Rachel and Quinn would like to extend their thank yous to everyone who followed, favorited and commented!

I hope my previous chapter did not disappoint.

So, here's chapter 3, everyone. Please do take time to read.

/

Chapter 3

"Do we need to call the CSI? To look around for your brain? What the fuck are you doing," Santana snarls as soon as she crosses the entryway to the Berry kitchen. Now that they're Brittany-free, she's also free to voice out her dismay and outright disbelief. She's staring at Rachel's back like the head cheerleader has grown a second head which has a Mohawk as she paces close to the storming HBIC.

Yeah, right. Because she is the one that has the right to storm out of her.

"The right thing, finally," Rachel counters simply, swiveling so that she could face the angry Latina, looking totally composed. Trying to fight with Santana would be a death wish, but not to Rachel. She is the only one aside from Brittany who could argue with the Cheerio and not expect to be buried alive the next day. Or that night itself, if Santana is feeling especially vicious.

Santana scoffs, momentarily staring off the side before gazing back at Rachel with a glare hot enough to burn Alaska. "The right thing? Do you even hear yourself? Since when is helping that "Quinn" of Disaster doing the right thing?"

The last thing Santana expected to find in Rachel's home when she arrived this evening is a blanketed lump of nauseating dorkiness in the guest bedroom. The same one that Brittany's worriedly gushing over now. The same one that has caused her present dismay and their future doom. If she had have known that it's the freak they're buying supplies for, Santana should have just brought poison.

"Since I acknowledged that we have been defining the word 'right' wrongly at school, Ms. Lopez," the smaller brunette replies evenly.

Santana is awed. And not in the good way. Well, admittedly, maybe it's the right thing. Doing some stupid philanthropic deeds for some weirdo. But it's not the right thing for them. Not when they have the cold-and-unforgiving-ice-queens-whose-badassery-su rpass-everyone reputation to uphold.

Also, Rachel called her by her surname. It may be cool at some other time because it makes Santana sound like a relative of Jennifer Lopez's (and she's got the looks to be mistaken as such, mind that), but not when they're arguing. The use of surnames when they're fighting signifies that Rachel is serious in her stand and there's a good chance that nothing Santana will say can derail her from defending her side.

"I can't believe your ass right now," Santana just says, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"And you think I can believe yours?"

"Well you should, because even if you're smarter than me, my ass is bigger and I'm the right one for once. Can't you see? I think she's playing the sorry victim here, Rachel. That lizard-looking lunatic could be planning on a lot of things. I can't believe you'd fall for something like that."

"She doesn't have to play the victim, Santana. If it's not clear enough for you, she's the victim here."

"That's bullshit and you know that."

Well, fact is she's not sure about that one, but she just has to be. It's not right and probably not safe for them to just take that weirdo in. It's a cruel world out there, and she thought she has successfully drilled it in Rachel's head long ago. She rakes her brain for a point of argument. "Look at what Little Miss Innocent did to our project. Victim still? You'll just let that one pass?"

"Oh, please. That project was an epic fail," Rachel argues. "Plus, it was obvious that she didn't mean it. And it's not like you were looking at where you were going, too."

"So you're blaming me now," she asks heatedly as she continues glaring at Rachel disbelievingly. Sure she got distracted when the broken-nosed (from an early and unfortunate run-in with Puck) JewFro's uglier-than-usual face passed her by, but that doesn't mean it's her fault. Freakbray should have known better than to forget her place.

"No, and you know that. I just want you to stop blaming it all on Quinn. It's unfair."

"I won't. And, seriously, Quinn? So you're on first-name basis now? What's next, you'll have some private dorky clap or something?"

"Stop being ridiculous."

"No, you stop being ridiculous. You saw what she did with Brittany. Who knows what she said to her to make her turn her back against me today?"

Rachel walks toward the opposite side of the island and fixes a weird gaze towards Santana. "Are you even sure it's her doing? That she's the reason why Brittany's mad at you? Are you sure it isn't you?"

She gapes at Rachel. "What does that even mean?"

"Why don't you just find a cure for your hopefully temporary blindness and figure that on your own?"

Santana breathes deeply, trying to keep everything together. She's doing her best not to lose her cool at Rachel this early in the confrontation. What's with her friends and their crazy behaviors today?

"Fine. Whatever. Maybe it isn't her fault after all. But it's batshit crazy, even for you to bring her here. If anyone at school hears about this… Argh!" She's frustrated with Rachel and there's no use trying to hide it now. They're not supposed to associate with this thing. It's like the golden rule or something. "Why didn't you just bring her home and let her parents take care of that screw-up?"

