Author's Note: Nothing really to say here but thanks. You people are awesome for caring so much. I've loved reading your reviews.

Quinn waited outside her English class with Santana who was impatiently tapping her white sneaker on the floor like that would somehow make the other two appear faster. It had been stupid to have Brittany bring Rachel from art class. They should have gone to meet the two of them there, or at least on the way. But no. Rachel had argued that, since Quinn and Santana were taking her to every class, she barely got time to see Brittany, and they needed BFF time. Quinn had reluctantly agreed because Rachel and Brittany had been so adorable, excited about having Art together. Rachel had never had a best friend before, and Quinn found herself wanting this for her. This little bit of being a normal teenage girl when Quinn had helped take so much of that experience from her.

"Something's not right," Santana said, rubbing the middle of her forehead. God, not that again. Quinn believed that 'psychic Mexican third eye' crap about as much as she believed in Rachel's being 'a little bit psychic', but it was whatever. If they needed something to call logical assumptions, so be it. "They should be here by now."

"Agreed," Quinn said. She started off, Santana falling into step beside her. They traced the route Rachel and Brittany would have taken backwards, from English to Art rather than Art to English. Looking into the open door of the Art class, she saw no sign of Rachel or Brittany.

Feeling even worse now, the two Cheerios took off running towards Brittany's next class, other students dodging out of their way for fear of Santana bulldozing them over. When they got to Brittany's class, the tall blonde was sitting there talking to Becky Jackson about something, smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong. It made Quinn feel that everything was wrong.

Brittany looked up and locked eyes with Santana, and a look of confusion crossed her face, followed by worry, then panic. She was up and out of her seat, asking Becky Jackson to please look after her stuff and saying that she'd be right back if she could. When she met Quinn and Santana at the door, she asked, "Rachel didn't get to class?"

"No. You were supposed to walk her there," Quinn said, probably a little too harshly if the look Santana shot her was anything to go by. "What happened?"

"I got water on my hippo and it was smudging," Brittany said as they left the room, heading back through the crowds towards the Art classroom. "Rachel said to clean up and that she'd be fine to walk by herself to your class. She said she'd be fine, Quinn. I am so sorry."

"It's fine," Quinn said, though she knew her tone said otherwise. "We just need to find Rachel."

They passed the Art classroom again, four idiot puck-heads from the hockey team laughing as they jostled by them walking the opposite way. Something caught her eye on the floor, though. The multicolored footprints of someone that had stepped through a lot of slushee. Quinn paused and turned, looking down at their feet and saw them trailing footprints through the hall. Her stomach fell at the sight. She was going to kill them. To her right, Quinn could nearly feel the air crackle as Santana was clearly having the same reaction. Rachel came first, though.

Further down the hall they found a crowd gathered in the middle of the hallway. Quinn didn't know her stomach could drop any further, but it did. She just knew. Santana took the lead, pushing people left and right to get through the laughing mass that had gathered there in the hallway until they were finally at the center of the crowd. There people had their phones out, taking pictures and videos of a shivering, huddled Rachel Berry covered in more slushee than Quinn had ever thought possible.

The laugher stopped as Quinn and Santana stepped forward, followed by a nervous, worried Brittany. Quinn reached down and touched Rachel, and the contact brought the brunette's eyes up to look at her. She wasn't sure what Rachel saw, but, whatever it was, it was enough to finally send her over the edge. She curled more into herself and finally started sobbing as everyone watched.

"Okay!" Santana screamed at the crowd. "Everyone get the FUCK out of here and get to class RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!" Anyone that knew Santana took off immediately while some others were hesitant to go. This was a show unlike anyone had seen, and the vultures wanted to watch. "GO! NOW!"

One girl was a little too slow in putting her phone away while videoing the spectacle, so Santana snatched it from her and flung it against the wall, glaring at the rest of the crowd as it shattered. "ANYONE ELSE?!" The crowd dispersed faster after that.

Once everyone was gone, the three of them helped Rachel up from where she sat on the floor. She didn't want to move, but Quinn needed her to, and it was three girls against one. They ended up mostly carrying her down the hall. None of them had talked about it, but they all knew that being slusheed today had been a possibility, Coach Sylvester's threat notwithstanding. The best place for them to have privacy in that eventuality was the Cheerios locker room.

They met Coach Sylvester on the way as her office was nearby. She paused to look at Rachel's crying, slushee-covered form. Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and she said sharply but calmly, "Clean her up and bring her to me, Q."

"We will, Coach," Quinn said, continuing on their way.

Once they reached the locker room, Santana did a quick sweep to make sure it was empty before going back to the door and locking it. Brittany and Quinn deposited Rachel on a bench where Quinn helped Rachel out of the straps of her bookbag and peeled the sticky backpack off of Rachel's back. She set it down beside her on the bench, rifling through it and digging out the pill bottle.

Rachel was still mostly unresponsive, sobbing quietly there on the bench. When Quinn pulled out one of the little white antianxiety pills and tried handing it to her, though, she reached out, took it from her, and threw it across the room, not bothering to look where it landed.

