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Her phone alarm jabbers for a least half a minute before Rachel can shut it off, because she's not used to sleeping on this side of the bed and in her early morning confusion she knocked it onto the floor.

Her limbs don't feel like they belong to her, which is usually a sign that she slept badly. Rachel sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, running the soles of her feet over coarse carpet, trying to ease them into the concept that yes, it was time for another day.

Rachel has a planner full of scraps of paper, and is on an alert feed for every audition that comes up from the main companies. She is also on the mailing list from NYADA for every imaginable interview for anything linked to drama at all. Rachel's morning routine involves scanning through her inbox, before checking her planner, trying to remember what she has to get excited about for today's audition.

She's luckier than most, she reminds herself firmly. Rachel has the backing of her NYADA tutors, which not everyone gets, and it opens most doors for her. Beyond that, she's on her own.

It is frustrating, how she is never quite right, never quite what they are looking for. Her tutor seems to think that the perfect role will emerge soon, to suit Rachel's 'very unique' qualities. Rachel would settle for a good dose of normal, sometimes.

Today's audition is a long shot, anyway. Rachel thinks one of the panel has taken an irrational dislike to her, just because in a previous audition, she had suggested that the role would be far more effective if interpreted in a different way. From the wall of disapproval radiating from the darkness, Rachel had sensed that he had disagreed.

She doesn't want to do today. To do any of today. She doesn't want to go to her seminar, she doesn't want to have to get in the shower. Rachel wants to stay in bed and sleep. Just a solid twenty four hours to sleep and she's sure she'll feel human again.

With a groan, Rachel rises and tries to stretch it out.

'Quinn?'

'Hi Brit.'

Brittany blinks at the ceiling for a moment, and then sits up abruptly in her bed.

'What's the matter, is something up, what's the deal?'

Quinn laughs after a moment, and Brittany rubs at her eyes, trying to check the time on her phone. Maybe she's still asleep. Quinn laughs?

'Nothing is up, Brit… I just wanted to say hi.'

Brittany hasn't spoken to Quinn since the phone call at Wiggle club. Brittany doesn't know why Quinn has suddenly decided to break radio silence at… seven thirty in the morning. She shrugs, happy regardless.

'Oh, okay. Sure, well, mission accomplished. Good job!'

Quinn snorts at her, and then there's a pause, while Quinn says nothing, and Brittany waits. After a moment Quinn clears her throat.

'So. Umm. Rachel and Brody broke up.'

Oh! Brittany crosses her legs, and then rearranges her sheets, trying to buy time.

'Really… huh. I... well, what are you going to do now?'

It is the wrong thing to say, because Quinn takes too long in answering.

'…Nothing. I was just checking that you knew.'

Jeez, Brittany doesn't need to be woken up with a cryptic phone call. She stretches, and then stands, wandering over to her mirror to check her reflection.

'Mmm, call Rachel maybe, if you want to. And like, early morning calls are cute, but I was kind of wishing you were Santana, when my phone went off, which means you were probably wishing I was Rachel, which is confusing. So don't call me, my Rachel impression is really bad. I never could do that circular breathing thing, okay?'

Quinn is saying something to her, but Brittany puts her phone down on the table, and wanders off to the shower.

The man opposite her on the subway is entirely asleep, his head lolling all over the place. Rachel wishes she could do that, switch off completely. She's never been able to sleep on public transportation, some part of her subconscious convinced that constant vigilance is the only barrier holding the attackers back.

She shifts on her seat, and clutches a little tighter to her bag. Santana has been messaging her frequently, over the last few days. Rachel doesn't really know what to say to her, even though Santana is just enquiring how she is, and whether she wants to meet up. Rachel has visions of Santana trying say soothing things over coffee.

Rachel cannot think of Santana without thinking of Quinn. Although, to be fair, Rachel cannot think of most things without thinking of Quinn.

Tomorrow, she tells herself. Tomorrow she will tell Quinn she has left Brody, and then see what happens.

