Epic author's note is epic: To quote a friend of mine, this shit's about to get heavy. By which I mean, this chapter hurt like a bitch to write, but a) it made sense character-wise, so b) it had to happen, and c) the whole point of this story is following the steps people take as a relationship changes, and sometimes those steps happen because of other people.
But still. I've been sitting on this one for ages, not wanting to do anything with it. Cos it was a bitch to write. Just so you know.
Also, because some people have asked, here and on Livejournal... yeah, this will be wrapping up soon. It was never supposed to get long anyways, but once it happened I told myself I'd stick it out until their relationship hit solid ground in whatever form it took- romantic, friendly, were-friends-now-hating-each-other, whatever. So, yes, there is an end point. For the record and all.
/ramble
A week into the summer break, Quinn drove Rachel to the airport. The brunette had attended the same workshop in Chicago for the past two summers, meticulously creating a network of contacts that a senator would envy as a stepping stone for her path to Broadway; the deposit for that summer's attendance had been sent in long before Quinn slipped down the stairs in everything fell apart around them. Quinn had struggled for weeks with the idea of asking Rachel to stay, or to find a way for Quinn to go with her, but had become far too determined to prove to everyone—but only to Rachel, really—that she could manage on her own.
They spoke of lighthearted things on the drive to the airport, windows down as Rachel belted out portions of arrangements she had already put together for the glee club's next run for Nationals and Quinn smiled softly as she listened. The tension between them that had risen out of Quinn's rejoining the Cheerios had slowly dissipated, as Rachel grudgingly started to accept Quinn's promises that she wasn't going to revert back to her younger self.
At the airport, they spent half an hour trying to navigate the parking lots, which ended in Rachel bolting out of the car suddenly to flag down an employee for directions while Quinn slammed on the brakes and all but shrieked at Rachel to not kamikaze her way across an airport parking lot; Rachel's triumphant return to the car with a map in hand was, unfortunately, far too adorable for Quinn to remain angry, and she simply rolled her eyes and yanked the map out of Rachel's hands before finding her way to the hourly parking garage.
Rachel chattered incessantly as they made their way into the terminal, practically bouncing with excitement. Quinn followed her to the beginning of the security line, listening indulgently as Rachel prattled on about one of the vocal instructors at the workshop.
As Rachel extracted the folder with her meticulously kept boarding pass and gate information, Quinn clamped down on her lower lip and determinedly looked down at her watch in an effort to quash the hollow feeling in her stomach at the fact that Rachel was about to be gone for two straight months.
"Hey," Rachel said softly, one hand reaching out to rest on Quinn's elbow. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Quinn forced out. She smiled tightly. "I'm good."
"Don't lie to me, Quinn," Rachel said sternly. She stepped closer, reaching out and forcing Quinn to look at her. "I know things have been rough between us lately, but if you ask, I will stay."
"No," Quinn said, adamant. "You've been excited about this for ages. You already paid."
"I don't care," Rachel said. Her brow furrowed. "I'm worried about you."
"I'll be okay," Quinn said. "Really. I haven't had a nightmare in a while now, you know? And I haven't had a panic attack in weeks."
"Even so," Rachel started.
Quinn shook her head. "Really," she said again. "I'm going to be okay, you know. I was okay when I went to Columbus, and I'm better now than I was then." She smiled crookedly. "Besides, I'm going to be at training nine hours a day. I won't have the energy to dream."
"Urgh," Rachel muttered. "Don't remind me. That woman is a slave driver."
Quinn giggled half-heartedly. "Yeah, well, just look at it this way," she said brightly, desperate not to part on depressing terms. "I'll be in ridiculous shape when you get back. You won't know what hit you."
Rachel laughed softly, shaking her head. "Hot cheerleading girlfriend," she said thoughtfully, a playful look in her eyes that didn't quite reach as deep as it normally did. "Things could be worse."
"Exactly," Quinn said. She gripped Rachel's hand briefly. "You'll have a great time, I'll call you to complain about Brittany and Santana driving me up a wall. You'll tell me I run too much and I'll make fun of you for not being able to reach the overhead compartments on your flight. You'll be back in no time."
"Right," Rachel said softly. She tightened her grip on Quinn's hand. "I'm going to miss you."