"Damn it," Quinn huffed under her breath, going to dig another pill out of the bottle. Her dads had only left three in there, worried over the worst case scenario that had Rachel trying to O.D. on the meds. None of them knew if it was possible to overdose on antianxiety pills, but it was better to take the precaution. Softening her voice, Quinn said, "Rachel, sweetie, you need to take one of these pills."

"No," Rachel said, not even looking up at her. It wasn't a scream or a yell. Her voice wasn't even raised. It was just plainly stated as she cried. A fact. She wasn't taking the pill.

"Rachel, really," Quinn pleaded. "It'll make you feel better I promise."

Again, "No."

"Rachel, seriously, this is not the time to fight. You need to take-"

"No, Quinn!" Rachel shouted this time, standing and turning on her. "I don't want to take one of those fucking pills! I don't want to feel better! I don't want you or Santana or Brittany feeling guilty about me! Just…" She trailed off, sounding lost. Broken. "Just go away. I don't need you."

"No offense, Berry," Santana said, "but yeah, you kinda do. Look what happens when you're by yourself."

"Santana," Quinn said, almost growling out the name with warning.

"No, I don't need any of you," Rachel continued. "I don't… I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want this. I should've just… I should've…" She sank down to the floor in front of the bench, tears coming harder, faster again. Rachel looked up at Quinn, pleading for her to understand. "Why couldn't you have just let me die?"

Quinn stared at her, every emotion coming back from that night. She couldn't have left anyone like that, but especially Rachel. It was her fault that Rachel was there cutting her wrists. It was her fault that Rachel felt like dying. She couldn't just turn her back and hurt her yet again.

Rachel was… there was something there. Some kind of connection. Quinn felt it in every heated conversation, every time they'd fought. Rachel was her… something. Some undefinable word or idea. Soul mate? That sounded so cheap, so tacky. Besides, soul mates generally were about love, and Quinn was straight. She didn't love Rachel. She'd never love Rachel. Yet still, there was… something.

"Because I… I couldn't let you do that to yourself, Rachel," Quinn finally said. "I may not feel about you the way you wished, but I do care about you."

"No you don't," Rachel said from the floor. "You just feel guilty. Guilty about bullying me, about hurting me. About helping drive me to this. You don't really care about me."

"I do."

"You don't!" Rachel screamed from the floor. "You and Santana both just feel guilty for torturing me for years. But it's fine. Don't feel guilty. Just… just go away and leave me alone."

Quinn wasn't sure what to say to refute this because it was somewhat true. She did fell guilty because she was partially to blame. That's why she wanted so badly for Rachel to get better. Looking over at Santana, she knew the Latina was thinking the same thing. They had no words.

Brittany seemed to, though. "I don't feel guilty," Brittany said, walking over to Rachel and squatting down beside her. "Except, I kinda do because I stood by and let them hurt you. But I also wanted to be friends with you before any of that. I thought you seemed nice. A little sad, but nice. And I liked your outfits. So maybe Q and San are being nicer to you because they feel bad, but not me."

"Then you just don't know any better," Rachel said, staring at the floor.

"Hey!" Santana shouted. Even in a situation like this, she still defended Brittany. It'd be beautiful if everything wasn't so fucked up.

"San, it's okay," Brittany said. Rachel looked up at her apologetically, clearly wishing she could take back that insult to her friend, but it was too late. "And maybe you're right, Rachel. Maybe I don't know any better. I mean, that's a nice way of calling me stupid, right? Because I know that I am. Stupid. I get it."

"Britt, you're not-" Santana started to say before Brittany stopped her.

"No, San, I am," Brittany said. "I know I'm the dumbest out of all of us. The dumbest girl in Glee. Or on the Cheerios. Probably in the whole school. It's okay if you want to call me dumb, Rachel. But what you don't get is, right now? I'm smarter than you. Because I know that life is worth living. And I don't mean that in the greeting card kinda way that it sounds. I mean that my life, your life, all of it. It's good. I know that. And you don't. That makes you the dumb one here."

"Brittany, I didn't-"

"No, Rachel," Brittany said, tears starting to form in her eyes. "Don't lie to me because I'm dumb enough to believe it. You may have said it because you're mad or sad or whatever, but you meant it. And it's okay. I'm not mad at you."

Brittany stared quietly at Rachel for a minute while the brunette just looked down at the floor. "I wish I could make you happy, Rachel. I'd do anything to be able to. Any of us would. I'd sing to you or tell you jokes or have sexy times with you. And I know Artie would be mad, and Santana would be mad, but I would. Because you're that important to me. To all of us. I love you, Rachel."

Brittany stood from the floor and walked away, then turned and walked back. "But… I kind of hate you right now, too. You make me want to just pick you up and shake you. I can't make you not sad, but one of those little pills in that bottle can, right? And you just throw it away like it doesn't mean anything. Like you don't mean anything. Even though I thought you knew how much you meant to me. To all of us. I can't make you feel better no matter how much I want to because you don't want to feel better. You just want to throw everything away, throw you away, and it makes me too sad to watch that. You make my heart hurt, Rachel. So I hate you. And I don't like hating anyone, especially the people that I love. Because I really do love you."

