A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! (: Your kind words are coming at a good time & mean a lot.

Er, the end of this chapter gets kinda graphic (the rape scene). Just a forewarning!

Previously:

The blonde exhaled. "I know. It's a really good offer for a girl like me."

"I've never treated you like a prostitute," Rachel said quietly, and got up to take a shower.

Quinn waited until the water was running to get changed. "You just did."

Quinn heard the phone ring from the balcony and leapt off the ledge, skidding on the kitchen tile to reach it. On its fourth ring she hesitated, hand hovering above. Rachel had said not to answer it. But what if it was important?

Cursing under her breath she yanked the telephone from its cradle and pressed it against her ear. "Hello?"

"It's Kurt Hummel here, Miss Fabray." He paused, and she could hear a lot of noise carry across the line. "Could you come down to the front desk? There's someone here who wants to speak to you."

Quinn's brow furrowed.

"She says her name is Miss Lopez-"

"Let me talk to her," Quinn rushed out, heart bursting at the name. "Let me-let me just talk to her."

She heard a sigh and then rustling.

"Ey Q. Would you come down here? The sphincter police won't let me through." Santana shot Kurt an annoyed look, who reflected it back at her. He'd have had her thrown out before she set foot in the lobby if Quinn hadn't crept on his good side.

He saw the Latina nod. When she extended the phone he took it. "Okay. She's on her way."

Kurt sighed, hoping they'd both be gone soon. "Fine." He handed her the envelope of cash, and she tucked it into her bra.

They stared each other down, Kurt expecting her to walk away and Santana expecting him to leave her in peace. She was just here to get the money her girl had promised her and go, but of course the pig had to call for permission and extend the whole ordeal.

"Mr. Hummel?" A man appeared at the manager's side, looking between the two.

"Yes?" Kurt answered without breaking the glare.

"The window washer is refusing to come down."

He groaned, muttering under his breath about Saturdays and damn unions. He held a hand up, gesturing to Santana. "Wait here, please."

The Latina shrugged, tapping her fingers against the linoleum countertop.

The manager turned to the receptionist. "Watch her."

Santana rolled her eyes as the woman behind the desk nodded. "Yes, sir."

A man crossing the lobby caught sight of the Latina and nudged his wife, who pulled him closer to her. His eyes unconsciously wandered, drawing in all of the hooker's curves. When he reached her eyesight again, he was faced with a sultry smirk that stopped him in his tracks.

Santana leaned back against the counter, pretending to inspect her nails. Calling out loudly to the man, she said, "Fifty bucks, Grandpa."

The man's mouth dropped open, and his wife's eyes narrowed. Santana held up her hands, eyebrows raising in amusement. "For a hundred the wife can watch."

The offended couple stalked off towards the elevator, the doors sliding open just in time to whisk them away. Quinn stepped out into the lobby, glancing over her shoulder at the husband and wife that almost knocked her over in their rush to escape. She followed the man's line of sight to see Santana, leaning back and surveying the hotel entrance with a hardened stare and tight jaw. The blonde flashed back to her first night at the place, at the embarrassment endured as she waited for the brunette to check in. She should have just had Kurt send Santana up.

She paused a few feet away, watching as the Latina straightened up. "I've been calling you."

Santana's gaze dropped. "Yeah, I know. They told me at the Banana you were lookin' for me."

"You were supposed to come by Tuesday." Quinn crossed her arms. "I left the money at the desk."

"I was dodging that ass Israel," Santana said defensively.

"Well, if you picked up the money, you wouldn't have to hide," Quinn said pointedly.

"I was busy. I had a life," Santana said, and paused, gaze flicking back up to meet Quinn's. "Nino got beat up." The blonde's eyes widened. "We had to visit him in the hospital, Tina got arrested. It was a mess."

Quinn frowned, and nodded for the Latina to follow her outside. She'd missed that much in a week? And here she had thought her biggest problem was deciding whether or not to kiss a certain brunette. At least San had made it through another week.

Another week, another day. Another month, another year. Achievements on the street came in time increments.

They walked a few blocks in silence, before Santana spoke up again.