"You, too," Quinn whispered. She bit down on her lip again as Rachel shoved the boarding pass into her backpack and stepped in to pull Quinn into a tight hug.
"Please take care of yourself," Rachel said, breath skittering across Quinn's neck and making her shiver. "Don't try to handle everything alone."
"Okay," Quinn mumbled. She straightened up reluctantly, glancing at her watch and sighing. "You should go," she said.
"Yeah," Rachel said. She extracted her folder once more, flattening the now-crumbled boarding pass with a grimace.
"Call me when you land, okay?"
"Of course," Rachel said. She glanced around shyly before leaning up and pressing a brief kiss to Quinn's lips. "I'll miss you," she said again.
"I'll miss you, too," Quinn mumbled. She picked up Rachel's carry on, handing it to her slowly. "Don't fall in love with any theater gurus."
Rachel giggled. "Don't fall in love with any football players," she shot back. "Or cheerleaders," she added with a smirk.
Quinn flushed, glaring at her before rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to miss you at all," she said primly, crossing her arms. "Not the tiniest bit."
"Of course you will," Rachel said with a bright smile. She shouldered her bags and flashed her trademark brilliant grin at Quinn once more as she started walking backwards towards the security line. "Infinitely!" she called.
"Not remotely," Quinn shot back. She stuck her tongue out when Rachel blew her a kiss before disappearing through security.
Two days later, Cheerios training started for the summer, and Quinn tumbled headlong into ten hours a day on the football field, slipping easily back into a leadership mentality as she cajoled and threatened and bribed the rest of the squad into just one more mile, one more run through, one more set of calisthenics. The steady distance running she had been doing did little to prepare her body for the shock of Sue Sylvester's weightlifting regimens, or wind sprints, or the constant gymnastics required of all of them. Every night, she trudged home and barely had the energy to eat dinner and shower before falling into bed.
Every time she spoke to Rachel, she swallowed the urge to complain about how unfair it was that most teenagers got to have fun over the summer, while the Cheerios got to slog through a boot camp that outstripped most military schools'; as tired as she was after only three weeks, she was more afraid of Rachel tossing an "I told you so" her way to say anything. Instead she listened as Rachel regaled her with stories about the other students in her workshop, the pieces they were currently working on, the pranks that the instructors liked to play on each other, and returned the favor with anecdotes about how horribly the football team's summer camp was going, how Coach Tanaka had almost swallowed one of his whistles on day, how Puck and Finn had gotten drunk one night and stumbled to Kurt's house to convince him to let them in on his secret for always getting into girls' minds.
The summer was half over when Quinn shuffled down the stairs one morning, fresh from a shower after a short run, stretching and thanking God for the fact that even Sue Sylvester took weekends off sometimes, and stopped dead when she saw her father standing stiffly in the front hallway, trading steely glares with Eric while her mother hovered nervously in the doorway, hands clenched tightly on the strap of her purse.
"Dad," she mumbled, stopping dead, one foot still on the stairs.
He was silent, staring at her darkly, and Quinn felt a thrill of fear uncannily similar to the one she'd experienced just before he kicked her out. Though she and the rest of her family had reconciled to some extent since Quinn left the hospital, her father had remained silent and distant from her every time she was in the Fabray household, avoiding the dinners she attended and walking out of any room she came into. Quinn knew that both her mother and her sister, as well as her in-laws, had begged and pleaded and bargained with him as much as they could, but he remained unmoving and refused to acknowledge that she was still a member of the family.
"We need to talk," he said lowly, the first words he'd spoken to her in nearly a year.
"What about?" she asked cordially, determined to quash her fear and uneasiness with the impeccable manners she had been reared with.
"I ran into Michael Jacoby at the golf course yesterday," he said. His voice remained dangerously low. "His daughter is a freshman on the Cheerios."
"Kristin," Quinn supplied automatically. She had learned more about the squad than she'd ever wanted in the past month, from middle names to phobias to who was best suited for gymnastics versus dancing.
He clenched his jaw at her interruption, and she winced. Behind him, her mother's eyes darted back and forth between father and daughter nervously. Eric stood tensely in the hallway, positioned subtly between Quinn and her father, and Quinn wanted nothing more than to hide behind his broad shoulders for protection.
