Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

A/N: Thanks to sarasunnyshine, razberry1, redashford, writing is love, tipsy2, Frilonsky, snakeyninja, erw-fan, feintidea, kamokronos, ch3lsk0, Gleeeek, babygirlicetee, eternallymontyp, gleefulness, Pipinator89, Music and Reading Lover, tangle of emptiness, grangergirl22, annaluvs2smile, KW05, LeQueen, Princesakarlita411, Buffy-Obssessed, amazinglife18, d80p, physcob2002, celebritygrl09, smartblonde317, BabyTigerVampire, checkerismygame21, w1cked, Waterbug86, BleachedBlondeDork, MsChloeMa, Achelette, , Sannie, sillysah, , and Stevie92 for their amazing comments. I'm SORRY I haven't updated lately, but it's store opening season over here where I live, and EVERYONE wants a Jazz Ensemble to play for them (I can' t very well skip either, considering I'm the lead Trumpeter). I'm running around the area doing all sorts of things. But if you'd like to know a little bit more about my life I have a Tumblr… Link's on my profile. Here's the next chapter, please enjoy. Read and Review to let me know this isn't dead… and just because you guys leave the most awesome comments :) they make me smile.

Chapter 7: 'But I Don't Think of You'

The ceiling was boring to study, much to Rachel's utter chagrin.

The warmth of the flannel blankets tucked carefully around her did little to help her return to sleep. Nor did the music softly playing on the iHome or her idle study of the ceiling's shining, textured surface.

The singer looked at her callused fingertips, clenching the scarred surface and burying her face in her balled fists.

The nightmares were getting worse.

Each one had been more vivid than the last, bringing with it memories that left Rachel vulnerable and defensive.

Tonight had brought with it the most vivid, frightening flashback of them all. It reduced Rachel to a child crying for her Dad to come back to her.

It'd reduced her to twelve year old Rachel Berry, shivering beneath her sheets until her Papa came to kiss and sing the ghosts away. The Rachel that the guitarist had long since sealed away beneath an iron barrier to keep the 'monsters' that took up residence in her Fathers's bodies out.

To keep them from destroying her.

Up till now, Rachel had been sure that the nightmares would return to the haziness from whence they came, just as they had during her time in San Diego.

The first two years in the oceanside city plagued the young girl with those terrible night terrors. Every night, she relieved her Fathers's last months together. Heard their angry voices, the anguished cries, and saw the forced smiles on their faces coupled with the mysterious cuts materializing on her Dad's strong arms.

But as time passed, the memories fell silent and fell to fragmented moments in Rachel's mind.

She could recall little bits of her life in Lima. The gold star stickers her Dad would grace her with each week, the smell of vegan egg substitute frying in the morning while her Papa flashed a smile at her over his shoulder, and the joy that came from dance lessons with her eager-eyed friends down at those classes her Papa took her to on a daily basis.

Moments like those made her nostalgic. Made her want to get on the computer and actively seek out where Leroy Johnson lived so that she could finally fix things between her Fathers so they could be a family again.

But she always found herself standing at the phone, finger poised to hit the last number to talk to the man that raised her for twelve years of her life. And just as she was about to lower her finger to the button, the arguments would surface in her mind and the phone would end up on its cradle and Rachel found herself curled on the floor next to the phone, unable to cope.

But time erased all thoughts of Lima, Ohio and gradually the nightmares ceased to exist. Rachel Berry became more secure in herself while Rachel Barbra Johnson Berry slowly ebbed into nonexistence.

She hadn't meant for her Dad to see her like this.

She hadn't meant for him to see her crying… to make it seem like she was unable to care for herself.

But Leroy had acted like she was still a twelve year old. He sat there on her bed, rubbing back soothingly, running for multiple refills of water, and ultimately tucking her into bed whilst promising, in that soothing voice he used when dealing with little children, that he would keep an ear out for her and be right down the hall if needed.

All Rachel needed was her Father.

And he never seemed to understand that.

Brown eyes turned to take in the glaringly black letters reading 3:09 in their blocky script, closing her eyes and sighing heavily.

"Fuck," she muttered turning over onto her stomach and covering her head with her pillow. Three hours till she had to wake up. Three freaking hours until she had to face the damned drama-caked halls of McKinley High school in this sleep deprived, grouchy-as-hell state.

