A/N: I'm going to try for something like a weekly update schedule. I have quite a lot written, but I want to try to keep a good buffer going. As a side note, I haven't been really paying attention to season 4 spoilers, although I've run across a few, but this was conceived before there were spoilers. I am unlikely to change details to match season 4, if I watch it.

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You in those little hot waisted shorts
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Santana does call Quinn the next day, and they end up lounging next to the pool at Brittany's house. Santana never bothers with sunblock, claiming her daily body lotion is SPF 15 and she's never been sunburned before anyway, but Quinn slathers up obsessively, not trusting her own pale complexion not to scorch—the only path to a tan for her involved a good deal of burning first. Truth be told, she'd never even used the free tanning that had been a Cheerios perk; even that was likely to turn her more red than bronze. She reminds Brittany to reapply constantly, remembering Brittany's puppy-dog face the time she got a bad sunburn at cheer camp. The only other time she'd seen Brittany that miserable was Junior year, when things between her and Santana had gotten strange, and she never wanted to see that kind of pain on Brittany's face ever again.

Santana checks her phone in the early afternoon, and takes off her sunglasses to peer closer, clicking and swiping her fingers around. Brittany drapes herself over Santana's lap and looks with her. Quinn sets aside her book—Mrs. Dalloway, which she'd chosen as a college preparation of sorts—and lifts her sunglasses to watch, her interest now piqued as she's the only one out of the loop. Santana catches her eye and answers her unasked question, "Email from Rachel. Apartment stuff."

Brittany smiles, "Ooh, we can invite her over! Quinn, call her!"

Quinn's breath catches oddly and she fumbles, "But it's your house, Britt, shouldn't you?"

Brittany waves a hand, "I left my phone upstairs, and Santana is busy on hers. You do it!"

Quinn is sure she saw Brittany's phone an hour ago, but she calls Rachel anyway. Rachel answers her phone so formally ("Rachel Berry speaking") that Quinn finds herself saying that, "Ms. Pierce requests your company at the Chateau Pierce at the" she glances at her phone for the time. 1:35. "fourteenth hour. You are requested to arrive attired in water-appropriate apparel."

Rachel laughs, and Quinn is glad she stood up and walked a few paces so that her back was to Brittany and Santana because she's sure she's blushing. Or maybe it's just time to reapply her sunscreen. "I accept the invitation, thank you, Ms. Fabray. Shall I bring anything else? Ooh, I'll bring the rest of the cookies!"

"That would be acceptable," Quinn nods, "We await your arrival."

Quinn hangs up grinning, half embarrassed by what a dork she so clearly is (X-Files, Buffy and now this? God help her) and half pleased to have heard Rachel laugh. She strides back to her seat, seeing that Brittany is still sprawled half over Santana, who has reclined again, her sunglasses back in place. "I would ask what the fuck that was, but I don't think I really want to know," Santana drones, relaxed, one hand absently stroking Brittany's side.

"Shut up," Quinn responds mildly, dropping back into her own seat and reapplying her sunscreen.

Rachel arrives right on time, not that the time Quinn chose was anything other than arbitrary. She comes through the sliding door into the backyard, with a greeting and the explanation, "Rory let me in."

Brittany bounds up to welcome her, then looks surprised, "Oh, is he home? I never see him," and proceeds to offer Rachel some lemonade.

Santana stays in her chair and merely lifts a lazy hand, "Berry," she greets.

Quinn gets up after Brittany, smiling as she takes in Rachel in a tank top and jean shorts. She takes the plate of cookies from Rachel and immediately pops one into her mouth and wanders off with the rest. "Hey!" Rachel calls, laughing.

Setting the plate down on the patio table, Quinn turns and gives Rachel a real smile, "Hey, Rachel."

Brittany brings Rachel a glass of lemonade and shows her where she can leave her clothes—under the awning, so they won't get wet in case of an unexpected summer thunderstorm. Rachel peels them off and Quinn slides on her sunglasses to mask her…curiosity about Rachel's choice of swimwear. It's a two-piece that ties around her back and around her neck, with a bottom that's as sinfully cut as her skirts. Santana and Brittany wear similarly skimpy suits—string bikinis, really.

