will slack off in my practicing."),

"Quinn," Santana's voice startled her, the cheerleader appearing in front of her locker suddenly.

"Jesus, Santana," Quinn muttered. "Wear a bell or something."

Santana only stared at her solemnly, her eyes serious enough to catch Quinn's interest. She knew that the Cheerios had lost their first national championship in years, coming in a distant third the week after the glee club was barely edged out by Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals; the entire town knew about it, really, given that Coach Sylvester was on the warpath both on and off school property.

"What's going on?" Quinn said cautiously.

"Coach is going to corner you in about three minutes," Santana said lowly. "She wants you back on the squad."

"What?" Quinn barked out a laugh. "No way. She kicked me to the curb in the first place, and even if she hadn't, I don't even want to get back into that mess."

"We need you, Q," Santana said. Quinn could see the frustration brimming in Santana's eyes as she all but spat out the words. Santana Lopez, Quinn knew by virtue of a friendship that started at the age of seven, hated nothing more than to need anything from anyone. "I don't, like, need you, but the squad does.

"We were lucky to even medal at Nationals and we all know it. I'm fine at keeping people in line, but I'm better at it when you're on top and I get to play the enforcer under you." She looked physically pained at admitting it. "I mean, don't let it go to your stupid head or anything. But you and me were, like, the greatest team ever, and it's not as fun to scare people into listening to me when they don't have you to go crying to."

"Why are you telling me this?" Quinn said slowly. "You don't need people. Ever."

"We need the Cheerios," Santana muttered. "Me and Britt. We need the squad to be the best so we can get the hell out of here."

"S, you don't need that," Quinn said. "You're plenty smart, and you've got really good grades. You'll get into college without the Cheerios."

"Nothing is a guarantee," Santana said, smiling thinly. "The fact that glee club is doing well and the Cheerios barely placed proves that. You and Berry prove that. I can't risk it, for either of us."

Quinn held back the smile that was threatening to show. Though both she and Santana had always been fiercely protective of Brittany—who would accept a ticking bomb from a stranger if he told her it had cupcakes inside it—Santana had consistently taken the role of intimidator, threatening bodily harm to any and every person who may have ever even considered harming Brittany, and left the sneaky planning to Quinn.

"Fabray!"

Quinn cursed herself for jumping slightly when Coach Sylvester appeared behind her, barking out her name. Santana smoothly slid around Quinn to position herself at the coach's side, arms crossed over her chest. "I assume that Lopez here was apprising you of your reinstatement as Head Cheerio."

"She mentioned the idea," Quinn said nonchalantly, lifting her chin slightly. Standing just behind Coach Sylvester, Santana shot Quinn an openly pleading look, and the wondrous feeling of being needed prompted Quinn to cross her own arms across her chest, one hip canted out defiantly. "I have conditions, though."

Coach Sylvester looked like she had bitten into something sour, her jaw clenching visibly, but she nodded jerkily and looked Quinn up and down appraisingly. "I assume it has something to do with the glee club getting a free pass to continue in its pathetic quest for what William Scheuster feels is a worthy goal."

"In part," Quinn said. "Glee club is left alone. No more slushies, no more bullying, no more trying to sabatoge us."

"Very well," Coach Sylvester said, for all that she looked momentarily like a child told that Santa Claus was a lie. "Your sad little band of mouthbreathing misfits is safe. I expect you to be at our first summer practice an hour early."

"I'm not done," Quinn said stubbornly. She fought the urge to cower when Coach Sylvester's nostrils flared, staring Quinn down like she had dropped her brain on the dirty hallway floor. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at the cheerleading coach with what she prayed was a confident expression, and continued, "I'm with Rachel Berry. And that isn't going to change if I'm back on the squad."

Behind the coach, Santana's eyes widened impossibly, her jaw dropping as she stared at Quinn; her posture, Quinn knew, only remained unaffected from years of practice. Coach Sylvester frowned, staring at Quinn blankly.

"Are you planning on trying to find her a spot on the squad?"

"What? No."

"Are you going to fully embrace your delinquent lifestyle and try to sway the rest of the squad into joining your lesbionic paradise full of flannel and tongue piercings?"

"I… no?" Quinn's confidence, while still present, was quickly being overwhelmed by confusion. "I want her left alone. By you, by the rest of the squad, by the jocks I know you control."

"So long as it neither affects your performance nor your ability to put this sorry excuse for a squad back together, I could care less about you bedding that Liza Minelli impersonator than I do about you not being preggo anymore," Coach Sylvester said cruelly before she spun on her heel, brushing roughly past Santana and striding back down the hallway.

Quinn practically growled, rage blinding her as she lunged for the retreating figure of the cheerleading coach; Santana swiftly grabbed Quinn around the waist, bodily holding her back from attacking Coach Sylvester.