The girl reached out and wrenched the iPod from the iHome, scrolling through her contacts. It'd only be twelve in San Diego right now, and a good portion of her friends would probably be awake, if she knew them.

Dialing in Maria's number on Facetime, she sat up in bed, trying to make herself look somewhat presentable before her friend picked up the phone.

A tired, albeit very concerned looking Maria's face appeared on the iPhone's small touch screen, hugging a pillow to her chest as she looked into the camera. Her lip and ears were void of their usual piercings, making her look a little less like herself.

"Hey," Rachel smiled as best she could at her friend. "How are you?"

The redhead scoffed, frowning. "Smurfity smurf, I should be asking you that question. Usually you're incredibly anal about the amount of sleep that you get. And as much as I love you, you normally don't call me this late at night just how to ask how my ass is."

Rachel scowled. "I can't be concerned about my best friend?"

"We both know you don't care that much. You love your sleep more than you love me," the Irish girl shrugged. "Although I don't see how that's possible, seeing as how I'm fucking amazing, but okay."

"You're a bitch," Rachel deadpanned. "Sleep doesn't nag me to hit on boys on its behalf. Sleep doesn't drag me through the mall every goddamned Friday just for a scoop of gelato-."

"You can't deny an Italian her gelato," Maria's eyes narrowed. "Love of sugary, fattening, but fucking tasty Gianduja is encrypted into my DNA. Plus, I buy you a damn scoop of that disgusting pistachio flavored, piss looking stuff every time, so you can't complain."

"We both know that you're known to indulge in the occasional pistachio gelato as well, so don't be such a goddamn hypocrite," Rachel muttered, propping her phone on the pillow and leaning on her arms.

Maria squinted. "Do me a favor, Rach? Switch on a light or two. All I can see is your outrageously curly Jew bed hair. I need at least an outline or something. I feel like I'm talking to some sort of CIA agent."

The singer reached over and flipped on the lamp next to her bed before settling back in. Maria whistled as she took in the girl's appearance.

"You look like you've been through the ringer, smurf… what's going on?"

Rachel frowned. "Another dream."

The redhead sighed and shook her head. "You just had one a few days ago. Can't the sand man give you a goddamn break? …Did you try talking to Johnson about it?"

"You and I both know that Dad isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to feelings, M," the singer dropped her chin onto her pillow. She'd described her Father a number of times to her friend. "All he did was hold me for a bit, give me a bit of water, and head back on his merry way to sleep."

"Well goddamit Rachel," Maria frowned. "You can't deal with this all alone, and you know I can't be on the phone every time you have a breakdown. As much as I'd love to skip the old hag's class every day."

"Then what should I do?" Rachel asked, closing brown orbs and rubbing her fingers across her temples.

"Come home," the Italian stated seriously, looking deeply into her friend's eyes.

"You know I can't do that, Maria."

"Rach, this is making you sick," Maria pled. "Is it worth getting to the bottom of all this shit if it breaks you in the end? Is it really worth your mental sanity just to find out what happened between your Dads in fucking Lima, Ohio?"

"They still love each other, M," Rachel put a hand to her forehead, looking blankly at the wall. "I can see it in the way Dad looks at me. He acts like I'm a ghost or something. And you see the way Papa acts whenever I do something I used to do with Dad."

"There's a reason why your Dads separated, Rach," the redhead countered. "Several years of fighting can't be undone just because you know what happened between them. You can't fix what's been badly broken, R. Sometimes the shards are too sharp to put back together without wounding yourself."

"And sometimes," the singer's eyes flashed, "the pain is worth it for the end result. Something went wrong, Maria. And I don't care what it takes. I'm going to find out what it was, if only for my own peace of mind."

"And if it's something bad, Rach?"

"Then I won't have to wonder," the girl gestured out the hall toward her father, "all of this came crashing down. Why I'm in San Diego away from my Dad instead of here in this miserable little town with my family still intact."

The singer's voice lowered to a whisper. "At least I won't have any more questions."

Maria paused thoughtfully before shaking her head. "I know that you're not gonna listen to me… so I won't even try to convince you to come home. I guess I need to get my ass down there sometime soon so I can make sure you're not a head case by next year."

Rachel smiled. "That'd… be pretty nice."

Maria spared a small curve of her lips before her eyes narrowed and a smirk split her lips. "Soooo…"

Oh God… it was the smirk. "What?"

