She woke up. That was the first thing Rachel realized was wrong. The last thing she remembered was dying. Or, at least, she thought she'd been dying. She'd been bleeding enough to be dying. She should have died. That was her goal, and Rachel Berry always reaches her goals. But that wasn't true, was it? That unstoppable, tenacious Rachel Berry was just an act. A front. A mask. A face for the world to see so they couldn't see how broken she really was on the inside. All she'd wanted to do was match the outside with the in. She'd been dead on the inside, so naturally she should be dead on the outside. Wasn't that how it worked? But she couldn't even get that right. Like her family and her friends and her love life, this too had been a failure. So what now?

Rachel opened her eyes and looked around the room. Her first thoughts were that it was too white. Too clean. Too sterile. Nothing like her own bedroom at home, bursting with color and charm and life. Her bedroom had once been a safe place she'd filled with all the things that made her happy. Like everything else, though, that too had been ripped away from her, this time with a picture left in her locker. A picture of herself in a private moment. A moment caused by a Cheerio, ruined by a Cheerio.

Looking to her left, Rachel noticed her Daddy asleep in a chair. Tall, strong, proud Leroy Berry. She loved him with all her heart. In the more rational light of day, it made her sad to think what this must be causing him. God, she was so stupid for doing this to him. To both her dads.

What the hell was she thinking? She really was worthless. She couldn't even do this one simple thing right. People die every day. It should have been easy. Yet here she was, too incompetent to even do this one thing right. More than feeling stupid, she felt embarrassed and… confused. Why was she still here? Why couldn't it have worked? If it would have worked, she wouldn't be feeling any of these emotions right now. Rachel knew she should be happy to be alive, but that particular emotion wouldn't come.

Looking over at her Daddy, she noticed her own left arm for the first time. It was wrapped in bandages and had some type of brace on it that kept her hand immobilized. It didn't hurt, which was a nice contrast from last night. It kind of itched a little, but that was about it.

Rachel turned to check out her right arm, which was bandaged but without the brace, and noticed a woman sitting there for the first time. She was pregnant, wearing scrubs, and looked to be about thirty years old. She was also reading a book, "What to Expect When You're Expecting".

"Hello?" Rachel called out weakly, surprised by the sound of her own voice. Maybe it was because she didn't expect to hear it again. Or, maybe it was because, as a singer, she never let it get so scratchy. She had trouble caring either way.

"Hi," the woman said, sticking a finger in the book to mark her place. "How do you feel?"

"Okay, all things considered," Rachel said. "What time is it? How long have I been out?"

"It's…" the woman paused to pull her phone out of her pocket and check the time, "8:04. You had surgery last night, so you've been out maybe… twelve hours?"

"Oh," Rachel said, then stopped. "Surgery? For what?"

"Your wrist," the woman said, nodding towards the brace on Rachel's forearm. "According to your chart, when you cut your wrist, you went too deep and severed the tendon in your forearm. They had to go in and reattach it."

"Oh." Rachel looked over at the brace again, remembering how much that one had hurt. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Sometimes."

Rachel lifter her arm to look at the brace. She couldn't bend or turn her wrist at all. "So I guess you're my suicide watch, then?" Rachel asked, turning back to the pregnant woman.

"Pretty much," she said, opening her book back up and flipping a page.

"Well, if it makes any difference, I don't plan on trying it again," Rachel said.

"That's for the doctors to decide," the woman said with a shrug, eyes staying on her book. "I'm just here to make sure you don't."

Sensing the woman wasn't very interested in talking, or, at least talking to her, Rachel turned away and took stock of the room around her. Television off in the corner. Some kind of food cart in front of the bed. Another chair beside her Daddy. An empty bed behind the two chairs. Bathroom towards the door. Seeing the bathroom caused Rachel to realize she needed to go.

"Am I…" Rachel started to ask, embarrassed at the question. "Am I allowed to use the bathroom, or…?"

"Sure," the nurse said, pulling a bookmark from the back of the book and marking her place. "I'll help you up." The nurse stood and helped Rachel out of bed, putting an arm under Rachel's as she leaned into the nurse. She worried a little about the woman straining too much being pregnant, then wanted to laugh when she realized she cared more about the woman's health than her own. Her legs felt weak, unsteady, and thankfully the nurse let her lean against her as she walked slowly to the bathroom.