Rachel's nervous that if she tells Quinn, the response will be 'so?'

How long can a person possibly stay angry for? Not this long, Rachel decides. Now Quinn is not speaking to her just because she doesn't want to. Maybe things will never be as they were. Or maybe they'll revert back to the McKinley days of Rachel endlessly chasing Quinn around, trying to force a friendship, and Quinn permanently polite and allusively aloof.

Her stop is next. Rachel frowns, and tries to change mental topic, because she's done this theme to death over the last week.

The only good part of travelling on the subway is the sensation of emerging into daylight at the other end. It is rush hour, and Rachel hasn't really got the time or the space to stand and appreciate the feeling of sunlight on her face, but does so anyway, just for a moment.

Her phone chimes in her pocket, and Rachel rolls her eyes at Santana's persistence, but smiles despite herself. Santana is probably going to strain something soon with her extended efforts to check that Rachel is okay. Rachel has been enjoying the oddness of Santana's attempts at supportive friend texts. She reaches for her phone after a moment's appreciation of the sky, hidden between buildings.

It's Quinn. Rachel almost drops her phone. It is only after a brief juggle with her hands that she manages to keep it from falling into the gutter.

Hi, so I hear people still aren't seeing how talented you are. It took me a while to see that too- they'll get there.

It is... The oddest, most cryptic... Rachel has to read it a few times before she realizes that this is Quinn saying she'll get a role soon enough. The words are irrelevant though, because what this is actually saying is that Rachel can talk to Quinn again.

Rachel needs to sit somewhere, and figure out what to send back. Because she can barely multi-task when it comes to even the most mundane of tasks, and this feels momentously important.

She's already running late.

The crucial thing here, Rachel decides, is to play it cool. That's what all the experts suggest, isn't it? Play it cool, try not to immediately come off as a crazy person.

Quinn doesn't choose to smile when Rachel messages her back, it just happens.

Some of these people are a lot less perceptive than you, unfortunately, they might never get there! Thank you, though. (And hi!)

She's still in her pyjamas, having awarded herself another late start. Quinn hasn't in fact, moved from her bed this morning. Her mom would be horrified, and it is a good thought, makes her grin to herself as she rearranges onto her side.

You're welcome (hi. How have you been doing?)

Quinn sort of wants to say so, you and Brody huh? That means... What exactly? Quinn doesn't even know what she wants to say.

(I'm okay. It has been a very peculiar few weeks. How are the exams?)

This is safe, this is safe easy communication and it really shouldn't be making Quinn's heart sing like this.

(Over. I'm officially unemployed)

(Haha, aww, yay! I'm sure if you'll walk into any job you wanted. Well done:))

(We'll see. Good luck with the auditions, try to remember that you are amazing)

Quinn presses send, aware of the double meaning but deciding that she doesn't care that much.

It is barely anything. Hardly anything at all. Certainly nothing that deserves a fanfare and fireworks and the feeling of her heart turning over in her chest.

Rachel might have just melted into a puddle.

Well, this feels familiar.

Brody came to collect his box a couple of days ago. Kurt found he couldn't even really look him in the eye, which is insane because it wasn't Kurt who slept with Quinn, but there it is. Brody had pulled him into a hug after a moment, and had mumbled something into his ear about meeting up when everything had died down. Kurt had restrained himself from clutching at Brody's shirt, but that meet up will be happening no matter what.

Kurt will miss Brody.

He is trying to not hold it against Rachel.

And Rachel… well, Rachel's still not employed, and is still technically supposed to be buried under auditions and rehearsals and pressure, but you wouldn't know that from the way manner in which Rachel has spent the last few days practically waltzing around their apartment, phone clutched tightly in hand.

Quinn has opened lines of communication again. Quinn is sending friendly texts again.

And Kurt is back to feeling incredibly uncomfortable about this, because what kind of relationship is built on a foundation of one half dictating to the other half when communication is allowed?