Brittany took a breath, the tears now running down her face. "And I know this isn't supposed to be about me, but you're my best friend, and that makes it a little bit about me. Do you know how many friends I have, Rachel? Real friends? Three. And they're all in this room. Everyone else is nice to me, but they all look at me and the dumb things I say, and I can tell that they're just being nice to me. Or they want to have sex with me. Or they think I'm special like Becky. And out of the three, Quinn doesn't really get me and Santana is kinda in love with me, so, really, you're the only real friend I have. That's why you're my best friend, even before you knew it. You've always just talked to me like I'm everyone else, like I'll get it. And when I didn't, you'd explain it to me without making me feel stupid like everyone else does. You correct me, but only because you do that with everyone. It isn't a special Brittany thing like everyone else. Like I don't know any better."

Brittany reached up with the back of her hand and wiped it across her eyes. "And now I forgot my point." She paused, biting her lip, before her eyes lit up again. "Oh, right. So, yeah. You're the dumb one, and if you're just going to throw you away even though we like you, then I… I can't be your best friend anymore. And I'm sorry if that's mean or if it hurts your feelings, but you're not the only one you're hurting here. And I'm also sorry if that makes you feel guilty or whatever, but… but I don't' know what. Just don't… please just don't die."

Santana stepped forward to put a reassuring hand on Brittany, but the tall blonde just shook it off. "Now I'm going to storm out because I can't be around you right now. I'm sorry. You wanting to die makes me too sad, and if you're going to, I don't want to see it. Santana's going to apologize, and then follow me out. Sorry. But she's always going to follow me and make sure I'm okay like Quinn would with you. So… yeah." And she turned and wiped at her eyes again before heading towards the door, unlocking it and going through it.

Santana looked from Quinn who looked shocked at Brittany's whole sad, angry speech to Rachel who was still looking down at the floor. With only a shrug as explanation, she followed Brittany outside the locker room.

Rachel and Quinn sat there in silence for a few minutes, Rachel on the floor, Quinn on the bench. Eventually, Rachel turned from where she sat and moved towards the bench. Reaching out, she took the pill bottle from where it sat on the bench, held it out to Quinn, and asked, "Can you…?"

"Yeah," Quinn said quietly. She popped the childproof lock, pulled out a pill and handed it to Rachel. She then watched as the brunette stood from the floor, placing the pill in her mouth before walking over to the water fountain and getting a drink of water, swallowing the pill. Rachel then took another long drink from the water fountain and came back, returning to her spot on the floor, nearly in front of Quinn. They both faced a mural of the William McKinley Titans Cheerios logo.

For another few minutes they were quiet until Rachel broke the silence. "What does it mean when the nicest person I've ever known yells at me?"

Quinn thought for a moment. She'd never heard Brittany speak that passionately about anything. Nothing serious, anyway. She'd sometimes gone on about the feline right to vote or how hunting sharks was homophobic or something, but never about anything like this. The tall blonde was right, though. Quinn never really got her. She liked her, loved her even. But she never got her.

"I think," Quinn said finally, "it means that she really cares about you. The same as Santana and I do."

In a small, almost broken voice, Rachel asked, "So it's not guilt, then?"

"Quid pro quo, Rachel," Quinn said. "Just so you know I'm telling the truth. It may have been guilt a little in the beginning. Maybe mostly that night. Now, though? No. I actually do like being around you. The way you talk, the way you think, the things you say. You're funny, you're smart, you're interesting. You truly care about people. The only thing I feel guilty about now is that I wish I hadn't waited so long to get to know you."

Rachel wiped another stray tear from her cheek, and Quinn couldn't be sure whether it was from the compliments or from everything else. "Will you… would you mind…" Rachel started, but then seemed to change her mind, shaking her head and quietly saying, "Never mind."

"No, what, Rachel?" Quinn asked.

Rachel shook her head again there in front of Quinn, but she did finally say, "I was just… it's stupid, but would you… would you mind singing to me?"

Quinn smiled, glad to do anything that would make Rachel feel better. She already had something planned for Rachel after school in Glee, if they made it to Glee, but she also realized she'd do whatever she could to make Rachel happy right now. Slipping down from the bench, Quinn sat directly behind Rachel, getting even more of the sticky drying slushee on her Cheerios uniform as she reached around her and held her close. She clasped her hands over Rachel's own, putting her head on the shorter girl's shoulder and softly began to sing.

"Come stop your crying, it will be all right
Just take my hand, hold it tight
I will protect you from all around you
I will be here, don't you cry

For one so small, you seem so strong
My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm
This bond between us can't be broken
I will be here, don't you cry

'Cause you'll be in my heart
Yes, you'll be in my heart
From this day on, now and forever more

You'll be in my heart
No matter what they say
You'll be here in my heart
Always"

"Disney, really?" Rachel asked, wiping again at her face.