"Don't call her that. And no one has to know. I tried bringing her home. Believe me, I did. But there's no one there." Rachel's voice noticeably turns more sober. "That's another thing. I called her father after we arrived. I asked Quinn for their number, and it led me straight to voice mail. They are yet to call me back."

"You should have just left her there alone." Sure, none of them three might be blabbermouths, but that dirty Jacob Ben Israel is like the Roman God of paparazzi-ing. He and his impossibly annoying afro seems to be present in every place and time in Lima and this occurrence could be all over McKinley High tomorrow morning if Rachel hadn't been careful enough.

"It was raining," Rachel argues. "She's sick. I can't just leave her there."

"So you just decided to bring her here? Because I really think this is outrageous."

"I don't care what you think because that's not what I think. You're not the one who saw her earlier, Santana. You're not the one who witnessed how bad it was. She was freezing. She has asthma, do you know that? She could have… If I didn't… God, I can't even…" Rachel shakes her head, a shamed expression on her face. "She was helpless. For once in my life I felt fucking helpless."

Santana's eyes widen and she backtracks a little. Rachel rarely curses – only at times when Barbra is being demeaned in any form of conversation, which means that she's talking about something that affects her to no end. And it isn't a good thing, at least in Santana's book, for Rachel to be deeply affected by that nothing. Rachel deserves better things, better people, she knows that, so she tries to recover instantly. "You didn't have to be. It's not your problem."

"Isn't it?" Rachel questions with a soft scoff, her shoulders sagging as the truth hits her like a mullet to the heart again. "Do you think she'd be where she is now if we didn't throw her around like a rag and let the football and rugby team mass slushy her?"

"Mass slushy?"

"Yes. That's what you ordered, right?"

Santana's forehead crunches in confusion. No it wasn't what she asked. Brittany asked her not to punish the Weirdo because she thinks she's sick so she ordered Azimio to be more creative and not slushy her.

But whatever. It's not this conversation's point. "It's not our fault she's sick. We did not spat bacteria into her mouth."

"You don't have to spat bacteria into another person's mouth to render him or her sick. You should realize that," Rachel replies, firmly but with a hint of sadness that makes Santana want to backtrack if only she isn't so decisive over the fact that Rachel's making the wrong decision. "I fully realized it today." The shorter brunette inhales a breath of air and closes her eyes momentarily. "The look in her eyes, the way she'll flinch and move away like we'll attack her all the time, the shaking? We've given her something that's more of an illness, and it's not right."

"Don't you dare use some dramatic, poetic crap on me. If we make this as plain as day, I'm right, you're wrong. That's that."

"You know what, I'm tired. And you're not exactly helping. We still have our project to do and I want to help her. This is my place, and I'll do what I want to do here. If that's so hard for you to accept, you know where the doors are. Just call me when you're out so I can have them locked."

"What?!"

"You heard me."

Yeah. But that doesn't automatically mean Santana understands. "You're choosing that Freak Show over me?!"

Rachel sighs tiredly. "I really, really, really don't want to but you're being irrational and you're leaving me with no choice."

Santana looks off to the side and breaths out disbelievingly, trying to mask the hurt she's feeling. And God does it hurt like a bitch. This can't be happening; not after everything they've been through. She feels her eyes start to burn but she blinks back her tears.

Santana Lopez doesn't cry. Not even for Rachel Berry. Not even for a friend who's willing to replace her with a loser they hardly know after all those years of watching each other's back selflessly and without a hint of a second thought.

Rachel must have sensed what she's feeling because she plops down the counter stool tiredly. "I'm sorry. I didn't-" she says. "Look, San. You're a great friend and…I love you. And I know you're allergic to saying it back but I know you love me, too. You proved that to me a lot of times before for me not to know that. And I want you to prove that to me again tonight. I need- I need your help," she admits helplessly. "I can't do the project and take care of her at the same time. I know we're not on the same boat on this, but please, for me and for Brittany, just try."

Santana is silent for a moment.

"Whatever. Fine," she says, shaking her head in constant disbelief.

"OK. Thank you, I guess," Rachel says with a sad, half-hearted smile. "See you upstairs."

Santana just takes a deep breath. She watches Rachel's back as the smaller brunette makes her way to the kitchen doorway. She's about to turn around to get a glass of water and perhaps calm her protesting senses but she takes a last-second chance to tell Rachel how she feels about this.

Maybe there's still some goddamn chance that Rachel opens her eyes up.

"You know I'll be regretting every single moment of this night after this talk, right," she says calmly.

Rachel turns to face her. "That's up to you. Just don't forget where you are, Santana. And who you're with. You're not at school. You're not with Sue Sylvester or the cheerleaders or the students. You're at my home, safe with me and Brittany. Angry or not, you don't have to act the bitch role here."

