Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. Some odd combination of work, school, Disney World, Mists of Panderia, and writer's block stopped me from writing. Hope you enjoy.

The visitations on Rachel's last day at the hospital started with Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury… or Ms. Pillsbury-Howell, now, she guessed. They had come right after her hospital breakfast brought by orderlies that, somehow, could not remember she was a vegetarian. Much like everything else in her life right now, though, Rachel couldn't seem to care. She had eaten the eggs with a plastic spoon because even the teeth of a spork might be "too dangerous", the whole time remembering how the first person she'd ever truly been in love with, Jesse, had thrown eggs at her as a parting remembrance.

They had come and sat with Rachel, telling her and Hiram that they would do whatever they could to be there for them, and would make her coming back to school as easy as possible. It was Hiram today, as Leroy had some important client he had to meet with. It was never the two of her fathers together, not since that first morning when Rachel had woken up. Ever since the separation, they couldn't be in the same room together.

Mr. Schuester was saying something ridiculous about considering suicide when he was in high school for getting caught cheating on a mid-term. Really? Did he really think this was actually helping? What was getting caught cheating on a test compared to realizing that no one loves you, that no one is ever going to love you because you're a horrible selfish person? The kind of person that sends the competition to crack houses. The kind of person who cheats on her boyfriend with the same guy her boyfriend's ex cheated on him with. The kind of person that tries her best to steal a boyfriend away from a pregnant girl after said pregnant girl is thrown out of her house.

But instead of screaming in his stupid, naïve, butt-chinned face that he didn't understand hurt and pain, Rachel nodded and gave a weak smile like a normal person would. She didn't feel normal. She barely felt like a person. She was an excellent actress, though, and if normal was the part she needed to play to get them to leave, that was what she would do. …And, it was kind of nice making them feel like they had made a difference, even if it was a lie.

On his way out, Mr. Schuester said that he couldn't wait to have her back and singing solos in front of the entire Glee Club. Rachel gave another small smile and nod, but after they were gone, a sudden horrifying thought occurred to her. She was in Glee Club. If anyone else from Glee Club was going to come and visit her, they might sing for her. There was no way she was ready to deal with that.

If anyone actually knew Rachel Berry, they would know that singing wasn't just a talent, some genetic winning lottery ticket that she could probably cash in for Grammys and Tonys and CD/soundtrack sales. Singing, to her, was a deeply personal action, like painting or writing or sculpting. It was her art form. Every song she picked out for every weekly assignment in Glee was something personal that simultaneously fit the lesson. Whether it was some song she connected with or some artist she admired, Rachel always did her best to make it heartfelt. As she had once written in her diary, music was the language of her heart and soul.

If one of her fellow Glee Club members came in and tried to sing to her, she didn't know if she could handle it. How could she sit there and listen to some emotional get well overly friendly song when she knew they didn't care about her in the slightest? It would be like lying to her, but in the most hurtful way possible.

Rachel talked this over with Dr. Richards, her new therapist, whom she'd been meeting with twice a day for the past two days, making this their fifth visit together. The first morning at the hospital she had seen an attending psychiatric physician, but after a general assessment, she had been recommended to Dr. Richards.

It was going to be on his recommendation whether Rachel was sent home the following morning or whether she would be admitted to a mental facility for some period of time. She didn't think she could handle being "locked up in an asylum like a crazy person", and when she had sobbingly confessed this to Dr. Richards, he had a) explained to her that it wasn't an "asylum for crazy people" but a hospital for healing the mind rather than the body, and b) given her pretty simple advice: Be honest with him. Dr. Richards told her that after twenty-five years in the mental health business he could spot liars, and people that lied couldn't be trusted to be at home where they might injure themselves again.

During these few sessions, Rachel had told him everything: about the bullying for years, about her parents' divorce, about cheating on Finn with Puck, about Shelby and Beth. He never judged her, only getting her to talk about her feelings and giving her advice that she needed to hear. That third morning was no exception.

