Disclaimer: In which I say I own NOTHING (except Maria Arioso).

A/N: Hey everyone, long time no write. I've had a crazy couple months since I last updated. I spent the first month traveling the whole of China (which is a beautiful country), the weeks after sick and bedridden with some sort of illness I got overseas, the days after mourning the loss of a dear, dear friend who recently perished in a car accident (bless her kind soul), and this week fighting an ear infection (which is a total death sentence when you are a musician).

I know I don't update as quickly as some authors, but I write when I can. I hope you can understand this (real life has not been particularly kind to me this year) and I thank you for your patience.

Our dear Maria now has a Tumblr page, if you'd like to ask her questions or follow her, her page is dontrainonmygoddamnedparade dot tumblr dot com. My Tumblr (if you'd like to ask me questions) can be found on my profile page). Speaking of questions, you can ask them here on the story as long as they aren't terribly personal.

Thanks to eternallymontyp, aquarius127, Musicfutbolfan6, SoFlaComet, AleatoirePerson, Averenda, BabyTigerVamp, Gleelover47, Ilianalovee, w1cked, LoveSKINS94, Gardenia2, ScorpioP, Nat, writing is love, Princesakarlita411, broadwaybound2016, Athyna DaughterofPosiedon, Abnab, Pie56, loveless90, ch3lsk0, Nighlancer600, faberrydragon, JDH714, supernena25, iamirreplazable, Ranryuujin Omega, FeelingGrey, redashford, berrysberry, justicegrl, Jayke, WittyNinja, Shiori Kaiou, Phen Name, JPElles, dOkei, thainthood, MHoneywell, Guest, Aaml-sp5, ohhidontknow, Alerted, lamberyeon21, Hank, coldpeas, paige-annne, NeniioN, shakespearewrote, imaferrari, devildoc35 for all their lovely comments.

Please review, pretty please with sugar on top. I love reading your comments, they make my day!

Chapter 15: Voice Lessons

Miss Corcoran was not mentioned again.

…In Leroy Johnson's general vicinity.

The temptation to altogether banish Shelby Corcoran from her thoughts never once crossed Rachel's mind.

The ghost of her father's shocked, appalled features replayed in her mind for hours after a silent dinner spent spearing pan fried noodles and sweet and sour pork onto mute tongues. The tension in the air gagged and choked what semblance of happiness she'd gathered from the after school hangout with Quinn and Maria.

Silent dinners between Rachel and Leroy had dissipated within the first few trial weeks of school. Leroy, Rachel sensed, could not bear the distance between them and made an effort to extend a cautious hand in an attempt to bridge five years of distance between them.

He spoke with great fervor about new cases he had taken up at the practice or the latest courtroom proceedings in recent days. Leroy laughed gaily, joked wittily, and smiled as frequently as he might around his daughter.

But the gestures were fraught with a sort of desperation in each motion. The smiles were artificial at the edges. The jokes (which made her smile without fail as a child), were hollow and meaningless. The laughter nothing but mere exhalations of sound and silent pleas for help.

So Rachel met him halfway. She smiled just as often, joked just as much, and laughed just as senselessly as Leroy.

And just as they became more comfortable with each other, Rachel's inquiries started. She pondered Hiram's responses to certain questions aloud. Spoke with Papa on the phone whilst the door to Leroy's study sat cracked ajar. Inquired over the divorce with subtle prodding over laughter, dinner, and nights with too-much-wine.

"Your Papa used to argue all the time about that…"

"Why did you argue about that, Dad?"

Why was Grandpa Berry's precious vase shattered into a million little pieces and left haphazardly scattered across the floor until Papa gathered the courage to pick it up? If they loved each other fraction of what Rachel thought they did, why did they yell, scream, tear at each other, and crumble away so easily?

That night… that night where Papa cried out and screamed as though someone had torn his very heart from his chest… Why was there so much blood? Why had Leroy's usually steady, dependable stroll down the hall falter to a staggering, struggling gait?

'Why did you let us leave?'

It was a loaded question, weighed with a million little doubts, rolled into an unsuspecting package and presented to Leroy with pleading eyes.