"I'm going to kill her," Quinn snarled, trying to shove Santana out of the way.

"You can't kill her, Q," Santana said. She always had been stronger than she looked, and Quinn, for all over her work to get back into shape in the past months, had yet to gain the majority of her own upper body strength back. Her struggles were futile, and she settled for glaring down the long hallway, wishing she could set fire to the coach's ugly black track jacket with her eyes. "You know she sold her soul, she can't actually die. She's like that Damien Grey dude. You'd just bite it trying."

"Nice to know you still have a backbone, tubbers," Coach Sylvester said loudly, turning around to walk backwards away from them. "Lopez, get her the training schedule. I expect her caught up before training starts."

Quinn relaxed slowly, shrugging her way out of Santana's grip gently and leaning back against the lockers.

Santana watched her carefully, arms crossed once more, and was silent as Quinn slowly reigned in her anger. "I can't believe you just did that," Santana said slowly once the tension had left Quinn's shoulders. "Did you seriously just out yourself to the coach?"

"I… have no idea," Quinn muttered. She slumped against her locker, replaying the sequence in her head. She looked slowly back to Santana. "Oh, God. Did I really just agree to join the Cheerios?"

"Yep," Santana said. She uncrossed her arms, fidgeting with her bracelet uncomfortably. "Look, Q, I—"

"You're welcome," Quinn said dryly. "Don't strain yourself, S. I know you hate saying thank you more than you hate saying sorry."

"Well, at least someone gets that," Santana sniffed. "It's weak."

"Right," Quinn said. She smirked momentarily, but it fell from her face quickly. "Oh, my God," she groaned, slamming her head back against the lockers. "Rachel is totally going to kill me."

"Probably," Santana said disinterestedly, picking at one of her cuticles. "Tell her Coach blackmailed you or something, if you want. I'll back you up on it or whatever."

"I might have to," Quinn muttered. She glanced at her watch. "Do you have the schedule?"

"Yeah, I've got the spares in my locker," Santana said. "Hope you weren't planning on doing anything this summer, Q. She's all but doubled the practices from last year because we lost."

"Wonderful," Quinn grouched as she followed Santana to the Cheerios locker room. "Well, Rachel's going to be in Chicago most of the summer, anyways."

"Fascinating," Santana said, clearly not remotely interested in Rachel Berry's summer plans. She grabbed a bright red binder out of her locker, handing it to Quinn. "The routines from this semester are in there, and the ones she wants us to work on this summer. You've got plenty of catching up to do."

"Witness my excitement," Quinn said. She sighed, shoving the notebook into her backpack and glancing at her watch again. "Rachel should be done by now. Gotta go."

"Later, Q," Santana said. She held Quinn's eyes momentarily, unmasked and thankful, and Quinn rested a hand on her shoulder momentarily, smiling softly before shouldering her backpack and jogging down the hallway towards the auditorium.

The ride home was taken up by Rachel recounting her ideas for the next year's run at Vocal Adrenaline. She had already compiled a list of thirty songs she felt Mr. Scheuster needed to consider, along with rough choreography for each one.

In the house, Quinn almost reached out to grab Rachel before she went to practice for her Myspace video and tell her about the Cheerios, but she hesitated; instead, she twisted side to side, cracking her back, and announced, "I'm going to go for a run."

Rachel frowned, looking at Quinn disapprovingly as she sliced an apple. She held a piece out to Quinn automatically, who took it just as reflexively. "You already ran with Finn this morning," Rachel said. "It would be more to your benefit to use my elliptical, or Dad's stationary bicycle."

"I want to be outside," Quinn said stubbornly. She hopped up on the counter next to Rachel, eating another piece of the apple. "It hasn't gotten stupid-hot out yet, and I have too much energy."

"You're going to kill your knees," Rachel mumbled crossly. She put her knife in the dishwasher and arranged what remained of her apple symmetrically on a plate. Quinn stole one last slice, jumping down off the counter and kissing Rachel briefly before jogging up the stairs.

"Yeah, but how great will my legs look until then?" She called back down the stairs. She heard Rachel mutter an incoherent response that was probably less than complimentary, rolled her eyes, and continued upstairs to change.

When she had made it home from her run and showered, Quinn found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the notebook in her hands. The Cheerios logo emblazoned across the front mocked her cheerfully, the red plastic bright enough to give her a headache.

Taking a deep breath, she set the notebook down and made her way across the hall to Rachel's room. The door was open, and Rachel was bent over the notebook she scribbled all of her glee ideas into.

"Hey," Quinn said, knocking gently on the doorjamb. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," Rachel said. She spun around in her chair, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Especially if I can run some of this by you before I present it to Mr. Scheuster."

"Yeah, no problem," Quinn said absently. She moved to sit on the foot of Rachel's bed, fiddling with her watch nervously. "I need to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything," Rachel responded automatically. Quinn glanced up briefly, just long enough to see Rachel blushing slightly at her words, and bit down on her lip.