"Does that cheerleader want your ass after all?"

"Maria!"

"WHAT?"

Rachel loved Glee. She really did.

It was a fresh, welcome change from standing in place and singing in unison with a group of people. The differences in song choice were night and day (Chamber Singers performed a plethora of old-fashioned choral music and rarely anything modern) and Rachel did in fact put her years of dance to good use.

If only every Glee club meeting wasn't filled with some sort of moral lesson.

And if only Mr. Schue actually assigned people whose voices were suited to a certain song to said song.

A smoky voiced singer like Santana could easily succeed in a song such as Don't You Want Me if paired with an acceptable male lead (aka 'not Finn' Rachel had thought on more than one occasion.

Instead the Latina ended up singing background while Rachel (a much more acoustic and Broadway style performer) ended up singing lead, much to the guitarist's utter displeasure. Rachel tried (though she supposed it was more along the lines of spoke while Mr. Schue didn't listen) to give the solo to an all too willing Santana.

Needless to say, the performance hadn't gone as well as hoped.

Finn kept falling flat on a majority of the notes while the rest of the club swayed behind the pair, looking visibly annoyed as Finn tried (and failed) to dance alongside a rather annoyed Rachel.

Within the last hour, he'd stepped on Rachel's feet several times, sent an indignant Kurt sprawling across the floor, and smacked a furious Puck in the face.

And when Mr. Schue did add the much needed choreography for the rest of the group, everyone else had since been otherwise maimed by Finn and was either a.) too furious or b.) too wounded to continue on.

"Guys, you're not trying hard enough!" Mr. Schue slammed his fist on the piano as several members of the club fell to the floor, panting heavily.

"Mr. Schue, I don't think we're going to get anything else done today," Rachel said, hands on her hips as she looked pityingly down at her exhausted colleagues. "Everyone's pretty wiped out."

"We've only been rehearsing for an hour," the teacher sighed, scratching his curly head.

'An hour during which you've stood there watching everyone get off-ed by the kid you live through vicariously,' Rachel snorted. She rolled her eyes before sending a faint glare in Finn's direction, hearing Quinn (who stood among the only ones still otherwise unharmed) let out a dainty chuckle behind her. "I think everyone has given practice their utmost, wouldn't you say?"

"I still think-."

"That they should get a break?" Rachel interjected with a bright smile. "That this wonderful practice should be continued tomorrow? I agree. And how about we try Santana and Puck as lead as well?"

"I don't think-."

"That anyone could be a greater pick?" Rachel nodded enthusiastically whilst ushering the teacher out of the auditorium. "I agree! Now why don't you go think about some new choreography? We'll finish up here. In fact, why don't you get Finn to help you choose some new songs?"

Shutting the door quickly behind the teacher and the lumbering giant (Finn followed Rachel like a puppy dog to the door), Rachel slumped against the cool metal as the Glee Clubbers clapped and groaned in thanks.

"Girl, you just saved us big time," Mercedes closed her eyes, sitting against Kurt as he fanned the sweat from his face.

"If I develop severe acne because I was not given the sufficient time to apply my afternoon facial treatment," Kurt muttered, sopping the moisture from his forehead. "I will personally make Mr. Schue pay."

"Dude, your pimples," Puck mopped at his bleeding nose, "are the least of our problems. Finn is messing up the badassness of the song and making Puckasaurus look like a pushover. No one hits me in the face and gets away with it!"

"Finnept shouldn't be allowed to dance," Santana crossed her arms. "He's a serious hazard to any and all life around him. He's lucky his damn puffy pastry nipples don't jut out enough to do any serious damage."

"Don't you think you should all be a little bit nicer?" Rachel questioned as she climbed the stairs back onto the stage.

Truthfully, she wasn't all that fond of Finn. He'd proven to be quite easily swayed by the masses (he hadn't stood up for Artie when the Football team slushied him the other day, which meant that it had fallen into Quinn's hands to punish the jocks who had carried out the slushying) as well as a bit too dumb to be considered intellectually stimulating.

"Come on, Rach," Artie unstrapped his Bass, wheeling over to the girl and looking up at her. "You know that you're not exactly fond of Finn either. You beg me to take up his seat at lunch everyday."

"That's beside the point, Artie," Rachel muttered, scratching her head. She looked up at the Glee kids. "Why don't you all head home. I'm sure your… egos are very… bruised at the moment."