"It seemed appropriate," Quinn said, leaning her head against the side of Rachel's. The silence continued around them. She knew she should feel bad about skipping the first English class of the semester, but Quinn felt sure Coach Sylvester would cover for her three Cheerios. Probably Rachel, too, since she wanted to meet with the brunette once she was cleaned up. Still, that could wait. Everything could wait until Rachel felt like moving again.

"What are you thinking?" Quinn asked quietly after another few minutes had passed.

"How sweet that song was," Rachel said. "And how much I kind of want to kiss you right now." Quinn immediately started to back up, trying to unwrap her arms from Rachel, but the shorter girl held onto the blonde's arms tightly. "You're really easy to mess with, Miss Fabray." Quinn paused, hearing a smile in the girl's tear-soaked voice.

"And you're feeling better, Miss Berry," Quinn said, smiling also. "Those pills must be fast-acting."

"They are," Rachel confirmed. "Dr. Richards prescribed me a different type of antianxiety medication after I told him about when I had been taking them. He said that most of these breakdowns were brought on by unexpected external stresses rather than internal ones. Apparently those other pills are supposed to be taken when you feel anxiety coming on, not when you can't stop crying your eyes out. Still, it was nice when he told me that when I'm not having things thrown at me- both literally and figuratively, I guess- that I'm doing 'much better'."

"'Much better'?"

"His words, not mine," Rachel said, nodding.

Santana and Brittany came in about that time, Brittany carrying Rachel's slushee emergency kit from her locker. Quinn looked over to Santana from where the two girls sat on the floor. "You got her clothes?"

"Aye, Cap," Santana said, filing her nails. "And I didn't even break the lock or my nail file."

"I've taught you well, padawan," Quinn said, smiling up at her.

"Easy, Q. Your nerd's showing," Santana said.

"Said the girl who made Brittany watch all six movies," Quinn shot back as Santana looked scandalized. Quinn could only smirk. "So did you watch them back to back, or was there discussion in-between?"

Santana looked over at Brittany, shock coating her face. "You told her about that?"

"It just slipped out," Brittany said.

"That's what she said," Rachel said from the floor, causing the other three to look at her, stunned.

After a shocked moment, Santana said, "Well, look who's getting back to normal. Good for you, Berry. Now you feel like getting washed up or did you just want to be multicolored all day?"

"Washed up, thank you" Rachel said. Quinn let go of her and she rose up from the floor, Quinn following. Rachel reached out and took the bag from Santana, holding it away from her and being careful not to get any slushee on it. She was about to go towards the showers when Quinn's voice stopped her.

"Not so fast, Rachel," Quinn said. "First we need to talk."

"O… okay?"

"It's simple," Quinn said. "Tell me who did this to you."

"And let you get expelled?" Rachel asked. "Isn't that what you said would happen just this morning? No, thank you. I'll tell Ms. Sylvester, and she can handle it. That's why she wanted to see me, right?"

"And she can handle who actually slusheed you," Quinn said, ignoring her obvious question. "I don't care about them. I want who set it up." When Rachel didn't say anything, Quinn explained. "You weren't slusheed in the hall. There was no puddle around you, and we checked that hall backtracking looking for you. That means it had to happen in an empty classroom. And the classrooms are generally locked when not in use. Now I saw the puck-heads that slusheed you walking away, and if you added up the brain cells they have between them, they couldn't come up with even a simple plan like this one was. That means someone else did this to you. So tell me."

Rachel still clearly didn't want to talk. Maybe she knew Quinn was planning something horrible already. Something to make Jeffrey Mahler's broken arm two years ago look like a hand slap. Or maybe she didn't want to hurt anyone else. Maybe she still thought she deserved it. Whatever her reason, Quinn didn't care. She needed a name.

"Rachel, tell me," Quinn said, moving closer to her. "I'm going to stop this today. Whoever did this to you won't be hurting you anymore, I promise."

"It's too late," Rachel said. "Between the slushees and Suzy…"

"Suzy?" Quinn asked, looking back towards Santana to see if she knew anyone named Suzy. The Latina looked just as confused. There was Suzy Pepper, but she graduated the previous year. "Who's Suzy?"

"I am, apparently," Rachel said, hanging her head. "She- the person who had me slusheed- heard it last Friday when Santana was calling me that and kind of spread it to the rest of the school. Suicidal Suzy, the crazy girl that tried to kill herself."

"Shit, Berry…" Santana said. "I'm sorry. I was just being… I don't know. A bitch, I guess. That's how I am."

"I'm not mad at you," Rachel said, quick to assuage her feelings. Santana looked at her skeptically, but Rachel only smiled at her. "I'm really not. You made fun of me because you do that to everyone. You haven't been pulling punches or wearing kid gloves around me, and I'm really thankful for that. I wish it hadn't stuck, but it has."

"And that's another reason you need to tell me who did this to you," Quinn said. "Clearly they're a Cheerio because you said last Friday, and you said she. So now just tell me a name so I can-"

"So you can what? You're just going to hurt them because they slusheed me?" Rachel asked.

Before Quinn could answer, Santana piped up with a "Fuck yes."

"No," Rachel said. "Hurting her won't help anyone."

"It'll help you," Quinn shot back.

