It wasn't like Quinn was heartbroken over the sour demise of whatever you'd call what she'd had with Puck. She'd never been in love with him - never gotten that alive-all-over sensation whenever he was near. Not like when she was in the presence of girls that she was drawn to.

He'd been there for her when she'd crumbled in his office and confessed that she thought she was into girls, but was confused about it. He'd cracked his gentle grin, coaxed a watery smile out of her with a few well-placed self-deprecating jokes, and ran a soothing hand up and down her hiccuping back whilst she sipped from the water that he'd fetched her. He'd been nice to her, even after learning about the part of her that even she was disgusted by, which was his job, Quinn guessed. But knowing that hadn't made her feel any less cared for.

From there, the charismatic counselor had gradually begun to reveal personal things about himself, during their sessions - throwaway comments about what he was planning to grab for dinner, the perils of being an adult and having to meet due car payments. Names and descriptions of relatives and friends - comical stories about them. About himself.

One time, specifically, he'd blown Quinn's mind with an account about his own high school years, and the confusion that he'd experienced when a male friend of his had leaned in and coaxingly brushed his lips against the corner of his mouth. With a charismatic mock-scandalized chuckle, he'd wrapped up the tale just as quickly as it had come up, telling her that it'd only taken one sexual encounter with a girl for him to know that he was definitely one-hundred percent straight - panic and confusion over!

They'd left it at that, that day, with Quinn none the wiser as to the intent of the seed that'd just been planted within her...

With each session, they'd carried on in that light and airy office, as though Quinn's world wasn't one of inner turmoil. As though the sun could come out. Puck had a way of making Quinn feel like they were sharing things about one another that only the other was worthy of knowing, which was how she came to feel safe enough to divulge the details of her overly religious home life, amongst other things, like the notion that if somebody didn't talk to Sue Sylvester about her homicidal regime soon, then a handful - if not all - of the Cheerios were going to end up in hospital.

The following Cheerio's practice Coach Sylvester had miraculously been a lot less demanding, and that was when Quinn knew that Puck was, rather sweetly, one-hundred percent committed to assisting her in any way that he could.

The day that their relationship changed, it had done so after he'd handed her an information booklet about a nearby lgbt teenage support group, which she'd instantly balked at.

Puck had always been quite tactile with her, even from that very first session. So when he reached out, tucked a generous collection of golden strands behind her pale ear, and ran his dwarfing hand from her shoulder to her wrist, all whilst assuring her that nobody was going to force her to attend the support group if she didn't want to go, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.

Nor had anything seemed out of the ordinary when he'd cradled her to his chest, and told her that he wished he could quell the conflict and confusion that she was experiencing within.

Then, with one cryptic, seemingly throwaway utterance, the seed that had been planted began to rumble in its roots...

"What if..? Nah. It's stupid."

Quinn felt the older man shake his head in quick dismissal of his aborted suggestion.

She blinked against the crisp cotton of his form-fitting dress shirt, and slowly leaned out of his embrace, regarding him with eyes that were as deep as her willingness to absorb his wisdom. "No, say it - whatever you were gonna say. Say it."

Puck scrunched his nose up, flexing his strong jaw from side to side, before waving the eager blonde off. "Nah. It'd be unprofessional and irresponsible for me to even suggest it. It's stupid. Besides, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. That wouldn't be cool," he said, waving her off for the second time. "Let's move on - how was Cheerio's practice yesterday? Are you still having a difficult time -"

"Say what you were going to say, Puck," Quinn interrupted, deadpanning, because she could be short with him. They were friends, and friends were short with one another sometimes.

Puck ummed and aahed, grimacing as though the parameters of his comfort zone were being stretched to the point of mild pain. But he said not a word.

"You're not gonna make me uncomfortable. Tell me," Quinn assured him, wielding eyes that were softer - if not still a little exasperated - than they were moments ago.

"Just..." Puck sighed his lips still. He scratched the back of his neck, and then clasped his hands in his lap, like that was the wisest place for them. "Have you ever... been with a boy before?"

Quinn's brow pinched, her eyes darting around without aim as her lips ran soundlessly.

"You know, to get a feel for whether or not you like it?" Puck quickly added. "I mean, I ain't saying that your attraction towards girls is wrong. I just wanna help you work past your confusion, so you can figure out who you are, and work to accept that reality, whatever it may be."

Those words, so encouraging - they were all the lubrication that Quinn's truth needed. "No," she answered. "I..." She shook her head quickly. "No."

"Okay." Puck nodded, somewhat akin to a police officer who'd taken to capturing a witnesses' account between the lines of a notepad. "I only ask 'cause when I was confused in high school, I found Georgie. After my experiences with her, I knew I wasn't bisexual - that I was straight. I don't know..." he tapered off, knowing that the Cheerio's Captain was as smart as she was gorgeous, and that she'd figure it out on her own.

That was how this worked; they always had to come to it on their own.

"I have admirers. But they're all assholes," Quinn complained, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't wanna try anything with any of them, honestly."