"Anyway, I got the money. Thank you very much for saving my ass. Now Israel can get off of it." Santana glanced over at her friend. "You know, he was talking about you last night.

He would bust something if he saw you in this outfit."

Quinn huffed and rolled her eyes, subconsciously tugging at the hem of the striped shirt. "It's just clothes."

Santana bumped their shoulders, snorting. "I was afraid to hug you up there. I might wrinkle you!"

The blonde slowed to a stop, and the Latina walked a few paces before realizing it. When she turned, Quinn's gaze was fixed on the ground, fists bunched up in her pockets. "Q?"

The blonde exhaled, feeling her nostrils flare a little. She forced herself to meet her roommate's stare. "I thought you'd become another chalk outline."

Santana took a small step closer. "Hey, come on."

Quinn threw her hands up. "I don't understand why you couldn't return the call! It's a simple task. Even you can figure it out."

"Q, would you-"

"I was worried, okay?" Her arms hung limp at her sides. "I didn't like it."

Santana gave her a small smile, speaking up after a beat. "Look, Q, I've been turning tricks much longer than you have. I know how to roll away from the punches." She reached out, placing a light hand on the blonde's arm. "How'd you think I felt when you first started? You were like a little sister to me."

Quinn hummed, shrugging.

"But, you know. We take care of each other."

"Yeah, I guess." The blonde shook her head to clear it. "Sorry, for uhm, getting all irrational."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no problem. But you owe me an ice cream." Quinn laughed, and stepped into line at a cart close by. The Latina followed her lead, and took one of the cones out of her hand when she handed over the cash.

She turned to the blonde, muttering, "You look really good." She shook her head when Quinn went to sit on a bench. "No, something in the shade."

"Over there?" Quinn pointed to an awning.

Santana nodded, licking the ice cream. "You clean up real nice. You sure don't fit in down on the Boulevard lookin' like you do, not that you ever did."

Quinn laughed. "Well, thanks, but it's easy to clean up when you got money."

"Yeah." The Latina hummed her agreement, staring down passersby. She cleared her throat. "So, when does she leave?"

Quinn hesitated. "Tomorrow."

"You get to keep the clothes?"

"Yeah," she said, and paused. "Rachel asked me if I wanted to see her again. But I think, I think definitely no. It's just another week, right?"

Santana titled her head, taking in the woman beside her. "Definitely no?" She repeated.

Quinn focused on her cone. "Yeah."

"Oh, no."

"What?" Quinn asked, gaze flying up to her roommate's narrowed eyes.

"I know this weepy look on your face," She said, gesturing with her free hand.

The blonde frowned. "Oh, no, you don't!"

"You fell in love with her."

"No!" Quinn protested, but her voice fell flat. "S, please. Stop it."

"You've fallen in love with her?" San asked incredulously.

"Santana!"

The Latina looked back out at the street. "Did you kiss her? On the mouth?"

Quinn hesitated. "Uh, yeah, I did."

"You kissed her on the mouth?"

"I did," the blonde confirmed, trying to shrug it off. "It was nice."

Santana snorted. "You fall in love with her, and you kiss her on the mouth. Did I not teach you anything?"

The blonde huffed. "Look, I'm not stupid, okay? I-I'm not in love with her."

The Latina quirked an eyebrow.

"I just—I like her," Quinn conceded.

"You like her?"

"Yeah."

"You definitely like her," Santana mocked. She finished off the ice cream cone, crunching a bit before continuing. "Well, she's not a bum. She's a rich, classy chick."

Quinn chuckled humorlessly. "Who's gonna break my heart, right?"

"Oh, no. Come on. You don't know that." Santana glanced at her friend, knowing her feelings were a lot stronger than she'd admit. She wanted to go hammer in this chick's face right about now, making her girl feel this way. "Hey, she asked you, right? Maybe you guys could, like, um, you know, get a house together. Like, buy some diamonds and a horse. I don't know." She shrugged. "Anyway, it could work. It happens."

"When does it happen, San?" Quinn snorted, walking back down the street. "When does it really happen? Who does it really work out for? Did it work out for Skinny Marie or Tina? No!"

