Day 95

It was surprisingly hot, although the sun was not out in full view. Quinn had noticed that the clouds were thinning – the environment was shifting – the colossal change in atmosphere now reaching what she hoped was a semi-normal condition. Although there would never be a world like the one they had grown up in, and would forever miss, they could build a new one.

The Manhattan Islanders and Santana's "family" were on the long trek to new land. While it had taken the small recon group five days to reach their plotted-out destination, their numbers were at least tripled now, and therefore it would take even longer. Not everyone could walk six hours a day, go with little water and only dried jerky. Velma had estimated it would take them ten days to arrive to the area Quinn and Jupiter had found. In the society they had come from, ten days would have been a ridiculous amount of time to travel such a short distance. Ten days was almost an entire paycheck, half a month's rent.

Velma had been formulating theories as to what caused the demise of such a large portion of humanity and the rapid growth of flora. In normal circumstances, whole buildings would not be swallowed by massive, Tolkien-esque trees, then again when faced with the reality, Quinn hadn't questioned it. It was what it was, what really mattered was how to survive and thrive in these new circumstances. As always, the human instinct to adapt overtook the desire to know why until you were comfortable enough in your survival to question. It wasn't until the core group – Velma, Jupiter, Apollo, Santana, Brittany, Rachel, and Quinn – were settled around a fire the second night of the trek that Velma began to share a theory she'd been formulating with Apollo. Not only was Apollo great with electronics, but he was downright genius when it came to environmental physics. Quinn idly wondered what kind of life he would have had – if the world had not gone to hell.

"Carbon monoxide," Velma stated, jerky hanging from her teeth before she sucked it in and ate noisily. Her buggy eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening. "We all learned about that. Trees breathe in and flourish on carbon dioxide. Humans, however, die if exposed to too much carbon monoxide."

As if on cue, Apollo jumped in, "Normally, trees expel carbon dioxide so there's no problem. Humans can withstand carbon dioxide in small amounts because we breathe it out naturally. Carbon dioxide is turned to carbon monoxide when there's not enough oxygen."

"Over time, humanity has started to pollute the atmosphere with so many chemicals and we've done so much damage to nature that it couldn't right itself anymore. Same with trees. They could survive as they always had, and having no conscience it's not as if nature decided to wipe us out – we just couldn't cope with the changes we created." Velma finished here, and looked self-satisfied.

Santana frowned, "Okay, but why are trees all fucking giant?"

"The trees are thriving. There isn't an equal exchange anymore. Like … if we were on a see-saw with nature, it was even before. It's not even anymore. Nature can soak up all the resources humanity would have before," Apollo answered this one, exchanged a glance with Velma. "It's just a theory anyway."

"A good one," the bug-eyed girl nodded.

Quinn frowned, glanced around them. "I mean it's as good as any. I guess I never really … questioned why."

"I have," Rachel was staring into the fire with a troubled gaze. "Why did only some of us survive?"

"Some people survive carbon monoxide poisoning. If a pipe leaks and exposes a whole family, sometimes one person only suffers mild symptoms. We," Velma motioned around them and at the larger group, "all suffered sickness at first, but that was the extent of it."

"Does this mean bugs are going to get really big now?" Brittany questioned as she looked up from the knife in Jupiter's hand, which happened to have a surprising etching of a duck on it.

Velma laughed, but Apollo shrugged, "It's possible. There was a period in which the ruling species were mostly oversized bugs and the average mammal was the size of a mouse."

After this, the group sat in silence.

"I really hope bugs don't get very big," everyone's gaze turned toward Rachel, who shrunk at the attention for a moment, "I tend to get rather frightened of even the smallest ones."

Quinn grinned, slipped her hand to Rachel's lap and squeezed her thigh gently. They might be amidst the end of the world as they knew it, but some things never changed.

Day 97

Some people were not as equipped to handle long-distance walking. As a result, the group had split into two, with a detachment of Santana's best leading them about a mile or two back. The group, for people mostly under 30, was however surprisingly equipped to handle survival. Nature could not make a species that was not meant for survival.

Quinn read footprints alongside Santana. They both had picked up a knowledge of the art in a short amount of time, and they both voiced privately concerns that groups of bandits were moving in on territory they had explored previously. Likely there were handfuls of survivors that would break off and join the bandits, especially the more adventurous and impressionable young. From the footprints, they would be moving into a high-traffic area for whoever had left footprints days before them. Quinn hadn't noticed the footprints the last time around, but of course she really hadn't been looking. Likely the food source (feral cows now left in the wilds) was a draw for these bandits. They'd all have to be very careful, and Santana's men and women more vigilant.