A question he chose to avoid with a simple smile and the vague, unsatisfying answer of "it's a little bit more complicated than you think, sweetheart."

Rachel wanted to tear at that smile, to fling a piece of Leroy's 'perfect' cutlery at his face. To shout "then help me understand! Let me understand!"

But she would stop just short of it as he looked down upon his food, stiffly putting it to his mouth and chewing mechanically. Silver eyes would lose the live sheen to their spirited surface and face to an unremarkable, ugly gray.

The meal continued on in silence, both occupants of the table barely alive. Functioning enough to breathe and eat. But never talk.

Never discuss emotion.

Rachel hated those dinners. Hated to see her father look at her with those dead eyes as he had at that dinner five years ago after the DNA test.

Those eyes meant old wounds were being sliced open with a hot dagger. They meant that Leroy was no longer even present in that pitiful shell of her Father.

They meant resignation.

So she never spoke about Shelby Corcoran around her Father.

She let him hide whatever pain Shelby Corcoran caused him behind whatever thin veil of lies he'd gathered over the years.

So even though she was dying to ask Leroy what exactly Miss Corcoran was, what exactly she'd done to alarm him so badly, Rachel held everything inside.

But that didn't stop her from researching.

It didn't stop her from talking about it with people other than Leroy.

Shelby Corcoran was the key to the bigger picture, Rachel was sure. Whether it might be to her Fathers' divorce or to finding out the point at which everything fallen apart.

Miss Corcoran knew something… was something, and Rachel would rather languish in Hell for several millennia before she let her escape.

A stalker session on Google gave Rachel the gist of who exactly Shelby Corcoran was—A 36 year old bachelorette working as an English teacher at Carmel High (McKinley's rival school, which Leroy had adamantly been against Rachel attending for reasons—previously—unknown)with several National Show Choir championships under her belt as the coach of the Vocal Adrenaline.

Vocal Adrenaline. The show choir that awed Rachel with its stunning precision, complex web of fluid choreography, and the utter pitch perfection of its singers. The team that had taken Regionals without batting a single lash at competitive groups such as the Dalton Academy Warblers and the All Stars and their fantastic freshman lead singer Harmony (who could, Rachel begrudgingly admitted, almost keep a toe with her in singing).

New Directions' direct competition and greatest rival.

"Well," Maria whistled as she watched Vocal Adrenaline's winning number from Miss Corcoran's first year at Carmel on YouTube. "Isn't that fucking ironic? Your Dad was 'friends' with our biggest enemy. That shit's soap opera material."

Rachel felt inclined to agree.

Then again, what wasn't soap opera material in Lima, Ohio (especially in her life)?

"Our asses will be handed us at Regionals unless we pull a fucking full court miracle," Maria sighed, ruffling her hair and scowling. "How does someone pull a triple flip—a fucking triple flip—across a midget-assed stage and over a legion of dancing, soulless automatons? It defies the laws of all that is right in this fucking world."

"Since when has anything here made sense, Maria?" Rachel sighed, standing from her computer chair to grab a red plaid scarf—courtesy of her best friend—to wrap about her neck. She shucked her weather worn pair of Chuck Taylors on, tying them tight.

"…You've got a point," Maria conceded. She squinted at the laptop's screen for a moment before her eyes widened. "No fucking way." She hit the pause button violently. "Smurf, get over here for a second."

"Wha-."

"Don't blabber, just get over here," she waved her over. "Now."

Rachel sighed, dropping her hands from the partially finished knot she'd made in her scarf. She strode over to the desk, nudging Maria over. "What is it?"

Blues slid over to meet brown as a jewelry ridden finger tapped the screen, a still image of Miss Corcoran standing, arms crossed at the side of the stage trapped on the display. "This is the woman from the coffee shop, correct?"

"Yes…" Rachel murmured. She cocked an eyebrow in question. "And…?"

"Can you really not see it?" Maria laughed in frustration. "You cannot be that stupid, smurf. You get 5's on all your AP tests." She tapped the screen.

