.
The time you ran was too insane
.

Rachel awakens later than usual the next day, but elated, refreshed from her victorious trip to New York in which they secured an apartment, acquired Santana a job, and in which she convinced Santana's mother that Santana needed her car. That part was only slightly selfish; she had noticed that the closest actual grocery store was about a mile away, and wasn't particularly looking forward to hauling home soymilk or cost-effective 24-packs of toilet paper that far. But it really had been mostly about Santana's safety; much as she loves New York City already, she knows crime is a real issue.

As she works out, she finds herself brooding about Quinn. She wishes she knew why she felt so slighted by the fact that Quinn clearly hadn't wanted to come to New York with her and Santana. That, combined with the fact that Quinn hadn't texted her at all while she was there (though, to be fair, she hadn't texted Quinn either), increases her worry. She feels like she must've done something. Maybe Quinn was a lot more uncomfortable with her drunken affection than she'd let on? She almost hopes—though, she never has and never will really wish Quinn ill—that it's because Quinn was still feeling unwell, because that she would be able to deal with.

After her shower and breakfast, she opens Facebook and notices several new notifications. Each one causes her smile to widen and her body to relax a little more. She'd posted pictures of her and Santana's new apartment before bed the previous night, and now she sees "Quinn Fabray likes this" on several, and such comments as, "This better be Rachel's room. The student needs the bigger room, Santana!" and "This is so cute!' and "It's a good thing neither of you can cook, you can't even fit in here."

So it's this sort of tacit encouragement that builds her confidence enough to text Quinn.

Rachel Berry: Hello Quinn! I am back
from New York after a successful trip!
Would you like to socialize sometime in
the next few days?

Not thirty seconds later, she gets a response.

Quinn Fabray: Absolutely. Santana seems
to be thinking along the same lines; I
actually just got a text from her just
before yours. How are you guys so in sync
already? Want to come by here at around
one?

Rachel Berry: I would love to! See you
then! Shall I bring anything?

Quinn Fabray: Just you. :) Oh and I
guess a swimsuit.

The smiley face produces an unconscious, mirrored response on Rachel's own face. She's never seen Quinn use an emoticon before.

Rachel Berry: Great! See you soon!

At one o'clock sharp, Rachel arrives at Quinn's bearing a pitcher of half-lemonade half-iced tea. Quinn raises an eyebrow at the pitcher and says, "I told you not to bring anything."

"It's impolite to show up to a social gathering empty-handed," Rachel responds primly.

Quinn laughs softly as she takes the pitcher, "Tell that to Santana; she walks in here and goes straight to the pantry for snacks."

Laughing, she follows Quinn into the kitchen, where Quinn's mother is sorting through some mail on the counter. Mrs. Fabray glances up and smiles, and Rachel finds herself suddenly unable to tap into that role in her head of the "polite, well-adjusted friend" that had been such a hit with Finn and Kurt's parents and Mercedes's parents. She's nervous. Maybe it's the tilt of Judy Fabray's eyebrows, so like Quinn's, or the hint of fierce parental protectiveness in the woman's gaze (which was…what was that?), or just the fact that this woman used to be married to Russell freaking Fabray, who was, in Rachel's opinion, purely evil. She tucks her hands behind her back in forced casualness and opts for a subdued smiled, rather than the starpower one she's not sure she can muster. "Hello, Mrs. Fabray. I don't believe I've had the pleasure. I'm Rachel Berry."

Quinn's mother's smile stays steady, and her eyes do seem to soften, "Of course you are. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

To Rachel, it seems like there's more Quinn's mother wants to say, and their eye contact as they shake hands lightly is almost as intense as her eye contact with Quinn tends to be, but whatever it is passes when Quinn speaks, "Oh, yeah, sorry Rachel, Mom. I forgot you haven't actually met."

"We have now," Mrs. Fabray responds, smiling at her daughter.