But Quinn has always preferred a slightly more modest cut—still two-piece, sure, but as she knows she'll barely tan, she doesn't worry about tan lines and chooses suits that won't show the stretch marks on her hips and upper thighs and won't emphasize her lack of cleavage. A bit closer in cut to booty shorts and a sports bra. She's still occasionally self-conscious about her body, obviously. Most of the stretch marks on her thighs are from puberty, which had not been kind to Lucy, multiplying her baby fat to just plain fat, and giving her child-bearing hips that would, sooner than Lucy could ever have imagined, be so useful. But her thighs were the only place she got stretch marks then, luckily. She'd also managed to dodge most of them during her pregnancy, thanks in part to Mrs. Jones and some luck. When she'd arrived at Mercedes's, Mrs. Jones, who she'd immediately pegged as a quiet, hard-working woman, had knocked on her door after dinner that evening, bearing a cylinder of something. She held it up with a small smile, "Cocoa butter. Does wonders for stretch marks, I know from experience." She showed Quinn how to soften it with a hairdryer and recommended where to apply it preemptively. Now, Quinn can see a few white lines above her hips, but really, they could be much more prominent, and she is forever grateful to Mercedes and to Mrs. Jones.

She knows her friendship with Mercedes drifted. There's still love there, a sisterly connection, but for awhile, it was hard to talk. But she thinks Mercedes understands. She is, and will always be a Fabray, and will always have too much pride. It's hard to be in Mercedes's presence without feeling like she owes her so much more than can ever be repaid.

And she has a moment, then, where she thanks God that stretch marks may someday be the biggest marring of her skin that she has to worry about. That somehow she came out of that accident with scars that are already fading from angry pink to approximating her skin tone—and, yeah, she can wear a bathing suit now without feeling horrific. Which…she's been so lucky—she thinks she hazily remembers something about lasers and laparoscopy and other things she hadn't wanted to think about at the time, but God, her window had shattered bits of glass all into her face and yet…remarkably smooth skin replaced it. The worst wounds, there had been money to treat with more lasers several weeks later—worth it, her mother had claimed, to put the incident behind her, even if it was purely cosmetic and even if she wasn't walking yet—and didn't know if she ever would. For the smaller cuts, there had been anti-scarification lotions and creams. Her mother had helped her apply it, when she'd been so emotionally and mentally paralyzed by the fact that she was physically paralyzed, and she's kept up applying it, the skin constantly improving. But really, all this thankfulness is secondary to the fact that she can stand right now, or walk. Or dance.

So she doesn't want to show much hips, thighs or breasts (her insecurity about her breasts being so much easier to place, overhearing Finn complain to Puck once that even though they were so small, he was still desperate to feel them; she'd glanced down at herself, feeling strangely betrayed by the body she'd suffered so much for—and the fact that Puck's response hadn't been lewd for the first time in his life may have been a factor in her half-coherent decision to sleep with him not long after). But her ass, well, there's no hiding that. She's tried to embrace that some things will never change, and Lucy's ass is with her for life. And showing off her abs—that's a must. She works hard for them, after all. Quinn snaps her gaze away from Rachel's abs as the girl approaches, but not before noticing that they looked worked for, too.

Rachel sits primly on the chair between Quinn and Santana, the one Brittany had been using before she decided she'd rather share with Santana. She glances at Quinn, "Doesn't anyone get in the water?"

Santana tries to scoff, but then frowns, "I guess we haven't actually gone swimming yet. You down for a dip, B?"

Brittany nods enthusiastically and slides gracefully to her feet. Her long strides take her to the diving board, where she executes a backflip that has Santana humming throatily in appreciation. Santana tosses her sunglasses aside and prances to the edge of the pool, where she cannonballs in as close to Brittany as she can get without it being dangerous. Brittany shrieks with laughter and grabs Santana as she resurfaces. Rachel glances at Quinn and grins, and Quinn can't help but smile fully back, folding her own sunglasses on top of her book. Rachel performs a beautiful swan dive that draws applause from Brittany and Santana, and Quinn can't help but leap into one of her well-known sky splits, eager to just get into the water.

They splash around for a long while, playing keep away, throwing around foam balls they find scattered around the edge of the pool, trying to walk along the bottom of the deep end, floating lazily. In a surprisingly stern voice, Brittany absolutely forbids a game of Marco Polo, claiming she never escapes those shouts from her younger sister and her friends all summer.

As they lay back down, letting the sun dry them, Quinn finds herself drifting nearly to sleep. She looks over to see Brittany curled on her side, smiling and watching Santana, who sits close to Rachel, both poring over apartment listings on Santana's phone and chattering excitedly, occasionally bickering, with Santana narrowing her eyes dangerously and Rachel stomping a foot even sitting down. Quinn smiles lazily. She really can't wait to see how this turns out.