"He had a lot to say," her father continued. A sour look crossed over his features. "First of which was that that Finn Hudson boy wasn't the one who got your pregnant. He also said that there's a rumor that you're having—relations with some girl."
Quinn's eyes widened as her father forced the words out of his mouth, and her fingernails dug into her palms as she fought the urge to run up the stairs and hide.
"I don't know which is worse," he sneered. "You getting knocked up by a Jew or letting that trollop turn you into a lesbian."
The hallway was a sudden flurry of movement as Quinn, Eric, and Quinn's mother all started yelling at the same time, voices rising and unintelligible as Quinn shouted her offense at his distaste for Rachel and Quinn's mother leapt to Quinn's defense, and Eric pulling up to his full height and furiously demanding that Mr. Fabray get out immediately and not speak to Quinn in such a way.
"She is my daughter!" Mr. Fabray bellowed. "I will speak to her how I see fit, and you'll find it best to stay out of it."
Quinn felt her entire body tremble at the sound of his voice, unintentionally shrinking back at his anger. Eric stepped angrily around Mr. Fabray, yanking the front door open.
"Get out," he said lowly, seething. In the months since Quinn had moved in with the Berrys, she had never seen Eric so angry. "Get out of our home."
Mr. Fabray ignored him, reaching out and latching onto Quinn's arm, yanking her off the stairs. "This is unacceptable," he snapped, gripping her arm painfully. Immediately, Eric and Mrs. Fabray sprung into action, Eric grabbing Mr. Fabray's arm and yanking it away from Quinn while Mrs. Fabray wrapped an arm around Quinn's waist and pulled her away protectively.
"Don't touch her like that," Mrs. Fabray spat out, and even through her fear, Quinn felt a rush of warmth at her mother's defense.
"She's going away," he shot back, jerking his arm out of Eric's grasp and glaring at Quinn disgustedly. He jerked forward and snatched Quinn's arm back, sheer strength pulling her out of her mother's arms.
She dug her heels in, fighting back against his grip, her fingernails scrabbling at his hand while her mother pulled weakly in the other direction and Eric tried to break Mr. Fabray's hold without hurting either Quinn or her mother. In the flurry of movement, as Mr. Fabray's considerable bulk worked to his advantage, he snapped, shoving Eric into the wall and yanking Quinn to his side. She continued to fight back, and he glared down at her dangerously before his other hand flew up, striking across her cheek before he shoved her away.
"Stop fighting me!" he roared. Everyone came to a sudden stop, Mrs. Fabray staring at him in horror, Eric in utter disbelief. Even as Quinn froze from the shock of his strike, eyes wide and tearing up, she numbly noted a hesitation in his voice, a flicker of remorse in Mr. Fabray's eyes before he continued on shouting. Her hand went automatically up to her cheek, coming away with a tiny smear of blood from where his ring had broken skin. "I'm sending you off somewhere away from all of this trashand that little lesbian whore."
The yelling and sound of the scuffle had drawn Paul up from the basement, and he entered the hallway just in time to see Quinn, one cheek sporting a violently red handprint, launching out of her mother's grip, as uncontrollable fury pushed her towards nothing but violence and destruction at the final insult her father had dealt out, overwhelmingly determined to set him right for his attack on Rachel while Eric growled and pulled Mrs. Fabray out of the way as he too started towards Quinn's father.
Paul instinctively jumped into the fray and caught Quinn around the waist, stopping her mid-air trajectory just before her fists impacted against a rage-blinded Mr. Fabray. The moment Quinn was restrained in the arms of a baffled Paul, Eric's fist slammed into Mr. Fabray's jaw, sending him stumbling back into the wall.
Quinn continued to fight against Paul's grip, but even for all of her athleticism and strength, he still had practically eight inches and a hundred pounds on her that she couldn't beat. "Get out!" she shouted at Mr. Fabray. "Get away from me."
He pushed himself to his feet, wiping blood off of his lips and breathing heavily. "I am your father," he said angrily. "It's my responsibility to fix you."
"I'm not broken!" Quinn shrieked.
"You're living with gays and Jews!" he bellowed, accusing fingers pointing to where Eric stood with his fists clenched and shoulders tight, ready to strike again.
"You threw me out!" Quinn threw back.
"And now I'm taking you back!"