"A lot of people that attempt suicide are secluded within themselves," Dr. Richards said, sitting in the chair previously occupied by Hiram who had been asked to leave. "The pain that they feel causes them to draw inward into what's called the 'suicidal trance', causing a negative emotional loop. Drawing inward, or away from others, causes a person to think that no one cares about them, which only causes them to draw further inward. What an attempt survivor such as yourself then has to deal with is the sudden exposure of all this hurt and pain. You go from no one knowing about your pain to everyone knowing about it. My guess is that you've been lying, been acting a certain way towards your friends and family so no one knows how much you're hurt. Right?"

Rachel stared down at her hands, running a finger over the brace on her forearm. The brace held her surgically repaired tendons together so she couldn't move them, so they would heal correctly. The monotone voice and emotionless attitude she had been using was that for her emotions, or at least that's what she told herself. "Yes."

"But there were signs there that no one else saw that you felt were neon signs to your pain," he said. "You were hurt that no one saw your pain, that no one saw these signs that were so clear to you, right?"

"Yes." Again, a small hollow voice. How did he know? Why hadn't everyone seen?

"What was it?" Dr. Richards asked. "What was the change that you felt everyone should have seen? What was your sign?"

"I…" Rachel took a deep breath. "I stopped singing. I know that doesn't sound like a big thing, probably, but if you knew me… I tried to help my fri… this boy I know, Kurt. I tried to help him get a solo and sang a song for him. I didn't sing anything else until the… the…"

"The video," he supplied for her. "And from everything you've told me about yourself, your not singing sounds like a huge piece of yourself that you hid away from the world. Does that sound like a correct statement?"

"After we won Sectionals," Rachel said, remembering the day she and Finn broke up, "Mr. Schuester, he asked me if I wanted to sing a solo. I didn't. I couldn't."

"It sounds like music is your connection to the world," Dr. Richards said. "The lens through which see the world. By giving that up, you withdraw away from the world, and that's understandable, because you think the world is hurting you. You even said in the video that the songs you chose weren't your usual genres of music which is, again, understandable. You haven't been connected with yourself in weeks. But here's how we're going to fix that—"

"I can't sing," Rachel said, suddenly emotional, tears brimming her eyes. The thought scared her. "I just… I can't."

"You don't have to," Dr. Richards said, patting her hand. "Because singing isn't about singing for you. It's about connecting. And there are other ways to connect with the world. What I want you to do is what we've been doing here. I want you to be honest with people." Rachel was about to interrupt again before Dr. Richards held up his hand to silence her. "I'm not saying be as open as you've been here with me. Just be honest. If someone asks you how you feel, you don't have to cover and say you're fine. It's okay to say 'I don't know' or 'I don't want to talk about it'. As to your earlier problem, if someone comes to sing for you, it's okay to ask them not to. This is about your healing, and if they care enough about you to come and try to sing for you, they'll care enough to respect that."

Dr. Richards left Rachel feeling… well, if not good then at least better about everything. She needed to be more honest with people. He had said it rather generally during their first session, but this time he had focused on it. He was an older gentleman, very distinguished, yet still personable. If he said that it would help, Rachel had to believe him, no matter how weird it seemed.

Mike and Tina came right before lunch, with Puck following sheepishly behind them. It was clear that they hadn't come together, but then it suddenly occurred to Rachel… Puck must have been waiting for someone else to show up so he didn't have to go see her by himself. Because, really, what do you say to the girl that you made out with to make her boyfriend jealous that then tried to kill herself when said jealous boyfriend broke up with her? While Puck said a couple of kind words about Jews sticking together and Mike just stayed nervously silent, Tina cried, apologizing for not coming to Rachel birthday party and for not being her friend and for a hundred other things that Rachel could barely make out over the tears.

After a few minutes, Rachel took a deep breath to try and gather her confidence then asked them politely to leave. Apologizing, she told them that Tina's crying was awkward and embarrassing, and it made Rachel feel terrible rather than better. Tina looked over at Mike through her tears with an are-you-kidding-me look, probably thinking that Rachel was such a complete diva bitch. Tina and Mike both tried to hide offended looks as they left, but Puck looked more relieved than anything else. She hadn't handled that as well as Dr. Richards probably would have wanted her to, but the guilt Rachel was feeling from causing Tina to cry was killing her.