"Haha," Puck wiped the remaining blood from his nostrils. "Very punny, Rach."

"Shut up and go put some ice on your nose, Puckerman," Rachel smiled sweetly.

And with that, Rachel was left to her own devices, standing beside the piano, facing the burning light high above.

The singer looked down upon the ivory buttons, running her fingers over the cool surface contemplatively. She pressed one down, letting the low note echo and fill every crevice in the theatre, listening to the sound bounce off the walls.

'I don't know what to do, Maria… what can I do to make it all go away?'

Rachel felt herself push the bench out, felt her fingertips rest on the keys, and heard the sound of an eerie, almost haunting cacophony of notes leave as she rolled the digits across the piano's face.

'Sing,' the Italian shrugged and gave a sheepish little smile. 'It's always what you and I've done whenever something goes wrong. Just sing it out.'

"Papa, please stop cryin'. I can't stand the sound. Your pain is painful… and it's tearin' me down," Rachel drew a shuddering breath, licking her lips before continuing. "I hear the glasses breakin' as I sit up in my bed. I told Dad you didn't mean those nasty things you said…"

A dry sob choked the girl's throat as she fell silent, pouring her sorrow into every note that emitted through the piano's melancholy voice. Slowly but surely, the pain in the singer's chest seemed to alleviate, to float into the air as the notes dispelled into the air. "It ain't easy, growin' up in World War III. Never knowin' what love could be. You'll see, I don't want love to destroy me… like it has done to my family."

The notes swelled as tears fell unchecked from Rachel's eyes "Can we work it out? Can we be a family? I promise I'll be better! Papa, I'll do anything."

So absorbed as she was into the song, Rachel failed to see the lone sliver of light creeping forth from behind her. The stage door wedged itself open, and hazel eyes peered curiously into the room, taking in the singer's sobbing figure.

"Can we work it out… can we be a family? I promise I'll be better… Dad please don't leave…"

Rachel couldn't find the strength to finish the song. So choked up in the memories and tears that choked up her throat, her fingers began to fail her. The chords fell to lone notes as the singer bowed her head, shoulders heaving. "Remember… that night you left? …you took my shining star… Daddy don't leave… don't leave us here alone..."

She swallowed down the next few verses, the theatre falling silent as she whispered the remaining lines, the smiling, mockingly happy faces of her Fathers playing in her mind. "I'll be so much better…I'll do everything right… I'll be your little girl forever… I'll go to sleep at night… ohhh…"

Rachel crumpled at the piano, face buried in her hands as she sobbed. Everything felt better… as though a certain sense of relief had fallen over her. But how much longer could she stand this?

How much longer would singing out her feelings work before it ceased to be a remedy?

The stage door closed slowly behind the singer, unnoticed. Pale hands wiped tears away from under hazel eyes as they sunk down onto the floor and cried, lost in the pain that hung heavy in the air.

"Rachel, sweetheart, you need to wake up."

The singer groaned, turning over on her bed and burying her face in the pillow, willing whoever to go away. "Dun' wanna get up…"

Her eye crept open blearily to see 5:30 written in annoyingly bright blue light. What the hell was someone getting her up at 5:30 for?

She never even got up so early on a school day, let alone on a Temple day. So Rachel threw her blanket further over her head and settled back into bed.

The singer went undisturbed for several long minutes, much to her utter delight. But as she grew closer to falling asleep, she heard the deep, heavy footsteps of her Dad coming up the stairs, and the slow close and open of the door.

The bed dipped under someone's weight, and a foot lay exposed to the sheer cold of the chilly Ohio morning. Light circles fell across Rachel's foot as someone spiraled short caresses against the bare bottoms.

"Come on, Rachel…"

The guitarist groaned, turning her head and opening a single brown eye to look at her father. "Dad… 's 'o early… why duh I gotta get up now?"

"Rachel, honey… it's Friday," he stated, throwing a meaningful look her way, patting her ankle.

"Oh god, you're not going to sing some Rebecca Black, are you?" Rachel's eyes widened in terror as she sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Dad, remember that conversation we had on my eighth birthday? Singing the latest songs doesn't make you trendy."

Silver orbs rolled. "Rachel, it is Friday… And you promised someone some coffee? Someone who is currently sitting in the kitchen, waiting for you to get out of bed?"

The pieces clicked together. "Shit!"