"No!" Quinn said, her voice unified with her mother's, as well as Eric's and Paul's. Quinn twisted out of Paul's arms, though didn't argue when he kept a hand on her shoulder tightly; her mother shifted to stand on her other side, gripping Quinn's hand just as tightly and matching Quinn's glare towards Mr. Fabray.
"No," Quinn said again, her voice lower. "You kicked me out on the street, you wouldn't even speak to me when I was in the hospital, and now you come in here and insult the people who took me in, who gave me a family? Rachel is the best thing that ever happened to me and she means more to me than you ever will again, and I don't care what you think anymore." She lifted her chin, a dark sense of satisfaction spreading throughout her when a guilty look flashed across his features at the bruise she knew was forming on her face.
"I don't care if you hate me now," she said. Her voice caught in her throat—of course she cared, but he had finally crossed a line she couldn't allow when he insulted Rachel and her fathers', and through all of the tangled emotions bounding within her at the moment, she cared less about what he thought of her than she ever thought possible—and she tightened her grip on her mother's hand.
"Quinn," he said. His voice was tight, strangled, as if emotion or guilt or frustration was wrapping it too tightly in his throat. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you."
Quinn didn't think she had ever seen him look so genuine, and for a miniscule second felt like a four year old again, tired and hurt and scared and wanting nothing more than to curl up in her father's arms and let him fix whatever was broken. The moment vanished, though, as he reached up again to dab at the blood on his mouth from Eric's punch, and she hardened her gaze as she stared back at him.
"That doesn't matter," she said, proud that her voice wavered only the tiniest bit. She took a deep breath, drawing strength from the comforting weight of Paul's arm across her shoulders, her mother's hand in hers, Eric's tense posture as he stood at the ready to throw Mr. Fabray out of the door if necessary. She jerked her head towards the front door, still open from when Eric had first told Mr. Fabray to leave.
"You need to leave," she said. She kept her voice as level as possible, but her vision blurred with tears anyways, as much from the resonating sting in her cheek as the fact that she was finally and irrevocably severing the remaining ties she had with her father. "Now."
He opened his mouth to speak again, but Eric finally moved, uncoiling like a spring and grabbing him by the collar. "She said leave," he ground out. He bodily dragged Mr. Fabray out of the door, shoving him down off the front porch and immediately coming back inside to slam the door.
Quinn stood, unmoving except for the tremors appearing in her shoulders, as the three adults stared at her in concern. Her mother turned to face her, free hand coming up to gently ghost over the bruise forming on Quinn's cheek; Quinn flinched, stepping swiftly away from both her mother and Paul.
"Quinn," Mrs. Fabray said softly. "Are you okay?"
Quinn clamped down on her lower lip, her head pounding and cheek throbbing and hands shaking uncontrollably as she put them up in front of her, keeping everyone away from her. "I… I need a minute," she muttered. "Sorry." She bolted up the stairs, barely noticing as she heard Paul quietly telling her mother that she was welcome to stay with them if she wanted.
In her room, Quinn slumped against the door, her entire body shaking. She heard the low rumble of the Berrys and her mother talking downstairs, but focused her attentions on tuning out the words. Eyes shut, she pressed her forehead against the door and tried valiantly to steady her breathing, her heartbeat, the tremors wracking her entire frame.
Minutes ticked past as she slowly brought her body back under control, and her legs trembled with exhaustion. She stumbled over to her bed, dropping down onto it and grabbing a pillow to clutch to her chest as she sat curled up against the headboard. The Book of Common Prayer that she kept on her nightstand, a gift from her father when she went through Confirmation in the seventh grade, mocked her solemnly, and she could do nothing to tear her eyes away.
A quiet knock and the door opening finally pulled her out of her reverie, and she looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway. Tears stung her eyes once more, and she swiped angrily at them, grimacing at the pain in her face when she did.
"I'm so sorry," her mother said softly. "I never thought he was capable of going off like that."
"It's not your fault," Quinn said, more by default than actual belief. As much as she loved her mother and the support she had shown that morning, a part of her still hated that they were married, that she had committed her life to his.
"I don't know about that," Mrs. Fabray said. She cleared her throat. "I spoke with Paul and Eric about it, and they—we think it would be best if you flew up to see Rachel."