And with that, Rachel is gone. Santana is left with the gravity of the truth behind the words. She can't get herself to trust Quinn however. She can't let that weird nerd get between their tight friendship. Not when she doesn't deserve it. Not when she's tipping the social scale.

And it's not going to happen as long as far as Santana is concerned.

/

Santana is ten minutes from killing either the creature she's currently freak-sitting or herself, or whoever from Berry's neighbors she finds most entertaining to kill. Probably that curly-haired druggie three houses down the block who has tried to feel her three times. Maybe it's time he gets more than a crisp kick in the nuts. Boredom is a bitch even bigger than herself. Rachel has insisted that they do their project on a separate room because it requires hammering and sawing and she doesn't want the noise to wake the fevered psycho up. Someone needs to stay with the very same psycho, though, and so it has been decided that they all take turns freak-sitting her. Brittany is part of the deciding, so Santana had no choice but to painstakingly acquiesce. It's the very reason why her two friends are in the other room right now, trying to fix their ruined project while she is stuck here with Supergirl because it's her fucking turn along with a plate of bacon and a bowl of soup which she's supposed to feed her when she wakes up. Or call Rachel once she wakes up so Santana wouldn't have to deal with the burden of doing so.

Sighing discontentedly, Santana takes her eyes off the celebrity magazine she's been listlessly reading. It features the Most Annoying Hollywood Personalities of the Year, and as expected, Ryan Murphy won for the third consecutive time. Santana can never question the survey's results though; she really hated that guy's guts. His yellow outfit could easily be the worst thing she has ever laid eyes on.

Placing the magazine on the free part of the couch, she burns holes to the creature currently occupying the guest bed instead. Why Rachel wants something to do with the Weirdo is beyond her imagination, much less her comprehension. Sure she isn't too hard to the eyes, and she's actually kind of pretty without her stupid glasses, but she's beyond socially awkward and dresses like a villain that's obsessed with destroying the world by promulgating vomit-inducing fashion.

But Rachel and Brittany, for reasons as mysterious as Mr. Schuester's source of hideous vests, want to take care of her, and Santana has no choice but to compromise by sacrificing her own beliefs. And watch over her with nothing but a swiftly-reducing amount of patience.

And Rachel's last reminders infuriatingly buzzing inside her head.

Be kind to her. Or at least be civil. Try not to startle her as much as you can; she's a little scared of us.

Santana wants to scoff. Civil my ass. That is so not happening.

A few more minutes later, Santana decides that she's at the end of her bored threshold. Watching the freak sleep isn't even close to as entertaining as teaching the freak a lesson. Waking her up would give Santana the opportunity to hand the freak a piece of her mind and at the same time let Rachel finally take over the watching part while she could finally be back in Brittany's (hopefully) waiting arms.

Hmmm. Why haven't she thought of that earlier?

Suppressing a smirk, she stands up and slowly makes her way to the girl. The look on Quinn's sleeping face is disturbed, both painfully vulnerable and innocent at the same time, and that stupid little lamb she's hugging tightly to her chest plus the cold compress on her forehead do nothing but make her look even smaller. For a second, she is painfully reminded of the kind of innocence she sees in Brittany and she's almost tempted to just let the girl be. But she knows it's all on the outside – Quinn is no Brittany. She could be planning something. She's the weirdest individual Santana has ever seen after all.

Fighting hard not to let her emotions distract her from her original plan, she takes a deep breath then not so gently pokes Quinn in the forehead.

Her brows furrow in surprise when the girl in question scrambles away towards the headboard as if she has just been attacked by three hundred and twenty-seven non-Taylor-Lautner-like werewolves. Her breathing is heavy, and her face unnaturally pale. She's wincing audibly and clutching her stomach like the movement caused her pain, making Santana a little curious.

"Geez, cool your panties down, Weird Case," she tells the girl, a little stunned still. "To my and the world's dismay, I'm not allowed to kill you right now so you're kinda safe."

"W-where's R-Rachel," Quinn whispers cautiously, eyes nervously drifting across the room. She's still panting hard in shock.

"She's on the other room. My girl's got tired of looking after you so she practically begged me to stomach the burden of doing so," she says dismissively. "Can't say I blame her though, if you know what I mean."

Quinn exhales sadly as she suddenly seems to find something broadly interesting in her lap, looking rightfully shamed. Santana can make out surrendering in her features, like she's been expecting it from the beginning, but there's disappointment in there, too. The combination makes a heart-wrenching look in the blonde's face, but whatever. Santana knows better that to let it get to her.

Never.

"I-I'm sorry," Quinn says quietly, breaking Santana out of her (unexpected) stupor.

