A/N: Posting a little early since I may not have internet for the next few days as I move and get settled in a new place. Everything will hopefully be settled in time for a regular update next week.

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We never lost control
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The next morning, after a restless sleep, Quinn wakes early and is full of anxious energy. She reflects that Cheerios and physical therapy have possibly conditioned her to require more exercise than she's been getting lately, and decides to go for a run.

It's the first time she's gone for a run since she's been back on her feet, so she leaves a note for her mother with her prospective route and how long she thinks she'll be out, so that if she hurts herself somewhere along the way, her mother may have time to come find her before leaving for work. She pulls on a pair of black workout shorts, probably part of her old gym uniform the few times she wasn't exempt from gym because of Cheerios, or being pregnant, or being wheelchair-bound, and a red tank top, pulls back her hair in as high a ponytail as she can and laces up her running shoes—her sixth pair since starting high school; Cheerios practice was rough on running shoes, after all.

She stretches a bit before setting out, which feels odd, because Coach Sylvester hadn't believed in stretching, at least not before running; stretching was only appropriate before attempting splits, and even then, she firmly believed they shouldn't be necessary. But physical therapy had utilized stretches to help her muscles regain control. She knows exercise scientists and athletes are divided over the issues, but she figures light stretching can only help. The first block or so she takes at a brisk walk to try to continue her warm up. Then, she lopes into a run.

It's reassuring, the way her legs seem to know exactly what to do, even though she knows they've atrophied some since she's been in a wheelchair. There's some light stinging in her ankles the first few times her feet hit concrete, and she tells herself she should consider buying an elastic resistance band to strengthen them again, but the stinging subsides quickly, and she's established a steady pace. She breathes in through her nose, deeply, for as long as possible—almost a block—before it's not enough and she needs to switch to her mouth. She makes sure she's exhaling as her left foot hits the ground even though it's basically automatic now; she'd learned from experience quite awhile ago that she'll get a cramp within thirty seconds if she breathes the other way (Googling the problem had told her it's because of something like her liver bouncing in the vacuum of her chest cavity or something equally disturbing). She makes sure to breathe in so deeply that she can feel her diaphragm drop, so her lungs can expand fully, remembering when practicing their "I Feel Pretty/Unpretty" mashup how Rachel had tried to teach her how to feel her diaphragm and how to use it to help with breath control. She hadn't been very good at it, always forgetting to pay attention to it when it came time to actually sing, but recognizing the feel of it had turned out to help her with running. Especially since, even after learning that breathing with her stomach would help her get more air, she isn't able to make herself do it; Lucy's habit of sucking in her stomach as much as possible was impossible to break.

It's been awhile since she's gone on a run through the neighborhood. She used to go almost every day in the summers to finishing losing her Lucy weight, stay in shape for Cheerios or to lose her baby weight, except for last summer, when she'd spent time smoking and hanging out with the Skanks instead (and with that 40-year-old guy that she hadn't really been involved with, but let everyone think so in hopes that it would provoke a fight with her mother; her mother had not had any idea how to handle Quinn in Skank mode and had reverted to blinders-on, smile-forced, inattentive, Russell Fabray's wife mode). Still, Quinn remembers a route that's only about two miles long and figures it's a good distance to start.

It feels almost like it's uphill the whole way. Lima is a bit hilly in parts, and the route she takes, the downhill parts are so gradual she doesn't notice them, but notices the steeper uphills. They don't get very steep until the very last quarter of her run, where two fairly steep inclines in a row occur. So for now, Quinn just concentrates on her stride and her breathing, trying to make her inhalations and exhalations take about a full two seconds each, or what she thinks a full two seconds might be; the rhythm of her feet are a distracting metronome that don't match any kind of conventional time frame.

After a block or so, she has to slow down to walk briskly for a bit, not because she's out of breath, but because her legs are starting to feel weak. She walks for about fifteen seconds before the image of Rachel and Finn invades her brain, and her legs pump off the ground automatically, and stride and breaths take over her brain again.