Santana sighed. "Those were very specific cases of crackheads."

"I just wanna know who it works out for," Quinn snapped. "You give me one example of somebody that we know that it happened for."

"Name someone?"

"Yeah, one person that it worked out for."

Santana caught Quinn's arm, forcing her to slow down. "You want me to give you a name or something."

"Yeah."

"Oh, God, the pressure of a name," Santana said, rolling her head back. She popped it back up after a moment of thought, smirking. "Cinder-fuckin'-rella."

Quinn sighed, brushing past her on the sidewalk.

"Oh, come on, Q!"

Finn stepped in front of the brunette, opening the door for her. He shut it behind them, smiling at the conference table filled with Schuster's people. At the head sat Will, to his right, David. Both their eyes were centered on the little star.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, ignoring Finn's encouraging nod. She took a step towards the table and clasped her hands. She took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, I'd like to speak to Mr. Schuster alone."

The men looked towards their boss, for a direct order. The older man leaned back in his chair, head cocking to the side in curiosity. After a moment, he nodded. "All right, gentlemen, you heard her. Please wait outside."

"Thank you," the brunette said. She felt Finn move closer behind her, and turned to address him. "You too, Finn."

He chuckled nervously. "What do you mean?"

Rachel's eyebrows rose in annoyance. "I mean I would like to speak to Mr. Schuster alone."

"Why does he get to stay?" Finn protested.

"Please," Rachel said, narrowing her gaze.

He hesitated, then jerked a thumb towards the door. "I'll be right outside."

Rachel nodded. "Good."

Finally left alone, Rachel smiled at the man. "Is that better?"

"It's all right," he said, winking. They'd discussed a private meeting earlier, without all the politics, but knew they wouldn't be able to shake off their hounds beforehand.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Will nodded. "Black."

Rachel poured a cup and set it in front of him, taking David's empty chair. "Mr. Schuster, my interests in your mission have changed."

"What is it you're after now, ?"

"Well, I no longer wish to half-ass this project. If you plan on returning Hollywood to its previous glamour, I'll help you gain a standing. I still believe in getting David an education on film, directing, acting, and the likes. He'll be furthering the legacy you both leave, and it'll come in handy."

She paused. "Hollywood has lost its art. And I think your visions can bring it back. I want to help you."

He glanced at her. "Why?"

"Mr. Schuster, I think we can do something very special with your knowledge, funding, and drive. It's obviously something that means a lot to both of you, and I've just started dreaming again. I'll bring all my contacts, connections, and sponsors aboard with your ideals."

Will shook his head, smiling. "I find this hard to say without sounding condescending, but... I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," Rachel said, patting his hand. She looked over at the door. "I think we can let in the other suits now."

He nodded, and she got up to open the door. "Let's continue the meeting. Come in, gentlemen. Sit down."

Finn lunged at her. "Rachel, please, what was this all about? Hmm?"

"It's all yours, Finn," she said, smiling sweetly. "Finish it up."

He raced towards the papers on the desk, grabbing them. "Hold it. Hold it. These aren't signed!"

Rachel shut the door behind her, smirking as Finn's frantic shouts carried through the wall. "These aren't signed! Could someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

She stepped out into the street, pausing. A breeze swept her hair to the side. She closed her eyes against the sun, and addressed Darryl. "You know, I think I'm gonna go for a walk. Just stay here for a while. I'll be back."

"Yes, Ms. Berry."

The doorbell chimed, and Quinn hopped off the couch, bounding over.

Drawing back the door, she stood face to face with none other than Finn Hudson, the sleazy, overly-large lawyer. Seriously, he barely fit through the doorway, but he pushed her aside anyway, ignoring her protest. She caught a light whiff of alcohol on him and scrunched her nose.

"Well, well. Hello again." He gave her a crooked smile. "I'm looking for Rachel."

Quinn stood at the door, confused. "Rachel's not here. I thought she was with you."