He's fractious, after a long day, which is why he ends up asking her about it, trying to cross the gulf of sanity that is their couch gently.

'So… Quinn is talking to you again, then? That's good.'

God help him if he can't prevent it from sounding sarcastic. Rachel rolls her eyes towards him, and then just shrugs.

'Let's not talk about this, huh? I know you don't trust her. And she's not going to be your friend like Brody was.'

Kurt closes his eyes momentarily, and then refocuses on the television screen.

'Is. Brody is my friend. He's not dead.'

Rachel folds her arms, and then stands, with arms still folded in the oddest piece of body language that Kurt has seen in a long time.

'Yes, you know what I mean. I'm going to study.'

Rachel doesn't have any exams. There is nothing for her to study for, but Kurt lets her shut herself in her room anyway.

Kurt doesn't understand why he isn't allowed to be sad about Brody not being here anymore. Surely he's allowed to have emotions too?

Worse than his apparent new role as bad guy in Rachel's life, is the fact that Santana thinks he is being an ass for no reason. Because Santana thinks that Rachel came to some rational, mature, level headed decision over Brody with no external factors. Only Kurt knows about Quinn, and he'll just pop with the knowledge, one day, he's sure.

'Hey Rachel, how you doing?'

Santana understands that breaking up with someone is pretty hard. And, well, even though her love life has never been normal, because being with Brittany means that all real life conversations get bypassed, somehow, Santana understands that Rachel must be hurting, despite doing the breaking up.

Her and Brittany still technically are not together. Santana decides she needs to fix that, soon.

'Hey, just… I don't know, I wanted to talk to someone.'

Santana crunches on a carrot stick, before wrinkling her nose and eyeing the dips left out with trepidation. One of her room mates is on a health kick. God knows what is in those.

'Quinn didn't pick up, huh? I'm going to need more prep time than this Berry… can you wait while I call Brit and ask her how to say nice things?'

It's a joke, obviously, but the way Rachel sighs heavily makes Santana wince at herself, because not everything needs to be a joke. Santana apologizes, instinctively.

'Sorry. I'm, I don't know what I'm eating, and the confusion is making me a little distracted. You can talk to me; hello.'

Rachel's voice is hesitant when she answers, and Santana knows this is going to be another one of those conversations in which Brody is not mentioned, and everything else doesn't seem to be worth talking about.

'Hi. I didn't call Quinn first, for the record; I like speaking to you too, moron.'

Santana rolls her neck, because trying to get Rachel to talk sense about Quinn these days is whole other mystery. From the intel she's gathered over the past few of days from some very dubious sources (Brittany tried to claim that these things came to her in a dream, which, well, she loves her, but Brittany's lying skills are fucking dreadful) some kind of argument occurred, at a point in time that Santana cannot latch on to, and the last few weeks have been a no go zone. Kurt thinks they fell out over Brody. Santana had panicked that Quinn was into Brody, and nearly got her head removed via text message for suggesting it to Quinn.

Basically, they argued, and then things were fixed, a couple of days ago, from what she can gather. But they followed that arc all the time in high school; no biggie, right?

'Yeah, something about attaching the word moron to the end of the compliment doesn't quite do it for me. Anyway, midget, how are you? Have you won a Tony yet?'

Sure, so it is another area that technically isn't supposed to be discussed, but the entirely of Rachel's life would be off limits if Santana tried to only discuss the things that are going well. People are supposed to struggle, it is just a bit fucking shitty when you are right in the middle of it.

Rachel snorts at her, and grunts in a manner neither ladylike nor melodic.

'No. God, I should not have called you. I don't actually want any conversation with you. I just want to whack you around the head with a cushion and get drunk while you throw mildly anti-Semitic insults my way, like the horrendous person that you are.'

Santana squints at her phone for a second, and then grins.

'Rachel Beethoven Berry, are you asking to spend time with me? Are you suggesting you secretly enjoy all the abuse that you complain about so endlessly?'