"You're not going to like this," she said. She winced when Rachel's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing as she leaned back slightly in her chair, shoulders tense in a defensive posture.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" Rachel said shrilly.

"What?" Quinn exclaimed. "No!"

"Are you sure?" Rachel said demandingly. "I'm aware that I'm very difficult to be with, but in my defense, you're not exactly a cakewalk either and for all that we've had our fair share of difficulties in the past months, I've done everything I can to be what you need, and—"

"Rachel!" Quinn said loudly. "I'm not breaking up with you! Jeez. Take a pill."

Rachel quieted, staring at Quinn with flushed cheeks and eyes wide. "Then what is it?" A dark look passed over her features. "Are you moving back to your parents' house? Quitting glee?"

"No and no," Quinn said. She swallowed, looking down at her hands. "I… Coach Sylvester wants me back on the Cheerios. She wants me to run the squad again."

Rachel barked out a short laugh. "I wish I could have seen that conversation," she said. "You're not actually considering it, are you?"

Quinn remained silent, head bowed, unable to meet Rachel's eyes. She counted the seconds in her head, making it to seven before Rachel exploded.

"Are you insane?" Rachel shouted. "Do you remember what it was like for all of us when you were the head cheerleader? You were awful and people got slushies thrown at them and you made fun of me all the time and you were Sue Sylvester's minion! You made everyone's life miserable!"

"I know," Quinn said defensively. "But I'm a different person now, Rach, you know that."

"Not if you put that uniform back on!"

"Nothing has to change just because I'm a cheerleader again!" She clenched her jaw as Rachel continued to stare at her accusatorily. "Do you seriously have like no faith in me?"

"Quinn, you were horrible," Rachel said bluntly, clearly not moved by Quinn's defense. "There's no reason you won't go back to being just as horrible when you get that uniform and that power back."

"Except for the fact that that's not me anymore!" Quinn yelled. "Jesus, Rachel, do you really think that I'm still the same person I was a year ago? I was pregnant, my family threw me on the street and they wouldn't even look at me until I was in the hospital. How the hell can you think that I'm still that person?"

"Because if you go back to the Cheerios, you'll get everything back that you lost!" Rachel threw back. She was out of her chair, gesturing wildly, her eyes dark and manic. "You'll remember what it was like and everything will go back to how it was! Everyone in glee will get slushied and stuffed into dumpsters and—"

"I never threw a slushy at anyone!" Quinn bellowed. "And, what, you only like me after I've been completely broken down and lost everything?" At some point she'd made it to her feet, too, glaring down at Rachel with her fists clenching at her side. "The second I get the chance to get a part of my life back you're going to hate me?"

"You hated me then!" Rachel cried out. "Excuse me if I freak out at the idea that you're going to forget everything from the last year when you're running the school again and don't need any of us!"

Quinn stared at Rachel, unable to channel the anger building in her chest—so much more volatile and dangerous feeling than even the rage she'd felt at Coach Sylvester early that day—and ground her teeth together.

"It's nice to know that you only like me when I have to depend on you," she said coldly. "And to think I had been so concerned that I was going to hurt you by needing you." Pulling herself up to her full height, determined to hold onto a least a portion of her dignity, she strode coolly out of the room, resisting the urge to slam both Rachel's and her own door.

In her room, she took a deep breath, and then another, and a third before her heartbeat returned to a healthy pace. A part of her wanted to start packing immediately, to return to her parents' house, or to Santana's, or Brittany's or Finn's, to go anywhere else. An equally strong part, though, battled against the instinct, reminding her of the countless fights she and Rachel had been through in their short relationship, and the fact that they had always made up.

Instead of packing, she flung herself onto her bed and ripped open the Cheerios notebook. Familiar diagrams swam in front of her eyes, and she grimly set to work at memorizing them.

She lasted twenty minutes before throwing the notebook away and wrenching her door open. Eyes narrowed, Quinn stalked back down to Rachel's room and barged in without knocking.

"Okay, let's do this," she said shortly, hands on her hips as she glared at an equally infuriated Rachel. "Let's have this out, once and for all."

"Excellent idea," Rachel spat out. She stood from her desk, crossing her arms defiantly and quickly continued before Quinn could speak again. "You rejoining the Cheerios is selfish and disregards both our relationship and our friendship, and I can't believe you're actually considering putting yourself back into the position where Sue Sylvester will control your every move."

"That's crap," Quinn snapped. "Do you even realize how much all of us have changed in the last year? I listened to the coach because I thought I had everything to lose if I didn't. Then I lost all of that anyways, and guess what? I survived! I found out that I had friends, that I had you, and that I didn't need all of the things I thought were so important. I know that now and I won't let her control me like that again."

