"He'll be all right, Miss," Rachel said quietly, and Quinn smiled gratefully, running her fingers over the back of Rachel's hand before raising it to her lips and kissing it gently.

She'd squeezed it a little too tightly, only easing up when she'd heard Rachel's hiss of pain as Quinn had practically dragged her into the waiting room. The nurse had told them only that Sam was all right, that he wasn't in any danger, but Quinn wasn't satisfied with that answer. She wouldn't be satisfied until she could get beyond those double doors and see for herself that one of her very best friends really was going to be okay.

But apparently, only one person was allowed in the room with Sam, which is why Quinn now found herself perched on an all-too uncomfortable chair and was glad Rachel's hand was anchoring her. Otherwise she'd be pacing back and forth, muttering words under her breath and shooting dirty looks at the nurses.

"I don't think I could handle it if he'd… if he'd…" She stopped, unable to finish her thoughts, and sighed. She glanced down at Rachel's hand, and kissed it again.

"I'm sorry, princess, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't, really," Rachel hastened to assure her, and leaned over to brush her lips lightly against Quinn's cheek. Quinn smiled faintly. "I understand that you're worried. He means a lot to you."

"He does." Quinn nodded.

She knew to outsiders it might seem a little one-sided, or that she was actually being Dominant over Sam instead of being his friend. And maybe for a while, she did take advantage of that. She'd been so caught up in her feelings for Rachel that it was hard, at times, to see Sam's pain over his own Dom. As much as it hurt not having her own submissive, Quinn knew she could only barely touch the surface of how much it would hurt to not have your dominant. Every now and then she'd get a glimpse of it, in Sam's eyes, and only now was she becoming truly aware of it, when she'd see the way Rachel's eyes would glaze over every now and then. Quinn knew Rachel was still escaping into herself, keeping that wall up, remembering how it had felt, so many years ago.

There were others in the waiting room with them. A man whose bloody thumb was wrapped up in gauze, and Quinn felt sick to her stomach. Another man, younger, being cooed at and coddled by his Mistress. And in the corner of the room, curled up into the chair, a woman, alone. She seemed miserable, in pain or sick for whatever reason, and Quinn saw that Rachel was watching her, carefully.

Had Rachel ever gone to the emergency room on her own? Quinn wondered. It made her stomach churn even more to think of Rachel by herself, waiting, sick or hurting, but then again… maybe Shelby had been there. Maybe Shelby had been there and she'd comforted Rachel, taken care of her and maybe… maybe Rachel hadn't even thought of her.

But this wasn't about Rachel, Quinn told herself again, even as she leaned over and rested her head on Rachel's shoulder. Rachel nuzzled into her hair, kissing her head, and Quinn sighed.

"He's just a really good guy," she said.

They'd had a major argument, finally, one that had been completely Quinn's fault. Sam had a heart of gold, but still, one night he had apparently had enough of Quinn "mooning over that girl," as he'd (rather harshly) put it.

"Do you even think about how I don't even get to see him?" He'd asked, glaring at her over their plate of Italian food as they'd sat in the back of the restaurant.

"What? Of course I do!"

"Really?" He'd taken a sip of his wine and rolled his eyes. "Because it sure doesn't seem like it. I've been trying to tell you for the past ten minutes that he's still moaning at me to quit my job, and all you can talk about is how much you miss her, how much you want her, how much you're hurting."

Quinn had stared down at her plate, shamed. "You just don't know what it's like," she tried lamely.

Sam snorted. "And you have no clue what it's like for me," he said. "You have no idea where Rachel is. Puck knows where I am, I know where he is. But does he even want me? Hell, I can barely get him to 'talk" to me." Quinn grinned a little as Sam did the air quotes, and took a drink of her own wine.

It burned all the way down a she'd tried not to think of Rachel.

"All he wants to talk about is how he's not ready, but even though he's not ready he thinks I should quit my job. Because, I don't even know, he doesn't want other girls or guys to look at this?" Sam gestured towards his abs. "But I'm not even his. Okay, he isn't ready, fine, I can deal with that I guess, even though every night I'm stuck lying in bed looking up at the ceiling wondering why the hell I'm not good enough for him to just… claim me."

Sam had shrugged, and looked at Quinn. "But does he even get a right to tell me what to do with my life when he can't even put a collar on me? Especially when he knows why I have that job. It's not like being a stripper is what I've always wanted to do with my life."

That was one thing Quinn had known, that Sam's home life hadn't exactly been a bed of roses. That wasn't to say that he had come from an abusive family; by all accounts Sam's family was a good one, and he always spoke affectionately of his parents and his little brother and sister. But his upbringing hadn't been like Quinn's, Sam had pointed out once: his family wasn't wealthy, and in fact he'd spent the majority of his senior year in high school living in a hotel room because his dad had lost his job and they'd subsequently lost their house.