Quinn returns the smile lightly and glances at her watch. "We can head upstairs awhile. Santana and Brittany always run on ga—Santana standard time, they'll probably be another half an hour."

They head upstairs to Quinn's bedroom, which Rachel realizes she's never seen before, but her brain can't deal with the new stimuli of Quinn's room before it first deals with, "Did I just hear you almost make a gay standard time joke?"

Quinn blushes, which makes Rachel want to giggle; she's never seen that before. "Yeah, you caught me," Quinn admits.

"I didn't think you'd know about that phenomenon," Rachel states, a hint of a question in the phrase.

"Of course I do, when I started to realize that Santana and Brittany were…not entirely straight, I did a lot of looking on the internet, trying to sort out my feelings. Luckily, my search brought me to lots of positive sites, and they all treated gay stereotypes as very tongue-in-cheek." An uncertain expression crosses her face, and she regards Rachel seriously with that intense eye contact again, "And before you ask, I cut myself off because I didn't want to explain the joke to my mom—especially since gay standard time for those two is more like, we got held up having sex, sorry we're late. But my mother's not…a homophobe. She's not my father. She's not entirely comfortable with it, but she has always loved Brittany, and Santana somehow managed to grow on her, God knows how. She had a period of sorting out her feelings, too. So she's not like…itching to burn your fathers at the stake or anything."

Rachel doesn't expect to feel so relieved, because honestly, Judy Fabray interacting with her fathers is not something she's thought about before, but she is, and lets herself admire Quinn's room. It's strangely impersonal. There are few posters on the wall: a McKinley pennant, a poster of a Janis Joplin album cover, a black and white poster of Diana Ross & The Supremes, a tiny crucifix above her vanity. Her furniture is heavy wood that imitates the appearance of antique furniture. Around her vanity are pictures, mostly of the Glee club and some of the Cheerios. There's one of Beth. There's a picture framed on her dresser of, God, Rachel has no idea when this was, but it's clearly a candid and has her in the center standing between Finn and Quinn, with Santana on Quinn's other side, in the hallway at school. They appear to be having a serious conversation. It's got to be Sophomore year, judging by her hair and loud skirt, but Quinn is in her Cheerios uniform, and therefore obviously not visibly pregnant, so it has to be early Sophomore year, Finn and Quinn dating early, and she can't imagine what they could be talking about that isn't involving bloodshed. She also can't imagine why it's important enough to be on Quinn's dresser either—a reminder of what things were like before Quinn's life derailed completely, perhaps?

She sits down next to Quinn on the bed, noting Quinn's erect posture, and says, "Janis Joplin, huh? I didn't know you were a fan. I never heard you sing her."

Quinn laughs openly, "Like I could do her justice? Santana, maybe. I just don't have that smoky quality." Rachel wants to object, because even if Janis Joplin really isn't her style, her daddy likes her, and she's now imagining Quinn singing "Me and Bobby McGee." And even though she's sure she told her fathers once that no one should ever cover Janis's version of that song because the stripped-down acoustic version is so wonderfully emotive and damn near haunting, she's positive that Quinn singing it would be heavenly. But Quinn continues, "And yeah. I like a lot of music, but, you know, it was mostly just 60's and 70's soul, blues and Motown for a long time. Glee helped me branch out some, but I never really gave Janis Joplin much thought until I started hanging out with the Skanks, who loved 'chick rock,'" (Quinn accompanies this with finger quotes and a little eye roll) "but she's like a blues singer in a rock band, and I loved it. Learning to appreciate female-led rock, modern and classic, was the only good thing to come out of my Skank phase."

Rachel's brave enough to ask, with a little smirk, "Other than your tattoo? What happened to that anyway?"

Which just makes Quinn blush and admit that her Christmas present had been multiple treatments to get it removed. "If it has to do with appearance, Mom would go into debt for it." And the bitterness in her voice is subdued, and the smile she gives Rachel is genuine, and somehow, just like that, the trepidation that still lingers in Rachel from Quinn's snub earlier in the week evaporates, and Quinn's spine relaxes, and they chat, like best friends.