The guitarist jumped out of bed, throwing open her closet and hopping about the room with jeans halfway up her legs.

Coffee with Quinn. It slipped her mind after everything that had happened that week.

She'd exchanged numbers and addresses with the Cheerio captain on Tuesday, at least three days ago. Between the nightmares and the crappy Glee practices paired with sucky Spanish lessons, the thought of the outing had been gone from her mind almost instantly.

Rachel hurried slipped a leather belt through her jeans, narrowing her eyes at a very amused Leroy (he was sitting on her bed, arms crossed, an absolutely ridiculous grin splayed across his face). "Dad, don't you think there are better things to do than sit here watching me get myself together… like, I don't know… Keep Quinn company?"

"Your friend is already entertaining herself," Leroy waved a hand absentmindedly at his daughter, before that terrible grin grew (Rachel hadn't known such a devious grin could possibly grow any larger) several sizes larger. "I left a rather… fun and colorful family album in her hands."

Rachel's hands froze as she tied her flannel scarf about her neck. There was only one album her Dad had ever cited as fun or colorful, and it happened to be the most humiliating collection of pictures on the face of the earth. "You didn't."

A thin eyebrow rose in amusement. "Oh, I did."

Rachel let out a curse beneath her breath, throwing on her corduroy jacket and slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder before literally throwing herself down the stairs. She grabbed her Chuck Taylors from their spot by the door, hopping smoothly over to the kitchen door.

If she was lucky, she could get there before Quinn hit the Halloween section.

The singer took a moment to straighten her clothing, trying to make herself look less like she'd just thrown every single thing onto her body.

Rachel was proud of how vastly her wardrobe changed since leaving Lima. Her Fathers had always dressed her in plaid skirts, the shiniest pair of clogs or Mary Janes possibly, and the cheesiest animals sweaters known to mankind.

Her preppy style of dress garnered lots of negative attention in sixth grade. It wasn't really a surprise, considering the fact that while her peers wore jeans and the occasional cute little skirt, Rachel was stuck in Kindergarten (she'd literally worn the same style of clothing since Elementary school) fashion.

The move to San Diego gave Rachel the desire for a clean slate. Sweaters were not practical in a beautiful seaside city. In fact, in a fashion forward city like San Diego, it was hard to indulge in her love of plaid and animal adorned sweaters.

The first year of the move had been difficult on Hiram's pocketbook. He lacked the money to start his own practice and had relied on Leroy to bring home a bulk of the money.

Rachel's clothing choices fell to the teens' section of Target: cheap jeans, beaters, and tees crept into the closet as the months went by. The only thing Hiram splurged on were a pair of heavy, black leather Vans (Rachel threw a fit over the fact that her Papa had bought slaughtered cow skin) that would last his daughter for a good two years.

Rachel's vegan tendencies began to wane after two months, since cheap egg and meat substitute were expensive. Hiram would buy the cheapest cuts of meat from the store along with a plethora of cheap instant noodles.

Maria's introduction into Rachel's life brought even more change. The Italian bought Rachel little things here and there: her first pair of earrings (metal studs that the redhead proclaimed as 'bad-ass'), a pair of distressed jeans, or some Chuck Taylors to throw on in addition to the occasional skirt.

This morning Rachel was definitely not looking her best. But it was 5 something, so perhaps Quinn would be in just as sorry a state, if not worse.

In fact, Rachel guessed, the Cheerio was probably wearing her uniform.

But as she opened the door, Rachel's mind went blank and her jaw almost dropped.

Because fuck, there was no way in the world someone could look so goddamn perfect at such a messed up hour of the day.

Except, apparently, Quinn Fabray.

The blonde was seated several feet away, flipping idly through the pages of said embarrassing album. Golden locks fell in languid waves down a slender neck, framing the girl's chiseled features.

Quinn's slender figure was clothed in a light yellow baby doll dress with a modest neckline, a white cardigan draped about her shoulders. Cute, yellow flats completed the entire ensemble.

As the door slid shut behind Rachel, the dark fringe of Quinn's lashes lifted and soft, greenish amber eyes met chocolate brown.

A shy smile curved on rosy lips, exposing perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth. Cheeks darkened slightly as Quinn stood up, placing the album on the table and folded delicate hands neatly on her lap.