He'd actually wandered into the strip club business on a bet, he'd told Quinn. He'd gone with a buddy and gotten drunk; his friend had bet him ten bucks he wouldn't get up on stage.

"I won the ten bucks and five hundred more," he'd told Quinn proudly.

He got hired by the club owner. And started sending two hundred dollars a week to his parents.

"He doesn't get that," Sam had complained to Quinn. "He doesn't get that I want my little brother to be able to play football, and he couldn't do that before because my dad wouldn't have been able to afford the uniform. And maybe my little sister can start piano or violin lessons like she wants to. Now they can actually buy her a violin."

It'd be secondhand, he'd said with a shrug, but it was more than what they would've had months before.

"But all he can see is that I'm letting guys stuff money into my G-string," Sam had said, and grinned when he caught Quinn's jaw drop. She wasn't really used to him being all that frank about it, but maybe he had, and she just hadn't listened because she was so caught up in thinking about Rachel.

"He wants to dominate you but he doesn't want to be your Dominant," Quinn had said softly.

"Is there something so wrong with me?" Sam asked.

Quinn had shaken her head. "You're an amazing guy, and I suck as a friend."

"You don't suck as a friend," Rachel pointed out, once again kissing the top of Quinn's head. "Yes, you can occasionally be self-absorbed, only thinking of yourself and your own feelings, and disregarding the feelings of those around y—"

"This isn't helping, you know."

Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn could see Rachel flush pink, and the hand in hers trembled. "I've not yet mastered the art of the pep talk," Rachel confessed, and Quinn let herself giggle even as she worried.

"You're really good to him," Rachel said. "I can see it in how he talks to you, and how you talk about him. Friends always have their little disagreements, but the important thing is that they always love each other."

Quinn's smile widened, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Rachel's mournful voice stopped her.

"At least, I think that's how it's supposed to go. I don't have much practice in the friends department."

"You've got Elle and Jamie now," Quinn reminded her, shifting so that she could wrap her arm around Rachel and tuck the girl into her. "And Sam too. I'd say you're doing pretty well in the friends department."

"Maybe," Rachel said with a little shrug. "But that's now. You had friends in high school."

"I wouldn't count them as friends," Quinn admitted. They'd been teammates, maybe, though she could probably even describe them as rivals. And they'd been supportive, to a point. But it hadn't been till college that Quinn felt like she'd actually had real friends, people that she could count on. People like Jamie and Elle, that she knew would always be there for her.

She'd already called Jamie, while she and Rachel were on their way to the hospital. Quinn actually felt a little bad for the taxi driver, because even as she was telling Jamie everything she'd been yelling at the driver to hurry the hell up or she'd have his job. Thankfully Rachel had been apologetic enough for both of them once he'd let them out at the curb in front of the emergency room, but Quinn knew it was her fault that the poor man couldn't peel away fast enough.

Maybe if she got him for a driver again she'd tip him extra.

Jamie and Elle made Quinn grateful for NYU, grateful for the sorority, grateful that there were people who understood. Though the two other girls weren't friends with Sam the way Quinn was, both of them – Jamie with Elle on speakerphone – had expressed their concern for the young man, and offered to do anything possible for him and Quinn. Not only that but it made her grateful that she had them because of Rachel. She loved how much Elle had taken Rachel under her wing and was trying to help her see that it was okay to be submissive, to give into those desires. To let Quinn care for her.

Rachel's eyes were still fastened on the young girl in the corner, and Quinn cuddled her closer. She couldn't imagine someone's submissive being left alone in the hospital – not even Sam.

As if on cue, the doors leading to the patient rooms opened, and a young man with a bewildered expression stepped out. Quinn narrowed her eyes at him.

Noah Puckerman didn't look like Quinn had expected him to, if she was being honest. Then again, she wasn't sure what she had expected at all, but it wasn't this.

He was tall, muscular, his hair shaped into what seemed to be an ill-conceived half-mohawk with way too much hair left over. He wore jeans and a shirt too tight over the chest, a tattoo just barely peeking out from the right sleeve. He was tan, his skin mildly dark and smooth; he had sparkling brown eyes, and even in what Quinn presumed was worry his mouth was half-cocked into a smirk as he walked over to her.

"Quinn?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Puck." He held out his hand, awkwardly; Quinn didn't take it.

"Rachel Berry!" she said brightly, and shook Puck's hand vigorously.

Quinn shut her eyes and tried not to shake her head. She loved that girl, but she could be so maddening.

"Uh, nice to meet you," Puck said, staring down at the small girl with the beaming smile, before turning back to Quinn.

"He's um… he's okay," he said, and Quinn could feel the relief flooding her even though she knew that already.