'Santana, I'd have imagined that my tolerance of you for all these years would have been more than enough of an indication that there are certain aspects of our dynamic that I find pleasurable, particularly when I am looking to distract myself from myself.'

'You'll forgive me if I shorthand all that into a yes?'

Rachel hangs up on her, at that point. Santana laughs to herself, and risks another carrot stick, because she knows how this works. Two minutes later her phone chirps, and she swipes at it to read.

I'm free this weekend if you've got it in you to be normal around me; Kurt is making me feel like a mass murderer.

Santana rolls her eyes, because what is with that boy?

Come around to my place Saturday night; we'll drink wine and talk about how all men are retards, yes?

Quinn's lease is up soon. She's got three weeks, and then she has to decide where she is going, what she is actually doing with herself.

It is an overwhelming, ridiculous notion. Three weeks to decide the next step.

Luckily, this morning marks the end of Ashleigh's finals. So they spend much of it blasting out eighties hits and dancing around the kitchen in pyjamas.

Fuck responsibility. Fuck it.

Ashleigh thinks that she is channeling Iggy Pop, and thrusts her way around the room continuously, during a song which is not by Iggy Pop, and the entire performance has Quinn snorting helplessly while leaning on a counter weakly.

'Quinn! Don't just stand there…move your ass. Show me your moves!'

Shit, it has been so long since she's happily made herself look like an idiot. Quinn doesn't know if she's even done this ever while sober, and despite them both being high on life there is nothing else in their systems right now, unless someone has spiked Ashleigh's peanut butter.

At one point another room mate walks in, ignores them, grabs a smoothie out of the fridge, and wanders out with barely a second glance.

Ashleigh decides at this point that the only reason that she cannot sing like Debbie Harry is that previous attempts have not been committed to fully, and Quinn's flashing back to McKinley and dodgeball in the best sort of way, despite the fact that she inexplicably seemed to be on Finn's team. What was up with that, seriously?

She's supposed to be going to see her tutor in an hour. She is supposed to be deciding, in an hour.

A song comes on to shuffle that Quinn has a memorized whole routine for, a New Directions special, and Ashleigh is just falling over herself laughing at the entire thing, as Quinn bobs and spins and twirls her way around the kitchen to Meatloaf.

'How did you guys even sing with all of that going on?'

Quinn rolls her eyes at Ashleigh, before picking her up to spin her, in the way that someone would have done to her (Mike, maybe?)

'I wasn't really there for my singing. It was Rach who had to dance and sing, ask her.'

Ashleigh smirks at her for a moment, before calling over the music 'Rach, is it now? Are we allowed to say her name again?'

Quinn flips her off, before shrugging.

'Whatever you want to think Ash. Still not a topic for conversation.'

The song ends in a rather abrupt fashion, leaving both Quinn and Ashleigh teetering mid-move. Ashleigh drops from her toes first, checks her phone.

'Battery has died, crappy thing. Haven't you got to be somewhere anyway? I mean, not that that sentiment isn't the story of your entire life, but… don't you have somewhere specific to be, asides from my more general thoughts on your love life?'

Quinn grunts at her, rather than actually figuring what words to say in response to that, and heads for the shower with a wave.

Besides, she's always going to be somewhere. That isn't in doubt. It isn't as though Quinn could stop existing, just not be anywhere.

And so the concept of there being somewhere she should be… well, that's all just a matter of opinion, and who you listen to. People talk such nonsense, these days.

There's a message on her phone.

Do you ever think that people who do not wait for people to get off the subway before barging their way on should be shot? Because I do.

It is such a silly thing, that a message containing nothing makes her good morning better.

Well, maybe if you weren't so tiny people could actually see you…

I'll have you know that the top I am wearing is not a subtle shade, they couldn't possibly have missed me.

Just sing next time Rachel, they'll have no choice but to notice you. Unavoidable, I'd say.

Shut up. X

This is ridiculous. This entire thing is ridiculous.

Maybe she will take Santana up on that offer.

'Kurt? Let me in.'