.
I love you more cause you are the one who set me free
.

True to Quinn's prediction, Santana and Brittany show up around 1:30, and she and Rachel exchange a glance and a laugh as Santana goes immediately rooting around Quinn's cabinet, extracting ginger snaps.

Santana doesn't even ask what they're laughing at, just rolls her eyes and says, "Come on, bitches. Outside."

Once outside, Brittany and Santana unabashedly strip off their clothes down to their bathing suits and flop unceremoniously into lounge chairs. Quinn takes her time taking off her own yellow sundress, folding it carefully, and Rachel treats her own clothes with similar care. Quinn begins to slather herself with sunscreen, reminding Brittany to do the same. When Rachel offers to get her back for her, she accepts, and as Rachel's hands smooth sunscreen over the skin of her lower back, slightly rougher from the tattoo removal treatment, though more-or-less visually normal as far as she can tell, she stares all the while at Santana straddling Brittany to cover her back with sunscreen. She remains standing, as does Rachel when Quinn returns the favor, but something about the parallels makes her abs clench.

For awhile, they sit and enjoy ginger snaps and ice tea-lemonade (Rachel feels her eyes bug when Brittany candidly shares that she and Santana have "post-sex munchies"); Quinn turns on some speakers connected to her iPod and puts it on random, but Santana bitches, "None of that whiny Joni Mitchell shit, Quinn." (an offended squeak from both Quinn and Rachel at this) "Turn it to the Santana-approved playlist!"

Quinn rolls her eyes and huffs, but obeys, and the first thing to blast out of the speakers is a woman rapping, which makes Rachel raise her eyebrows. Quinn sighs, "Robyn is featured on this song, you'll hear her in a minute, and what can I say, I like her. Nostalgic value, I suppose, from when she was big when we were in middle school. My sister listened to her all the time." Quinn flicks her eyes to Santana and gives a conspiratorial smile, "As for Santana, she forced this on my iPod one time. She likes 'select hip-hop,' as she likes to say."

"S'how we do it in Lima Heights Adjacent," Santana drawls inattentively. Quinn smirks again, and Rachel listens as Quinn sings softly along with Robyn's mournful chorus in the song. Quinn's voice has always been understated, she thinks; the way Quinn sings this makes Rachel empathize with her involuntarily, because she's singing about an impossible situation—Quinn Fabray doesn't pine. She has no reason to because, Rachel thinks, she's always had whomever she wanted.

Rachel subconsciously selectively forgets the times that she had Finn when Quinn had, apparently, still wanted him.

Most of the rest of the playlist is not as unexpected, because now that she thinks about it, Santana's and Quinn's typical musical tastes are related genres, just a few decades apart, so they appreciate a lot of the same sound. Though, the music is really in the background of their conversation. At some point during their idle chatting, Rachel glances over at the hot tub, "Do you guys use that ever? I've never really been in one, and imagine it would be nice to relax in on a summer night."

The question produces a shudder in Quinn and a smirk on Santana's face. Brittany gazes at Rachel almost…pityingly? Laughing, Santana says, "Hell no, Berry, none of us want to soak in Finnept spunk. You're more than welcome to, though," she leers.

Rachel looks confused for a moment more before expression changes to horrified, "Oh. Oh, God! That's THE hot tub. Oh my goodness, Quinn, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring up terrible memories of so-called 'baby daddy drama.'"

Santana cackles, and Quinn buries her face in her hand, "Yeah. That's the one. Now can we please drop the subject? I've lost my appetite."

Brittany directs her comment to Rachel, "We know that it's no longer in there, but it grosses San and Q out. I just think it was rude of him to do it in there."