Two things occurred to Rachel suddenly as she stood at the toilet. One was that she was basically naked. She wore a thin cotton hospital gown and the panties she'd been wearing the night before and a pair of wooly socks that someone must have put on her feet because she'd never had socks like that. The second and more important thing she realized was that the woman wasn't going to leave her alone in the bathroom.

For what it was worth, Rachel had been honest when she'd said she wasn't planning on trying to… on committing… on doing what she'd done again. She hated being a failure, and trying again would only remind her of how she'd failed. So to her, this whole "suicide watch" thing was just embarrassing and unnecessary. She didn't need to be watched. She was… well, not fine, but at least not in danger. Probably. The woman had no intention of leaving her alone, though, so Rachel did the best she could to pretend she wasn't there and did her business, looking down the entire time.

There was a sudden commotion in her room outside the bathroom door. "Rachel?" she heard her Daddy call out in a sleepy, panicked voice.

"I'm in the bathroom, Daddy," she said.

"Are you… do you need any help?" he asked nervously. "Should I come in?"

"No, I've got plenty of company in here as it is," she said with a huff. She finished on the toilet and stood, going to wash her hands. She looked down at the brace on her arm, though, then looked over at the nurse. "Um… I don't… I don't know how to…"

"Here, let me," the nurse said, wetting some paper towels and wiping Rachel's hands down for her. She then dried them for Rachel, opened the door, and followed her back into the room outside.

Leroy stood there expectantly looking at Rachel, but she couldn't look at him yet. She ducked her head and, with the nurse's help, made her way back to, and into, the bed. Once the blanket was pulled back over her, only then did she look up at her Daddy. He had a clear look of hurt in his eyes, and Rachel knew she was the cause of it. She had always been close with her dads, so for him to see her avoiding eye contact with him had to be upsetting.

"How are you feeling, baby girl?" Leroy asked, taking the seat again that he had been sleeping in.

"Tired," Rachel said honestly, though quietly. "Weak. My wrist is kind of itchy."

"Okay," Leroy said, nodding. "But I meant more emotionally. Do you still feel like…" he paused searching for the words that were so hard for him to say. She watched the concern pass over his face, concern that she had put there. Like the nurse, it was weird to think that she cared more about him that she did herself. "…like you want to hurt yourself?"

Rachel looked away and bit her lip. Not only was she concerned about him more than herself, he was concerned about her more than she was. Where had self-centered Rachel Berry gone? The Rachel Berry that had wanted to be the shining center of the Glee Club? Of the world? Now she couldn't seem to care about herself at all. Only this man in front of her and her Dad, wherever he might be. She didn't want to hurt herself anymore because, looking at her Daddy hurt her too much. He looked saddened by her, and she couldn't take being the cause of that look.

"No, Daddy," Rachel said, turning back towards him but not meeting his eyes. "I just… I was just stupid. I know you're disappointed in me that I'm… that I'm such letdown of a daughter, but I'll try to be better. I just don't want you to—"

Whatever she was going to say was silenced as she was wrapped in Leroy's arms. "Baby girl, you've never been a disappointment to me or your Dad. Don't ever think that. You're a beautiful, wonderful daughter, better than we should ever be able to have. The only, only negative emotion I'm feeling right now for you is concern, baby. We just all want you to get better."

"Daddy," Rachel said, feeling the sting of a tear starting to fall. She closed her eyes as she let herself be comforted by him. "I'm so sorry. There's just… just so much going on, and I didn't know… I didn't know what to do or how to cope, and I just… I fell apart."

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Rachel heard voices and felt new presences in the room. She pulled back from her Daddy slightly and looked behind him to see her Dad carrying a tray of food. He was standing there, looking at the two of them, and tearing up. Beside him stood Quinn Fabray in… what the hell? Is she wearing one of my sweaters? Her Dad walked over and joined them, hugging Rachel and Leroy both. They were both crying on her now, clearly glad she was awake and… alive, Rachel let herself think the word for the first time. She was alive.

And it was all Quinn's fault.