"I don't care about me," Rachel said. "I mean, I… I'd rather I get hurt than someone else. I'd rather them bully me than you bully them."

"You're not saving some innocent little freshman here, Rachel," Quinn said. "You're protecting someone that had you crying out in the halls. That had you hit with multiple slushees. They have the entire school insulting you. So tell me!"

"No!"

The glared at each other, both with their arms crossed before Brittany said from the side of the room, "It was Missy, wasn't it?"

"How did you- I mean… no," Rachel said.

"I saw Meghan texting her," Brittany said. "I couldn't see what they were talking about, but I saw her name and picture. And when Meghan was saying sorry about my painting, she kept saying sorry to me but kept looking at you. Like she felt really bad for you. So I just figured it was Missy."

When Rachel's silence all but confirmed it, Quinn took to pacing. "God, I am so fucking going to kill her this time," Quinn said. "First with what she said in practice, now this? You'd think she'd fucking learned by now. Who the fuck does she think she is?"

"You," Rachel said quietly, stopping the blonde mid-stride. "She's just doing what you would have done a couple of years ago. She's not a bad person… I don't think. I think she's just… I don't know. Why did you bully people? Why did you bully me?"

"You know why," Quinn said. "We talked about that."

"Your father, your upbringing, I know," Rachel said. "But see? It wasn't because you were a bad person. You were just… misguided."

"And you think, what now? That Missy's just misguided?"

"Most people who bully are," Rachel said. "I mean, that's what Dr. Richards says, at least. They deserve compassion, too."

"What about their compassion for you, huh?" Quinn asked. "What about showing you the respect you deserve? She can't fucking do this to you and think there aren't consequences."

Quinn walked over to her Cheerios locker, opened it up and pulled a spare uniform from within. She quickly stripped out of her uniform that was stained from where she'd held Rachel, and put on a fresh one, dropping the used one the in the bin for cleaning. It was unfortunate that she only had one long-sleeved undershirt clean because it was cold out and her bare arms were going to pay. Maybe she could talk Sam out of his letterman jacket. Except then she'd actually have to be seen wearing his jacket, and Quinn was sure Rachel would hate that. Ugh. Zipping her top up, she looked over to Rachel who was blushing and looking down at the floor. In her anger, Quinn hadn't thought about how it might be for Rachel to have the girl she had a crush on in nothing but her bra and panties in front of her.

"Sorry," Quinn said quickly, aiming it at Rachel. "I wasn't thinking. Thanks for… y'know. Not looking."

"I'm… it's cool," Rachel said.

"Santana, get changed, too," Quinn said. "Brittany, help Rachel get cleaned up, then take her to Coach. Stay outside coach's office until Rachel gets out, then bring her back here until the end of the period, okay?"

"Okay, Cap," Brittany said. She reached out and took Rachel's hand, dragging her towards the showers.

"Quinn," Rachel said, pulling Brittany to a halt. "I don't want you to hurt her. Neither of you. I know what she did was wrong, but… but two wrongs don't make a right. No matter how much you hurt her or beat her up, it's not going to change what happened today. It's not going to take the pictures or videos off the internet. So, please. Please don't hurt her."

Quinn glared at Rachel for a long silent minute before she sighed. "We won't hurt her. We'll just go talk to her. She'll be fine."

"Promise me."

Quinn kept glaring at Rachel. God, didn't she understand? This wasn't about what happened today. This was about keeping anything else from happening to Rachel. This was about putting that bubble of protection around her, making sure nothing like this ever happened again. It was the same as Santana had done for Brittany by breaking Jeffrey Mahler's arm. That cast was a physical reminder that Brittany was off limits. And Rachel needed that, too. Coach Sylvester's threat helped, but it was up to Quinn to do for Rachel what Santana had done for Brittany.

"Fine," Quinn ground out. "I promise."

Rachel took a deep breath. "Okay. Good." And with that, she let Brittany drag her back into the showers.

Going through the doors and out into the halls, Quinn slumped against the wall, hating pretty much everything. After a minute, Santana followed her out in a fresh uniform. They walked down the halls in silence before Santana finally asked, "So… what you said to Berry. That was bullshit, right? We're totally going to beat this bitch black and blue and then staple her to the gym wall. Maybe crucify her, biblical style."

"No," Quinn said, leading them down the halls. "I promised Rachel I wouldn't hurt her."

Santana squinted at her in confusion, staring, before her eyes went big, and she got a devious grin on her face. "Oh. Okay, yeah, but you didn't promise shit for me," she said. "I gotcha. You don't have to touch her. That's cool. I'll do the dirty work, and you can keep your-"

"No," Quinn said. "I mean, we're not beating anyone up." Even to her own ears, Quinn sounded miserable at the thought of the idea. She had lied so much already to Rachel, though, while promising to be honest with her. She was going to honor this. Besides, she didn't need physical violence to get her point across. "How many of the Cheerios have I beat up?"

"Just me and Missy, I think," Santana answered.

"And how many of them are scared of me?"