"He couldn't help it," Santana smirks, "Half a minute Hudson didn't exactly have self control. Honestly, I'm surprised when he and I—"

Quinn reaches over and smacks Santana on the shoulder, Santana shuts up and glances away to hide her shame, while Quinn shoots Rachel an apologetic look. "Sorry. This got awkward fast."

Rachel shakes her head, "Not awkward. I promise. I believe this is standard for girl friends to compare notes on shared exes and their prowess or lack thereof."

Santana glances over with a grin, "Okay, girl friends? Consider a new phrase to describe us. And lack thereof? Is that an admission of disappointment?"

"I plead the fifth," Rachel states primly, and Santana cackles again. Quinn sees the slight apprehension in Rachel's eyes and gives her a grateful smile for cutting the tension.

They float lazily in the pool, either in the water, listening to the hollow splashes underwater, watching their hair fan out around them, or on floating chairs, watching the bright orange patterns the sunlight makes as it beats down on their eyelids, dribbling water on their torsos and letting it dry in the sun, leaving patches of gooseflesh. After awhile, they order Chinese. While they sit at the poolside and eat, watching idly as the sun starts to sink low in the sky, Quinn's phone sings Jim Croche at her. Rachel catches Quinn's fond smile, and Quinn glances up, "It's just Puck," she explains, composing a very brief reply.

"Oh," Rachel responds, then a few moments later, "How are they doing?"

Regarding her with clear surprise, Quinn says, "Finn hasn't been keeping you updated?"

Rachel shakes her head, "No. Why would you think that?"

Clearly uncomfortable, Quinn shrugs, "I just figured, you know. You guys are meant to be." (both Quinn and Rachel miss the incredulous look Santana shoots Quinn at this) "I figured, your engagement may be off, but you'd be trying at least the relationship again…"

Rachel smiles, a little wistfully, "Ah. I think perhaps, Quinn, that this is the one item you've been wrong about when you've given me advice." She straightens, aware of the attention on her, and says, "Essentially, what I informed Finn was that…I do think he made the right choice when he let me go. But I do believe that if two people are meant to be, they can and will try again. I just don't believe that there's any point in trying now. Perhaps the military will be good for him, and perhaps he'll grow up, and perhaps we'll both want enough of the same things in life to make it work. But I don't think it's worth trying to make it work at this juncture, when it can't. And, honestly, probably it never will. I think we'll both continue to want too many different things in life."

She knew what she was saying was true. She did believe in a sort of weak fate like that, had believed Finn when he'd told her in the car at the train station that the universe would bring them together if it were meant to be. She did believe that if circumstances changed (though they'd have to change a lot), she and Finn might be able to give things another shot. But most of her assumed they were done. She'd really only reminded him of their apparently mutual belief that if two people were meant to be, they'd find each other in the end because Finn had looked so hurt when she thanked him for letting her go—and thus gave the first indication that she was going to move on. But most of her is glad that he hasn't been contacting her, not even with bland little updates about his travels. He's always been able to break through her resolve; she sees this now, sees the way compromising with him so often became sacrificing for him. She worries that if he does, she won't get a chance to move on. Because, at this time, even ready to move on with her future and from Finn, she knows she still loves him.

The three former Cheerios are silent for a few moments, until Santana asks, "So you're not like, waiting for him? You're gonna try to move on and everything? Cause…I don't know if I can handle living with you if you're moping about your military boyfriend all the time…"

Emitting a brief chuckle, Rachel simply answers, "Yes. I will attempt to move on." Then, deflecting but genuinely curious, Rachel asks Quinn, "Why is Noah keeping you updated? Are you…did you guys…?"

Quinn shakes her head emphatically. "Definitely not. He's doing it because I asked him to. Like it or not, he and I are bonded for life, and I made him promise he'd always tell me where he was in the world. Any other detail he gives is extra credit." She meets Rachel eyes, "I meant what I said about anchors. I'm headed to college single and free, my only attachments the friends that got me there."