Rachel jogged up to the pair after noonday sun fell behind the shadow of looming wilds in front of them. "A fight ..." she panted, and Quinn's hand darted to Rachel's arm and squeezed, concern knotting her brows, "two of the younger."

Not needing another word, Santana radioed Duckie and bolted. Quinn leaned in, impulsively pressing her lips to Rachel's in a semi-desperate parting kiss. She also took note of the surprised and glazed way Rachel looked after her as she turned on heel and ran after Santana. She arrived to the back of the group just as Santana was sweeping her foot at the ankle of some 17 year old who had been picking a fight. The kid was good at fighting, however young, because he was holding his ground against Santana's seasoned skills. Quick as a cat, Santana dislodged the boy's grip around her waist, spun in the grasp, and caught the left side of his head with her right elbow. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the Latina kneed him in the groin for good measure. She shoved the groaning boy to the ground and pressed the butt of her gun against his throat. He coughed up blood, clenched his eyes shut, and gagged as the butt pressed against his esophagus.

"Santana!" Quinn called, seeing her friend's rage getting out of control. There was a small cut above Santana's eyebrow, likely the reason she was irritated with the kid. "If there's damage he could choke to death on his own blood," her feet were moving before she knew, and she was gently shoving Santana backward. "Duckie," she motioned to Brittany, who passed off the other offending party to Jupiter. They lifted the injured boy to his feet.

"Fucking faggot," the kid choked out. Several people spoke out in defense of the other kid Brittany had been holding.

Renewed, Santana surged forward. Santana with a gun was a risk - well, really, with any kind of weapon was a risk. She caught the bigot's jaw with a left-hook, leaving his jaw visibly dislocated. They'd have to pop that back into place. Quinn flinched.

"Jesus, Santana!" Her tone was more surprised than harsh, though there were undertones of disapproval.

Duckie frowned, "Don't use that word."

The kid groaned. "Fuck off. All of you." At least, that's the words Quinn could best discern from his dislocated jaw.

They tried, after some time, to ignore his goading. Two hours after the confrontation, however, he had tried to steal one of the escort's guns, and coincidentally was left behind by the group, to be killed, discarded, or recruited by the bandits.

Santana's ears didn't stop smoking until they made camp later that night.

Day 98

It was markedly quieter, yesterday's confrontation all behind them. There had been no call to the forward-group about a boy left behind, so likely he had crawled off somewhere shortly after their leaving him. Quinn had discharged Santana for the day, offering to take over her duties. The kid had landed a bruising blow to the Latina's ribs, and left her too sore to stay ahead of everyone.

Rachel, armed with a small hand-gun slinged across her hip, walked beside Quinn that day. It was a good day. The blonde often found herself watching the way Rachel's military-issue boots crunched the ground below them, a half-smile permanently etched on her lips.

There hadn't been a lot of time for any affection or growth of what had occured shortly before the group had left - their little "first date" - so it was still the little moments that made Quinn's heart flutter. Sometimes Rachel would brush her hand across Quinn's arm when she spoke, or she'd catch hazel eyes with brown and play with Quinn the way a cat would its prey. Sometime after noonday sun fell, Rachel's hand slipped into Quinn's secretly, fingers grazing her palm before they twined within the blonde's. It felt right, and she wondered how she had gone through high school without this.

Quinn's legs, even with her distracted mind, ached. Walking continuously as such seemed to take a wear on her body.

Later that night, Rachel's wandering hands would massage some of that tension out of her thighs until they were interrupted, leaving more than just the coals burning in the camp.

Day 102

A bandit camp stood abandoned a mile into the wilds. It was consistently dark beneath the shade of the overgrown forest, and it had been hard to spot from the distance. Yet, as the forward-group came upon the camp, the coals were still warm as Quinn held her hand over the fire pit dug into the ground. They walked much more delicately that day.

Day 103

Luckily, either they had avoided the bandits all the day before or the bandits had rather cleverly avoided them.

Luck did not last.

Quinn didn't know what time it was when the first guy dropped from the trees. He fell on Rachel first, because she was most prominently separate from the rest of them. Adrenaline took over as Quinn saw the glint of a knife pressed to Rachel's throat. Somehow, she found herself atop the man, grasping his wrist and beating it until his clenched fingers released the knife. His wrist might also have been broken, but his left hand was swinging freely and trying to shove Quinn off, but with teeth gritted and jaw set in anger, Quinn forgot everything about having an actual weapon and resorted to beating the shit out of the man.