"Just don't, please," Santana replies, shaking her head and raising a palm. "You don't get to say sorry. You know no one's going to accept that. Well, Rachel might, stupidly, if she's here. But she's not because she's actually on the other room fixing our project. Which would be familiar to you because it's the same one that you broke."

The sick girl shakily turns her eyes towards Santana's nose. "I c-can help you f-fix it."

Santana lets out an emotionless laugh. "And how are you supposed to do that? You're sick as a dog, which means you're even more useless than you usually are."

Quinn anxiously looks down again and starts fiddling with her fingers so Santana makes a big show of exhaling loudly, as if telling the blonde that she really should be in a different place right now. Which is nothing but the truth, if she thinks about it. She then takes the plate of bacon and sits down on the chair next to the bed. Quinn, who still refuses to meet her eyes, flinches a little when she plops both of her feet on the bed, subsequently earning a crisp eye-roll from Santana.

Fricking weird, really.

She smirks when Quinn glances at the bacon longingly before licking her chapped lips and swallowing a little. Santana plans on giving it to the "poor" girl as Rachel wishes, but it wouldn't hurt to torture the Loser first. Taking a strip of the ever-loved meat, she makes sure that the lowlife is aware of what she's doing before noisily nibbling with the food.

"You want some," she offers insincerely, raising the plate a little.

Quinn looks like she awfully wants to say yes, but she shakes her head instead, her features looking a little…unworthy?

Well, that's new.

"Exactly," Santana forcibly says while trying to shake the suddenly strange feeling in her stomach. She wants to believe that she's enjoying this, but she knows that she isn't. Doing this to other losers before had been fun. Why is something in her gut telling her now that this isn't as entertaining as the others? If it's because the blonde is looking truly heart-wrenched, she'll do her best to ignore it. "I don't think you should have it."

To her surprise, Quinn just nods acceptingly. "Can I- can I have some water please?"

She rolls her eyes and half-heartedly stands up, making sure her annoyance can be felt from the other side of the world.

Of course, there's a pitcher of water on the table. Rachel is nothing but thorough.

She practically shoves the glass of water towards Quinn's direction, some of the contents even swooshing out of its edge. Again, Quinn whimpers and flinches at the swift movement, and instead of just being annoyed, Santana becomes both annoyed and intrigued. Something is up with the crazy dork.

Not that she cares.

Or so she convinces herself.

She watches with no little disdain as the blonde sips her water slowly. She's still a little tense, Santana can tell.

As if the world is taunting her, Quinn starts coughing hard again after Santana places the now empty glass back to the table so the Latina has no choice but to fill it again and hand it back.

"Th-thank you," Quinn states hoarsely as she finishes.

"Not my pleasure," Santana answers, placing the glass on the table and popping another piece of bacon into her mouth. Geez, it tastes really good. Now she knows why people on 9gag like it a lot. She stares at Quinn again, as a thought crosses her mind. "So, how is it? Do you like it?"

"W-what?"

"You know, playing with people's mind, playing the victim card, looking even more pathetic than you actually are so that important people would feel sorry for unimportant things like you?"

Quinn just bows her head. Santana waits for a while for the girl to at least defend herself.

She doesn't.

"How long are you going to invade Rachel's space?" Not waiting for a response which she's sure wouldn't come either, she adds, "Will your parents even be calling? Because I'm not sure they'd want to, not when they can finally temporarily get rid of you. I mean, I won't even blame them if they can't love you." She snorts for effect. "Who would?"

She knows she's gone too far when Quinn whimpers audibly with her shoulders slumping even more. Judging by the little that Rachel has shared to her, the Fabray parents seem like absent assholes. And if there is someone who understands how much it sucks to have at least an absentee parent, it should be Santana herself.

But sometimes, she can't help what comes out of her mouth. Snix just comes out naturally.

She tries to ignore the way Quinn seems to fold more inside herself. She opts to ignore the tears that have stubbornly fell on pale cheeks. She pretends not to see as Quinn places one wrist against her chest and rubs at it absently. Her words are physically hurting the girl. It's a low blow, even from Santana, considering the fact that she's attacking a sick person, and she has to admit that she's starting to ache for the girl.

She doesn't voice an apology though. Santana doesn't ask for forgiveness. Especially not to Quinn Freakbray.

"Whatever. I'm out of here," she says, suddenly slightly desperate for a way out before she gets swayed from her original purpose. "Rachel will be up here in a few. I'm done wasting my time with you. And don't even think about saying something about this conversation to Rachel or Brittany, because I assure, if you do, hell won't even suffice to half the payment."

And with that she leaves the room, hands crossed against her chest, and not even bothering to look back.

/

Rachel pauses from her measuring when she notices Brittany playing with a piece of wood absently, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hey," she asks nicely. "What are you thinking?"