Quinn's eyes flew up to meet her mother's, incredulous. As accepting as Devon had been of Quinn's relationship with Rachel, Quinn had never expected any such acceptance from the same woman who allowed Mr. Fabray to throw Quinn out for being pregnant.
"What?" she said in a small voice.
Mrs. Fabray sighed, rubbing her hand over her eyes tiredly. "Quinn, I've made so many mistakes in your life that I don't want to even try and count them," she said. "Most of them were following blindly with what your father, and my father, and all of their friends, said was 'right', and I don't want to keep making those mistakes. While I… well, I don't understand what's going on with you and Rachel. If you're a—a lesbian or something. But I do know that you're my daughter, and I almost lost you twice, and I don't want to risk a third strike." She squared her shoulders, the movement identical to every time Quinn did the same thing. "I've been around Rachel and Paul and Eric enough in the past months to know that they all love you, maybe better than your father or I ever did, and that's something that you deserve. If Rachel makes you happy, then, well, I'll learn to deal with that."
Quinn stared at her dumbly, the pain in her cheek and dried tear tracks on her skin forgotten.
"Mom," she said weakly. Her mouth hung open as she tried desperately to push through the shock that was clouding her mind.
"There's nothing you need to say," Mrs. Fabray said. "You're not the one who's done something wrong, Quinn. I have, and now I'm trying to fix it." She moved to sit down next to Quinn, a hand on her daughter's knee. "I love you, Quinn. You're my baby girl and you deserve all the happiness that I never got, to get out of this town and live the life you want. I won't stand in the way of that."
Quinn felt her eyes well up again, and her throat closed up as she leaned over and wrapped her arms around her mother tightly, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep from crying into her mother's shoulder.
When she finally pulled away, Mrs. Fabray smiled and pushed Quinn's hair back from her face. Her fingers hovered over the bruise and her jaw tightened, but she said nothing about it. "Come on," she said. "Pack a bag. Paul's printing off your ticket, you need to get to the airport."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," she confirmed. She stood, pulling Quinn to her feet as well. "We all know that we aren't what you need right now," she said. "Rachel is what got you through things after you left the hospital, and she'll be what helps you the most now."
"What are you going to do?" Quinn asked hesitantly, stuffing clothes and a book and her computer and iPod haphazardly into an overnight bag. Her hand hovered for a split second over the prayer book, her cheek throbbing, but she grabbed it anyways, placing it delicately in the bag atop a handful of t-shirts.
Mrs. Fabray hesitated, her hands stilling as she folded a sweatshirt. "I think I'll go see Devon," she said. "I haven't been out there since they moved."
"When will you be back?" Quinn hated how childish she sounded, and busied herself with wrapping up the power cord to her laptop.
"I don't know," Mrs. Fabray said quietly. "I need to figure out what I'm going to do about your father."
There was a knock on the door, and Paul stood in the doorway, car keys in one hand and a printed out boarding pass in the other.
"About ready?" he said, his voice soft. Quinn's chest ached, and she fought the overwhelming urge to cross the room and throw herself back into his arms, to feel the comforting weight of him holding her, so similar to every time Rachel had wrapped an arm around her waist.
"Yeah," she said. She hoisted her bag, reaching out and taking her mother's hand automatically. She bit her lip before speaking again, looking over at her mother hesitantly. "Will you come to the airport?"
"Of course," Mrs. Fabray said. She squeezed Quinn's hand, and they followed Paul down the stairs. By the car, Eric took her bag and set it in the trunk, hugging her tightly before she got in the car. Quinn winced at the bruised and swollen knuckles on his hand, and he scoffed, shaking his head.
"Thank you," she whispered, hugging him again and burying her forehead in his shoulder for a moment.
"Of course," he said softly, his uninjured hand stroking along her hair momentarily, just like Rachel did so often.
Quinn cleared her throat as she stepped back, sick of crying, and he smiled at her once more.
"Rachel will be there to pick you up," he said, opening the door for her and Mrs. Fabray. "And you come back on Tuesday. And," he added, holding up a hand to cut off her question. "We'll handle your psychotic coach. Or, at the very least, get Santana to handle her, since she's probably more equipped than we could ever be."
"Thank you," she said again, voice tight as she buckled her seatbelt. He smiled at her as he closed the door, and she automatically curled up in the seat, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knee tiredly. The clock on the dashboard flashed to life as Paul started the car, and she could hardly believe that it was just a few minutes past ten in the morning. The past hours felt like an immeasurable swath of time.