"Same dark hair, same nose… She's like," Maria searched for the proper word. "She's like your fucking wonder twin."

And Rachel had noticed it. She'd seen the similarities between them. The same soft, curling brown hair. The same large nose that strangely seemed tailored to fit an equally strange face. Everything about Shelby Corcoran, right down to the gentle curve of their smiles.

But what was she supposed to do with such a meaningless piece of the puzzle?

So Shelby Corcoran looked like her. So what?

There were look-alikes all around the world. Celebrity clones, people who looked like they were from your family, but weren't.

Hell, Rachel had been told time and time again that she looked exactly like Broadway Sensation Idina Menzel.

But that really didn't mean anything. She wasn't some secret love child (she was fairly certain that Hiram Berry had never been near enough to even approach Idina Menzel as a possible surrogate for his infant daughter) of a Broadway Actress.

If Shelby Corcoran's startlingly similar appearance meant anything, then she would have to connect all the pieces, if and when she gathered them all in one place.

Rachel shook her head. There would be time for these ponderings later. She lifted her hands to her neck once more, continuing to fasten the scarf about her neck.

"Well, while you're contemplating why the heck Shelby Corcoran looks so much like me when you should be going over Brittany's notes," Rachel said pointedly, sitting up. "I'll be off. I'll be late if I sit around here anymore."

"Late?" Maria grinned. "Oh, you got yourself a hot date, smurf? Who's the lucky bastard?" She leaned back in the chair. "Or did you finally give in to Blondie's stalkerish eye-fucking?"

Rachel scowled. "First, this is not a date. Secondly, Quinn does not eye-fuck me."

"You don't sound so sure of that anymore," Maria chuckled. "But I guess that means that you are meeting Blondie. Which begs the question—why?"

"Because she's my friend," Rachel continued, throwing her jacket over her shoulders and stuffing her wallet into her pocket. "And she invited me over to talk about Sectionals. Said she needed a little help with her section of the song."

"So you're going tooooo…?"

"Help her with her singing."

Maria smirked. "Oh, so that's what they're calling it these days."

"Oh shut up," Rachel huffed, pilfering a sharpie from its place on the floor and chucking it at her friend. "Get back to work on that choreography."

The redhead grumbled, scratching the back of her head and turning back to the charts with an irritated scowl on her lips. "I wouldn't have to work on it if New Infections had some capabl-."

"Work!"

Rachel really hadn't intended to spend her afternoon at Quinn Fabray's house.

She'd meant to polish off another semi-decent Glee rehearsal with a tired smile, head home, finish her homework, make it through another awkward dinner with her father and her best friend (who happened to hate said father), and bury her aches and pains in a hot bath and a nice night's sleep.

But Quinn threw a wrench in her rather marvelous sounding night by approaching her after practice as they'd packed up with a gentle smile on her lips, Cheerios bag curled under her arm.

"Hey, Rachel," the name rolled smoothly off Quinn's lips. Soft, emerald eyes twinkled under the dim, fluorescent lighting as they lit into dark chocolate.

Rachel had straightened from her kneeling position, throwing her duffel bag over one shoulder and her messenger over the other. She gave Quinn a warm smile as she wiped the sweat from her brow. "Hey. Practice a bit of a doozy, hmm?"

It had been. Maria drove the whole of New Directions to its limit. Dance practice proved intensive for a large portion of the group (Rachel couldn't count how many times Finn tripped over his heels during the chair jump again, nor how many times the members scattered to avoid the fall of his hulking figure).

Every single muscle in her body was terribly sore (Maria had taken to featuring the best dancers in the front of the group with some rather intricate choreography guaranteed to score them some points with the judges), despite the fact that she had trained in dance extensively for the last sixteen years of her life.

Everything was no holds-barred and everyone was feeling the effects of it.

Rachel was sure no one would ever sleep as fitfully as they would for the next two weeks of their lives.

"Uhm, that's actually what I'd like to talk about," Quinn bit her lip, cheeks coloring. "I've... I've never really had to work this hard on a set before. When I have duets with Finn, I usually don't have to think of the rest of the group and… well, I think I could use more vocal practice."