But soon, even those things become so automatic that she can't focus on them, and God, she's back to worrying again. Her stride increases without her knowledge, and her breathing picks up, though she's still exhaling as her left foot comes down. She doesn't want to deal with the idea of Rachel and Finn. She'd been lying desperately the time in the bathroom just before graduation when she'd told Rachel that she and Finn were meant to be. She was just trying so damn hard to be supportive, swallowing down her desperate anxiety and pain just so Rachel could have someone to rely on—because God knew the girl could barely rely on the man she was about to marry. She had hoped that by saying this, that she could convince herself that it was true, and could just accept that Rachel had chosen Finn, someone Quinn never thought was good enough for Rachel. But then, once she had finally started to convince herself to let things be and just move on, Finn had approached the rest of the Glee club with his plan to break off the engagement to send Rachel on her way. And, though Quinn had never wanted anything else than for Rachel to be sent on her way to her destiny, the broken engagement had rekindled that tiny torch inside her, the one that wanted Rachel to…

She couldn't even. Rachel was special, she always knew that. There had always been something about her that drew Quinn's attention. And now Quinn just wanted to be Rachel's best friend, and it felt like they were getting there. Shouldn't that be enough? Best friends were more important than boyfriends or husbands, right?

She realizes she's nearing the last quarter of her run, and forces herself to slow to a brisk walk, realizing her legs are starting to feel a bit like jelly, and she needs to rest a bit before attempting the double hill. These inclines had always given her problems; after all, most of her running occurred on the track at school, which, of course, was flat as could be.

She focuses on the hills and breathes deeply, forcing all the air out of her lungs before taking a new breath, and then reverts to her steady pace just before the first incline. She can't even think about anything else as she begins to climb the first hill. The burn of her legs and glutes is about all that registers, and she just continues to push with the determination and self-discipline Lucy had unlocked at age fourteen. She can feel her legs wanting to give out, and fights to dispel the thoughts that plague her, that this was a bad idea, that her body wasn't ready, that she was too weak, that she was going to re-injure herself, that she'd never be an athlete again. The sidewalk levels out for a few yards and she keeps going, trying to increase her momentum before the second hill. And this time, it's strangely easier. Her legs still feel weak and wobbly, but the willpower is back, and she pushes up the hill, only allowing herself to slow down to her brisk walk when she gets to the top, and continues, pretending that her knees don't want to buckle.

Soon, she's on the home stretch, and puts on her last burst of strength to get home. She knows she's done well for her first run in such a long time; she used to be able to do this, and longer routes, without stopping to walk, of course, but she doesn't expect perfection. That's one way she knows how much she has changed since Freshman and Sophomore year. Back then, she didn't expect anything from her new self but perfection, which…well, obviously hadn't led to the best life choices and to high levels of stress. It took her falling, hard, several times before it sunk in that she would never be perfect, and for a brief few weeks Senior year, before Rachel's engagement and her accident, she had finally started to feel okay with herself. Of course, she was born and bred a stubborn, proud Fabray, and would always strive to be as close to perfect as she could, but at least she was no longer torturing herself about it.

On the last block, she slows to that brisk walk again to try to cool down. She's always been bad at the cooldown part. Coach Sylvester practices had no real cooldown; it was just, practice is over, hit the showers, and most girls hadn't even caught their breath until they were under the water. But she wants to try hard to do things right, feeling as blessed as she does to even be able to run right now. Even the stiff soreness of her hips and the twinge in her lower back can't take away from her joy.

A small, proud smile graces her features as she enters the house, momentarily distracted from her worry by the elation of a successful run. She enters the kitchen to see the same smile on her mother's face as she regards Quinn over her morning cup of Earl Grey. "You went running, Quinnie?" she asks, unnecessarily, but Quinn welcomes the opportunity.

"I did. It actually went really well. Obviously I'm not as good as I used to be, but I did my old two mile route and only had to slow down a few times."

"I'm so proud of you," her mother says, and even though it is such a parental cliché, it comes out completely genuinely, and Quinn feels a wave of tingling warmth that flows from her scalp down her body. It was so rare that she had heard such praise from her parents; Lucy had more frequently earned tight smiles and brief congratulations for her good grades, and the last time Quinn remembers hearing it—or something similar—and feeling as though it were genuine was from her father that horrible night, just before Finn decided to tell her parents about the pregnancy, through song no less, and she had felt sick to her stomach knowing she had let them down so completely.

Things with her mother would probably never be great. Her mother still drank almost every day, though the quantity had lessened considerably; the last time she'd gotten truly drunk was back in Quinn's Skank days, when she hadn't known how to cope. Not even Quinn's accident had driven her to drink more, something that surprised Quinn when she realized how well her mother was holding together.