It wasn't until Rachel was pulling Quinn back that the blonde realized her fists and clothing were bloodied and the man was likely dead. Tears sprung to her eyes both in relief and regret, but there wasn't time to dwell on it, because a handful of other men were attacking the group. A few of the civillians were fighting, but it was mostly Santana's people that fought. Very few gun-shots went off, but those that did were muffled by the sounds of battle.

Quinn and Rachel split off as a man came charging at them, shouting the name of another - perhaps the man Quinn had quite literally beat to death - and wielding a bloodied dagger. Rachel smartly ducked as he came swinging at her, and with a blow more experienced than Quinn expected, the diva swung her elbow upward into his nose and knocked the man backward. Quinn caught the heavy man by his shoulders, dislodging the loose rope tied around her waist as an all-purpose survival tool, and wrapped it around his throat until the skin bulged around it. Rachel ducked as the man's arms swung, and grabbed the knife from the dirt.

The man was turning purple by the time he let out a cry of pain. Standing before him was Rachel, knife gripped in her hand, blade driven through the meat of his shoulder. Not a killing blow - Rachel was not the kind of girl, Quinn knew, that could ever think of killing a man. Just as Quinn was about to loosen the rope, someone behind them knocked Quinn to the ground and the dying bandit in her grasp landed straight on top.

Bones crunched, and the dying man rolled away from Quinn as the rope swung free. The blonde rolled to her side, dodging the downward stroke of a heavy bat. Beside her, dirt sprayed upward as the force of the blow impacted the ground. The choking man was stumbling toward Rachel, but Quinn had to fend off blows from the second bandit. Quinn caught his fist as it came flying at her, grit her teeth, and kneed upward into his groin. She gave him no time to react as she grabbed his head - apparently possessed by the spirit of a gladiator - and slammed it against the tree behind him. The bat fell to the ground beside him as the man groaned. Quinn struck him with her knee against his inner-thigh, still gripping his head to keep control of him.

Gunfire came from behind her. Dangerously close. She dropped the man in her control, injured enough to remain subdued and groaning upon the forest floor, and spun around to find Rachel dropping her gun and ducking. Quinn flew to Rachel's defense, saw the shorter girl attempt her own version of a tackle against him, and simultaneously Quinn leapt upon his lurching back. She drove the dagger stuck in his shoulder just a bit deeper and he howled in pain.

Around them, everyone else was engaged in battle and civillians were huddled amidst the fighting. Santana was matching blow for blow against a more athletic bandit. Brittany was sweeping a man off of his feet and fending another off.

The blonde pulled the dagger from his shoulder - not without effort and strain - and drove it into his back as she dropped from him. This caused him to collapse, Rachel ducking again out of the way and slipping across the ground, the discarded gun quickly in her possession once more. Quinn saw Rachel aiming with a just in case look in her eyes as the blonde breathlessly rolled the man away from her. He was alive, but quite likely paralyzed.

Quinn hated this. Hated death, hated being the giver of death. Yet, as the grim reaper for the moment, she knew what had to be done. The man would die a slow death if not given mercy. Moving past the three men she and Rachel had downed, she took the hand-gun gently from Rachel. The brunette seemed to know what was happening, because she folded her arms over her chest and covered her eyes once she knew it was safe to do so.

Raising the gun to the most recently injured man, Quinn kneeled upon his back. His lack of reaction told her that he was indeed paralyzed. Tears in her eyes, she whispered an apology before pressing the gun at his temple and pulling the trigger. She repeated the process with the man slumped against the tree.

The horrors of the day wouldn't be forgotten. Quinn, emptied of passion, handed Rachel's gun wordlessly back to the diva and saw the last of the bandits fall dead or soon-to-be.

More than her own innocence, she'd wished she could have spared Rachel from this day.

Sometimes life it takes you by the hair, pulls you down before you know it.

Later that night, the camp was exceedingly silent. Quinn and Rachel retired early, retreating to a more secluded part of the camp. They crawled into their tent, and quickly found one another's embrace.

"I feel like a monster," Rachel whispered against Quinn's neck after some time laying in silence.

Quinn closed her eyes. How she wished she could shield Rachel, give her a peaceful world just like the one they came from. This was, indeed, an entirely different world, even though it was the very same planet they were all born. They were not meant to be killers, soldiers, judges of who lived and died. Rachel especially. She was meant to be a star, shining just as brightly as Vega. "You're anything but a monster."