That same, annoying, nostalgic prickling took residence inside Rachel's stomach as she smiled sheepishly at the radiant blonde. Mentally, she cursed the fact that she hadn't had as much time to get ready. She looked a bit drab in comparison to Quinn.

"Hi Rachel," the Cheerleader's smooth, smoky voice sent a series of strange shivers down the column of Rachel's spine.

"Uhm… good morning, Quinn," the singer lifted a hand to scratch at the back of her neck, a nervous habit from her seventh grade year. Words seemed to deadlock in her throat as she fought to say as she pleased. "I'm sorry I'm a little late… I'm not really much of a morning person."

Quinn shook her head. "It's alright. I completely understand. I'm not one for waking up this early either… but it's for 'the good of the team' right?" The girl threw Rachel another one of those disarming grins.

"Y-yes, I suppose so," Rachel mentally cursed her lack of verboseness. She'd always been so slick with her words. But then again, it seemed like Quinn Fabray always seemed to make Rachel lose her mental facilities.

"We should probably get going," the Cheerleader tapped the thin, silver watch on her wrist. "The coffee shop is a little ways away and we need to have some time to sit down and talk, too. You don't mind Starbucks, do you?"

"Starbucks is great," Rachel replied honestly. It'd been a while since she'd sat down and had coffee.

In fact, her last visit had been with Maria at the mall in Fashion Valley. The two of them had gone out to look for a new black dress for Rachel's year as 'Jazz Band slave.' Back before Rachel had the courage to pick of the phone with a shaky hand and dial her Dad's number.

"Alright then, let's get going," the Cheerio disappeared from the kitchen in a flourish of light material, breezing by Rachel and leaving a flurry of vanilla scented air behind.

Rachel followed shortly thereafter, swallowing nervously as she headed off toward the garage.

Leroy stood in the entrance, talking in low tones to a fascinated Quinn, only looking up when his daughter came through the hallway. "Rachel, why didn't you tell me before you made such a charming new friend?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders hesitantly, seeing Quinn's eyebrow raise in somewhat amusement at watching the Father and the daughter interact. "It's… kinda been a recent development, Dad."

"Well you should keep this one," Leroy gave a slight wink. Goodness, was her father taking this the wrong way. The last time Rachel had seen her Father use that wink, he'd thought she'd had a crush on Bobby Johnson from room 203 in second grade.

He couldn't possibly see this as… a date, could he?

Fumbling through his pockets, Leroy took out the keys to the Hyundai and pressed them into Rachel's hand, kissing her cheeks. "You be careful driving, alright? This may not be crowded San Diego, but the people here are real as-."

"Dad!" Rachel hissed, thoroughly embarrassed. Her cheeks reddened considerably as she heard Quinn let out a musical chuckle beside her.

"Oh sweetheart, it's not like you're five anymore," Leroy frowned. "I'm sure you've heard worse than anything I'm going to say."

"Oh, we definitely hear things much more provoking than what you were going to say, Mr. Berry," Quinn chimed in with a bright smile. "And if you'd like, I can drive Rachel to school. I've been a local for a while, so Rachel would be safe with me at the wheel."

"Oh sweetheart what an angel you are," Leroy pressed a hand to his chest. "But I don't want to be any trouble. Are you sure that you're fine with it?"

"Rachel and I are in the same first period class, Mr. B," Quinn cocked her head to the side, looking throwing a glance at the guitarist. "It's really no trouble at all. In fact, it'd give us a chance to get to know each other a little better. Right, Rachel?"

The singer snapped out of her thoughtful stupor, eyes flashing up toward a beaming Quinn before she gave a faint nod. "If you're okay with it, Dad I think it's a good idea… You wouldn't have to worry about me getting lost in town and we wouldn't have to replace the carpet from your endless pacing."

The large man's lip curved downward. "You can blame a man for being concerned about his daughter, Rachel."

"And I'm grateful that you're my Dad," Rachel said warmly, kissing her Father soundly before pressing the keys back into his hand. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Be careful, my little star," he whispered fondly, pulling several locks of chocolate brown hair behind dainty ears. "And have some fun, okay?"

Leroy held out a hand to Quinn. "It was nice meeting you, Quinn. You're welcome around here anytime you like."

The blonde gave the tall man an easy smile, seizing the limb in a firm handshake before winking coyly. "You might want to reconsider that statement, Mr. Berry. I might just take you up on it."