Brittany's brow furrows at this, and she says, "What about your girlfriend? Are you still seeing her?"

Quinn blushes hard, and asks somewhat sharply, "What are you talking about, Brittany?"

"Joe," Brittany says simply, "Weren't you seeing Joe? Did you break things off with her?"

After a few seconds of silence, in which everyone attempts to figure out how to discuss the dreadlocked elephant in the room, Santana finally says softly, "Britts, baby, Joe is a guy."

Eyebrows ticking up, then furrowing down again, Brittany responds, "Okay, I know I think both boys and girls are hot, but it's not fair to try to confuse me like that, San. Joe's a really pretty girl. I mean, maybe she's not your type, but that doesn't mean I can't think she's pretty."

Santana runs a hand through her hair in mild frustration, "Yeah, you're right, B, he's not my type, because he's a guy. Quinn dates guys."

Brittany nods, "But she's a bicorn, like me. We're both hot blondes. We're clearly the same species."

Quinn cuts in, rubbing her hands over her face, "I'm not bisexual, B. And I can confirm that Joe is, in fact, male."

Arching an eyebrow and smirking, Santana asks, "Confirm?"

Quinn looks away, the flush back on her cheeks, "Yes, confirm. But it's not at all what you think."

"Oh, do enlighten me," Santana grins, "Cause there are only so many ways to confirm someone's manhood, amiright?"

Grimacing, Quinn says, "He was helping me with physical therapy—"

"Yeah, hold up a sec," Santana cuts in, "Why the fuck didn't you ask me and Britt to help? You know we would've been glad to."

Eyes falling to her lap, Quinn pauses for several seconds and then says, "It was hard enough being in my condition, I couldn't stand the thought of people I cared about seeing me so helpless—God, it was almost impossible to even accept help from my mom, I was vile to her. It's stupid. But since he barely knew me, it somehow made it less embarrassing. I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to slight you."

"I guess I get it," Santana mutters.

And Rachel feels an unexpected wash of relief, as something from what seems like so long ago clicks into place. How none of them were allowed to visit Quinn in the hospital after the accident, how they kept being told that the family preferred to keep contact limited to family only. How even when Santana vociferously protested that they were her family, and Mercedes shouted about how she had watched Quinn push a human being out of her body, still, they were not allowed to see Quinn. Rachel had figured it was some kind of crazy protective Fabray pride thing, that Judy was trying not to make the family seem vulnerable, but now it suddenly seems like maybe Judy was right, and maybe she knew Quinn wouldn't want to feel that vulnerable under the gaze of her friends.

Quinn is still speaking, however, so she barely thinks on it. "Anyway," Quinn continues, "he was helping me with physical therapy, and when our bodies got close," at this, her face changes, nose wrinkling and her upper lip curling up the faintest bit; Rachel thinks she's looks repulsed, and is surprised to hear her say in a clipped voice "He got…aroused. So yeah. He's male."

There is a brief silence, and then Santana grunts, "That's…actually disgusting."

"And inappropriate," Rachel interjects, with a firm nod.

Brittany's face is pinched in confusion, "So…she wasn't wearing a strap-on or anything? Cause I mean, those don't feel super real, cause when—"

Alarmed, Santana cuts her off, "I think it's pretty safe to say he wasn't packing, baby. Q felt the real deal."

Quinn smiles a little, her breath catching slightly as she cuts in, "And for the record, S, you and Rachel are right. It wasn't okay. But…" she takes a breath to collect her thoughts, "But I'd been dealing with so much. I mean, I don't know if you guys know just how much someone in a wheelchair gets stared at. Like everyone, even strangers, were just like scrutinizing my body, as if hoping they'd see the injury that meant I couldn't walk as like a gaping wound or something. And I've been stared at before, obviously, especially as head cheerleader, but this was different. This was unnerved, and pitiful, and horrified, and disgusted. So when Joe looked at me like I was the head cheerleader again, it was…kind of a perverse confidence boost. It was just nice that someone saw me that way, for once. So…I guess I kind of led him on for awhile as a result, because it made me feel good, which made my recovery easier. I never felt anything for him, though he is a nice guy, and we didn't even kiss. I just hung out with him and absorbed his obvious attraction. Like a psychic vampire," Quinn gives a self-deprecating smile and huffs out a deep breath.