She looked up shyly. "I'd really appreciate your help, if you don't mind."

Rachel smiled slightly. "I don't really think you need help, Quinn. Your voice sounds lovely."

'Even if you are a tad sharp,' she mused internally.

"But it's not perfect," Quinn murmured. She closed her eyes.

"I'm not the strongest voice in this club, not by a long shot," the cheerleader's grip tightened on the strap of her bag. "Mercedes can belt out notes easily, Tina has practice, Brittany can sing and dance consistently, and Santana's voice carries the harmonies well.

"This is our last chance, Rachel," pleading greens opened, "this is our last chance and if we go out, I want to know I did everything I could've done to keep us from sinking. Please help me."

Had anyone else asked, Rachel might have said no. She was tired, sore, hungry, and smelled like an old, sweaty gym sock (Maria really hadn't been kind in practice today). Drowning herself in a tub full of hot water for the rest of her night sounded amazing and she wouldn't help people who might fight her as violently as Kurt or Mercedes.

New Directions might have warmed up to her, or really her voice in short, but that didn't meant that they liked Rachel anymore than they liked Jacob Ben Israel, the school's resident pervert.

But Quinn had been one of the few people in McKinley High School to accept her and make an effort to befriend her.

The look in Quinn's eyes was genuine and earnest. Bright emerald burned and flickered with determination, mixed with a soft note of pleading.

With such a look in Quinn's eyes, Rachel couldn't do it.

She couldn't say no.

Rachel sighed, a little curve to her lips, shaking her head slightly before looking up again. "Sure. I'll help you. When would you like to do it?"

Quinn smiled. "How about tonight around 6:30? My house? My Mom's gone and we won't have to worry about bothering her."

Rachel nodded. "Sure, that sounds great."

And so Rachel ended up standing in front of 80-627 Rochester Avenue several hours after school, ten minutes before the assigned 6:30 meeting time, observing Quinn's house with wide eyes.

Rachel had seen many expensive houses in her short sixteen (almost seventeen) years of life (she'd lived for five of those years in San Diego, California and visited Los Angeles a fair amount of times within that time). She'd seen many houses on the 'other side' for that matter (when she'd first moved to San Diego, before Hiram scraped together enough money to open his own practice, she hadn't exactly lived in the best of houses).

The wealthy kids at her school had been divided into two divisions—those who flaunted their parents' money with as much gadgetry and fashionable clothing as possible and others who carried themselves as 'ordinary' teenagers.

Quinn Fabray carried herself as one of those 'ordinary' people. She spoke in soft, hushed tones and did not seem to seem to think that she was above everyone else.

During Glee meetings, Quinn's presence was subtle, despite her position as one of New Directions' co-captains. She let the Glee Clubbers openly discuss and argue in favor of songs. Let them think of choreography or add their five cents on routines.

The only moment Quinn exercised her power, it seemed, was during moments of pointless conflict or general disagreement amongst the members of the club. She calmed everyone till they reached a reasonable temperament and helped forge a compromise.

She imagined Quinn's home to be much the same—quiet, understated, yet sophisticated when one took the time to look upon it.

Rachel found, however, that she was quite wrong.

Again.

The Fabray house (if you could even call such a large thing a house) loomed two stories over the modest single level homes of its neighbors.

A cobblestone walkway paved its way across an immaculately trimmed front yard, sprinkled with marble statues of angels and prophets, hands clasped in fervent prayer. The smooth stones rose slightly to an oak doorway, darkly stained and inset with stained glass. White columns surrounded the beautifully crafted entryway, molding into the dark maroon facing of the house. The shingles, dark blue in color, lay scalloped across the top and extended back farther than Rachel's eyes could see.

Several spruce trees stretched their mighty branches out over the lonely, white curtained windows, preventing the mid-afternoon sun from entering through the glass panels.

A lone, pure white flag flapped outside the comparatively modest garage attached to the house at the side, the words "Jesus Loves You" written in bright red script with Jesus' picture emblazoned on its surface.