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He said return the ring, he knows so much about these things
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About a week later finds the same four girls in Brittany's living room, spread out onto the comfiest couch together, scrolling through Netflix on Brittany's sister's Wii on the large television. It's been storming on and off the whole day, so Santana had suggested a movie marathon. They get immediately sidetracked from that idea by Santana herself, who is weirdly obsessed with 30 Rock, and takes the Wiimote from Brittany to click on it. Brittany shrugs and says she likes this idea, because she thinks Tina Fey and Tracy Morgan are both kinda hot. Rachel admits that she's never actually seen a whole episode and Santana groans loudly, "I swear to god, Berry, I don't know how I'm going to live with you if you stay this pop-culturally retarded." Brittany and Quinn both glance at Rachel worriedly, but she's grinning.

"Are you offering to take it upon yourself to re-educate me, Santana?" she asks.

Santana just scoffs in response. "Whatever. Sure. Starting now."

Quinn stays quiet. For whatever reason, she just has never gotten into the show. Sometimes it's funny enough to make her smile, but rarely makes her laugh (Santana takes this as a personal affront and says it's because she's a "frigid bitch"), and it certainly has never made her laugh the way it does Santana, who almost immediately is leaning into Brittany and cracking up. Soon, Rachel's giggling, too, but part of her reason seems to be Santana herself, who has started repeating the lines she finds hilarious as she laughs.

As they watch, they are interrupted by three phones chiming in unison—Quinn's Jim Croce crooning the single word "Operator" from her purse, Santana's Die Antwoord rapping "I fink you freaky and I like you a lot" from her pocket, and Brittany's recording of Lord Tubbington meowing from the coffee table. The Unholy Trinity exchange sly glances, while Rachel looks on in interest. Brittany gets to her phone first. "It's Puck," she confirms for Quinn and Santana, who know a mass text is usually a sign of a Puck party, "He's throwing a going away party for Finn." She winces as soon as she's finished the sentence.

The Trinity eye Rachel warily for a few moments. She's taken a breath and then forced a smile. The fact that her phone didn't buzz sinks in heavily in those moments. Forgotten, onscreen, Tracy Morgan breaks down crying over traumatic events in his childhood. Finally, Rachel speaks, her voice low, "I didn't think he was leaving until next month. When is it?"

Santana glances at her phone and swallows. "Friday." Her voice is almost as low as Rachel's. Quinn realizes she never actually finished taking her phone out of her bag. She's been frozen since Brittany said his name.

There's silence for a few more moments, until abruptly Rachel's phone sings out "I'm defying gravity!" Thankful that she remembered to change her text tone, Rachel opens the message, aware that all eyes are on her.

"It's Noah," she murmurs, "He…wanted to send my invitation separately. Says he understands I may not want to attend, but that he thinks it would be good for Finn. And for me."

There are another few moments of silence in which no one can come up with anything to say. Quinn's brain is screaming that it's too soon for them to see each other, they just broke up two weeks ago, for Christ's sake. Santana is gritting her teeth with the effort of not saying anything about just how disgusting Finn and Rachel were as a couple. Finally, Brittany speaks, "San, I don't know if I want to go."

Santana's surprised, "Wait, what? Why not?"

Brittany doesn't look at all uncomfortable as she bluntly replies, "I don't actually like Finn that much."

Santana looks shocked, and Quinn tries not to look at Rachel, whose head has turned toward Brittany, neither slowly nor quickly, giving zero indication of her thoughts.

"Really? Why not?" Quinn asks, hoping that Rachel will glance at her so she can get a read of the girl's expression.

Brittany turns wide, blue eyes to Quinn, "You sound surprised, Q. I didn't think you liked him, either."

Quinn grits her teeth, frustrated to have the question turned back to her, "Well, I mean. No. I don't dislike him. He can be a good friend. But he does upset me sometimes. And I guess sometimes it's hard for me to separate the bitter feelings that come from the fact that he's my ex, and that we hurt each other a lot when we were together, and who he is as a friend." Rachel is watching this explanation, and from the corner of her eye, Quinn catches her expression. It's fighting to remain neutral, with wide eyes the indication of her rapt attention.

Brittany hums a little, "Okay. I get that. I mean, part of why I don't like him is similar. Santana took his big V. They'll always have that sticky, sweaty bond." She looks at Santana, who is fighting a grimace, "Kind of like how you will never get along with Artie, even though he's so cool, being part robot, like an android or whatever."

Santana scoffs, "I don't hate Wheels," she mutters hollowly.