"Those men - "

"Were trying to kill us," Quinn finished resolutely. "Sometimes we have to do terrible things to survive."

The news was not happy. The blonde sighed.

"I'd change it all for you, if I could."

Rachel tucked her head into Quinn's shoulder and snuggled just a bit closer. "I know you would."

"I hate it, too. Seeing the life go from them and knowing I did it. I took that life."

Silence greeted Quinn's admission.

"You saved mine."

That was worth six lives, though the taking of them weighed heavy on Quinn. The blonde found Rachel's lips in the dark, feeling a new surge of emotion. Her kiss was so fierce and desperate that it enflamed them both. Fingers on either side of Rachel's face, she sought out the purity in Rachel, the innocence, wanted to taste what it was like to be young again in a world that they knew. The taste of Rachel's lips was an enduring constant.

Taken by the power of Quinn's kiss, Rachel gasped a little at the sudden and fierce contact. Her hands instinctively grasped at Quinn's hips. She felt Rachel crushing herself further, pressing them so tightly together that her thigh was making hard contact with Rachel's hip.

It didn't take long for the pair's emotion to surface. The kissing became needy in a way neither had expected on the cusp of such violence earlier. Rachel was all but panting into Quinn's mouth as the blonde rolled atop her and a thigh made contact with hot center. The petite body beneath her rolled upward, groaning in delight and eyes fluttering shut. Quinn sucked at Rachel's bottom lip, a rough hand shoving upward beneath the brunette's shirt and finding an eager nipple. She rolled the hard nub between her fingers and had to bite back a moan of her own. Simultaneously, her lips collided with Rachel's as she rolled again, canted her hips downward. It became a steady motion until Rachel's heated whisper broke the sound of their heavy breathing.

"Please." The magick word. It was all it took to cause Quinn to gasp in arousal, canting her hips downward again as Rachel's fingers found her ass and squeezed - hard. Slipping her hand between them, she forced her fingers beneath the fabric of Rachel's pants, and every part of her burst into flame.

She and Rachel gasped in surprise as the blonde slipped her fingers into Rachel's tightness. Arousal was a living thing dancing between them. Her strokes were steady, and with each downward cant of Quinn's hips, the blonde pushed her fingers deeper into Rachel. Each cant was slow, practiced, hungry. Soon, Rachel was gasping, moaning, whimpering. Her fingers clutched at Quinn's ass, hips grinding upward in a demanding way. The brunette's cheeks were flushed as she caught Quinn's lips as best she could with the rocking of her hips into each stroke.

Quinn fucked her slow and hard for what seemed to be a long time. Rachel bit at Quinn's neck, her legs spreading further.

"Deeper," Rachel panted against Quinn's ear, and the girl moaned loudly, bit Quinn's shoulder as the blonde curled her fingertips. She pressed, hard. Rachel's words broke off into indescernable syllables and the blonde began fucking her faster. The roughness of their coupling replaced the former soft intensity of it. She wanted Rachel to enjoy this as much as she was. Words spilt from Rachel's mouth that she never expected.

When Rachel began to tighten and pulse around her fingers, Quinn caught the brunette's lips and assaulted her mouth hungrily. A string of 'yeah, yeahs' began to spill between their lips from Rachel, and Quinn was canting downward so hard that she thought Rachel might be bruised the next day. Yet, the brunette's fingers clutched insistently at Quinn's ass.

It left Quinn throbbing, and she saw Rachel's eyes rolling backward. The brunette's petite hips began to insist upward quicker, in short bursts. Suddenly, she let out a moan and clutched at Quinn's shoulders, and the blonde felt her explode against her touch. The moan fell off, but Rachel's body was rigid beneath her, lifting Quinn's hips off the ground.

Slowly, Quinn began to move her fingers just enough to bring Rachel back to earth. Rachel leaned upward, tears in her dark eyes, and kissed Quinn passionately. Her arms wrapped around Quinn's neck as they kissed and kissed, both taken by the complete and total emotion involved in such an intense coupling.

"I love you so much," Quinn whispered tearfully, and kissed every inch of Rachel's face. Her reason to survive was this. The warmth of Rachel, the purity of her, the absolute perfection in the way they were quite matched in body and soul. She held Rachel, or Rachel held her, that night as they began to drop off to sleep.

Day 104

The day's trek was slow. Everyone seemed to be well-worn out from the battle the day before, but at least everything seemed to be clear for the time-being. Quinn and Rachel strolled somewhat behind Santana, who was spending time talking with Velma about plans for what they would do when they reached their destination. It was a hot day, somewhat hotter than usual, and tempers were flaring again. Jupiter had managed to cool a few heads, with his easy smile.