The drive to the airport was taken in silence, so very different from the same drive Quinn had taken with Rachel a month earlier, with only the sound of the radio playing softly echoing throughout the car. At the airport, Quinn walked with her head down, her face flushing in shame as she was certain that every person who walked by her was staring at the bruise that was flourishing over her cheekbone. Paul and her mother stood close to her, one holding her hand and the other with an arm around her waist to support her, until it was her turn to go into the security checkpoint. She clung to her mother tightly, hot tears melting down onto Mrs. Fabray's shirt, before accepting a gentle kiss on the forehead and a smile as she turned to hug Paul. He held her just as tightly, staying silent as she mumbled a strangled good-bye.
Once she was through security, she turned and waved tiredly at them. They returned her wave, and Quinn, determined even in exhaustion and a emotional quagmire to not leave looking pathetic, straightened her shoulders and offered a smile to them. Even from a distance, she saw pride flash across her mother's face, and Quinn slowly made her way towards her gate, pleased that she had at least managed that much.
Throughout the flight to Chicago, Quinn sat curled up in her seat, turned towards the window, headphones in and faking sleep anytime a flight attendant or the woman she was sitting next to tried to speak to her. She felt distant and numb, as if the entire day was a dream; she grasped to that idea tightly, unwilling to acknowledge the fact that whatever slim chance she and father may have had at reconciliation had vanished the second he called Rachel a trollop and been absolutely decimated further when he hit her.
She touched her fingertips to her cheek gently, prodding experimentally at the bruise under her eye. Her fingers trembled at the memory of the anger in his eyes when he'd grabbed her, an out-of-control fury that she had never seen in him before; she remembered the flash of regret that had slipped through the moment he had hit her, the obvious strain in his voice when he'd insisted that he could never hate her, and her chest started to ache more than her bruised face.
She shook off the memories as the plane started its descent, physically shaking herself in preparation—head, shoulders, hands—as if the systematic movement would shock her awake from the dream-like state she felt suspended in. She smiled tightly at the sympathetic look the woman sitting next to her offered and busied herself with making sure she had everything packed into her backpack, even though she hadn't taken anything out of it the whole flight.
Slowly, she made her way through the unfamiliar airport, deliberately not turning her phone back on as she followed the maze of signs towards the baggage claim. Before going down the stairs to where she knew Rachel would be waiting for her, she ducked into a bathroom, commandeering a corner of the sinks, thankful that there were only two other women in the room.
Sighing, she stared at herself in the mirror. Dark circles underlined both her eyes, a product of the exhaustion that had fallen impossibly on her shoulders since that morning. A faint bruise spread along her left cheekbone, faint but visible lines from her father's fingers crossing under the discolored skin. She knew, from experience and the countless bruises she'd earned from tumbling off of sloppily-constructed cheerleading pyramids, that it wasn't going to get any worse, and was probably going to be invisible within a day, maybe two at most.
Even so, the urge to cry shoved darkly up from her chest, a strangled half-sob escaping before she got one hand up to cover her mouth. She leaned on the counter heavily, shoulders slumped, and tried desperately to compose herself. Distantly, she was aware of the other two women in the bathroom, her mother's age and traveling together, looking at her apprehensively, one of them clearly torn between leaving and coming over to try and comfort her.
Clenching her jaw together, Quinn swallowed the desire to cry and pushed up from the countertop, straightening her shoulders instinctively. The past year had seen her spending far too much time crying in public bathrooms, and she refused to continue with the trend when there were no more pregnancy hormones to blame. She grabbed a paper towel out of the dispenser, dampening it in the sink and wiping her face carefully, until the tear tracks were completely gone, her skin tingling. Pausing to dry her face, she shouldered her backpack and picked up her overnight bag, took one final look in the mirror to assure herself that, even if she looked battered, she wasn't broken, and then walked briskly out of the bathroom.
Her determination lasted until she found Rachel waiting anxiously at the baggage claim, standing childishly atop one of the benches to scan over the top of the crowd. Quinn's stomach clenched as she made her way over to Rachel, and she dropped her bags as Rachel leapt gracefully off the chair to wrap her arms suffocatingly tightly around Quinn's waist.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, holding Quinn tightly. "I'm so sorry." She pulled back slightly, her jaw clenching visibly as her eyes scanned over Quinn's face. Quinn ducked her head down, pressing her forehead against Rachel's shoulder, ashamed of the bruise under her eye.