"You say that now," Rachel said dismissively. "But when you have an entire squad of teenage mercenary cheerleaders responding to your every whim again, and all the perks that come along with it? When school starts back in the fall and you've got them all backing your every move, you won't need any of it anymore. You won't need me, you'll have everyone falling all over themselves to make you happy."

Quinn scoffed to cover the stabbing feeling in her stomach at Rachel's words about needing her. "So you really still think that the only reason I'm with you is because I need you? How many times are we going to go through this?"

"As many as it takes, Quinn!" Rachel said shrilly. "This is how things work in a relationship. We have to sort it out until it makes sense."

"What's left to sort out? You think I'm using you." Quinn squared her shoulders, preparing herself for the tightening in her throat that would inevitably come when Rachel didn't disagree.

She wasn't disappointed, and masked the need to break down and cry in frustration with a glare.

"If you're so certain that I'm using you, then let's cut through the crap and end this where it is," she said coolly. "I don't need you. You said it yourself ages ago, when this all started. That I was stronger than I thought. I managed on my own at Regionals. I can sleep alone now, and I don't have as many nightmares, and I don't get panic attacks as often. I can be okay without you, so whatever delusions of grandeur you have about me still being unable to function without you can be safely put to rest." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I did need you," she said, her voice quieter. "For a long time I thought I would always need you to hold me together. But you were right. I'm getting better, and a lot of it is because of you. But I'm in a place right now where I can keep myself together without you."

"So you're going to go back to the Cheerios and just forget about all of this, then?" Rachel said childishly.

Quinn let out a frustrated cry. "What is your problem, Rachel?" she shouted. "Why is everything so black and white with you? Is it that hard for you to understand the concept of middle ground? Just because I don't need to be with you doesn't mean I don't want to be with you, and just because I'm going to rejoin the squad doesn't mean that I'm going to regress into who I used to be."

"You were horrible back then," Rachel insisted.

"Then, yes," Quinn said. "But what did I know then?"

"It's only been a year, Quinn," Rachel said. "There's sixteen years of precedence to combat."

"Seriously?" Quinn said incredulously. "Rachel, that's idiotic. What happened in the last year? I had drunken sex with my boyfriend's best friend. I got pregnant. I broke the hearts of two really good guys. I was kicked out by my family and my boyfriend. I fell to the absolute bottom of the social ladder and got slushied because of it and my daughter died because of it." Her hands shook, and she itched to hit something, throw something, do anything violent and destructive and dramatic to focus her attentions instead of allowing herself to think about how horribly awry her life had gone.

"Explain to me how that doesn't change everything," Quinn said softly. "I was a horrible person. When I fell, I fell hard and everyone I was terrible to was more than happy to take advantage of it. Karma came back to bite me in the ass about it and an innocent child died as a result. Explain to me how the hell that hasn't changed my entire world."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. For all of her dependency on Rachel, Quinn had never once spoken to her about how much she blamed herself, not since the very first time she voiced it in the hospital. Only Puck knew that Quinn continued to feel responsible, and him only because he was the only other person who could understand even a fraction of how it felt.

Rachel stared at her with wide eyes. The anger that had set her shoulders and left her jaw clenched seeped out of her, her body going in limp in parts.

"Quinn," she whispered, her words hesitant. "You know it wasn't your fault."

"Whatever," Quinn muttered. She lifted her chin, staring Rachel down defiantly. Arrogance and anger and stubbornness pushed to the forefront, and she welcomed their displacement of her pain; after all, pushing away the things that hurt was her best defense against them. "I'm rejoining the Cheerios. I won't quit glee. I won't move back to my parents' house unless you and your dads ask me to leave. I won't slushy people or blindly follow Coach Sylvester's orders. I'm not that person anymore. Believe whatever you want about it, and break up with me if that's what you want, but if you feel like contemplating the possibility of a compromise, let me know."

Shoulders back, she turned and made her way to the door. She paused, not turning back. "And when you do, maybe you can explain to me why you spend half of your time angry that I'm using you to keep me together, and the other half of the time angry that I won't need you enough." Anger and hurt still pulsing through her body, Quinn stepped out of the room and shut the door quietly.

Standing in the hallway, she took a deep breath, concentrating on slowing her heart. When it did, she made her way back into her room and, almost catatonic, changed to go for another run. She moved slowly, as if waiting for Rachel to burst into the room , ready to apologize and willing to compromise and finally understanding that Quinn was just as invested in their relationship as she was.

When her door remained untouched after she had changed clothes and pulled her hair back and laced up her running shoes, she sank back into her own anger and stomped out of the house alone.

She ran further than she had since before she got pregnant. She had worked her way back up to a five mile run every morning with Finn, and her frustration pushed her even further. Loud music pounded in her ears and her feet slammed into the pavement as she started her third circuit around the park, the seventh mile fading into the eighth as she stubbornly focused only on maintaining a perfect running stride.