Apollo, who had before been leading the second group, had joined them and presently caught their attention. "Hey, I think I'm getting transmission from another group of survivors. They don't sound like bandits, either."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. One of them ... well, to be honest I think it's a girl but I don't know. She keeps calling in over the frequencies, saying they need help but they don't know where they are."

Quinn arched an eyebrow, met Rachel's eyes. There was a mutual understanding that they would try to help anyone who needed it. "Have you told Santana?" Quinn asked, motioning forward where Santana had her head ducked toward Velma as they talked.

"No, but I'm on my way to let her know." He clapped Quinn on the back, his bronzed skin marred by heat and sun. He really looked like she imagined his namesake to be. Quinn watched him talk to Santana, gauged her reaction, and then turned her attention to the fingers playing at her palm, a smile creeping onto her lips.

Day 105

They reached the new settlement area later that day. At least, Quinn thought it was later that day. Everyone seemed equally relieved to be able to set a permanent camp, although too tired to begin building anything but campfires. They would tackle permanent structures in a day or two, Santana had shared with Quinn, when they had all gotten some rest. The civillians were far worse off, some sick from travelling so long or having suffered minor heat strokes. For the most part, considering there had only been one loss - the rowdy kid whose jaw Santana had dislocated - they had done well.

Around the campfire that night, smiles came easier.

"You guys really gotta learn to control your volume," Quinn teased Santana, who was practically purring as Brittany toyed with her hair.

"This coming from our little Crusader who blasphemes every four seconds nightly?" The jest was returned with a wolf-like smile from Santana.

This caused Quinn to blush and clear her throat. Rachel, she observed, was suddenly very interested in something on the ground and red from her cheeks to her throat. "I deserved that," Quinn gave a wry smile, slipped her hand to Rachel's thigh and gently stroked the warmth of it. Rachel's hand covered hers, and their eyes met just long enough to help soothe their embarassment.

Velma, clearly feeling awkward, spoke up and somewhat loudly. "So what do we do about the people that have been radioing in?"

"Help them, once we start things here. I figure me, Duckie, Quinn, and Rach here can probably head out with Jupiter and go out to where we're getting the signal from. Apollo, you said you can wire some kind of GPS locator, right?"

"A really primitive one," Apollo glanced at Santana when he was mentioned, "but yeah, it'll get the job done. Like a metal detector, I suppose," he clarified for those who didn't understand what he might have meant.

Quinn nodded, felt Rachel squeeze her hand. Meeting those probing brown eyes, she knew that Rachel meant to ask her if it was such a good idea, all of them going. Rachel likely didn't want a repeat of the confrontation with the bandits, and to be frank, neither did Quinn. The blonde pressed her lips to Rachel's temple, a silent answer. They would be okay. Rachel was exceptional with First Aid and a few other things, so that's mostly why Santana would have insisted that Rachel come along as well. She had also turned out not to be too bad at fighting, if the battle with the bandits was any measure.

Day 107

Construction began that day. Everyone, even children, were chipping in. They had some rudementary tools to cut wood. Their initial shelters would be lean-tos, huts, really primitive living-places. They were sheltered from the sun and rain by the thick forest roof above their heads, so for the moment the primitive shelters would do. Each family got to decide with whom they wanted to live in a small shelter with. Most families stayed together. Couples and singles who wanted to live alone would have to deal with roommates for the moment.

As Quinn sweat and worked hard with some of the stronger individuals to saw off large chunks of trees - fallen limbs and in some cases huge sections of bark - she thought how she used to watch National Geographic and marvel that little villages could build so much and work so well together. Yet here they were, a giant mix of New Yorkers, middle-Americans, all different backgrounds, raising an entire village together out of nothing. Jobs and duties would sort themselves out once they all felt they had a stable environment to lay their heads at night, so there was little talk of anything else. There were some that had obvious preferences - most of Santana's men and women wanted to hunt or build, the tasks that fit their high level of physicality. The civillians, mothers, and fathers who were used to little more than doing laundry and cooking wanted positions for such tasks.

They were, essentially, rebuilding civilization. Different members of their little "tribe" had begun to lend their expertise, eating hungrily at lunch while discussing how the village would be able to sustain water and food for a long period of time, and store food for any kind of winter. It seemed to some, though, that there may not be a winter with the climate change. As Quinn had pointed out, they should always be prepared for any emergency and that meant situations where they had no food, no water, and no means to retrieve either. Most agreed with her.