No, Rachel didn't want to hurt herself anymore, but it wasn't because she was so glad to be alive or anything. It was only because she loved her dads so much that she didn't want to cause them any more pain. That didn't stop her from being angry that her plan, her final plan, hadn't worked. She glared at the intruding blonde cheerleader, but Quinn didn't see it. She was too busy awkwardly looking away from the family moment.

As her dads finally pulled away from her, Rachel asked, "What's she doing here?" Quinn finally met Rachel's eyes and was able to see the anger there. She looked taken aback, like Rachel was going to wake up and graciously thank her for making her live. She hadn't wanted to live. She still didn't want to. She just didn't want to hurt her dads any more.

"She…" Hiram started, looking from Rachel to Quinn and back. "She saved your life, baby. She's been here all night with us to make sure you were okay."

"Well, I am," Rachel said a little too roughly, still staring at Quinn. "She can go now."

"Rachel…," Quinn said, clenching her fists. Either she wanted to punch her, or she wanted to reach out to her, and either way, Rachel wanted her gone. "I'm… I'm sorry."

"For what?" Rachel asked, confused but still angry. "For making me… for saving my life? You don't have to apologize for that." At least not in front of her fathers. She didn't want them to know that she was disappointed to still be alive. She couldn't take them looking at her like that.

"No," Quinn said. "For everything else. For the way I've treated you. For every bad thing I've ever done to you, whether you know about it or not. For being the reason you feel this way." She paused for a breath as Rachel stared at her with wide eyes, shocked to hear Quinn apologizing for anything. Ever. "I'm sorry for being me." With that, Quinn turned and walked out, gently closing the door after her.

Quinn waited by the elevators, trying not to cry again. God, she was so tired of crying. Was it possible to get dehydrated from crying so much? She hadn't cried this much since she was pregnant and hormonal and generally crazy.

She took the phone from her pocket and checked the time. If she hurried home now, she could still shower and change and go to church with her mother. Quinn knew her mom was probably still upset about Quinn being gone all night. She'd called her after talking to Hiram and Leroy and explained the situation. Judy Fabray had been understanding in a vague way, but there was still a hint of that's-what-she-gets-for-being-a-Berry. Quinn knew from experience that it was hard to get away from her father's way of thinking. Quinn was still trying.

"Quinn," Hiram called out, walking quickly down the hall towards her.

Hiram had been the less accepting of the misters Berry at first, but after explaining everything that had happened, as well as talking all night, bonding over donating blood, and getting breakfast in the cafeteria, he had come around… mostly. Quinn wasn't used to being that open with adults, or anyone for that matter, but Hiram, much like his daughter, had a way of getting what he wanted. She'd told him all about being pregnant and getting kicked out by her parents the year before. He'd told Quinn about being bullied by a teenaged Russell Fabray growing up. She hadn't known that they'd gone to school together. Hiram still seemed reluctant towards her, but he was trying. They were both trying.

"Quinn, she doesn't mean it," Hiram said, placing a hand on her arm as he stepped with her onto the waiting elevator. "She's just confused and upset and—"

"Angry." Before Hiram could object, she added, "She is. I know anger. When I was pregnant, I had all this rage at my situation that I didn't know how to deal with. Thankfully, my friend Mercedes took me away from part of the problem. She let me stay with her and gave me a safe place to deal. I got over it." She shook the memories away. Everything dealing with the baby left her hurting. "That's what Rachel needs right now, I think. To be away from the situation. So I'll go, because I'm part of the problem. It's one less thing she'll have to deal with."

"Quinn…" Hiram started before she cut him off.

"You've got my cell phone number, Mr. Ber- Hiram," she said, smiling at him. "If anything happens, if she gets worse, if you or Leroy or Rachel need anything, don't be afraid to call me. I want to help. I just want to make up for… well, for everything."

The elevator opened to the ground floor, and Quinn stepped off, turning to Hiram. She was just going to say goodbye, but Hiram threw his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. "Thank you," he said quickly. "Thank you for… for saving her. For keeping her here."

"She may not want to be right now," Quinn said. "But she will."

Hiram let go of Quinn and stepped back onto the elevator. She watched the doors close with a little wave and wiped a tear from her eye. How could this man, who had every right to hate her for what her father had done, for what she had done to his daughter… how could he be more like a father to her than her own? Damn it. Maybe she wasn't done crying just yet.