Sometime after lunch, Mercedes and Kurt showed up, along with Kurt's new friend Blaine who made encouraging small talk but looked like he felt completely out of place and intrusive. Rachel could sympathize. She felt that way for most of her life.

After a couple of questions about how she was doing and how she was feeling, Kurt nearly fell down beside her, apologizing for missing her birthday party, for not being there for her when she needed him. "After the way you tried to get the guys to stop Karofsky," he said through the tears. "After you talked about imagining your own funeral. I should have… I should have…" He couldn't go on. Rachel felt like she should be crying with him, but the tears wouldn't come. She knew she was withdrawing again, but she was so tired of crying, so she let Kurt do it all for her. Mercedes, for her part, was pensive and unusually quiet and would never meet Rachel's eyes.

After a few minutes, Kurt recomposed himself and said, "And now Mercedes and I have a little surprise for you. I know you don't really know Blaine, yet, but he's really very talented, and I thought he could join us anyway. It's just a little something to show you that we care about you, and that you have friends even when you may think you don't."

Oh, God, please no, Rachel thought but kept quiet. This was exactly what she feared would happen. The words Dr. Richards said to her about being honest kept bouncing around in her head, but she couldn't say them. She'd seen the looks Mike and Tina had. If Kurt and Mercedes were trying to reach out to her, shouldn't she let them? Isn't that what "normal people" do?

"You've got a friend in me
You've got a friend in me
When the road looks rough ahead
And you're miles and miles
From your nice warm bed
Just remember what your old pal said
You've got a—"

"Please, stop," Rachel said, interrupting the three singers and bringing them to a complete stop. "I can't… I just… Stop."

"Is something wrong?" Kurt asked, looking worried. "Do we need to get a doctor or something?" He looked over at the nurse expectantly, but she only glanced up at the scene, then went back to her book.

"No," Rachel said, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. "You're not my friends. You don't get to come in here and sing something like that when you… when you don't even mean it. You can't just… pretend… that everything's okay. I've tried… I've tried so hard to be you guys' friend, and every time you shove me away or ignore me or call me names, and I… I just can't." Then quieter, "I just can't."

"Rachel—"

"I think you should leave," Rachel said, wiping at her eyes.

Kurt, Mercedes, and Blaine all exchanged worried glances, but left without another word. Hiram came back in soon after to find his daughter teary eyed and staring past the nurse out the window, watching the clouds. An afternoon session with Dr. Richards followed soon after where Rachel told him all about her visitors. He told her that the feelings she was having were normal, and that he was proud of her for being honest with her friends. She disagreed with his use of the term "friends", but he pointed out that they did come and visit. He suggested that perhaps they had been bad friends in the past, but at least they were trying now, and that she should try to keep that in mind. She promised to try.

After Rachel's afternoon therapy session, she had been sitting with Hiram in awkward silence when there was a knock at the door. Hiram went to open the door, and standing outside it was Finn. He was holding a gift shop teddy bear with attached balloon that said "Get Well Soon". I guess they were all out of the 'Glad You Failed In Killing Yourself' balloons, Rachel thought with an internal derisive laugh. Hiram glanced back at his daughter with some combination of worry and pity, but Rachel simply nodded so he let Finn in.

Finn walked in, both hands clutching the bear. "I got this for you," he said, sitting it down in Rachel's lap. Free of the bear, both hands found his jean pockets and his head hunched forward. He was like the world's largest bashful four year old, yet Rachel still somehow found herself in love with his shyness. She wasn't as physically attracted to him as she had been some other people in the past, but she still had all these feelings for him. Somewhere at the very center of it, he was the quarterback and a star at McKinley, and she had a thing for stars.

"Thanks," Rachel said, giving him a small sad smile. It seemed like that was all she had these days. They sat there in awkward silence. At some point, Hiram had left the room, and it was just them and the ever constant nurse.