Brittany shrugs, not taking her eyes off the piece of block. "Nothing much. Just the usual."

"No you're not. You're thinking about something that's more important. And you can't deny that. As part of our magical abilities as the Unholy Trinity, I can tell."

The Unholy Trinity is the group name Santana coined for the three of them for the very "meaningful" reason that it sounds so badass. Not that she can question the creativity, they named their little group 10 years ago. They were all six. And they named it just a few minutes after they watched a movie about Jesus, so there goes the explanation.

Brittany just shrugs yet again, so Rachel decides to be the one to open the topic. She may be fine fighting with Santana, because they've done it quite a lot, but when it comes between her two best friends, a fight is the last thing Rachel wants. She knows how much it hurts the two of them. They have an extra-special bond, she noticed it even before. "Santana's bugged because you're mad at her. You should talk to her and forgive her. You know how she gets when she's stressed. It's like watching The Conjuring unfold in front of your eyes."

Brittany laughs giddily. "I like that movie. I want the doll."

"I understand why you do," Rachel says.

Meh. Who is she kidding? Of course, she doesn't. That doll is nothing but terror. As a matter of fact, it should be officially placed in the dictionary next to the word creepy.

It's Brittany who brings the conversation back to its serious tone after a while. "I'm not mad at her. I just feel like a little sad because I know she shouldn't have done what she did."

"As in you're disappointed?"

Brittany nods. "I mean, I know in my heart that she's not a bad person but she's being bad right now. I told her I think Quinn is sick, but I still found slushy stains on her hair. They still slushied her."

Rachel sighs. She didn't know Quinn was sick, but that doesn't excuse her actions still. "She just thinks she's doing what's best for us, Brit. You know her. She won't do anything that she knows will hurt you. She'll come around once she understands everything and know that we're doing the right thing by helping Quinn."

Brittany shrugs. "I really hope so. I just want everyone to be friends. Especially with Quinn." She gently taps the wooden block against the floor thrice before turning back to Rachel. "By the way, how is she? Is she still sick?"

Rachel frowns, remembering once again the state Quinn is in. "Yes, she is. But she already drank her medicine, so hopefully she'll be feeling better in no time."

Brittany smiles at her sadly. "I'm happy that you're finally being nice to her. Even if it's a little too late. Quinn breaks my heart all the time."

Rachel's too, if she should admit. "Why is that?"

"Because she's always sad and scared and hurt and no one cares. Kids at school are not doing anything to help her not be scared and sad and hurt anymore. All they do is make things worse for her."

Through the guilt that consumes her again, Rachel smiles sadly. If she hadn't gone to the bathroom and saw Quinn like that, she wouldn't have had completely realized how much anguish the girl is in either. She really can't understand why people call Brittany stupid. She may seem like it, but she's not. She's smarter than everyone in her own little ways, and Rachel is proud of her for that.

"I'm one of those kids."

"You were. All of us were. I didn't do anything, too, even if I should have had."

"Do you really think it's too late though?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. Quinn seems very nice. Maybe she'd want us to be friends with her. I know I want to." She pauses, then looks at Rachel hopefully. "Does this mean we're finally trying to befriend her?"

Rachel smiles. "Yeah. It's like, I just saw through her, today. She kinda breaks my heart, too, you know."

Brittany plows on. "Really? We can be friends? Even at school?"

It's then that Rachel's heart drops. She hasn't thought about it; she doesn't know what to say to that. She desperately wants to, to be honest, but she'll be crazy to think that there's no uncertainty to it. Being nice to Quinn is one thing; being nice to Quinn in public is another. And she doesn't want to give Brittany false hopes. She's not sure what would happen if she stays as nice as she is now to Quinn at school. To be safe, she shrugs. "I suppose so. I'm the HBIC, I was supposed to rule the school right. It was stupid of me to let innocent kids like her get hurt.

"It's not you. It's this whole High School crap that's stupid."

Their little conversation is suddenly cut out when Santana's eternally-sultry voice cuts in.

"The princess has just woke up," she declares, storming into the room and plopping on Rachel's extra-soft bed.

"Oh," Rachel states, standing up. "Did you give her food? Did she eat?"

Santana snorts. "What am I? Some fucking Zookeeper? You do it."

"Santana," Brittany says. It almost sounded like a warning to Rachel.

Rachel looks at Santana's face, HBIC expression displayed and all. She doesn't like how Santana is behaving. Na-ah. Not at all. "Tell me that you at least treated her right."

"Damn well I did," Santana says, smirking. Rachel can tell from the smirk that the Latina isn't exactly telling her the truth. "Right and proper," she adds slowly. "The way she deserves."