"Okay. So that's part of why? I mean, Santana and Puck slept together all the time and you don't hate him." Quinn (dimly registering Santana's huff at again being dragged in for comparison) doesn't know why she's pushing this. She's just surprised to hear Brittany admit this. Brittany so rarely actually feuds with someone—the hair gel ban at Prom being the only one within a year that Quinn can think of, not to mention the weirdest—at least not on her own; she'd certainly been cruel under Quinn's order at the height of her Cheerios reign.

"Well, yeah. But he can also just be so mean. Like San, when he told everyone about you. That's not okay. I heard that a unicorn has to decide for itself when it wants to go down the rainbow slide or it might lose its footing and fall out of the sky."

Rachel and Quinn side-eye each other, blinking, for a moment, until it dawns on them simultaneously what Brittany means. Santana, of course, understands immediately and says, "Britt, it wasn't that bad." Brittany shakes her head, her blue eyes boring into Santana's, until Santana glances away and says, "Okay, yeah, I mean, I was super pissed when it all started, You're right, I wasn't ready. But I forgave him, because when it was over, I felt better. It wasn't hanging over my head anymore."

Brittany shrugs, "I wish I had said some of these things to him at the time, but I was practicing diplomacy. It's hard to be president. I didn't want to be quoted saying anything bad so I just stopped talking for awhile. It's okay, though. I'll have a clean record when I run again this year." Brittany then turns to Quinn. "But also at Prom. When he tried to yank you out of your wheelchair. That was—"

"Wait, what?!" Rachel squeaks, turning to Quinn so quickly that her hair nearly whips Brittany in the face. "He did what to you?"

"You…didn't hear?" Quinn asks hesitantly.

"Okay," Rachel begins, turning to Santana and chopping the air emphatically with her hands as she speaks, "I will admit that when I realized that Finn had outed you that I was upset on your behalf, but by that juncture, you had already absolved him, and because I had been so busy with other things that I never quite put together how it had happened to you until much later, I never had a conversation with him about how inconsiderate he was to you, and I very much should have. Or Kurt should have. And I'm sorry to say that I took a Machiavellian approach and decided the ends justified the means, because you did seem so relieved. But Quinn," she turns back to Quinn, her eyes large and almost afraid, "Quinn, that's…how could he have done that to you?"

Sighing and running a hand through her hair, which is down and kind of artfully messy today, Quinn tries to decide how to answer Rachel, "Don't worry about it, Rachel. He…he walked into the girls' bathroom—" (an indignant squawk from Rachel) "—and found me standing up. He didn't listen when I told him I was still so weak, and wanted to show people my progress at the right moment, and he thought I was pretending to be more crippled than I was to get votes."

Rachel shakes her head slowly, "That's…" but doesn't seem to be able to formulate a response.

Santana changes the subject, "Look, he can be a douchenozzle sometimes, but he's like, sort of our friend and this is a Puck party, guys. No way I'm missing it."

Brittany settles against her and says, "I'll come to watch you then. Make sure you don't do anything Lord Tubbington wouldn't do."

"Don't worry, B, I'll be DD, you can have fun" Quinn cuts in, "You know I never drink at Puck parties anymore."

"What about you, Rach?" Brittany asks, "and I mean, I'm sorry, I hope you don't think we were trying to like make Finn look bad or something,"

"Like he needs any help, look at him, I've seen more attractive sea lions." Santana interrupts, forcing a smirk, trying to regain her footing after the uncomfortable conversation.

Brittany bumps her knee, "Be nice, San. You're a lady unicorn, of course you don't think he's pretty."

Rachel smiles at this exchange and says, "Thank you, Brittany, but your apology isn't necessary. I have no need to defend him, and I do hope that a military lifestyle will help him mature. But yes. I think I will go."

Quinn feels her throat going dry at this admission. Unable to decipher why, she feels like she needs space, and launches off the couch, "You guys want me to order a pizza?"

Additional A/N: My treatment of the aftermath of Quinn's accident is intentionally somewhat unrealistic, as an eye-roll because I sort of anticipate the canon will treat it as something without real repercussions. It served its function as a plot device.

Chapter titles from The Neighbourhood, "Sweater Weather" and The Smiths, "This Charming Man" (I particularly enjoy The Reborn Identity's mashup of this song with Lana Del Rey, "Video Games," called "This Charming Video Game"). Other songs mentioned include Jim Croce, "Operator" (I like the Tori Amos cover as well), Die Antwoord, "I Fink U Freeky" and, of course, "Defying Gravity" from Wicked.