It reminded Rachel somewhat of those old eastern houses she'd seen depicted in her American History textbooks when reading about the Boston Tea Party. She pictured fancy English officials sitting inside, daintily sipping their tea and scoffing over the 'common lot's' problems.

It really didn't seem to fit her perceptions of Quinn at all.

Rachel swallowed heavily, pushing back the sleeve of her jacket as she checked the face of her thick, black Nixon watch for the time. A minute till she was supposed to meet Quinn. Well, she might as well pick her jaw up off the floor and get to the door already. It'd undoubtedly take another minute just to walk there.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Rachel composed herself and strode to the door. She lifted a hand as she stood before its oaken face knocking.

Several minutes passed in quiet anxiety. She drummed callused fingertips on her thigh, feeling her nerves coil at the bottom of her stomach. The click of the doorknob made Rachel's eyes snap directly to the turn of the metal.

The door opened soundlessly, Rachel's mouth going dry as the occupant stepped forward.

Quinn smiled brightly as she held the door open. Golden hair, out of its usual tightly secured ponytail, fell in gentle waves down slight shoulders. A pair of denim shorts hit tightly against muscular thighs, the waistband covered by a light, baby blue tank top.

Quinn Fabray was naturally pretty, Rachel had never doubted that since the first moment she'd seen Quinn staring at her up against the lockers the very first day of school.

But God, she looked better when she wasn't trying be to something.

"Hey Rach," Quinn intoned softly.

"Uhm," Rachel blinked. "Hi."

"Sorry if you've been standing there for a while," Quinn said sheepishly. "I've been sitting at the piano for a while, messing around with some chords."

"No, no," Rachel swallowed. "It's… It's alright."

"Alright," Quinn beamed, gesturing behind her. "Then let's get to work. Come on in."

A gust of warm air greeted Rachel's cheeks as she crossed the threshold into the house. Her eyes met beige walls as she continued down the hallway with Quinn into the living room.

Dark, stained wood walls fell into Rachel's curious study, lit by the warm crackle of a burning log in the grand, stone fireplace with its granite facing. Several dark, leather couches sat in the center of the room with matching mahogany tables around the sides.

Books of all hues and sizes were piled away into the built in shelves, taking up several walls. A black Steinway sat, immaculately polished in the furthest corner of the room, the ivory keys gleaming in the firelight, sheet music neatly stacked before the lid.

"Wow," Rachel murmured softly as they strode over to the piano. She ran her fingers gently across the keys, reveling in the cool, smooth surface. "It's beautiful. I didn't even know you played."

"I had lessons when I was younger," Quinn sat down at the bench, pulling it closer to the pedals. "But I had to stop when I turned ten. My Dad didn't like the noise. I picked it up again after… after the baby."

"Oh," Rachel murmured softly, eyes softening as she observed the melancholy in Quinn's eyes. Her hand fell to her side. "You must've been pretty good if you have a Steinway. I've only played on one once in my entire life when I went for competition. They're such gorgeous instruments."

"I was okay," Quinn said with a crooked smile on her lips. "I'd say my Dad just bought me a Steinway to show off the fact that he could."

"Quinn…"

"It's alright, Rachel," she nodded. "I've gotten over it. It's done and over with." She shook her head before turning to smile at Rachel. "Trust me, alright?

"Now then…" she moved over a bit, patting the empty space. "Have a seat and let's get started, hmm?"

Rachel nodded, taking off her jacket and draping it over the side of the bench. She rested her fingers gently on the keys, feeling out a scale. "Let's start here. A little warm-up."

She hit the lowest note, singing out clearly, pitch perfect as she continued up the scale. "Siiiinggg eaachhh noooteee offff theee scaleeeeee liiikeeeee thiiiiissss!" She gave Quinn a goofy little smile at the end.

Quinn laughed, straightening as Rachel pounded out the first note once more.

They sang quietly together, continuing up the Circle of Fifths slowly until the notes flew out of Quinn's range. After several minutes, Rachel started in on Quinn's solo part, fluidly switching into the song.

"Alright, so let's start in on that solo," she smiled. "Let me hear what it sounds like now… ready?"