"I'm sorry," she said spontaneously into Rachel's shoulder. "I didn't mean to ruin your weekend."
"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel said. "Getting to see you, regardless of the circumstances, is hardly ruining my weekend." She stepped back, forcing Quinn to look at her. "Honestly."
"Thank you," Quinn mumbled, head ducking down tiredly again at the stares they were attracting from the ruder travelers. "Can we go?"
"Absolutely," Rachel said. She picked up Quinn's overnight bag, and Quinn dragged her backpack up to her shoulder, and they started hand-in-hand out to find a taxi.
They sat huddled together on a bench, waiting for the crowds to die down before they could get a cab. Quinn leaned against Rachel the whole time, knowing and not caring a whit that she was demolishing every iota of independence and strength she had so carefully rebuilt and infused in herself in the past weeks. Rachel was tense and silent, one hand clenching Quinn's and the other tucked securely around her waist.
Rachel moved suddenly, jumping as her phone vibrated. Quinn grumbled sleepily, her head on Rachel's shoulder and eyes blissfully shut, as Rachel read the text message and snorted.
"What?"
"Santana," Rachel said, as if that explained everything.
Quinn took a deep breath. "What did she do?"
Rachel hesitated. "Are you sure you want to know? Sometimes ignorance is bliss." Her hand lifted up, fingers tangling absently in the ends of Quinn's hair.
"I'll find out somehow," Quinn said with a half-shrug.
"Fair enough," Rachel said. She sighed. "She… she told Finn and Puck."
Quinn bolted upright, drawing a surprised squeak out of Rachel, staring with wide eyes at the brunette. "Oh, God," she groaned. "Please tell me they aren't in jail."
"No," Rachel said quickly. Her eyes flicked over Quinn's shoulder, and she hopped up suddenly to flag a taxi that had appeared. Quinn followed her wearily into the cab, slumping on the cracked vinyl with a sigh.
"They didn't do anything stupid and violent, did they?" Quinn asked after a few minutes of silent driving.
"No," Rachel said. "According to Santana they—hold on." She fumbled for her bejeweled phone, finding the text message. "Egged his car and slashed his tires and—oh." Her eyes widened.
"Oh what?"
"They, uh," Rachel said slowly. "Well, it wasn't violent."
"What did they do, Rach?"
"She just said they 'scared the hell out of him'. I don't know exactly what that entails, but Puck is prone to setting things on fire, so I'm a little weary."
"God," Quinn mumbled. "I really hope they don't get arrested." She sighed tiredly, slumping against Rachel. Even in her frustration with her friends' tendencies towards dramatic action, she couldn't deny that it was nice to know that they were watching out for her.
The rest of the cab ride passed with Quinn leaning against Rachel, staring out the windows at a city she'd never seen before. Rachel's dorm was, Quinn noted with relief, mostly empty as they made their way up to the fourth floor.
"Where's your roommate?" Quinn asked, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"Home for the weekend," Rachel said. She toed her shoes off and placed them primly in the closet. "She goes back to see her boyfriend every weekend."
"Right," Quinn said absently.
Rachel moved to sit on the edge of her bed, pulling Quinn down to sit next to her. "Will you tell me what happened?" she asked softly, fingers twined with Quinn's gently.
"Didn't Paul or Eric tell you?"
"None of the details," Rachel said. She bit her lip. "I've never heard Daddy so angry before. He just told me that your father showed up and there was a huge fight and things got bad."
Quinn sighed, staring down at their enjoined hands. "He found out from one of the Cheerios' parents that Puck was the father, and about you and me dating. He… he said he didn't know what was worse, that I got pregnant by a Jewish boy or that I was dating a girl." She deliberately avoided the hateful names he had called Rachel, the swell of protective instinct rising once more and leaving her unwilling to voice them.