"Well, I know from personal experience, it's got to be someone you trust," Puck said, surely nudging her along with an invisible ghost-like hand. "In your case, specifically, you'd need someone who'd understand if you didn't want things to go further. Someone who you're already genuinely fond of, you know, to see if you're capable of maybe transforming that fondness into something more. Someone who'd support you, no matter what. You don't know any boys like that?"

Taking much care to leave that question marinating over the teenager, Puck sat silent, peering at her until her clear gaze floated up to his. They sat like that for eight seconds or so, surrounded by the quiet power of suggestion.

"You're the only guy I know like that, actually," Quinn confessed after a beat. She released a chuckle at the absurdity of the implication. One that quickly faltered in rhythm, like a discordant piano note struck heavily.

With every inch of silence that stretched on, without a word from her counselor, she began to wonder...

Her sight fell to his lips with hesitant curiosity.

And that was when Puck decided to speak. "Look, you're a beautiful girl, with a great personality, and I'd love to help you out, Quinn. Really. But my job, and -"

It was so clumsy, the way that she rushed the scant distance between their bodies, and pressed her lips to his, before slowly easing out of the ambush, and bowing her head a little. She ran her tongue out over her lips, slow and curious, feeling around inside of herself for that ever elusive something.

"Quinn -"

"I-I'm sorry," she quietly gasped in the small space that separated them, cheeks ablaze. "I just - I needed - I couldn't -"

Puck shushed her softly. "It's okay. I understand," he whispered, running his hand down her arm. "I won't tell anybody what just happened. Everything's gonna be fine."

Quinn's head seemed to nod itself, like she was somewhere else in thought. Somewhere loud and devoid of focus.

"I want to help you. But it'd be breaking all the rules."

Quinn continued to nod , her gaze unfocused and reeling with shame.

"But..." Puck slowly drew in a large nasal breath and released it, as if he was a soldier gearing up to answer wars call. "I once told you that I'd do whatever I could to help you. So, if this is what you need," he told her softly, gesturing between them, "then I'm here, and we'll go at your pace. You're in control."

Not quite sure of anything, in that moment, all Quinn could do was nod.

Following the day that she'd given Puck her virginity, things seemed to snowball. She hadn't particularly enjoyed what had occurred in that office, that day, and when she'd told him as much, he'd told her that the first time was usually a little awkward for girls, and that she'd probably get a better feel for who she was if they tried again, whenever she was ready, of course.

Quite a while after their first sexual encounter, Quinn allowed Puck to nestle his powerful hips between her pale thighs for the second time. She'd made all of the right noises, in all of the right places, in a pitifully desperate, and at times embarrassing, attempt to squeeze something out of what was happening to her - fake it 'til you make it. But she knew. After being with him again, and feeling absolutely nothing when he'd kissed her, and filled her, and told her that she was beautiful, Quinn knew.

Each of his affectionate utterances had left a bruise upon her soul, because there had been no hiding from herself in those moments. She knew. Knew that what she truly yearned for were softly spoken sweet nothings, gentle lips, delicate hands, smooth curves, and subtle yet alluring perfumes that spiraled up from the most supple of cleavage.

She knew. Knew that she couldn't allow Puck to settle on top of her for a third time, because she knew who she was.

Even so, she allowed herself to be invaded again, because that was sort of how she'd come to view her encounters with the large tan hands, broad shoulders, and scratchy legs that made up Puck's body. Quinn might have known who she was, but no way had she been about to let it beat her. Not when the shelves in her room were littered with trophies, and her report cards littered with A's. She'd subscribed to the idea that all she had to do was try harder - that, if anything, she deserved the unpleasant sensation of a man thrusting into her, as punishment for failing to fall in line the first two times.

All that it had done was cause her gaze to linger on upwardly ruffled skirts, and smooth long legs that much more.

That was when Quinn stopped scheduling sessions with Puck, and it was only then that the single roses began to appear in her locker, little notes attached to the stems.

I know that this started because you wanted me to help you figure things out, as a friend. But somewhere along the way, I fell. I really hope you aren't regretting what we did, and that I didn't do anything wrong! That would destroy me!

I miss you :(

That note had been the note responsible for tugging at Quinn's conscience. The note that had guided her back to that light and airy office, where the man who'd risked his job for her had somehow been able to guilt her into a one-sided romance with a heartfelt, "I'm in love with you."

Of course, now, Quinn knew better...

The way that he'd responded after she'd told him that she thought she might be pregnant - looking her up and down as if she was this used and dirty thing, whilst accusing her of sleeping around? Threatening to out her? The ease with which he'd switched on her? It was too big a jump, a completely different person to the guy that she'd trusted with her body and secrets.

The true monster behind the carefully selected words of concern, and the one-million-dollar caramel grin.

When she thought about the fact that she'd lost sleep, fretting over how to tell Puck that she couldn't love him back because she was gay, without hurting his feelings, her nostrils flared. The only reason why he'd claimed to be in love with her, was because he'd panicked when she'd stopped seeking him out, and had wanted to reel her back in, where he could keep a handle on things. When she thought about that, her breathing picked up.