She rounded the same blind corner where she had first bumped into Finn, and came to an abrupt halt when Santana materialized in front of her. Heart pounding, Quinn yanked her headphone out of her ears, glaring at Santana.

"What the hell, S?"

Santana simply crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unimpressed with Quinn's anger. "Finn said his mom said she saw you out here running when she went to the grocery store. And then still running an hour later. He's worried." She managed to make the last word sound more like a curse than anything else.

"I'm fine," Quinn said curtly. Recovering from the surprise of finding her best friend blocking her bath, she dropped her hands to her knees, breathing heavily. Now that she'd stopped running, the aches she had ignored in her shins and knees seemed to redouble.

"Right," Santana drawled. "That's what I figured. But Brittany made me come find you and tell you to stop running because she thinks you're going to hurt yourself."

"Sounds like Rachel," Quinn muttered inadvertently.

"Speaking of your little ferret," Santana said. She cocked her head to one side. "You told her. She's pissed."

"Brilliant deduction, S," Quinn deadpanned. Santana rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you're being a brat, and that you compared Brittany to the single most annoying person in Ohio, because you're clearly not in your right mind, by the way," Santana sniffed. "You're welcome."

Quinn rolled her eyes, straightening up slowly, her breathing returning to normal. Mirroring Santana's position, she glared half-heartedly at the other girl. "Do you have anything constructive to say, or are you just here to make snide comments?"

"Snide comments," Santana said immediately. "Really, Q, you're dating a midget in argyle who wants to be the next Barbara Streisand. You just want me to make fun of you." She smirked when Quinn practically growled, taking a half step towards her. "I mean, the girl thinks that a pantsuit is suitable attire for a high school. Something is clearly completely upside down in her brain."

"Out of line," she snarled. "Stop it." Her hands ached, fingernails digging into her palms without her even realizing it.

"There she is," Santana said quietly. "I knew your backbone was in there somewhere. Hold onto that and remember that you're Quinn Fabray. You're a damn force of nature around this stupid little town, so relocate you inner bitch and man up and go sort this shit out."

Quinn snorted. "She doesn't get it," she muttered. "She thinks it's impossible for there to be a middle ground between things now and how they were a year ago."

"So, make her understand," Santana said irritably. "Jesus, Quinn. You guys fight, like, all the time. Seriously, you could have your own reality show with how often you argue with that nutjob. This isn't any different."

"I think it is," Quinn said. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "It's like… she doesn't understand the whole idea of a compromise."

"Ugh," Santana said. She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to say this again, and you know how much I hate repeating myself, so listen up, Q." She stepped forward, glaring at Quinn distastefully. "Make her understand, okay? Tell her whatever you have to, tie her to a chair to get to her listen if you need to, but make her understand. As much as I really don't like her, she's good for you. She pulled your head out of your ass, and God knows we all needed for that to happen." Santana ignored Quinn's indignant "hey!", one hand snapping up to halt her words.

"Do what you have to," Santana repeated. "Don't go slipping back into how you were when you left the hospital, or last year. As fun as it was running everything with you, I happen to like you more now when you're only a bitch a part of the time, because then I get to be a bitch all the time to pick up the slack. Berry is apparently the only one who keeps you in line, so you make her understand that you're coming back to the squad and that it isn't going to change you."

With a frustrated huff, Santana tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and spun on her heel, marching off silently. Quinn watched her, brow furrowed, digesting Santana's rant.

"S," Quinn called without thinking. Even with her back to Quinn, Santana's eye roll was obvious before she turned around, staring expectantly. "Rachel said I was being selfish, by rejoining the Cheerios."

Santana continued to stare at Quinn, her face blank. "So," she slowly, and Quinn watched with intrigue as Santana had a momentarily visible battle with herself before tilting her chin up and continuing. "So, tell her you aren't."

Quinn gazed at Santana levelly, one eyebrow raised in question. Years of friendship made her silent question crystalline clear, and Santana nodded curtly before walking off. Quinn watched her go, and tried to remember a single time in their lives when Santana had given anyone permission to speak aloud of one of her rare moments of vulnerability.

She started on her way back to the Berry's house, running at a slower pace than she had been. As she rounded the corner onto their street, she slowed to a stop when she saw Rachel's car making its way towards her.

Rachel pulled to a stop on the side of the street in front of her, and Rachel slowly stepped out of the driver's side. She stood uncomfortably in front of Quinn, wringing her hands delicately together.

"You've been gone for almost two hours," Rachel said haltingly. "I was getting concerned."

"I was at the park," Quinn mumbled.

Rachel nodded. "Finn texted me and said you were there." She paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. "I was still worried."