Squinting at the door, Kurt shuffles over to it, perplexed.

'Santana, what are you doing here?'

Santana strolls in, all decked out in her barista uniform, and heads straight to their fridge, tugging it open to inspect the contents.

'I was hungry, and in the area. Rachel here?'

Kurt presses a hand to his forehead, and attempts not to reel, but it has been a tough enough week without Lady Lopez marching into his territory without so much as a how d'you do.

'No, auditions… and we aren't a soup kitchen, Santana. It is normal to ask before you ransack someone's fridge.'

Santana shrugs, her mouth already around a bite of apple.

'It's an apple Kurt, I'm not making off with your family silver. Anyway, Rachel is staying at my place Saturday. Quinn's coming too, or she will, she hasn't said yes yet. Girls night, kind of a healing time for Rachel. You want to come? Do some bonding with Berry, as I'm getting the impression you are being a little shit at the moment.'

Oh, that's why Santana's here. To tell him off.

'I am not being a… we're fine. Just super stressed and busy. Also…I doubt you are getting the full picture from Rachel, so, you know, less of the attitude please.'

Santana glares at him, before eating more of his apple.

'Just, be nice, Kurt. She's emotionally traumatized.'

Words fail Kurt for a moment, and he decides that withdrawing gracefully is probably the only solution.

'I'm a bit touch and go myself…but we are fine. I'm being very normal with her. Very. But I won't be accepting your generous offer. Hot date.'

Santana snorts at him after a moment, and grins.

'Liar.'

Kurt shrugs, and Santana approaches, pokes at his side.

'You and Brody will stay friends, I'm sure. Just don't take it out on Rachel, okay?'

Kurt rolls his eyes after a second, and nods at her.

'If your sixteen year old self could see you now…'

Santana pretty much just throws her hair into Kurt's face, leaving him adrift in synthetic watermelon.

'She'd be congratulating me on my amazing taste in work outfits. Later, Kurt. Thanks for the apple, promise to repay you.'

It's sarcastic, but the tiny squeeze of his hand with hers isn't, so Kurt will have to take what he can get.

Honest to god, she has no idea what is wrong with everyone these days. It's like they've forgotten how to use words.

'Quinn! Quinn? Stop going quiet, it is freaking me out. Are you coming? This is what you called to tell me, yes?'

Quinn just breathes at her for a moment, and honestly, you'd think that Santana was interrupting some kind of meditative retreat for Quinn, as opposed to just picking up her phone.

'I… probably, Santana. I'm probably coming, I'm just not definite. I have lists and lists of things to do, you should see my pinboard…'

Santana groans at her, frustrated.

'You're fucking with me, right? You've finished everything. I left you alone all through your exams and now you still aren't coming because you have chores? Just, be definite, Quinn.'

'Stop barking at me Santana, it is perfectly reasonable to want to leave my travel plans flexible. Can I not just let you know on the day?'

Seriously, everyone in her life right now is weird, apart from Brittany who is on the other side of the country, and Santana wonders if she's getting a migraine. She doesn't suffer from them normally, but this might be the start.

'How the fuck am I supposed to cater for a fucking maybe, Quinn? Have some goddamned decorum.'

Quinn snorts after a moment.

'You'll make someone a wonderful wife some day, Santana. Look, let me just, check on a few things, and I'll tell you tonight, okay? A definite yes or no to your warm and loving hospitality.'

Santana stretches, and then stands, moving through into the kitchen for a glass of water.

'Okay. Fine. But if you don't then my hospitality will hospitalize you, okay Fabray?'

Quinn laughs, in a way that only someone eighty miles away would do.

'Good lord, it's like being savaged by a puppy… sure thing. Definitely call you tonight, lest you turn into the Hulk.'

Santana bites out shut up automatically, but Quinn's already put the phone down.

Shit, why is it only Santana who is even making an attempt to be a good friend to Rachel at the moment? She doesn't quite throw her phone onto the floor in disgust, but it's a close thing.