Quinn sang out the lines evenly, her voice clear and soft. As they rounded the end, Rachel nodded slightly.

"Sounds good… but you need to push it a bit more," she took her hands off the keys. "You have a tendency to sing up in your throat. You need to sing down here." Rachel tapped her stomach softly. "You'll get a more consistent tone because you're a hair sharp."

She turned back to the keys slowly. "Let's try it again."

Halfway through the phrase, Rachel paused again. "No, no… push." She reached over, placing her hand over Quinn's stomach, pressing down slightly. She felt Quinn freeze beneath her touch. "Try it now."

Quinn's breathing hitched a moment before she smoothly sang out the line, Rachel's hand still firmly pressed against her abdomen. The words came with more power, perfectly in pitch yet breathy in tone.

Rachel nodded, smiling down at the keys. "Good… really great." She looked up, still smiling and froze.

Quinn's eyes had altered from their emerald state to a dark, golden green. They locked on Rachel's shocked browns and bore into them. Tensed, taut, coiled muscle twitched beneath Rachel's fingers as the cheerleader breathed heavily.

Rachel pulled away quickly, as though burned, clearing her throat awkwardly and resting her hands on the keys again. "U-Um… let's try that again? Let's see if you can do it without direction."

After several satisfactory run-throughs, Rachel switched over to the harmonies, helping Quinn through the areas she struggled in. Throughout the whole of the lesson, Rachel made sure to keep her hands away from Quinn, using her own body as model for proper technique.

An hour and a half flew by before Rachel threw her hands up. "I don't know about you, but I could do with a break. Your throat's probably killing you by now."

Quinn chuckled. "A bit."

Rachel absentmindedly returned both hands to the keys, Heart and Soul leaking out of the piano. "I remember how I felt after my first vocal lesson. I downed several glasses of water as soon as I got home. I thought I was coming down with a cold."

Quinn's brow quirked up. "First singing lesson? Weren't you about… a year old?"

"About… maybe less," Rachel smirked.

"Boasting, then?"

"Mmm, maybe a bit."

Rachel moved her right hand out of the way. "Come on, I'll take bottom, you take top. Let's see those piano skills at work."

Quinn laughed. "Alright, but it's not going to be clean." She reached over Rachel's working arm, skin brushing lightly against the singer's as she started to pick out the melody.

"So…" Quinn trailed off as she reached over to push a particularly high note. "Find out much about the mysterious lady from the Lima Bean?"

"Not much… all I've got is her name and basic google stalking data," Rachel scoffed. "Shelby Corcoran."

Quinn paused. "Corcoran? As in Vocal Adrenaline Miss Corcoran?"

Rachel sighed. "Yeah."

They continued on in relative silence for the next few moments.

"So… how does she know your Dad?" Quinn questioned.

"According to her, they're friends," Rachel said. "According to my Dad… well, he won't tell me anything."

"Really?" Quinn bit her lip. "That's… odd. Have you ever heard of her before you met her?"

"No," Rachel said easily. "No… but…" Her fingers stopped against the keys.

"But?" Quinn asked, leaning toward Rachel.

"But…" Rachel trailed off, before continuing more strongly. "But she's familiar somehow. Like, I feel like I've met her before… or something like that.

"You know how there's always some sort of… surprise when you meet someone new?" Rachel pushed down on a high key. "Because they're something new? Something you've never experienced before? With Miss Corcoran there's no… there's just no surprise. There's nothing different."

"Huh," Quinn mused. "Maybe… you have met her before, then." The blonde's voice lowered to a near whisper. "After all… you can't remember everyone you meet… Time is… cruel."

Her eyes dulled ever so slightly as Rachel continued.

"I just wish I knew how I knew her…"

Quinn shook her head, the corners of rosy lips quirking upwards. "I'm sure you'll find out, Rachel." Hazel orbs flickered downward as a gentle hand fell against Rachel's against the white of the piano keys. "And… and if you need any help… I'll help you."

Rachel smiled tenderly, turning her hand palm up and squeezing Quinn's warmly. "Thank you, Quinn."

Stunning hazels locked with dark brown, startling in their clarity.