"What happened?"

"Mugged," Puck said, and his face darkened with anger. "Some asshole cornered him in an alley. Pistol-whipped him and took his money."

Her fists clenched at her sides and Quinn took a deep breath, trying not to see red, trying not to imagine her friend lying broken and bruised in a cold New York alley.

"I guess it could've been worse."

"Could've, but I swear to fucking god he's not going out alone anymore. Even if I have to hire somebody to escort him."

Quinn couldn't help it, she laughed. It echoed in the quietness of the waiting room; the man with the bloody thumb and even Rachel looked at her in shock. She shrugged, then gave her full attention to Puck.

"Going to hire him an escort?" she said bitterly. "I guess that's a lot easier than you taking responsibility for him yourself."

"Hey, wait just a min—"

"Quinn!"

She pressed on, not caring about Rachel's hand, firm and actually restraining, on her arm. It reminded her of the way Elle kept Jamie in check, but at that point, Quinn didn't care.

"Leave a guy to fend for himself in New York, knowing he's bound to you, but oh wait, now that he's hurt you're going to mark your territory, right?"

"Quinn, please." Rachel's voice was quiet and desperate, but all Quinn could think about at that moment was one of her best friends, lying in a hospital bed, and his Dominant stood in front of her with a snarl on his face, almost as if he was daring her to continue.

And continue she did.

"You're connected to him so you know what it's been like for him, you know he's been trying to help his family and what do you do? Try to get him to quit his job. Lead him on like he's wearing a leash but when he tries to pull you to him you cut it."

Quinn was sweating, she could feel it on her brow and she briefly wondered if she was talking to Puck or Rachel or herself, but still she kept on.

"You've got a responsibility to him and you just kept turning your back on him, kept him hanging on to you when all you cared about was yourself, and now that he's hurt you want to step up and play the hero? Yeah that's really good of you, really sweet and loving. When he gets better are you just going to shove him to the curb like always, or are you going to—"

"Shut up!" Now his face was red, a vein in his neck standing out purple and angry as he stared Quinn down, and she felt a little shiver of fear and regret run through her. She knew she'd said too much, knew that half of what she'd said probably wasn't true, but she couldn't help herself.

"You don't know half of what's going on, you've got no idea, so why don't you just keep your little mouth shut before I—"

He advanced on her, and in a flash, Rachel was between him and Quinn.

"No," she snapped, and Quinn's eyes widened when her sweet, shy little submissive Rachel suddenly turned into a ball of determination, her jaw set and her finger stiff and unyielding as she poked it into Noah Puckerman's chest.

"You will not do anything to her unless you are willing to answer to me," she said, and though her voice was low it was calm and nearly deadly, and Quinn felt herself shiver again.

"I understand that you are worried about Sam and that you are upset. You have every right to be as no doubt Quinn has overstepped her bounds and—"

"Hey…" Quinn said weakly, but Rachel ignored her.

"She has said things that she shouldn't have, but you will not lay a hand on my Miss, is that clear? You will not lay a hand on her or I won't even bother going to the authorities, because what they would do to you is far less than what I would do, and I would probably enjoy it much more."

Rachel took a deep breath and drew herself up to her full height, and Quinn was impressed as the tears rushed to her eyes.

Rachel was defending her. Rachel, that she had wounded so much, pushed so hard, nearly broken… was defending her.

"Have I gotten through to you?" Rachel said, staring up at Puck, who stood over a foot taller. "You will not hurt my Miss." She jabbed at his chest again.

There was silence in the room as Puck tilted his head to the side and looked at Rachel for what seemed to be an eternity, then… a grin split his face.

"I like you," he said, and Quinn gaped. He lifted his chin at Rachel.

"You're a firework," he said. "You're like a cranky, sassy little Jewish princess."

"Uh… my princess," Quinn interjected, and Rachel, sensing the danger was over, stepped to Quinn's side and took her hand again, offering her a smile.

"She's pretty hot too," he said, his face creasing with a smirk, and Rachel hastily managed to pull Quinn back a little when the young woman actually growled.

"Yes, ah, well, thank you," she said, "though perhaps not the best thing to comment on at this point in time?"

And then his smirk faded as Puck shook his head and sank into one of the chairs. He suddenly seemed weary, frightened…. and Quinn's heart clenched as she realized she'd been horribly wrong about him.

"It's not as easy as you think," he said, and Quinn and Rachel took the chairs on either side of him. "Sam tell you anything about me?"

"Not really," Quinn confessed. "He's told me a lot about how he feels, but…" She trailed off, not sure how to go on.

"That's the way it usually goes," Rachel said quietly. "We're always so focused on how we feel that sometimes we forget to remember it might be just as hard for the other person. Maybe harder."