No, Quinn wasn't heartbroken. She was just fucking angry.

Her palms blasted into one another repeatedly, as she watched her fellow Cheerio's work their bodies harder under her command.

"Faster!" she bellowed, the power of it carrying the cry to the far end of the field.

"That's quite the set of lungs there, Miss Fabray. May I interest you in joining Glee Club?"

Knowing that voice, Quinn looked to her left to find that Miss Berry was stood beside her. With all the astute form of the guards that watched over Buckingham Palace, the petite teacher had both hands clasped behind her back, chin held high as she looked out over the panting Cheerio's; her sleek, soft, shoulder-length, brunette mane barely ruffling in the wind.

Quinn wondered how long the neat little woman, who seemed to carry herself as though she was ten feet tall, had been there.

"Santana!" she suddenly called across the field. "Take over for me!"

When the all-too-pleased Latina signaled a salute to her captain, smirked menacingly, and began to work the girls just as hard as Coach Sylvester, Quinn gave her attention back to Miss Berry, taking care not to let her eyes venture to the woman's shapely bare calves. "I don't sing. Or dance," she said rather tersely. "So go and find someone else to recruit into your colorful little show choir."

Rachel broke her gaze with the physical torture that was playing out on the field, shooting it at Quinn, who she could've sworn looked regretful of her tone, even if only for a second.

"Quinn -"

"What happened to Miss Fabray?"

Rachel's forehead tipped forward in the slightest nod. One of mature poised acceptance that Quinn was really behaving in such a manner. The blonde's disrespect was usually more subtle. More clever. But not today. "Firstly, you're a cheerleader. You dance during cheer performances. I've seen you. You're good."

Quinn felt a sudden hotness claw up her neck and cheeks. Suddenly disarmed, she had nothing to say. No snarky barbs to get the beautiful woman who was challenging her to leave. Nothing.

"Secondly," Rachel continued, "I'd appreciate it if you did not refer to the Glee Club as my colorful little show choir. I will not tolerate such bigotry. Are we understood?"

Quinn slung her arms folded and peered off, chuckling bitterly at the irony. She was a lesbian. She could say, 'colorful,' if she wanted to.

"Care to share the joke, Miss Fabray? I believe I missed it, like I always do where it pertains to such flagrant homophobia."

Miss Berry's pushing wasn't anything out of the ordinary, for a teacher. But Quinn didn't like it, even if she did deserve it.

She unfolded her arms and took an unconscious step towards the music teacher, standing over her. "The joke," Quinn sneered down at the unruffled stone-faced woman, "is that you're the one who doesn't understand. I can't afford to associate myself with your colorful little club!"

"And why would that be?" Rachel asked, more curious than combative.

"Do you not understand who my parents are?" Quinn hissed, almost brokenly.

At first, Rachel took the comment to be a threat. In the short time that she'd been living in Lima, she'd heard a lot about the Fabray's, learned that Russell Fabray owned most of the businesses in town, and that he had wells of power at his fingertips. But the more that she assessed Quinn's rebuttal, the more it became apparent that there had been something else there. Something about the pained whine in Quinn's voice that had pleaded with her to get it - to understand…

And somehow, just like that, Rachel did.

Feeling the air change, Quinn tensed. Watching the penny drop in those luxurious, softening, dark eyes was too much. Far too much, and when Rachel parted her lips to offer words, the blonde quickly rushed out, "don't say anything."

But in the gentlest of fashions, Miss Berry spoke her name anyway.

"No!" Quinn spat. "I-I'm not talking about this!"

Rachel reached out for the shaken teenager's wrist, only to find that she was grasping at air particles. "Quinn, I'd just like for you to know that it's nothing to be ashamed of, and that you're more than welcome to talk to me about it in full confidence."

As Quinn span and walked away from Miss Berry, as well as her responsibilities as Cheerio's Captain, she felt a familiar burning in her lower back. It flared out down the back of her upper thighs, and around her lower abdomen, until her panties were damp and hot with monthly shedding.

Sure, she was deeply ashamed of who she was, and dubious of any adult who claimed to want to help. But at least she wasn't pregnant with that slimy asshole's kid.

It was nearing five-thirty in the evening. All of the students, and most of the faculty, had fled to their freedom. But not Rachel. She had a fish to fry.

After her encounter with Quinn that morning, she was beginning to reassess the idea that something was going on between the young blonde and Mr Puckerman. From then until now, multiple possible scenarios had materialized in her mind. She wasn't sure what she was dealing with. She just knew that she couldn't allow what she'd discovered about the guidance counselor to slide. She couldn't risk it, which was why she was knocking on Principle Figgins' office door, armed with her suspicions and a printed copy of the news report that she'd found online.

Wasn't expecting such a response for the last chapter. Thank you. To those of you who said that Quinn was a willing party, where it concerns her situation with Puck, yes she was. But she's angry about being lied to, and so clearly manipulated by someone that she trusted, whilst vulnerable. To the reviewer who asked, yes Santana threw the paper ball. You may find out what that was all about later on ;)

Any thoughts? Drop them in a review :)