"I think those are actually aliens," Brittany puts in helpfully, while Santana and Rachel stare at Quinn with matching sympathetic expressions, until Santana finally smirks and says, "Wow, Q. You're more twisted than I ever would've given you credit for."

Rolling her eyes, Quinn shoves Santana's shoulder lightly and murmurs, "Thanks, bitch." They share a genuine smile.

Rachel's silent for some time as she recalls telling Quinn what she meant to her, that sometimes she still saw her as the head cheerleader. She remembers the smile Quinn had given her in response, and wonders briefly if what she told Quinn had felt at all like what Joe had told her. Remembers how when Quinn got back to school after her accident, Rachel was the first person she approached. Remembers, and wonders, hopes, that she never made Quinn feel uncomfortable in her chair.

For her part, Quinn is also recalling Rachel's words, telling her what Quinn meant to her. The words that meant so much more than Joe's arousal that Quinn refused to take them without giving anything back. And so she had given Rachel back the only thing she could, which turned out to be the best thing she had—Rachel's confidence.

.
And if you complain once more
.

Puck slams his truck door and walks back to Finn, who is sprawled across their heavy Mexican blanket on the drought-parched earth. He tosses Finn a beer and flops next to him. The two young men regard the evening sky in silence for some time. They had been on the road about a week, taking their time, getting used to driving long hours, traveling mostly west, but zig-zagging north and south the whole way to see different things. Which is why it had taken them so long to get to the eastern edge of the Rockies.

They had decided to at least get to the Rockies that day, and had watched them rise on the horizon, imperceptibly slow, for ten hours until finally, their massive, craggy forms were right in front of the boys. They'd stopped, even though there were several hours of daylight left, wanting to enjoy the sight, and found someplace nearby where they could hike a bit, before coming back their roadside campsite for dinner.

They also have only stayed in a hotel once so far due to costs—not that they are running out of funds yet, because they have Finn's share of the honeymoon money, and Puck's pool business savings, but they are trying to be frugal. They generally camp out in Puck's truck (it had been one in the bed of the truck and one on the seats, but after a few nights, they both settled into the bed—the thick blankets spread out to cover the metal ridges actually make it more comfortable than the worn seats) or, if they think it might rain—which has seemed a possibility only once so far in this dry summer—they pitch his tent. The further west they get, the less conspicuous people camping just off the highway becomes, and they are usually able to find a truck stop or something where they can get showers or, at the very least, wash up pretty thoroughly in the sinks in the bathrooms—"whore baths," Puck calls them. They're getting good at choosing places to stop where they're unlikely to be disturbed. They've taken a route through Wyoming, originally planning to just go through Colorado, but news of wildfires caused them to change course through Wyoming. They're considering trying to see Yellowstone now, but this rest happens along a fairly deserted stretch of road off the highway.

Electing not to find a restaurant for dinner and go in for breakfast instead, they dine on Gatorade, beef jerky, chips and peanut butter sandwiches. They usually eat at a restaurant once a day, usually a truck stop or a fast food joint, and otherwise buy simple foods at convenience stores or grocery stores. Puck even has a load of firewood in the back, promising that if it got as cold in the desert as people said that they'd build a fire and he'd cook something over it. But for dessert tonight, they feel safely alone enough to each enjoy a beer.

Puck knows they should turn in soon; the problem with sleeping outside is that the sun wakes them up so early. The solstice has just passed, so some of the longest days of the year are upon them, which means they only have about a seven hour window of heavy darkness to sleep in. But they both kind of want to admire the stars over the Rockies; the sun setting behind them—vanishing so early—had been breathtaking already.