But her mother also worked hard; even though her divorce with Russell had left her with not only the house, but a decent share of money, there were still ongoing legal battles about finances that Quinn didn't want to hear about. However, it did mean that they didn't see each other as much as they did when Quinn was younger. To be fair, her mother was trying a lot harder to make the best of the time they did have together. Their conversations had been a lot less stilted and awkward. And Quinn's accident had forced them to bond in an entirely new way; Quinn was actually dependent on her mother in a way that she couldn't refuse, and her mother was actually present to assist her in a way that she'd never quite been before (it hadn't been entirely smooth; Quinn would try to push her mother's help away, but she would persist, offering smiles and help and words of encouragement that felt real, until Quinn gave in and accepted the help she needed). So things were probably at their peak in terms of their mother/daughter relationship, and Quinn liked being able to tell her mother little things. Even if she still wasn't sure they'd ever be able to talk about big things; old habits died hard in her family, and Judy Fabray had fit in well with the Fabray clan since she had met Russell.

The warmth continues as Quinn sees her mother has brewed coffee for her, and she's able to dispel her troubled thoughts through her breakfast with her mother, with their small talk, and Judy wishing her a good day as she leaves for work for her monthly Saturday shift.

It's only once she has the house to herself that she can no longer deal with her thoughts alone.

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The cold-hearted boy I used to be
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She's kept busy, distracting herself with a shower, with picking out an outfit, with her copy of In Cold Blood, waiting until an hour that feels appropriate to text Santana and Brittany or even Mercedes to ask what they're doing that day. She knows she needs to wait longer than normal in case any of them are hung over.

So when her phone sings around 9:30, she's a little surprised. Her stomach dips when she sees it's Rachel.

Rach: Hello, Quinn. I hope I'm not
waking you, but this seemed a reasonable
hour. I also hope you're feeling better
today. I am trying to organize a few days'
long trip up to New York so Santana and
I can hopefully sign a lease, probably
from Wednesday until Friday. Brittany
might accompany us, but it looks like she
probably cannot. Would you like to
accompany us?

Quinn gnaws at her lip. Her first impulse is obvious—of course she wants to go to New York with them. Even if it's strictly business, she wants to see where Rachel and Santana live. She wants to be able to picture them going about their daily business. She wants to know this, badly.

But, as if she's the Pharaoh of Exodus himself, Quinn feels like her heart has hardened against her will, like the HBIC has taken over. She knows the real reason Rachel has asked—she's still a little bit wary of Santana. That's been under the surface of their interactions, still. And for whatever absolutely insane reason, Rachel is more comfortable around Quinn, despite all the shit she put her through. But the HBIC snarls, they need to learn to work with each other eventually, you will not go be mediator just for Rachel. She needs a knight in shining armor, she can just fucking ask Finn.

It's the reminder of Finn that finally settles it, and the HBIC composes the reply.

Q: Wish I could, but I made plans with
my mom. Have fun with San!

There. Succinct. Ignores Rachel's insecurity about the time of day and her concern about Quinn's health. A shitty excuse that she knows Rachel will see right through (as if she'd choose to spend time with her mother rather than go to New York!), the jab about Santana when Rachel's nervousness is absolutely obvious. Yeah.

She feels the pressure of tears behind her eyes as soon as the message has sent and shuts off her phone and tosses it aside so she won't be tempted to check it if she gets a response—though she's sure she won't, Rachel will feel the brush-off like a slushie to the face.

She chokes on the HBIC's bile.

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I'm a grown-up for real
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Somehow, she makes it home from New York with Rachel Berry without killing her.

Brittany isn't able to come with them. Which, well. She'll never admit it, but the prospect of traveling alone with Rachel is kind of fucking terrifying. They fly, and it isn't until halfway through their fucking absurdly early flight, when Santana wakes up enough to notice that they are both doing the exact same fucking thing (listening to their iPods, not speaking, and jiggling their legs in anxiety) that she realizes Rachel is freaking out, too. She takes comfort in the fact that it seems like Rachel is feeling the same anxiety she is. When their eyes finally meet as the plane touches down, the mutual vulnerability must be obvious, for they share relieved grins.