"Well, I hope so," Rachel states. "You know what I could do if you didn't."

"Oh come on. I treated your princess right and all that shit. Why don't you ask your Weirdo friend yourself?"

"Don't think I won't. She's been through more than enough of our crap today. She doesn't need any more of your bitching."

Santana just shrugs and makes an exaggerated "whatever" with her face. Shaking her head and sharing a look with Brittany, Rachel leaves the room to check on her patient.

/

Quinn is quietly sitting up with her head bowed down when Rachel comes into the guest bedroom. Not wanting to startle the girl, she softly knocks twice on the open door before noiselessly walking in. Quinn appears to be really down, and every ounce of the little easiness Rachel managed to build up between them earlier seems to have vanished into thin air.

She places the bowl of soup she has kept oven-hot in the table. "Hey. It's me. Are you OK? How are you feeling," she asks carefully, occupying the seat next to the bed yet again.

"I'm fine, Rachel. Th-thanks for letting me sleep here."

"It's nothing, Quinn," Rachel replies with a relieved smile, calmed that Quinn is talking to her at least.

Quinn side-eyes Rachel shakily, but only for a very short while. Her gaze returns to her lap immediately, before nervously fiddling with her fingernails. Rachel's smile slowly falls, her happy face turning a little concerned. Something is wrong; her inner psychic can tell.

"What's inside that pretty head of yours," she asks, keeping her low tone. Quinn turns crimson from the compliment, but doesn't say anything in response, so Rachel adds. "I need to know what's bothering you, Quinn." She gently places a hand on Quinn's forearm. Quinn flinches, so she winces a little and withdraws immediately. "Please."

She's not sure if it's the almost pathetic please at the end of her statement or it's just her natural ability to be charming, but Rachel is slightly relieved when Quinn's body language shows a hint of disinclined relenting.

It won't take a while, so she waits until Quinn finds enough confidence to voice her thoughts.

"D-Do you w-want me to leave," the blonde stammers sadly, trembling hands yet again gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

Rachel's jaw almost drops to the floor. That's not even a question here. She wouldn't want Quinn to leave. At least not until she's sure that someone out there is bound to take care of the blonde. Not in a million years, no. "What? No," she reassures immediately, slightly exclaiming the last part in shock. "No, of course not, Quinn. What gave you that idea?"

"I-it's OK if you want me to l-leave, Rachel. I'll u-understand if-if you wouldn't w-want me here," Quinn whispers, panting slightly as her emotions start to get the better of her.

Rachel feels like her heart is being squeezed. Quinn just looks son drained. "No, it's not OK, because I don't want you to go. I told you, as sudden and as surprising as this may seem, I am taking care of you while your parents are out. I meant it. And when I say I mean something, I really mean it. Always."

"R-really?"

"Uhuh," she nods, letting out a reassuring smile.

Quinn swallows a little. "You're not m-mad at me?"

"No, of course not. That thought's crazy," Rachel tells her honestly.

"You're not tired of being with me?"

"No."

"Oh," Quinn whispers, obviously ashamed. "I'm s-sorry for d-doubting you, Rachel."

"It's fine," Rachel reassures her gently. "You don't have to say sorry. You have every reason not to trust me."

"But y-you've been so kind to me and I d-disrespected you. I did something wrong," Quinn confesses, voice shaking like she's on the verge of tears. Which she is.

"No, you didn't. I told you I understand," she answers, watching the timid blonde carefully. She's starting to look really worked up so Rachel hastens to change the topic and to dodge another asthma attack. "I'm not mad at you, alright? Or feeling any emotion close to that. Now, why don't we leave the drama at that, and you eat so you can take your medicine?"

"But I-I already had my share."

With a confused expression, Rachel glances at the plate of bacon and the bowl of soup at the table before staring at Quinn again. The foods are obviously untouched so there's no way Quinn's had had her fill. Also, the paleness and frailness in Quinn's physique isn't gone, a tangible testament to her being unfed yet.

"But you haven't touched your food," she says plainly.

"I already h-had water."

"What?"

Quinn bites her lip, looking ashamed. "That's what I should have today," she explains.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I-I'm not supposed to e-eat."

Rachel does her best to school her expression to as neutral as she can. She doesn't understand why Quinn would be thinking of that. Is it because of the insults they subject the girl with daily?

She meets Quinn's eyes sincerely. "No, Quinn, I insist that you eat. If it's about what those bastards at school say, forget all of it. Everything we said about you, believe me, is wrong. You're not fat or weird or crazy. We just said those lies to you because we can't find ugly truths about you."

"Y-you don't have to l-lie to me, Rachel. I-its OK. I have l-learned to accept those things."