"This house could do with a little more spirit in it," Leroy replied. "I stand by my statement… In fact, I think I insist on it. Rachel needs to add a little bit more social life to this old place."

"Are you implying I'm a social disaster, Dad?" Rachel asked wryly, narrowing her eyes at him.

The tall man chuckled nervously. "I think that's a conversation that we can't get into right now, sweetheart…"

"You're lucky I love you," Rachel muttered, opening the door. "And you're lucky that I'm leaving right now."

"Have a good day, honey," Leroy called after her. "Do good things."

"You're still not off the hook!"

"I'm so sorry about my Dad," Rachel stirred nervously at her Vanilla Soy Latte, frowning. "I guess he's a little excited about the fact that I'm actually out and about for once."

The ride to the coffee shop had been fairly low key. Quinn drove in relative silence, the only sound between the two of them was the steady drawl of the local radio station, paired with the blonde girl's occasional murmuring of song lyrics at random.

Rachel found herself becoming a bit more relaxed after some time. The blonde Cheerio's eyes were not constantly upon her as they were at school. Instead, they scanned the read and occasionally fell upon the silent singer, ever changing between shades of the lightest hazel to the deepest tones of jeweled green.

Quinn had an easiness about her. Every little mannerism, right down from the way she walked to the way she smiled seemed to have a sort of grace about it. A flow between every little movement that made Rachel more comfortable by the moment, despite the cocktail of emotions that came from being around Quinn Fabray.

They ordered coffee without much talk as well, Quinn only asking what the singer wanted, as well as commenting on the shop's deco and how it 'wasn't like this last summer when I worked here.'

"You haven't gone out with Tina yet?" Quinn questioned curiously, taking the lid off her steaming coffee.

"No," the guitarist shook her head. "I… I've been having a bit of trouble adjusting to being around here. It's really different than where I used to live, and I would hate to ruin everything by getting homesick in the middle of a shopping trip."

"Is it really so different?" Quinn leaned forward, resting on the palms of her hands. "San Diego, I mean. I've never left Ohio… so I don't know what California's like."

"It's really sunny," Rachel closed her eyes. "The weather is balmy during the year, and sometimes it's hot at night. It rains during the spring... and at night, if you go to the outskirts of the city, you can look down and see all the lights and the stars."

"It sounds…" the blonde searched for the right word. "Magical."

"It kind of is," the singer admitted, taking a sip of her cooling drink. "But there's something magical about Lima as well. In San Diego, it's hard to find a moment of peace. A place that's really quiet, because you're never really alone, no matter where you go. Here in Lima it's… it's tranquil."

"That's not necessarily a good thing, you know," Quinn smiled faintly.

"Don't like it here?"

"It gets a bit old when you're trapped here," the Cheerio admitted. "There's only so much you can do in a town where you know each and every single person and every single little thing that happens."

Rachel observed Quinn's features harden into a thoughtful mask. "I feel like I'm too big for this place… Like I've outgrown it. It's kind of like an ill-fitting suit of clothes, you know? I just… I want a new start…"

"I can understand that," the singer intoned softly.

And she could. After her fathers had divorced, the only thing that Rachel could want was a fresh start. She reviled, at one time or another, in the idea of a blank slate. Because there was only so long that Rachel could take the talk of her Father's divorce.

The rumors that went with being a gay couple's child were terrible. But the accusations flung against her fathers after their divorce were far worse than anything she could have anticipated.

They called her a 'bastard' child. Accused her Fathers of so many unspeakable things, it made Rachel nauseated to recall their sickening laughter.

Quinn had those ghosts that she wanted to escape from. Perhaps the memories that came with having a child at sixteen were too much for someone to bear. Rachel knew she couldn't handle the shame that came from such a hardship.

Quinn smiled faintly. "There're few people who can. I'm glad you can understand it though."

"I've had a bit of experience with not fitting in," Rachel pulled at the red leather bracelets about her wrists, observing the steam billowing from her cup.

"Maybe… we should talk about things a little less sad?" the blonde took a sip of her coffee. "How about you tell me all about your experience with singing? There's no way you can sing and dance that well and not have had some prior experience."

"How do you know?" Rachel smirked, brown eyes glinting mischievously. "I could be a prodigy… I could learn by osmosis."

"No one gets to be that amazing through staring at people working," Quinn's eyebrow raised playfully. "You've got a dancer's build. There's no way anyone could get that good by sitting around on their ass all day eating chips while other people dance in front of them."