Rachel had made a detailed itinerary that she then shares with Santana, and they race to make their first meeting with a potential landlord. Rachel had tried to find as many places as possible that worked through landlords, to avoid unnecessary realtor fees on their down payment. It turns out Santana is thankful for Rachel's foresight and attention to detail. By Thursday morning, they narrow down their choices to the top three, and discover they agree on their first choice. It's a two-bedroom, not extremely close to Rachel's campus, but close to a subway station that could make her trip to school fairly quick. It has coin-operated laundry in the basement. One bedroom is bigger than the other, and the living room is actually a decent size. And, since it is part of a complex without separate meters, the landlord pays for the heat. These perks, combined with the relatively low price, make them decide on it, and they manage to contact the landlord and get their paperwork settled that afternoon. They sign over the checks from their parents for the down payment, and he takes their information and their parents' to run a credit check, and to send co-signer paperwork to their parents, and tells them as long as everything checks out, it is theirs.

While Rachel begins to panic about the completely impossible scenario that their parents' credit checks will fall through and begins to make a plan b, by calling their second choice and announcing interest, Santana just rolls her eyes and tells Rachel she is going to go fill out some applications for jobs nearby. Because even if her mother has given her money, she knows logically she needs to work if she's going to live in this city. She wants to save as much of the money as she can, for when she really figures out what the hell she wants to do.

It turns out there isn't much available for a girl just out of high school who has never actually held a job before. She ends up applying at several retail and restaurant jobs, though some seem confused why she is applying when she won't be there until August 15th, almost two months away.

Still, she gets a call from one of those retail giants late that afternoon, a store that's located a few miles from the apartment. They seem really excited about her for some reason, which is just unsettling, because the application was a goddamn cakewalk—there had been a random math section, absurdly easy for someone who has just finished high school Trig, and an ethics section where, come on, obviously they wanted you to rat on your coworkers and not steal shit. They want her to come in and interview and she tells them she's only in town until tomorrow afternoon, so they scramble to set her up an interview first thing in the morning. Bemused, Santana accepts.

She meets back up with Rachel at their hotel and as they carry take-out back to the room, she tells her she has an interview, which just seems to make Rachel's day. Rachel starts fussing about Santana's clothes, which, Santana really never thought there would come a day when Rachel freaking Berry would be trying to help her plan an outfit, but the truth is, Santana packed clothes that make her look presentable in the sense that she looks like a trustworthy tenant or employee for prospective landlords or whichever employee she might hand in a job application to, but nothing really job interview worthy. She figured she'd end up doing most of that by phone.

So after an hour long argument, fifteen separate promises from Rachel that she will never, ever tell anyone about this or take any photos, Santana agrees to borrow one of Rachel's skirts for her interview, pairing it with a blue short-sleeved button down shirt.

She discovers when she gets to her interview the next morning why they are so excited for her. Not only is back to school a very busy time of year for the retail giant, but they lose a lot of their summer workers—students—at around the time Santana wants to start. But even moreso, it's because Santana marked her entire prospective schedule as "available." And as soon as it starts to dawn on her that this interview is really more of a job offer, when the two employees who conducted the interview leave and the head of HR comes in, the first question she's asked is, "Can you work overnight?"

Her mouth flops uselessly for a few moments before she instinctively says yes. It is such a relief to know there is a job waiting for her, and that she pretty much has it in the bag, that it feels like a mistake to say no. Immediately she regrets her choice. Overnight, what the hell? When would she have time for anything?

They are thrilled. Santana continues to force smiles and be agreeable, which freaking hurts her face, but she just pretends the mild-looking middle-aged woman with the horrible fake tan laying out her prospective schedule is Sue Sylvester, and becoming a fucking simpering, agreeable puppet becomes so much easier. Her pride feels like a wad of gum stuck halfway down her esophagus.

She exits the building, dazed, to find Rachel waiting for her with a smile, a cup of coffee and a scone. She gratefully accepts, shaking her head in slight awe at Rachel's perfect idea of a post-interview-stress pick-me-up. "So I work there, overnights, 10pm-6:30am, four or five nights a week."

Rachel stares at her for a good five seconds before barely audibly exhaling, "Overnight?"

Santana shakes her head and shrugs helplessly, "It was what was available. They at least pay more than minimum wage, and I get a shift differential for the overnight work. And it's not like I have to stay there. I'm just glad to have a job when I get up here."

Rachel nods, seeming lost in thought, and they head to what is soon to be their new neighborhood and explore the nearest grocery stores, coffee shops, and restaurants, which, it turns out there aren't that many because their area is so residential, but it's not awful, she guesses. At around noon, they head to the airport.