Rachel sighs silently. There's too many broken parts to fix. She hopes there's still a chance for her to fix them. "I'm not lying." Taking Quinn's frail, warm hand, she adds emotionally, "You're a very pretty girl, Quinn. Prettiest girl I've ever met, I should say, and even more than that."

Quinn blushes yet again but she shakes her head ever so minutely. "No, I'm not."

"You are. You just don't realize it," she insists, squeezing Quinn's hand gently. It's true. Quinn has no idea how beautiful she is, and Rachel won't stop telling her that until Quinn gets it. But now, first things first. "Look, I prepared everything for you. You can't not eat this. Santana had to conduct an impromptu grocery shopping so you could have this. I had to turn my back against my vegan principles because I know this is what you'll like. Brit burned a finger trying to cook this for you-"

Quinn whimpers, her head hanging even lower. "I-I'm sorry-"

Rachel cuts her off. "No. That's not what I meant." She shakes her head at her mistake. "I'm sorry. What I meant is we prepared these foods for you and for you alone. What I want is for you to eat this. You need to eat, Quinn. Look at you, you're too thin."

She watches with amusement through her worry as Quinn takes Rachel's advice quite literally and surveys herself for a while. She stares at her left arm, then her right, before lifting her blanket a little to look at her legs.

Quinn is basically clueless on street slang.

"O-OK," she says, taking her eyes from her own body and looking at Rachel.

Rachel nods, contented. "What do you prefer to eat first?"

"Bacon, please," Quinn says automatically, eyes brightening a little.

Nodding yet again, Rachel reaches for the plate of bacon and hands it over to the blonde. She tries hard not to smile as she catches Quinn follow the plate almost reverently, like she's seeing Bacon-God in the food or something like that, unknowingly poking her tongue out slightly to wet her fever-chapped lips.

The blonde reluctantly takes the plate from Rachel's outstretched hand and quietly looks at the plate for a while, then to Rachel. "Can I really eat this," she asks, eyes and tone hopeful.

Simple words like that are not supposed to clench a person's heart the way Rachel's did. Maybe it's because it is said in the same cautious way Quinn would ask permission for every little comfort she's about to have.

"That's just for you."

Quinn gives her a toothy grin before practically attacking her plate. She moans happily at the first bite, and despite her usual disgust at anything meat, Rachel finds herself smiling warmly. The bacon is gone in no time, and Quinn is grinning dorkily when she finishes, then hands the plate to Rachel, shyly but contentedly. There are ridiculous-looking grease stains just above her upper lip.

"There's uhmmm," Rachel point outs, gesturing awkwardly at the grease. Quinn blushes profusely and wipes at it with the back of her hand not so gracefully. The action only spreads the stain all the more. Rachel laughs a little before grabbing a napkin and wiping at the stains herself. Quinn flinches at first, but then lets Rachel do the wiping when her initial, instinctive fear is gone.

Once it's done, Rachel smiles at her then hands her the bowl of soup. The Cheerio watches as Quinn tries to balance the bowl with one shaky hand as the other one holds the spoon. Both of her hands are trembling badly, though, and it's Quinn that has to painstakingly bend forward to catch the contents of the spoon or they'll fall into useless drops on Rachel's blanket. Quinn might have had been fine eating the bacon by herself, but the soup is clearly another story.

"Here, let me," Rachel offers, gently taking the bowl and spoon from Quinn's hands. She catches Quinn pout a little when the glorious gumbo is taken from her grasp and barely stops herself from laughing.

Quinn watches blankly, clueless as Rachel takes a spoonful of the soup before blowing at it gently.

"Open up," Rachel says cheerily once she's certain that the soup is in the right temperature, raising the spoon towards Quinn. The blonde, who isn't expecting that at all, gasps a little and looks at her with the same vulnerable surprise that makes Rachel's heart ache.

It doesn't take long for the tears to fall on pale, porcelain cheeks. (Quinn's not used to kindness, even if it's everything she wanted to have).

Rachel looks stricken to the core. "Oh no," she pouts, genuinely starting to get disappointed. "Don't you want this," she asks, withdrawing the food a little.

Quinn shakes her head frantically, almost fast enough to take it off her head before wiping at her tears fiercely, swallowing her tears and opening her mouth really wide. The adorableness of it makes Rachel instantly forget her just-been-there worries as she feeds Quinn, smiling all the while.

Once the gumbo is consumed, and happily so, she helps the blonde with her medicine and cough syrup before once again guiding her to lying position and tucks her under her warm blanket, complete with a fluffed up pillow under her head and Frankie in her sweet embrace. Rachel relaxes in her usual seat, singing silently to herself and banging her head to her own music.

"R-Rachel," Quinn asks after a while, looking at Rachel cautiously.