Watching Finn from the corner of his eye, Puck takes a sip. They are having a good time, but he doesn't feel like they're connecting the way they used to do so instinctively. Finn is holding back. Neither of them are huge talkers; they are both doers, so when it comes down to it and there is only one thing to do—drive the truck—conversation becomes kind of a necessity. But, not that Puck is sure he wants some girly heart-to-heart, it just hasn't been very…personal. That's the word.

Finn sucks down another mouthful of beer and then finally mutters, "I fucked up."

Puck glances at him, "What d'ya mean?"

"When I broke up with Rachel."

This time when Puck turns to glance at him, his head stays. He stares at Finn. "Finn. No goddamn way. Dude, you know you did the right thing. Could you really have stood by while she sat in Lima, doing nothing, waiting for you make plans to do something you really didn't wanna do and live somewhere you didn't wanna go?"

Finn scowls, squeezing the beer can so it pops a little, "I dunno. But I shouldn't have broken up with her. I should've just pushed back the wedding for like, years. Cause she's already moving on, and when I come back from the army finally a real man, she might have someone else."

Scratching at his mohawk, Puck sighs, "Look, don't take this the wrong way, you're my bro, and Rachel's like…my Jewbro, but maybe you guys just weren't right for each other."

Finn's fists clench again, "Okay, I don't agree, and…I love her. I'm about to go fight for my country, dude. How can I do that if I can't even fight for my love?"

"Maybe fighting for your country will help you figure out how to do that." Puck's suddenly uncomfortable; love is touchy shit. "Go back to her after you serve a year. If it's meant to be, it'll happen."

A small smile crosses Finn's face, and he says, "I think that, too. Is that a Jewish thing, though? 'Cause Rach said the same thing."

Puck snorts, "I don't think so. But then, I never paid much attention in temple."

Finn stares at the stars for a little longer, and then he says, "But…if it's meant to be, I don't know if I accept that it will just happen. We've both gotta do things to make it happen."

A shrug from Puck, "I guess so."

Nodding decisively, Finn resolves, "I've just gotta make sure she doesn't forget me."

Misinterpreting Finn's scheming tone, Puck just responds, "She won't. But I'm telling ya, man. Just give her some time. Come back to this relationship later. If you're still here and she's still here, then your love can still exist." He's saying this now to try to get Finn to drop the topic. Puck doesn't want to think about love. He's not sure he's ever really been in love. He came close with Lauren, he thinks, but generally he kinda gets obsessed instead. But he does want Finn to leave Rachel alone for awhile. The breakup had probably been good for them, at least for now.

Finn just nods absently, not really listening to Puck. He's already trying to figure out how to make sure Rachel won't forget him. How he can hold on to her heart without being able to be there to hold her.

Momentarily, the two boys unroll the pile of three other thick blankets onto the bed of the truck, toss the Mexican blanket onto the top, and settle onto it, pulling a quilt over them. They spoon, just barely, for warmth, and Puck smiles, reflecting that though he'd never say so aloud, male intimacy is something he's always missed in his life and this is…comforting. They're unembarrassed the next morning, and Puck thinks this bromance might finally be coming together.

A/N: Chapter titles from The Doors, "The Crystal Ship," D.R.I., "Don't Wait," and Bjork, "Army of Me." Other songs mentioned are Janis Joplin's cover of "Me and Bobby McGee," originally performed by Roger Miller, but probably best known as a Janis tune (there are two common versions, one with the whole Full-Tilt Boogie Band accompanying her, and the acoustic version mentioned), Rye Rye featuring Robyn, "Never Will Be Mine," and, again, Jim Croce, "Operator" as Quinn's text tone.

Also, the picture described in Quinn's bedroom is the one that SkyWarrior108 brought to our attention in the brilliant "The Truth About Quinn Fabray" essay.