"Pretty much all of them," Santana answered again. "But this isn't like that. You can't make her run laps until she pukes for this. She upped the game. It's going to take something big to put her back in line or else the rest of the girls will run right over you. Hell, the rest of the high school will if they don't see some consequences."

"I know," Quinn said sadly. "She won't know how to deal with what I have in store."

"Well that's ominous," Santana joked from beside her in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. When that failed, she grew more serious, asking, "What do you need, Cap?"

"Just stand back and look threatening," Quinn said. After a moment, she added, "And don't look shocked about whatever I might say."

They arrived at Missy's class, knocked on the door, and waited a moment before a student opened the door to let them in. All eyes were on Quinn and Santana as they rightfully should have been, but Quinn's scanned for Missy, zeroing in on her. They were wide open and panicked, hers and Meghan's both, but Quinn only smiled at her before turning to Mrs. Johnson.

"We're so sorry for interrupting your class, Mrs. Johnson," Quinn said in the charmingly polite Fabray voice her parents had cultivated, "but Coach Sylvester needs to see Missy Gunderson right away. Cheerios business."

"And I suppose this business is so important that it can't wait until after class?" Mrs. Johnson asked.

"No ma'am," Quinn said. "She told me to come get her right away."

"Fine," Mrs. Johnson said, waving a hand for Missy to go. Fortunately most of the teachers were used to Coach Sylvester's shenanigans, so there wasn't too much argument to brook.

Missy gathered her things slowly, like a woman walking to the gallows, and followed the other two cheerleaders outside. Once Quinn had shut the door to the classroom again, Missy started in right away, saying "Whatever she told you, she's a liar. I had nothing to do with it."

Quinn didn't say a word as they led her back down the hallway towards Coach Sylvester's office. Before they got there, though, Quinn nodded towards a girl's bathroom door. Santana put a hand on Missy's back, sliding it up until her fingers were gripping around the back of her neck. This way she led Missy into the bathroom. Inside, the Latina did a sweep of the bathroom to make sure no one was in there, then parked herself in front of the door, effectively blocking it.

"So-so what?" Missy asked nervously. "You two are just going to beat me up now? Is that it?"

"Sweetie…" Quinn said pleasantly, drawing out the word. "If I wanted you beaten up, I wouldn't even need to be here. Ninth grade, freshman year. Jeffrey Mahler called Brittany stupid, a retard, and sent her crying back to us because she wouldn't sleep with him. Do you happen to remember what happened to him?"

Missy's eyes went wide, and Quinn could see the pieces connecting. Still, she shook her head. "That- that was an accident. Skateboarding."

"That is what he said," Quinn said. "And how many places in his arm did that 'skateboard' break?"

"Three," Santana said from behind Quinn.

"Three. And he had such a promising future playing hockey ahead of him," Quinn said, turning slightly to face Santana while keeping an eye on Missy. "A scholarship, I believe."

"I blame karma," Santana said. "It'll get you every time."

"That it will," Quinn agreed. She turned back to Missy. "Every. Time." She paused, taking a breath. "So, no. I'm not here to beat you up. You don't need a beating, Missy. You need understanding. So understand this: whatever you have against Rachel Berry, whatever grudge you have against her, it ends now. Not tomorrow, not later today. Now. You don't like her? Fine. But you come near her again and I will end you."

"Y-you don't have it anymore," Missy said, trying to bolster her courage. "You don't run this school with the iron grip that you used to. It's ready for new leadership. Ever since you went soft last year, joined that loser club, and squeezed out that little bastard-"

The slap was so quick and so loud that it sounded like a whip crack. Missy clutched her face and looked wounded, but Quinn kept her composure. She was the alpha predator here. Missy was just prey. And Quinn needed to keep her emotions in check.

"First of all, you don't ever talk about her like that," Quinn said. "Ever. Right now, this thing with Rachel, it doesn't involve me except that I'm her friend now, and she's under our protection. But you make this personal? You attack me or my family? My child? You can't imagine the things I can and will gladly do to you. Gladly."

Quinn took a breath, and straightened her posture, letting the tension roll off her back. "Number two. You think I've gone soft? That I can't cut it anymore? I haven't changed. I'm simply retired. Bullying defenseless people didn't hold my interest any longer, didn't make me happy anymore, so I stopped. But you think I've gone soft? No. I've been saving up. I've been waiting for the right target to come along. And then you amble into my sights like a fat stupid deer, and suddenly I find myself itching to pull the trigger. To make your life a living hell just for the fun of it. To make you our school's new Rachel Berry."

"You… you wouldn't," Missy said, sounding unsure. "I'm one of you. I'm a Cheerio. You don't hurt your own."

"And you're right," Quinn said. "That's why that would be the first thing I take from you if I decide to do this. I'd take your status. Effective immediately, you'd be off the Cheerios."

"You can't," Missy said. "Only Coach Sue can kick people off the team."

"You're right. I can't kick you off," Quinn said. "But I can force her to kick you off. I can go in there with Santana and Brittany and say either you're off the team or we are." Missy's eyes widened like she hadn't considered this, and Quinn was sure it was because she truly hadn't. Missy was average, and her plans were small. Quinn was creative, intelligent, and morally ambiguous. "What do you think she'd do if faced with removing one average Cheerio or one of her stars, her best choreographer, and her Captain? Here's a hint: it's not looking good for you. And while we're weeding you from the team, I'm going to go ahead and get rid of Meghan and Christy, too. Make it easier. Mostly just for fun."