The brunette stops her singing for a while to regard her companion. "Yes, Quinn?"

"I'm s-sorry for r-ruining your project. I promise I didn't mean it," she apologizes guiltily, looking stricken enough that anyone watching them would think she killed both of Rachel's dads.

"It's not your fault," she reassure her.

Quinn shakes her head. "If you want, I can help you fix it."

Rachel smiles. "I know you can, but you're tired and sick, so I won't let you help anyway. We'll be fine doing it because there's three of us. You should rest. Just focus on healing."

Quinn seems to mull things over, pursing her lips in thought. "Can I help you after I rest?"

"We'll see to that, OK?"

"OK."

"Quinn?"

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Did Santana say anything to you?"

Quinn shakes her head frantically, her breaths getting a little labored. Well, her reaction practically declares the opposing truth but since Rachel knows Santana like she knows they live in America, she is a hundred percent certain that a threat has been involved. A death threat, to be exact. And she doesn't want Quinn's fragile heart to get even more scared than it already is, so she hastens to reassure her.

"OK. I believe you, Quinn. I just wanted to make sure that she didn't because she promised me."

Quinn nods, seemingly relieved enough to offer Rachel a sad, shaky smile that, like all the rare others, melts Rachel's heart.

"I-I like your sheet," Quinn says groggily, blinking sleepily. Rachel can tell that the medicine is starting to make her drowsy.

Rachel feigns surprise. "You like my what? Quinn Fabray, did you just swear?"

Quinn's sleepy eyes widen in shock as she realizes what she just said. Looking terribly distraught, she looks at Rachel with wide eyes. "No-I- I said- I meant-"

Rachel's amused laughter cuts her off. Quinn just continues to stare at Rachel worriedly. "Quinn, relax. I was joking."

"Oh," the blonde says, her mouth staying open for a while after that, as the information sinks in. "S-sorry, Rachel. I-I didn't know."

"It's not something you have to be sorry about."

"Really?" Quinn asks. "But-"

"Shhh. It's OK. Just rest."

"But I mean it, Rachel. You have a nice…uhm…" Rachel watches her blush again. "uhmm… Co-cover."

"I have a nice sheet. I know."

Quinn bites her lip but giggles softly. "Yeah. There's- there's dogs and cats."

Rachel runs her hand over Quinn's blanket before looking at the sleepy blonde again. "You really like animals, don't you?"

Quinn just nods and smiles dorkily, eyes already drooping more than halfway.

"OK. Just sleep now. There'd be more animal sheets to see tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"OK," Quinn says excitedly, inhaling contentedly as she hugs Frankie tightly and relaxes against Rachel's bed.

"G-goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight, Quinn."

"D-don't leave, please."

Her stomach falling, Rachel sighs sadly, clearing Quinn's still-burning forehead from stray hair. "I promised you won't be alone when you wake up, and I'll make sure you won't."

"OK," Quinn murmurs, voice fading as she goes into dreamland.

/

Santana's eyes are burning. Her back is protesting, her head is throbbing and her hands are starting to go numb. Exactly what she needs, she thinks sarcastically. It's one in the morning. They've been working on their project for hours, and nothing seems to work. They're damage control isn't really damage control because they're just really creating more damage than control.

It's Brittany that's looking after their resident-weirdo-but-really-just-burden right now, so she's alone with Rachel, who is still being cold to her.

Yeah. Because that's another thing she needs.

She takes her eyes off the wooden piece of sh*t in her hands and moves them to the smaller brunette, who is starting to rock down to sleep at the foot of the bed, looking at their sh*tty creation, a little dazedly. They're both too sleepy that she's pretty sure none of them understands what they are doing anymore. Sure, Rachel belongs to the top three percentile of her class when it comes to their grade average, but she's almost as bad as Santana when it comes to physics and inventing and all of this sh*t.

She goes back on her project and tries to focus as much as she can on fixing it even if she's starting to lose track of where she is and what she's doing here anymore.

Her head droops in its own accord and she curses nothing in particular. She catches herself a millisecond before she hugs the dark, jerking back awake.

Only to have her eyes burn immediately again.

Eff it! She's giving in. And through her peripheral vision, she can tell that Rachel is doing the same thing. She's just going to wake up really early tomorrow to finish this up. She desperately needs to sleep. They've been awake the whole night last night, and because of that stupid dork they have to go through it again tonight.

If they don't get to finish their assignment, she swears that that weirdo is really going to get it. All that they've put her through would seem like a vacation after Santana is through with her.

She thinks of that as she welcomes the dark, cursing Quinn Freakbray one last time.

/

So there's chapter 3.

Please leave a comment. I'd like to hear what you think so I can improve my writing.

Thank you!