It was the first day that the entire group sat around in a huge, communal group. They'd dug a six by six fire-pit, and everyone was crowded around the pit. Tensions had smoothed out between villagers since they arrived at their new home and begun working together toward a common goal. Children darted around, some parents called after them, and faces were alight with a sort of happiness Quinn had not seen in some time.

They were becoming a very, very large family. The close bonds Santana's group shared had begun to extend to the Manhattan Islanders.

When lunch was finished, everyone resumed building and preparing living space for everyone else. Santana and Duckie had agreed they wanted to share a hut with Rachel and Quinn, which had been no surprise. Jupiter, Apollo, Velma, and a few of the higher ups from Santana's regiments split up into two large groups, choosing to live together as if in a barracks. As was such, they spent the entire day building two long-houses. The smaller families and groups built huts large enough to accomodate, and the bigger groups with eight or more built long-houses - or at least small versions of them, as none of them were very experienced with building what was seen as primal.

The entire village had been built by the time it went dark in the forest. The six-by-six fire-pit blazed high as they gathered around for a rationed dinner. Taking in each face, each person, Quinn felt Rachel beside her, heard her chiming laughter, and thanked God that she had found Rachel, found these people. Most of all, she was just grateful to have found Rachel.

Day 110

Planning for the exhibition back out of their newly-built settlement wasn't too difficult. Quinn and Santana spent most of the time plotting out a land-map, Apollo spent his working on the locator, and Rachel spent hers worrying obsessively.

Day 112

Radio communication was coming in far more frequently by the day. The group, whoever it was, had apparently run into a military installment and joined up with them. However, as Santana and Quinn ducked their heads together in front of the walkies, they began to realize "military installment" was only three survivors. Including the two civilians they'd heard over the frequency, that made for five more. The villagers had built two extra huts, larger to accomodate any straggling survivors they might take in.

"I'm glad there's only five of them," Santana confessed, ashamed. Quinn gathered the shame came from being glad there was not more life to be found. "I don't know if we can keep a community like this together, and if it gets much bigger that's gonna be a bigger job."

Quinn nodded in agreement. "The civillians though. I just feel like ... "

"They sound familiar? I know. I think the one is a dude. He almost sounds like ... "

Quinn shook her head, a silent request not to say it. She didn't want to be disappointed if it wasn't someone they both suspected.

"Fuck. I guess it's never going to be any rest from now on, huh?" Santana realized, sharing a look with Quinn. "It's always going to be .. hunting, governing, working together, finding other survivors, fending off bandits."

"Welcome to the Stone Age, S." Quinn smirked softly, clapped Santana on the shoulder, and then rested her head there, releasing a sigh. "Suddenly I miss Cheerio practice."

"Yeah, that shit would be a cake-walk now. Even the part where Sylvester would get out her B.B. Gun and shoot at us so we'd run faster."

Day 118

Rachel was wringing her hands, and Quinn settled a hand on top of them. The girl sat on their cot, worrying about their departure later that day.

"It's going to be fine."

"What if we - "

"Rach," Quinn silenced her, pressing her fingers to Rachel's lips and shaking her head. "You're going to be with me, San, Britt, and Jupiter. We're going to be just fine. It's a short trip, from what Apollo says. Just over a hill or two, no further."

Rachel nodded, "It'll still be a day or so before we get back with whoever they are. And I've been thinking," her dark eyes grew panicked, "what if it's a trap? What if - "

Laughing, Quinn sighed a little, "It's not going to be a trap."

"Knock, knock, bitches, put your clothes on," Santana teased from the other side of the door-flap before striding in. Their bags - all military issue - had plenty of supplies in case of any emergency or in case they got lost, and were piled on Santana's and Brittany's cot. "We ready to rumble?"

"Affirmative, Sir," Quinn teased, smirking at her best friend before standing and pulling Rachel to her feet. "Another hike in the woods with you. I'll have to try not to lose my mind," their banter was easy, as was their smiles.

Rachel seemed soothed by the play, and shook her head, "You two. You act like you're so miserable together when you spend 75% of your time together otherwise."

"When you're not sucking her face," Santana winked, shoved Rachel's shoulder ever so gently. "I got my pack," with that, she surprised Rachel by picking her up at the waist. The brunette flailed as she was tossed over Santana's shoulder, and Quinn laughed, grabbed their backpacks, and jogged out the door after her best friend and the flailing mess of limbs that was Rachel Berry.