"I'm okay," Quinn said. Though half of her just wanted to blurt out whatever Rachel needed to hear to make things okay between them, the other half was stubbornly insisting that this time, Rachel was the one who was being unreasonable; that this time, Quinn had a reason to be angry; that this time, Rachel needed to be the one to make an effort and meet her halfway to make things right.

"Can… can we talk, please?" Rachel said. She stared at Quinn apprehensively, and Quinn squinted back at her in the fading sunlight, torn between thoughtfulness and frustration.

"Let me take a shower first," she finally offered. "Then we'll talk."

"Okay," Rachel whispered. Quinn nodded abruptly and graced Rachel with a tight smile before setting off the rest of the way down the block to the house. She determinedly didn't look back, or even consider Rachel's nervousness and apologetic eyes, until she was in the house and in the safety of the bathroom, hot water pounding down on muscles left sore from her run. Distantly, she heard the sound of Rachel's door across the hallway opening and closing; she imagined Rachel waiting in her room with the same apprehensive look in her eyes, and steeled herself for the upcoming conversation.

Quinn stayed in the shower until the hot water started to cool, and took her time drying herself off and changing into clean clothes. When she had dressed and brushed the tangles out of her hair and taken her contacts out, and no longer had an excuse to drag her feet anymore, she took a deep breath and made her way down to Rachel's open door.

Rachel sat at her desk, slipping slowly through a slideshow of pictures that Quinn recognized as ones Artie had taken at a rehearsal one day after getting a new camera. She stood in the doorway, watching Rachel's intent focus on the pictures, for several long seconds before knocking lightly on the doorjamb.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hi," Rachel whispered. She shut the laptop lid, spinning her chair around slowly to face Quinn. "I… Could I speak first, please?"

Silently, Quinn nodded. She didn't move from her post at the door, shoulder leaning against the wall and arms crossed defensively in front of her. Rachel nodded as well before taking a deep breath.

"There's clearly a lot we need to discuss," she started. "But there's something I do want to say before we get into the heart of our disagreement." She paused, taking another deep breath. "I had no idea that you still blamed yourself for what happened, Quinn. I vividly remember you saying as much when you were in the hospital, but you never said a word about it since then, and I suppose I assumed that if you continued to blame yourself you would have told me. Clearly, I was mistaken in that assumption."

She pushed herself to her feet, moving to stand in front of Quinn. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "I realize that when you told me that you think as much, you weren't looking for me to argue with you, nor were you looking for sympathy. I know that my saying anything in opposition to that belief will not change it, nor will it mitigate anything you're feeling. I can't imagine what it feels like to lose your baby like that, nor do I honestly want to. But I do want to make it abundantly clear that you are the only one who blames yourself for what happened, and that your blame is wholly misplaced. What happened was in no way your fault—it wasn't karma or penance or punishment at all.

"I want to say that," she said. "Because I want you to know that however poorly you think of yourself, I still think the world of you."

Quinn looked at her levelly, unmoving. "But you still think that I'll be a horrible person again if I'm a Cheerio," she stated calmly.

Rachel sighed. "Quinn, you have to understand that things were miserable for me then," she said weakly. "I know you think I'm overreacting to this, and maybe I am. But do you remember what it was like? You hated me."

"I didn't hate you," Quinn interrupted. She sighed frustratedly. "I just… I don't know. I didn't put you at the bottom of the social ladder, but that's where things fell, and I was too scared of falling from the top to not do whatever it took to stay there. It was childish and immature and selfish, yeah. I understand that. I was truly terrible to you, and maybe I'll never be able to make it up to you. But my entire life was torpedoed last year, and it's changed everything."

She tugged her glasses off, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. "You know, I chose glee over the Cheerios a long time ago," she said carefully. "That isn't going to change. I may have joined the club for all the wrong reasons, but I found a family there that I didn't think I ever could, and there's no way I'm going to risk that. I'm not going to risk the friendships I have with everyone else in the club, and I'm there's no way I'm going to risk losing you for the Cheerios."

The edges of a smile started to grace Rachel's lips, and Quinn grimaced. "All that said, though," she continued. "I'm still rejoining the squad. Coach Sylvester is the craziest person I've ever met, but no one can deny that she is good at what she does. That squad gets national—even international—recognition regularly. If I can add that to my college applications, it'll be a huge boost. Which, you know, I'm going to need, because I'm going to need mad scholarship money for anywhere I get into."

She sighed, avoiding the frustrated look in Rachel's eyes. "You think I'm being selfish," she said blandly.

"Yes," Rachel whispered.

"You don't trust me," Quinn said.

Rachel looked away, a crestfallen look on her face, and remained silent.