"No! You can't," Missy said. "Rachel… she likes Christy. Or, Christy likes her, at least. You wouldn't do that."

"See, you're thinking small, here, Missy," Quinn said. "This isn't strictly about Rachel. This is about you deciding to go after one of my friends. This is a slight that I won't tolerate." Quinn paused. "And just to be clear, I would hurt Rachel in this one little way if it kept her safe overall. She might hate me, but it'd be for the greater good." Quinn stared at Missy and watched the wheels turn as the other Cheerio bit her lip in consideration. After a moment, Quinn said, "Now where was I?"

"Kicking her off the Cheerios," Santana offered.

"Right," Quinn said. "Your precious status. Your uniform. All of it gone. Next, your reputation." Turning to Santana, Quinn said in a clearly fake, overly loud gossipy voice, "Say, San, I heard a rumor that Missy Gunderson blew four members of the hockey team to get them to slushee Rachel Berry."

"Missy Gunderson had oral sex with four members of the hockey team?" Santana asked, also mimicking that same voice. "What a slut."

"Wait, so Missy Gunderson's a slut that had sex with four members of the hockey team?" Quinn asked. "At the same time? She needs to be careful or she'll get diseases."

"Did you say Missy Gunderson had sex with four members of the hockey team at the same time and gave them diseases?" Santana asked. "Wow. Everyone should probably stay away from that diseased whore."

Turning back to face Missy who now had tears starting to pool in her wide, frightened eyes, Quinn cut back to her normal voice. "And so on. See how easy that is? How fun? And Santana and I can spread it around the Cheerios without you there to refute it, because, really, who's going to call us liars? We're the hottest, smartest, most popular girls at this school. If we say something is, then it is."

Missy just shook her head, but seemed unable to form words. "After that, the slushees will start," Quinn said. "What I did to Rachel Berry will look like a vacation compared to what I have planned for you. You thought her two-a-weeks were bad? Try two per day. I'll gladly even finance it if I have to. Offer little rewards for anyone that slushees you. Or, maybe only give rewards when you're in non-slusheed clothes, you know? Make it a game, something fun for the student body. How many of them do you think would take me up on it? I'm betting a lot."

Missy's tears were running freely down her face now. Quinn leaned in close, backing her up against the sink. Her voice sounded like ice and razor blades, a deadly kind of clarity to it. "And then, when I've taken your status, taken your reputation, broken your spirit, there will be only one thing left to take. Only one logical conclusion to this scenario." She paused, watching it sink into Missy's horror-ridden face. "Look what I did to Rachel Berry. In two and half years, I made her try to kill herself, and I wasn't even trying. It was an accident. Just imagine what I can accomplish with you over the next year and a half. Or Meghan. Or the next six months with Christy."

Quinn paused, letting it sink in before she continued. "And I hear you have a cousin, a Kitty Wilde. An eighth-grader at Lima North Middle School? Wants to join the Cheerios next year? Well I can assure you, she's not going to be what we're looking for. And, God, just imagine what I can accomplish next year with her. How much I can poison her reputation in a year. Her next four years here will be the most miserable a person has ever spent."

"No," Missy said, full-on crying now. "She's… she doesn't even go here. She's innocent. She hasn't done anything wrong."

"Just like Rachel hasn't?" Quinn asked, backing up. "Just like Rachel was innocent before you had her slusheed and got the school to call her Suzy and remind her every second of every day of the most miserable moment of her life? Kind of like that?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Missy nearly yelled. "I shouldn't have done it. I was stupid. I just… I wanted…"

"It doesn't matter," Quinn said. "I don't care why you did it. It's over, and Rachel's moving on from it. What I do care about is what happens from here on out. Because all that stuff I just said, it doesn't have to happen. You decide whether I ruin your life. Meghan's life. Christy's and Kitty's. It's your choice. Now do you want to come at me and mine, or is whatever stupid grudge you have against Rachel over?"

"It's over," Missy said, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's over."

"Good," Quinn said. She took Missy in, the smudged mascara from crying and wiping at her eyes, the pained look on her face. This was a girl that did care about people, apparently. Her sister, her best friend, her cousin. Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe she wasn't such a bad person after all. Just misguided.

"You know," Quinn said, moving to prop beside Missy on the bank of sinks. "I do get it. People like Christy. They love her. She's tall and beautiful, and you're not. That's not an insult. You're not ugly. You're just not her." Quinn reached over and pulled some paper towels from the dispenser to hand to Missy to dry her eyes.

"Your sister was junior prom queen last year, would probably be prom queen this year if she wasn't trying to date a girl at this close-minded, stupid little school. You want to be her but never will be, so you lash out at people that you think are worse than you. I get it. Hell, I did it. But some advice? It doesn't make you happy. I mean, sure, that thrill of putting your boot to the neck of losers is nice for a while, but it doesn't last. It'll never make you happy. So my advice is to stick with Meghan and Christy- especially Christy. She's really nice. And let them make you that better person that you can be."