"He said he was going to send me away," she went on slowly. "So I could be fixed. He—he grabbed me and I was trying to get away and he just… I don't know." She stood from the bed, nervous energy suddenly filling her veins, and started to pace up and down the small room. "I was trying to get him to let go and my mom was trying to help and Eric was trying to get him to let go of me without anyone getting hurt and he just… I don't know, I didn't even see it coming, but I heard this slap and my whole face hurt and everything just… stopped." She wrung her hands together, eyes wide and focused on the ceiling as she tried not to cry again.
"He looked guilty," she whispered. "Right after he did it. He was still yelling, but it was like it was more instinctive, like his heart wasn't in it."
"Quinn," Rachel said sharply. "Don't try to excuse what he did."
"But—"
"No!" Rachel said, leaping to her feet. "Quinn, he hit you. He is your father, and he'd already thrown you out of your home, which is inexcusable, and then he hit you. There is no possible way to justify it."
"I know," Quinn muttered. "I just… he's really gone now, you know? And I'm so angry with him and I want to hit him for the things he said, so I kind of understand how it happened." She flushed guiltily. "I was going to hit him, but Paul stopped me. Barely. And Eric did hit him."
"Daddy hit someone?" Rachel said incredulously. "My daddy punched someone?" She stared at Quinn dumbly, and Quinn felt the edges of a smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah," she said. "Hard. He might have knocked a few teeth loose."
"Oh, goodness," Rachel mumbled. She shook her head. "What did he say that made Daddy hit him?"
Quinn clenched her jaw, shaking her head even as her chin slumped down. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered darkly.
"Was it really that bad?" Rachel asked. Her voice was hesitant, more so than the situation warranted, and Quinn glanced up at her to see a pained look stretching across her features. Her hands clenched one, resting tensely atop the plaid material of her skirt, and Quinn could see where her fingernails were digging into her skin.
"No," she lied smoothly, desperate to steer the conversation away. Swallowing her discomfort, she moved to sit back down next to Rachel. "Can we just not talk about it? Please?" She reached out tentatively, fingers sliding over the back of Rachel's hands.
"Of course," Rachel said after a moment. She flashed a tight smile at Quinn and unwound her fingers, turning one palm up to grip Quinn's hand. She shifted, turning to sit facing Quinn; her forced smile faltered as her eyes darted immediately to the bruise under Quinn's eye.
Her free hand rose from where it was resting, coming towards Quinn, and Quinn instinctively jerked back, shoulders tightening defensively.
Rachel gaped at her, unmasked hurt radiating out of her eyes, and Quinn stared back, self loathing pushing through the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping out of her heart.
"Oh, my God," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Rachel said automatically. "I just… really, it's okay. Just… let me, please?" When Quinn remained silent, staring wide-eyed at her, Rachel raised her hand once more and reached forward, fingertips brushing gently over the bruised skin. Quinn clenched her hands atop her legs, holding as still as she could, as Rachel's fingers traced over the miniscule cut, the bluish tinge marring her pale skin.
"Thank you," Rachel mumbled, dropping her hand finally. She took a deep breath, looking down at her knees.
"You're welcome," Quinn said, voice soft, more out of instinct than any actual understanding of why Rachel felt the need to thank her. She stifled a yawn, unbearably fatigued after the flight and the cab ride and her horribly eventful Saturday morning.
"Can I take a nap?" The words slipped out before she realized it, and only after did she note how terribly childish they sounded. She blushed and smiled shyly when Rachel grinned at her, unexpected amounts of relief rolling out of her.
"Of course," Rachel said brightly. She hopped up, taking Quinn's bags and setting them ceremoniously on the floor by the closet before turning back and pulling Quinn to her feet gently in order to pull back the meticulously-tucked blankets.
"Thanks," Quinn mumbled, toeing off her shoes and slumping tiredly down onto the bed to curl up. Rachel pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, a minute trembling in her fingers evident as she smoothed her hands over the blanket, down the length of Quinn's arm.
"Of course," Rachel said again. "I have some reading I need to do, but if you need anything, just ask."
"Okay," Quinn said sleepily, already halfway asleep. She burrowed deeper into the pillow, inhaling the familiar smell of oranges, and yawned once more. "Thanks, love."
She felt a feather-light brush of fingers on her bruised cheek once more, then of Rachel kissing her forehead gently. A chair scraped against the faux-hardwood floors as Rachel settled down for her reading, and Quinn drifted the rest of the way off to sleep to the sound of Rachel absently humming.