"No. Uh, Rachel is definitely not with me." He chuckled. "No, if Rachel were with me—When. Actually, when... Rachel was with me, she didn't blow off millions of dollars in sponsor money!" He moved into the kitchen, taking out a glass. "I think that, uh, Rachel's with you. That's what I think."

Quinn frowned and moved to sit on the sofa. What was Finnept babbling about? What had Rachel done?

"Mind if I have a drink?"

Quinn shook her head absentmindedly. "No."

He lumbered over, offering her a glass.

She smiled politely at him. "No, thank you."

He shrugged, and knocked it back. "Well, I'll just wait."

Noticing his close proximity, the blonde shifted. "Uh, Rachel will be back soon. Any minute, she'll be home."

Finn sat down next to her, chuckling. "You know, this is not home. This is, uh, a hotel room. And, uh, you are not... the little woman." He snickered, and laid a clammy, large paw on her upper thigh. He leaned closer. "You're a hooker. Maybe you're a very good hooker, you know?"

He gulped down the other glass, and the blonde sat straight, frozen in place. He wrapped the other arm behind her, weighing down her shoulders. "Maybe if I do you, then I wouldn't care about losing millions of dollars. Because I have to be very honest with you."

Finn inched his hand higher up. "Right now, Quinn, right now I really do care. I really do. And right now I am really pissed, you know? Right now I am just freaking out. So maybe if I screw you, huh, and take you to the opera, then I could be a happy guy, just like Rachel."

Reaching her belt, he pulled at it. It was just the movement needed to yank Quinn from her shock, and she shoved at him, jumping up.

He tugged her back down, but she rolled off the couch; Finn followed her, pinning her against the ground. She squirmed under his weight, breath coming in quick gasps. "Hey, get off me!"

"Hey, hey!" Finn grunted, ripping off his own belt. "Goddamn it!"

She yelped as he knelt on her leg by accident. "Ow!"

He swore and shifted his weight so he straddled her lower body, pants unbuttoned. "Come on! Come on! I'll pay for it."

"Get off me!" she shrieked, eyes widening and vision blurring when he managed to tug down her pants a little.

"How much is it? Twenty bucks, thirty bucks?"

His smirk etched firmly in her mind, haunting her even as she screwed her eyes shut. "Get off me! Get off me!"

He seemed to be everywhere, invading every sense. She could certainly feel him, his heat and his clammy hands and hardening dick. She could smell the alcohol rolling off him in waves. She could see him and his intentions, though she wished she'd seen them earlier. She could hear his panting, his gruff voice. She could taste the fear he caused.

"Fifty? You an expensive whore, Quinn?" He taunted, further settling on her. His breath splayed out across her face, and her throat ran dry. It was happening.

It was happening, it was happening.

"What are you doing?" A distant voice screamed. "Get off!"

It was happening, it was happening. It was happening.

"Oh, come on!"

It w-was happening.

"Stop. I don't want to hurt you!" The voice was clearer now, closer. "Stop it!"

"You already did, Rachel!"

It was happening, it was happ-happening.

"Out. Out of here."

It was happening, i-it was happening.

She heard Finn cry out in pain and the weight crushing her was suddenly gone, as if it had vaporized. The blonde clutched at her chest, feeling as if it was too tight, much too tight. The skin over her heart was bound too tight, stretching as the stressed organ pounded against it.

"All right, all right. Look, she's a whore, Berry. She's a goddamn—Aagh! Damn."

"Out!"

"Shit, I think you broke my nose."

"Get outta here," the voice growled. She could make out a small silhouette hovering above her. The pressure in her chest lessened slightly to a harsh cramp, and her lungs drew in labored, panicked breaths.

"What is wrong with you? Come on, Rachel! I gave you ten years!" He whined. "I devoted my whole life to you!"

"That's bullshit! This is such bullshit! It's the kill you love, not me!" The tiny person huffed. "I made you a very rich man doing exactly what you loved." Something slammed against the far wall, causing the blonde to flinch. "Now get out of here! Get out!"

The words echoed in her mind, her vision clouding over.

Get out, get out. It's happening.

A/N: Sorry to end there _

Also—what do you guys want to see in an epilogue?