Quinn glanced down at her hands, ashamed, only lifting her head again when Rachel brushed a soft kiss against her lips. "Love you, Miss," she whispered, and Quinn smiled a little.

"Love you too, princess."

"I'm not a hero," Puck said, looking at them. "Like I'm so far from a hero it ain't even funny. Sam… you know I hate his job, I don't like the idea of people checkin' him out like he's some piece of meat. But it's not like I can give him that kind of money, you know? I can't help him give his family what they need. Hell, I can barely take care of myself."

He was looking off into space, his eyes taking on a clouded look, and if Quinn had known him better she might have laid a hand on his arm to comfort him. Which was strange, given the fact that she'd just practically screamed at him moments before.

"I know you think I'm trying to control him without even being around," Puck said, and Quinn couldn't even deny it. "And maybe I am because I can feel him, I know what's in his mind and I know… I knew he was hurt tonight. I could feel that." His voice faltered, and it was Rachel who reached out to him, lightly touching his knee.

"But I ain't a good person, I've done crap that I know Sam wouldn't be proud of. I spent some time locked up. I've got a crap job, and there are guys on the street who I've uh… done business with, let's just say."

"Oh."

The girl in the corner was still alone, and Quinn sighed to herself.

Maybe life wasn't always a fairy tale. Maybe for some people, happy endings were just a dream. She'd even told herself that, in the darkest hours of the night, when she'd missed Rachel the most.

Maybe for Noah Puckerman and Sam Evans, life was a lot more complicated than anyone would've ever thought.

"I wasn't a good kid, either. Maybe it's 'cause my dad up and left me and my mom and sister when I was younger or maybe it's just because I'm stupid, I don't know. But I wasn't a good kid and I'm not a good guy, and Sam deserves better."

"You don't know that," Quinn managed to find her voice, and now it was full of sympathy.

Puck looked at her knowingly. "How can you give someone what they need when you're fucked up yourself?" He paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Man, sometimes I get deep. Surprise even me."

"I've been there," Quinn said drily, and she grinned when she saw Rachel roll her eyes. "But I still say you don't really know what you're talking about."

"Wouldn't be the first time. But how am I supposed to take care of him when I can't even take care of myself?"

"You could perhaps let him be the judge of that." Quinn and Puck turned to Rachel, who was chewing her lower lip as she spoke slowly, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

"You yourself have said that there are things that Sam doesn't know, and so I do think it's quite unfair that you've decided these things for him. In a relationship like this isn't it better that both of you decide things together, instead of one of you pretending to know what's best for the other?"

"You're using a lot of words," Puck said, and Quinn fought back a giggle.

Rachel closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "What I mean is," she said, and she glanced at Quinn. Her voice shook as she spoke, and Quinn moved to sit next to her, her arm once again wrapping around her princess.

"Don't try to decide what's best for both of you without talking to him first. Because I guarantee what you're doing is making the pain worse. Not just for you, but for him."

"Yeah, you could be right."

"I generally am," Rachel said simply, then leaned into Quinn. "You may not think you are a good person, you may think that Sam deserves so much better, but if you only speak to him I would almost bet that he would say you are exactly what he wants."

Puck looked at Rachel. "So I have to tell him everything?"

She nodded at Puck. "And you know, I think you'll turn out to be just what he needs. I think you already are."

"She's smart, you know," Puck said to Quinn.

"I know." She felt herself swell with pride, felt her eyes mist over when Rachel's dimples appeared as she blushed.

"She's also really hot."

"Watch it."

He held up both hands and drew back a little, the smirk on his face again. "I'll talk to him," he said seriously.

"That's a good idea."

"You should go see him first though, bet you've been worried."

"She nearly killed a taxi driver," Rachel confided, and Quinn groaned.

"She's right though. I want to go see him. Coming, baby?"

"No," Rachel said, "I think I'll stay out here and make Mr. Puckerman's acquaintance."

He waggled his eyebrows at Quinn, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll be out soon."

Quinn stood up and glanced down at Rachel, their hands still linked together. Tan skin against light, small fingers held firmly yet gently. They fit so well together, Quinn thought to herself. She reluctantly let go and turned to move towards the nurse's station so that she could ask to see Sam

The sliding doors to the emergency room opened, and Rachel's gaze was fastened on the woman as she strode quickly into the waiting area, straight to the young lady in the corner. In an instant the sick or wounded young woman was swept into a strong pair of arms, the pain in her face dissolving slightly into something like softness as she snuggled in.

Quinn stared at them for a second longer, then turned away, feeling as if she was spying on a private moment. Rachel's face was soft and nearly luminous as she turned her gaze up to Quinn, and Quinn nodded to herself.

Maybe, she thought, just maybe, her own fairy tale was on its way.