"So… how are you?" Finn asked.

"I'm…" Rachel automatically started to lie again, but remembered what Dr. Richards told her. "I don't know."

"Oh." There was more awkward silence, and Rachel had the sudden realization that without her normally verbose air, their conversations were virtually nonexistent. Had she really filled so much of the conversational void between them? Well, no, not always. Finn at some point would criticize her or call her crazy or controlling or look confused so she'd have to repeat herself with a more simplified word choice. "Cool."

After a few more minutes of very small talk, Finn finally said, "I'm glad you're okay." For some unknown reason, this caused Rachel to start crying all over again. Finn bent down and kissed her on the forehead and then let himself out.

Once he was finally gone, Rachel clutched the bear and started sobbing into it harder than she had in a while. She was wracked with sobs that shook her to her core. One "friend" had tried to apologize, two "friends" had tried to sing to her, and now her ex-boyfriend was bringing her a get well present. She hated them all. She hated herself for hating them. What the hell was wrong with her?

Quinn walked the halls of the hospital, passing an unobservant Finn Hudson on the way in. Finn had been to see Rachel. The simple phrase stopped her cold, though she didn't have a reason that it should. He was an ex-boyfriend coming to check on his ex-girlfriend that was in the hospital. It was the epitome of trying to stay friends. Why should Finn being there bother her? And yet, at the thought, she found herself walking faster towards Rachel's room.

As soon as she opened the door, she could hear the girl sobbing. A sudden murderous urge towards Finn rose in her chest but was quickly quieted down. She could do that any time. Right now, she needed to take care of Rachel.

Quinn walked over to her bedside and took the familiar plastic chair. She didn't even notice that Quinn was there. The girl was squeezing a stuffed bear with an attached helium balloon to her face and sobbing hard into it.

"Rachel…?" Quinn called out tentatively. She didn't want to startle her, but she wanted to help, somehow.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked, opening her raw eyes enough to look at the blonde in the chair. "Quinn, I don't feel… feel like…" She was quiet for a moment. "Please… please just go away."

Quinn recognized that voice. It wasn't the monotone one she had been using for her dad the day before. The monotone voice that Rachel had dropped for her, Quinn now realized. No, this one was much worse, and she'd hoped to never hear it again. It had haunted her dreams for the past few nights. She remembered the words. God, she doubted she'd ever forget them. 'Just let me go. It'll all be okay, Quinn. Really. Everyone will be better off.' This was the pleading voice that Rachel had used Saturday night. The voice that asked Quinn to go away. To let her die.

"No," Quinn said quietly.

"Please, Quinn, just—"

"No." Quinn reached out a hand to Rachel's arm, but the smaller girl shook it off. "I'm not going anywhere, Rachel. Like I told you yesterday, I want to be your friend. I want to help you get better, but I can't if you don't let me." She was silent for a moment, staring at the girl who refused to meet her eyes. Softly, she added, "Please, Rachel. I'm… God, I'm trying. I want to be here for you. I just… I really just want to be your friend."

She reached out her hand again to Rachel's arm and this time the brunette let it sit there. Quinn smiled at the progress if nothing else. She really didn't know what to do, though. She hadn't planned on comforting a sobbing Rachel. She had planned on singing a song to… for Rachel, something she had looked up the previous night while ignoring Sam's phone calls. She really needed to stop doing that, but it seemed like all her attention was focused on Rachel right now, and everything else was taking a backseat. She didn't know if the song would still work, though. She just had to hope.

"Rachel," Quinn said after a silent minute rubbing her arm while the girl cried. "Would it… would it be okay if I sang something for you? It's not much. A chorus, really, but I thought you would like it."

Rachel finally looked up at Quinn with shining eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, and nodded a very small nod. Quinn smiled reassuringly at her and moved her hand down her arm to where her hands held the teddy bear. She grasped the fingers of Rachel's braced hand, stroking them slightly, trying to reassure the girl.