Quinn took a deep breath. "Okay," she said slowly. Part of her was bursting to just let the whole explanation pour out, to say that she needed to this for her friends, to tell Rachel how exceptionally rare it was for Santana to ask anyone for anything, to explain that after a year of being helpless and broken she could finally give something back to someone. Instead, she bit her lip, knowing instinctively that even though Santana had given her blessing for Quinn to tell Rachel, the other girl didn't want anyone to know what she'd asked, and Quinn—reveling in the realization that she wasn't still just a broken shell of who she used to be, that she could be a whole person and be there for her friends like they'd been there for her—refused to lay the blame off on Santana just to make her own life easier..

"I do trust you," Rachel said eventually. She finally met Quinn's eyes. "I just… I'm scared, okay? I'm happy with you, but we do fight a lot, and I'm really scared that if you have the Cheerios to fall back on, one day we'll have a fight and you won't come back."

"Rachel," Quinn said exasperatedly. "I want to be with you. I like being with you, believe it or not. However this started, whatever terrible situation it was that ended up with you being the one who I can count on to always be there, or with you being the person that I kind of really love making out with during free periods? None of that matters. Because for the first time in a long time, I think I'm happy, and I don't think I would be if I wasn't with you."

Rachel was silent, once again looking away. Quinn, her frustration mounting, clenched her jaw tightly and stared at Rachel, silently willing the other girl to speak up. When Rachel remained uncharacteristically silent, Quinn bit back the desire to yell and instead slowly rubbed one hand over her eyes.

"Why can't we find some sort of middle ground here?" she asked quietly. "Why does it have to be all or nothing?"

Rachel was still quiet, not looking up at she shrugged tiredly. "I don't see how we can reach a compromise in this situation," she said.

Quinn ground her teeth together. "Seriously, Rachel? Why is it so hard for you to grasp the concept of a compromise? How many times have we had this conversation?"

Rachel shrugged again. "What do you want me to say?" Strength underwrote her words, the first sign of a backbone she had shown since Quinn left the room hours ago.

"That you're willing to meet me halfway!" Quinn said. "That whatever you think of me, of us, it's worth it to you to make a compromise of any kind!"

"Why do I have to be the one who makes a concession?" Rachel shot back. "Haven't I given you enough? Hiding out relationship, giving you all the space you need, trying to be with you every step of the way?"

"That's not how relationships work, Rachel!" Quinn shouted. Seething, she paused momentarily to keep from bellowing out her anger. "That's not how things work," she repeated, her voice tight. "You don't keep a tally of who's given what."

"That's easy to say from your side of it," Rachel said sullenly. "Maybe I'm tired of being the one who has to give everything up."

"I never asked you to give anything up!" For all of her initial determination not to raise her voice again, the words still ripped out of Quinn's throat loud enough to make both of them flinch. "I didn't ask you for anything. You kissed me the first time. You insisted that this could work. I told you that I was terrified, that it might not work, that you would get hurt, but you kept pushing. All I ever asked was that we not advertise our relationship to the school. Hell, I outed myself to Sue freaking Sylvester today just to make sure you wouldn't get hurt by the squad anymore! She could tell everyone, she could tell my father and ruin any chance I have of getting him back, and you still think I'm a coward trying to turn back time so I can be the head bitch again. What do I have to do to make you see that things are different now?"

Rachel stared at Quinn incredulously. Quinn stood, breathing heavily, her arms outstretched comically from where she had been flailing her hands around during her outburst. Heart beating wildly, head pounding, Quinn dropped her arms, a painfully familiar wave of exhaustion passing over her as her rage washed away as soon as her tirade ended.

"I guess I get that you don't trust me," she whispered. "Maybe I deserve that. But that doesn't make it hurt any less." She stared at Rachel wearily, waiting for the other girl to speak.

A full minute of silence passed before Quinn once again turned around and made her way back to her room, tired of being the one who always walked away but too hurt to care. She collapsed onto her bed, curling up around a pillow and staring out the window, wishing for sleep.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Rachel knocked on her door apprehensively. Rolling over, Quinn looked blandly to where Rachel stood in the doorway in her pajamas, visibly nervous.

"What?" It came out sounding more biting than inquisitive, but Quinn was too worn out to care.

Rachel fidgeted with her hands, looking down before stepping further into the room and shutting the door softly behind her. Quinn noted dispassionately that her eyes were red.

"I spoke to Brittany," Rachel said softly. "I… I called her because I didn't know what to do, and she and Santana have been your friends long enough that I thought they could offer some insights." She paused, and offered a half-hearted, wry smile. "Santana called me all sorts of choice names that I won't repeat, but I will say that they lend great weight to the idea that what doesn't kill me will indeed make me stronger." Her smile faltered when Quinn failed to respond to her attempted levity, and she took a deep breath before continuing.

"Brittany told me that you agreed to join the Cheerios for her and Santana," Rachel said. The undercurrent of surprise in her voice cut Quinn more than it was probably meant to. "I… I really had no idea. That they needed you that much, that Santana would ever have asked. I didn't know." She bit her lip, taking a halting step closer to the bed, then another.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Rachel breathed out. "I said awful things, Quinn, that I never would have even thought if I'd known that you were doing it for them. I never would have thought you were selfish if you had just told me."