So even though they survived their trip together, Santana is exhausted that evening when she gets back to her parents' house, and all she really wants to do is curl up in bed with Brittany and a shared bowl of ice cream and watch movies. So when her doorbell rings, she can't help but smile that one special Brittany smile that, if she'd ever seen it on her own face, she'd make sure no one ever saw again. Brittany is surprising her? She hasn't even had a chance to text her yet!

Therefore, it is somewhat understandable that when she opens her door and sights Rachel Berry, she scowls, leans against the doorframe and greets, "What the hell, Berry?"

Rachel is completely unfazed, which just frustrates Santana further. "Hello, Santana. Are your parents home?"

Santana's eyebrows shoot from one extreme to the other as they reach for her hairline. "What?"

"Your mother. May I speak with her? Or perhaps your father?"

Santana then notices the fervor in Rachel's eyes and steps aside in alarm, "Mom!" she shouts, far louder than she means to, and Maribel Lopez moves gracefully to the front door, "Who is it, 'Ana?"

"Hello, Mrs. Lopez, I'm Rachel Berry. I don't believe we've officially met."

Santana's mother smiles and accepts Rachel's hand, "No, but I know who you are, of course. I'm so glad you'll be in New York with my daughter. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Rachel responds, "May I please speak with you about something? I have prepared a visual aid on the subject that I would like you to see." It's then that Santana fully registers that Rachel is carrying a messenger bag.

"Of course," says Maribel, her eyebrows lifting in the same way Santana's had. As Rachel strides into the living room purposefully, Santana and her mother share bewildered glances, and watch as Rachel extracts a laptop and opens it up to reveal a Powerpoint presentation entitled, "The Problem of Transportation in New York City."

"Berry," Santana utters in an exhausted voice, "Is this what you were working on that whole time on the plane?"

"Yes, now please give me your full attention, this is very important."

As Rachel begins to entreat Santana's mother to…let Santana have a car in New York City?...Santana stares. She doesn't even realize when her mouth drops open as she watches Rachel. Rachel is laying out her reasons for thinking this is a good idea: Santana is working overnight, and the subway just isn't safe that late, nor is the five-minute walk from the subway to the apartment; their apartment, since the building itself isn't that huge, actually includes a single parking space in the alley behind it; Santana's job has a parking lot so parking there would be safe and easy; Rachel researched bus routes for that time of night and Santana would waste almost an hour on the bus trying to get there, and again, the walks between buses and apartment/workplace would be unsafe; it's about three miles away, just a bit too far to be walking at that time of night; the roads Santana would be driving on were really not that busy in the late evening and traffic that early in the morning would be heading the other way. Rachel knows Santana already has a car, and since, due to her age, it's likely to be in her parents' name, they could keep it registered and insured in Ohio, which would mean Santana could avoid the cost of New York City insurance. Rachel just strongly believes that it would be beneficial for Santana to have a car in the city, and her fathers agree with her and worry for Santana's safety, and would be happy to help pay for the upkeep of the car, just because having it there in case of emergencies would ease their minds.

Santana glances at her mother as Rachel finishes her spiel, and is shocked to see her mother nodding thoughtfully. Mrs. Lopez turns to Santana and asks, "Do you want your car in New York? I had not considered it, honestly, but I also did not know you were working nights. I think Rachel has made some good points."

"I…guess so?" For the second time that day, Santana is reeling, and finds agreeing to be the easiest solution.

Her mother nods. "I think this is a good thing. Thank you, Rachel, for bringing the issues to my attention."

Rachel nods, her face still set in the expression of determination, her eyes still fervent. "Santana, I must apologize for not telling you about this ahead of time; I know you are a very brave, independent woman, and I didn't want you to feel belittled by my worry for you, but as a woman of color, I worry that you could be a target. Statistically, in our future neighborhood, women of color are more likely to be victims of violent crime."

Santana doesn't know what to say to that and whether it's actually offensive or not, "Thanks, Berry. I think." Now she just wants Brittany, ice cream, movies, and a whiskey and Coke. What the fuck just happened?

Additional A/N: Chapter titles from David Bowie, "The Man Who Sold the World" (the Nirvana cover is also quite well known and good), The Killers, "All These Things That I've Done," and Jay-Z, "Dirt Off Your Shoulder".