"There is no upper hand, so I'm giving you mine
It doesn't have to end up wasting your time
There's things that I could say
But here in my way
I want to let you know that it's all okay"

Rachel stared at Quinn, unblinking, so long that Quinn started to feel uncomfortable, but she kept gazing at Rachel, trying to be reassuring. She felt the diva examining her, much like Sue and Leroy had done. Getting under her skin, peeling apart her soul to examine its contents. Quinn didn't look away. She just kept smiling at Rachel, willing her to understand that it was going to be okay. Rachel needed to trust her. She needed to believe it. They both did.

"I like… your smile," Rachel said eventually, not really singing but melodically whispering, as if she wanted to sing but couldn't bring herself to. "But even introductions need to last… a while. Sometimes I don't know if I'm right… or wrong. And in the end it seems like everything… is worse when you're gone."

Quinn waited, wondering if she would continue singing, but Rachel simply looked at Quinn expectantly. Of course she didn't sing. It was a duet, and this was Quinn's turn.

"There is no upper hand, so I'm giving you mine
It doesn't have to end up wasting your time
There's things that I could say
But here in my way
I want to let you know that it's all okay"

"So there… you are," Rachel said, a little stronger, a little louder this time. It still wasn't singing, but it was better. "Mistakenly mistaken for a deep… er scar. A hole in your heart and the same… for me. Is everything you touch keeping you down… or setting you free?"

This time Quinn didn't wait. She simply went into the chorus again, as this was her part. Not just of the song, but of this moment. She was the one saying the same thing, repeatedly reassuring Rachel that it would be okay. She wasn't singing for Rachel or with Rachel. She was singing to Rachel.

"There is no upper hand, so I'm giving you mine
It doesn't have to end up wasting your time
There's things that I could say
But here in my way
I want to let you know that it's all okay"

Quinn looked over at her expectantly, but Rachel just shook her head. The next part was the bridge, the most powerful part of the song, and Rachel couldn't sing it. Was this some kind of metaphor or something? She'd always said metaphors were important. Was that what she was trying to tell Quinn? That she couldn't… what? Do the bridge? Get over the bridge? Get past this? Or was this Quinn's bridge? Something she had to get over.

"I'll shelter your eyes from the sun
And wait for the birds to fly by
Trying to reach every one
And know what you're feeling inside
Deep in my head now, it's like a dream…"

Quinn stopped there, holding out the next to the last word for a moment before letting silence envelope them. Quinn knew the word after dream was 'goodbye', but she wouldn't let herself say it. She'd come too close to saying goodbye to Rachel already. She couldn't bring herself to sing it to her. That would make it more real.

"You were supposed to say 'goodbye' there, Quinn," Rachel said quietly, fresh tears falling down her face. She sniffled and, with the hand Quinn wasn't holding, wiped her eyes with the back of the bear's head.

"I'm never saying goodbye to you, Rachel," Quinn said before she had a chance to over think it. It felt like the right thing to say. "And I meant the words I sang to you. It's all going to be okay." With her free hand, she reached up and cupped Rachel's cheek, wiping away a stray teardrop. It should have felt too personal, too close, for someone she had spent the better part of two years torturing. But there, in that room, in that moment…

Rachel gave her a smile through the tears. "I meant what I said, too," she said, leaning into Quinn's hand. "I don't know if it's right or wrong, but it really is worse when you're gone. I-I'm glad you're here."

Behind Rachel the nurse sniffed a teary sniff, and they both turned to look at her. She was the younger pregnant nurse that Rachel had the first morning, and she was doing her best to hide the fact that she was crying behind her book. Rachel turned back and found Quinn's hazel eyes, and they both started chuckling at the eavesdropping nurse. It really had been a nice moment.

Quinn started to pull back out of Rachel's grasp and sit back in the chair, but Rachel made a sad moan and held on to Quinn's hand as best she could with the brace on. They both looked down at their linked hands. Quinn's glance flitted up to Rachel's face who looked like she hated to stop holding hands but didn't want to at the same time. Quinn felt the same. She readjusted in the hard plastic chair, but kept her hand where it was, fingers entwined with Rachel's.

"Okay" by Backhouse Mike