Flecks of bottle green that graced the pupils shone bright as brilliant chips of malachite in the glow of the fire, swimming in pools of the deepest amber. They twinkled like little emerald starbursts. Eyes so familiar…

So… familiar…

Wire framed glasses… hazel eyes…

"Rachel…?" Quinn's hand smoothly traveled up the singer's arm, squeezing her shoulder. "Rachel… I…"

Turning to the car, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder…

'Love yourself…'

"…I need to tell you something."

Bitter… her tears tasted bitter against the tongue.

"I-."

The shrill, wakening call of 'Totally Fucked' sent the two jumping apart.

Rachel reached for her iPhone shakily, breathing deeply and schooling her voice to some level of normalcy before she answered.

"Hello?"

"Rachel, sweetheart," Leroy's deep voice boomed over the phone. "We'll be eating soon, so you might want to start on home now. I don't want you walking in the dark."

"Okay, alright Dad," Rachel said, avoiding Quinn's gaze. "I'll be home in twenty. Love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart. Be careful."

Quickly pounding the 'end' button, Rachel reached over for her jacket, slinging it over her shoulders as she smiled apologetically, secretly relieved. "Sorry, my Dad wants me home. But we can continue this later."

She looked up slowly. "Is that alright?"

Quinn broke from her reverie, giving Rachel a shaky quirk of her lips. She lifted herself from the bench "Yeah… it's… it's alright. Do you need a lift home?"

"It's alright," Rachel said quickly, walking toward the door. "I'm young and spry… I can walk a couple blocks without getting lost."

"Really?" Quinn mused. "Because didn't you get lost the last time you tried that."

"I walked here! I can walk back," Rachel murmured stubbornly crossing her arms. "And that was once. Only one time."

"One time too many," Quinn smirked. She opened the door slowly. "But I'll let you go this once, since you proved yourself competent in getting here… But…" Her eyes softened. "Just… Just be careful, alright? No more cuts and no picking fights with people ten times larger than you."

"Okay," Rachel said, gentling. She stepped outside, pivoting on her heel. "Keep practicing what I taught you and everything will be a-okay. If we need another session, then we'll meet again, alright?"

"Alright," Quinn nodded.

Rachel paused a moment before looking back at Quinn, serious. "And… what is it you needed to tell me?"

Quinn shook her head quickly. "I-It's… It's nothing important. I can tell you some other time."

Rachel frowned. "Are you sure?"

'Please say yes, please say yes.' She mentally begged.

"Yeah," Quinn said softly, eyes dulling slightly. Just as quickly as the melancholy tint came to being, it was lost again as Quinn smirked, hiding behind perfectly schooled features. "Now get off my porch, Berry and get yourself home."

Rachel laughed. "All right then. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Quinn whispered as Rachel started down the cobblestone pathway and disappeared around the corner and out of view.

She didn't close the door until the steady beat of Rachel's shoes against the cement faded into ghostly echoes, her eyes lost once more to melancholy green and soft, pale lips devoid of any smile.

She looked for her.

She looked for smiling brown eyes, soft brown hair, and gentle hands down every hallway, in every class, and on every street.

But she never found her.

Years passed. She became thinner, taller, and more beautiful with each month. She searched for love in the arms that were too muscular, too hard, and too rough. Searched for it in too hard kisses, too chapped lips, and too harsh bites.

She found it five years later in the deep, chocolate colored irises of her first love as she stared at her across a crowded row of lockers, smiling with pained eyes that no longer smiled, hair that looked several shades lighter, and hands that looked too scarred and callused to be those of her first love.

She found her.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this nice Faberry filled chapter. Now I bet you want to review :) See that nice big textbox right down at the bottom? It's begging and saying "You knooowww you want to filll meee withhhh commentssss abouttt the storyyyy." It's like Rachel, I suppose. It needs reviews to live ;)

This Chapter is dedicated to S.D.

For nine years of my life, you were kind and thoughtful.

You never said an unkind word about a single soul

and always had a smile on your face.

You were taken before your time.

But you will always be loved, cherished, and remembered

by everyone who knew you.