"It wasn't my business to tell," Quinn muttered. "Santana is my best friend and she never asks for anything. It's a pride thing for her."

"But she said that she told you to tell me," Rachel said.

"She said I could tell you," Quinn countered. She sat up slowly, discarding the pillow she had been clutching to her chest. "But she's Santana, you know? She hates needing anything and she likes it when people think she doesn't. She's my best friend," she repeated. "I don't want to take that away from her." She paused, glancing up at Rachel momentarily.

"I would have told you, if I needed to, for the record," she said softly. "But only as a last resort." She stared at Rachel, taking in the uncertain look in her eyes. "I wasn't, like, choosing my friendship with Santana over my relationship with you," she added hastily. "I would have told you if I really needed to. For the record."

Rachel shook her head slowly, pushing her hair back. "I wish you'd just told me," she said again. "I feel so horrible for calling you selfish. I—I thought that you wanted it back for yourself."

"Part of me does," Quinn admitted. "I liked being on the squad. Not for the popularity or the power thing or anything." She picked at a loose thread on her comforter. "I mean, that was cool, but I just liked being active, you know? We got run into the ground and pushed past our limits, but always came out stronger for it. I liked the challenge, and as much as I like glee, I don't get that from there."

Rachel nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense," she said. Her eyes were guarded, and Quinn bit back a sigh at Rachel's continued distrust. Rachel, either oblivious to or ignoring Quinn's frustration, moved to sit on the bed next to Quinn, biting her lip nervously.

She squared her shoulders, turning to look at Quinn seriously, and reached over to tangle her fingers with Quinn's. "I need to tell you something," she said carefully. "That I should have said a while ago."

Quinn, brow furrowed and throat brimming with apprehension, stared at Rachel fearfully, wondering what the brunette could possibly have to say after everything they had shouted at one another throughout the day.

"I think," Rachel started, faltering momentarily before licking her lips and lifting her chin and staring Quinn straight in the eye. "I know we have really different mindsets about relationships—about everything, really—and that's a huge obstacle. And we fight a lot, and sometimes I just get so frustrated, but in spite of all that, I can't imagine this—our relationship—not being a big part of my life in my future.

"I think that I'm falling in love with you," she said delicately. "And I don't think I really expected that to happen, but it is, and it's terrifying me. But I want you to know that I'm as invested in this as you are, and that I do trust you and want to stay with you for as long as you'll let me."

Quinn stared at her, jaw dropping. She blinked slowly, shaking her head to try and force the words to make sense. Rachel continued to stare at her expectantly, clearly waiting for Quinn to say something. Quinn, though, remained utterly flabbergasted and lacking in anything to say. Her mind practically screamed at her to speak, to move, to tell Rachel that she couldn't imagine a future without their relationship, either, and that she didn't want to. Her treacherous body, though, remained silent and unmoving, eyes wide and mouth gaping as she stared at Rachel with all of the grace and subtlety of an armored car.

After a long and uncomfortable silence passed, Rachel took a deep breath. Disappointment lingering in her eyes, she squeezed Quinn's hand before standing up. "I'll see you in the morning," she said softly. "Sleep well."

"Wait," Quinn said suddenly, as Rachel started to make her way out of the room. Rachel paused, looking back at Quinn uncertainly, and Quinn ducked her head demurely for a moment.

"Stay here tonight," she half-offered, half-asked.

Rachel, her shoulders slumped and making her look even more diminutive than usual, smiled the tiniest bit and shuffled back to the bed. Quinn scooted over to make room for her, pulling the blanket up over the both of them.

Rachel looked at Quinn hesitantly as Quinn fumbled with the remote for her iPod dock. "You never wear these," she said quietly, one hand ghosting over the frame of Quinn's glasses. Her eyes were murky with apprehension, her comment a painfully obvious attempt at trying to regain even a modicum of comfort between them.

Quinn grimaced, pulling them off and squinting as Rachel's face blurred. "I really don't like them," she muttered. She tossed them disdainfully onto her bedside table. "I can leave my contacts in for a month at a time. I like it better that way."

"If you say so," Rachel said sleepily. She burrowed down into the pillows, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders. "I think they're adorable."

"Of course you do," Quinn mumbled, rolling her eyes. She reached over top of Rachel to turn off the lamp, and rolled her eyes again when she felt Rachel giggle softly at her comment.

Laying down, she pulled the blanket up over herself as well. Blindly, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rachel's temple. "Good night," she said softly. As she settled down onto the pillows, fatigue washing over her as soon as she relaxed, the last thing she noticed before sleep taking over was Rachel curling up into her side, fingers clutching her shirt in a desperately tight grip.