Missy stared at her for a minute. "You just threatened my life," she said eventually. "Why are you trying to be nice to me now?"

"Because it's what Rachel would want me to do," Quinn said. "She didn't want me to come after you. I had to actually promise her that I wouldn't hurt you. She's like Brittany. They're both better than us. And like Brittany, Rachel is also off-limits. That's really the message you should take from this."

"I will," Missy said. "I promise. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," Quinn said. "Apologize to Rachel. Today, before school's out."

"She won't accept my apology," Missy said.

"Surprisingly, I think she will," Quinn said. "Now get out of here."

"Okay," Missy said, walking towards the door. Santana was there, still looking threatening, and it stopped Missy who turned back to Quinn. "And if I do that," Missy asked, "if I apologize to Rachel, then that's it? You're not going to tell Coach Sue that I was involved? Not going to get me kicked off the Cheerios?"

"As far as I'm concerned, if you apologize to Rachel, then it's over between us," Quinn said. "But spread the word. Because if you or anyone else tries to mess with Rachel, I will blame you personally, Missy. I will come after you and them."

"How is that fair?" Missy nearly shouted, though Santana's angry presence kept her from getting out of control. "I can't be responsible for everyone in the school."

"I'm not dealing in fair today," Quinn said. "I'm simply telling you what will happen. If anyone comes near Rachel and tries to hurt her, tries to bully her again, I will take it that you didn't spread the word well enough that she's off limits. I will come after you and everyone you care about." Stepping over to her, she added in that low, serious voice, "I will burn you to the ground and salt the earth. Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

With a backwards nervous look, Missy nearly ran out the door of the bathroom. In silence, Quinn did a ten-second count before she went over to one of the stalls, yanked the door open and rushed inside. She fell to her knees, emptying out the contents of her stomach. Quietly, Santana came up behind her, rubbing her back through the Cheerios uniform.

"I hate this, San," Quinn said between pants. She grabbed some toilet paper from the dispenser and wiped at her mouth, spitting into the toilet bowl before getting up. "I hate having to bully people. When I was talking to her, I kept seeing Rachel in the tub. I kept picturing her from my dream saying it was my fault. I kept seeing her from the actual night begging me to let her die." Quinn was silent for a minute while Santana just stared at her, not sure what to say. Finally she added, "But I'd still do it for her. Everything I said I'd do to Missy and her family, I'd do it for Rachel."

"Well that's fucked up," Santana finally said.

Quinn turned on Santana. "And what would you do for Brittany? You've already broken some guy's arm and ruined his future. You saying you wouldn't do even more for her?"

"And are you really comparing you and Rachel to me and Brittany?" Santana returned. A moment went by in which Quinn didn't say anything, and she watched as Santana's eyes got wide. "You are! You actually like her! I thought you just wanted to fuck her, get that kink out of your system before settling down with some boring-ass life, but you actually like her."

"I'm not gay, Santana," Quinn said harshly. "It's wrong. I can't be like that."

"But you want to be," Santana said.

"No, I don't," Quinn shot back. "And you're one to talk. Maybe before you start messing with other people's closets- not that I'm in one, mind you. But if I was, you'd have no room to talk until you got your own in order."

"You should tell her," Santana said, ignoring what Quinn was actually saying.

"There's nothing to tell," Quinn said. "I don't like Rachel as more than anything but a friend."

Again, it seemed like Santana was ignoring Quinn as she said, "Or maybe I should tell her since you're so firmly entrenched behind that wall of denial."

Quinn's expression froze. "You can't."

"Well, it's not the ideal way for her to-"

"No," Quinn said. "I mean, you can't because then I'll have to hurt you."

"I'm not scared of you, Q," Santana said, straightening herself as if they were about to fight. "I'd beat your ass black and blue."

"I know you could beat me up," Quinn said. "I have no doubt about that. But all that stuff I said to Missy. I will do that to you if you tell Rachel, if you start the rumor that I'm gay."

"You wouldn't…"

"I shouldn't have to," Quinn said. "You should be my friend and respect my wishes. But at the end of the day, you're not my family. My mom is my family. She's all I've got left. And she loves me right now, but if the rumor started that I'm gay, I couldn't say for certain she still will. She let my father kick me out once because I got pregnant. What's to stop her from doing the same if she hears I like girls? I won't risk my mother not loving me for you or Brittany or even Rachel. I'm sorry. So if you were to threaten that, I'd… I'd have to destroy you, too."

"I…" Santana started, but it was clear she had no words to describe how fucked up that was. Quinn knew. She just didn't care. It was just the way it was. Finally, Santana settled on, "You are seriously messed up, Q. Like, on that Rachel-Berry-level of messed up."

"I get by."

Santana sighed. "Well, if you ever need more than just getting by, if you ever need someone to talk to, let me know."

"That won't happen," Quinn said, effectively ending the conversation. Then, after a moment, her expression softened somewhat. "But thank you."