Rachel rubbed her chin in mock though before snapping her fingers playfully. "Well, since you've uncovered my secret…"

"It wasn't much of a secret to begin with," Quinn mumbled, yelping slightly as Rachel threw a crumbled napkin her way.

"Do you want me to tell you or not?" Rachel narrowed her eyes at her companion.

"Yes, yes," the other stated, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Then less sass and more listening."

"Alright then, almighty and great singer," Quinn bowed mockingly before settling back in her chair. "Tell me your secrets."

"Choir, choir and lots of dance," the guitarist stated, taking another hearty gulp of coffee.

"Could you…"

"Elaborate?"

"Yeah… what was it like? How'd you get started?"

"I always knew I wanted a way to sing… I sang a lot over here in Lima in some competitions, but I wanted to… you know, sing in a group setting, get some friends," Rachel played with the collar around her drink, looking up at the ceiling. "My other Dad, Hiram… He brought me to dozens of singing and dancing lessons over here, so I really wanted to do something with the two. I originally wanted to join a Glee Club."

"But I'm guessing they don't have them in San Diego?" Quinn chimed in softly.

"Oh, they have them in San Diego, definitely," Rachel nodded. "But they don't offer Glee at the school I go to… Or went to, really. So I joined the school's Chamber Singers when I was a Freshman with my best friend."

"Best friend?" the blonde questioned, quirking her eyebrow.

"Maria Arioso," the singer gave her a faint smile. "One of the most honest, most pierced up, foul-mouthed, yet caring people you'd ever meet in your entire life… She told me I had to try out. The Middle School program was a bit lacking, so I'd skipped over some time. But I was still taking voice lessons to compensate."

"You'll have to introduce me to her sometime," Quinn smirked. "She sounds like type of person Santana would love to fight with."

"I can't decide who would win," Rachel shook her head. "If Santana would try to get in several words edgewise and Maria would cuss her out, or if Maria'd be the one getting annoyed as hell by Santana."

"Santana's bark is worse than her bite," Quinn rolled her eyes. "She's a bit of a bitch sometimes, but she always means well in the end… She's always defended me a bit more than I'd like… she had the last guy I dated get an extreme slushy shower."

"Jerk?"

"Sort of," Quinn shrugged. "I guess you can say I haven't made the best choices when it comes to dating… They've always paled in comparison to what I really want." Hazel eyes flickered up to lock with dark browns, sending chills down Rachel's back.

"What you really want?" Rachel smiled softly, suddenly finding the table interesting. "Do you have a list, or something like that? 'He must be six-foot two with blond hair and blue eyes…'"

"No… no list," the Cheerio continued to gaze at the singer. "They just don't measure up to someone I've liked for quite a long time."

"Oh, a crush?" Rachel's lips quirked up.

"You know how you always put first love on a pedestal?" Quinn questioned softly, amber softening to the lightest shade of green. "It never seems like you… quite get over them? You compare all of them, one after the other, to that first person… because it's almost like they're all you've ever known?"

Rachel's smile took on a bitter edge. "No… no, I can't quite relate to you on that one."

The girl cocked her head to the side. "Did you have a bad first experience?"

"No," Rachel replied truthfully. "I just… I don't really think I've fallen in love with anyone I've dated. I mean, I've liked people… but I don't think I've ever been so attached as to have fallen in love."

"Ah," the blonde nodded. "I can understand that…"

"It's sort of hard to fall in love," Rachel's hands tightened about her drink. "When you don't know what love is. I've never had the best role modelswhen it comes to loving relationships."

"I don't think a lot of people do, nowadays," Quinn said softly, looking down at the singer's clenched hands. "But… I guess I just got… a little bit lucky."

"A little?" Brown eyes flickered upwards, questioning.

"It's hard to be in love," Quinn began, closing her eyes softly. "When the person that you like… doesn't really know you exist."

"They don't know you exist?" Rachel chuckled, shaking her head. "That's a little impossible, don't you think? You're the most popular girl in the entire school."

The Cheerio simply smiled, sipping her coffee. "You'd be surprised, Rachel… especially since…"

She placed the drink down on the table, the edges of her lips falling into a melancholy curve. "…Everything's… everything's a lot different… Time can do so many cruel and… interesting things."

"I doubt… they even think of me."

A/N: Leave a review? They make me smile :)