Fic: I Will Try (And Fix You) - 1/?
Title: I Will Try (And Fix You)
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: PG-13ish, some bad words
Spoilers: Through "Journey."
Summary: Quinn is broken. Can Rachel put her back together?
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...
Sam’s audition went well, which seemed to distract Will from berating them, at least for one practice. They were still short a member, of course, but even a minor victory for Glee was a nice change of piece. He distributed new sheet music - a song to learn for the Invitational, which would inevitably creep up on them faster than they’d like. Rachel hoped that perhaps he’d inquire about Quinn, but that proved frustratingly futile. She was taken by surprise, however, when Brittany approached her at the end of the practice.
“Is Quinn okay? I know you phoned Santana the other day, and I just wanted to find out. She seems really sad.”
“I believe she is, yes - sad, that is.”
Brittany nodded. “You should get her a duck. Or a stuffed animal.” She thought for a moment, and her face was lit up with a brilliant smile. “Oh! Or a stuffed duck - that would be awesome.” She turned around and yelled to Santana. “Will you get me a stuffed duck?” Santana nodded, the look on her face daring anyone in the room to make a comment. No one did, and Brittany danced across the room to hug her. Rachel could only shake her head, smiling ruefully at the exuberance of the Cheerio. Her smile vanished quickly when Finn bounded up to join her, replaced by one that felt fake and plastered on. He didn’t notice the difference, as she’d expected.
“So,” he asked excitedly, like he’d just discovered buried treasure and had to share it with someone, “Breadstix tonight?”
“What?” the non sequitur made her blink.
“Our date? Wednesday night at seven?” he looked hurt.
“Oh - oh! Yes, Finn, I’m terribly sorry, I was distracted with concerns about the direction of Glee Club. I wondered if perhaps,” she stopped, seeing in his eyes that he’d tuned her out already. “I’ll see you there, okay?” he grinned and wandered off to talk about football with Sam and Puck. She left the choir room just in time to watch Quinn take a cherry slushie full in the face. She waited, expecting an angry reaction - or any reaction at all, really - but Quinn only tightened her arms around herself and walked away, presumably toward the nearest washroom. Rachel followed hurriedly, and was grateful to find they had the room to themselves. She kicked the rubber doorstop under the door and turned to find Quinn was staring at her with a cryptic expression.
“I thought I’d help you out - I mean, if you’d like any assistance.”
Quinn shrugged awkwardly, and even through the corn syrup on her face, Rachel could see that she was close to tears. “Come here,” Rachel pointed to the nearest sink, and grabbed a fistful of paper towels. She helped clean her off, finding comfort in the simple, familiar ritual of cleaning off the spilled ice, grateful that for once she wasn’t wiping it off of her own face. They were nearly finished before Quinn said a word.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For ever doing this to you. For ever getting anyone else to do this to you, and for laughing about it when it happened.” Quinn looked down at her white shirt, and the red syrup that dotted it.
“Quinn, it’s really okay-”
“No, it’s really not,” the reply was vicious, the words bitten off one at a time.
Rachel stumbled a bit, unsure how to continue. Quinn handled it for her. “Well, this is ruined,” she indicated her shirt. “I’m just going to go home. If Figgins wants to call my mother, he can feel free to try and see if she’ll put down her glass of bourbon long enough to answer the phone. Thanks, Rachel.”
“Quinn, I could lend you a sweater, if you’d like.”
“No - I’d rather just leave. Thanks, though.”
Quinn brushed past her and kicked the doorstop out of the way before pulling the heavy door open and leaving the washroom. Rachel followed her into the hallway and watched her leave. Her stance was defeated, her steps slow and tentative, and it took all of her self control not to run after her. Quinn obviously needed her space, but the longer this depressive mood lasted - and it had evidently been going on for some time already, if she had been alone all summer - the harder it would be to come out of it. At least, Rachel thought that was the gist of what she’d learned from her admittedly brief studies of psychology texts.
She was distracted all through her date with Finn, but his conversational choices of football and “awesome” science-fiction movies pretty much precluded her from having anything to contribute in any case. The restaurant was busy, and the meal seemed to take an absurd length of time. She was grateful when the end of the night came, and Finn dropped her off at her front door. She accepted a quick kiss and retreated inside, changing into a more comfortable outfit before approaching her fathers for permission to spend the night at Quinn’s.
“I don’t know, Rachel,” Hiram frowned. “You were there last night too, and it’s a school night.”
“You know that I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it was important, daddy - I’m not asking for permission to go to some frivolous sleepover with movies and popcorn, after all. I just believe she badly needs some companionship.”
“Fine,” he conceded. “But why don’t you ask her to come over here one night? It’d be nice to see this girl you’re spending all your time with lately.”
“I’ll do that,” Rachel promised, knowing what the answer would be. She assembled her outfit for the next day and quickly left the house before they could change their minds. The night was dark, but a warm breeze kept it from being inhospitable as she walked through it. She was grateful that the apartment wasn’t any further away, or else she’d have been forced to ask for a ride, and that might have lessened her chances of being allowed to leave. On a whim, she stopped at Starbucks and picked up a decaf latte as a sort of peace offering for coming over so late.
When she knocked on Quinn’s door, there was a bang and a muffled curse from inside. When the door opened, Quinn - dressed in a loose nightgown covered by a white terrycloth robe - gave her a rueful half-smile. “Sorry. Dropped my book. I, uh, I didn’t expect you to be over again tonight.” She opened the door wider to allow Rachel in. “Didn’t you have a date?”
“I did,” Rachel conceded. “Wait - where did you hear that?”
“Are you kidding?” Quinn snorted. “If anyone’s been within a block of him today they’ve heard about it. Guy never shuts up about you.”
Rachel felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it aside - she’d make things right with Finn another time. For now, she was more needed here. “We, uh, we finished dinner already. I brought you a coffee - decaf,” she extended the Starbucks cup. Quinn took it gratefully, and gave Rachel’s overnight bag a hesitant glance.
“Are you - I mean, did you want to stay over again?”
“If you’d have me, certainly.”
“Please - the last two days are the first time I’ve actually had any energy in I don’t know how long. I sleep better with you here,” she admitted. “I am sorry, though.”
“What for?”
“Keeping you. I mean, I know you’re busy with rehearsing for Glee, and your videos, and Finn and all that stuff - it’s not fair of me to ask you to be here. This has to be the last place in the world that you’d want to be.”
Rachel took her free hand and led her to the bed, sitting her down. She took a deep breath and made sure Quinn was looking at her before she spoke. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be - I assure you. You’re my friend, Quinn, and this is what friends do for each other - if you need my help sleeping, then I’m absolutely grateful to offer it to you.”
“Thanks,” she bit her lip, looking at her lap. “Oh,” she added suddenly. “I got some food for when you’re over, too - I asked the girl at the grocery store about vegan food, but she looked at me like I had a second head, so I went on this website and found some things that’d be good. Just so, you know, there’s something for you to eat.”
“I’m grateful - did you get anything for yourself?”
“Rachel,” she sighed, standing up and pacing. “Can we not do this? I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t either, but you’re scaring me a little. I was serious when I said I could see your ribs.”
“Look,” the reply was quiet. “Can we do this another night? Please? I’ll talk about it if you that’s what you want, just not now. Just let me have another night.” Her eyes were filled with silent pleas, and Rachel couldn’t help but give in.
“Fine. But we are going to talk about this, understood?”
“Cross my heart,” and Quinn did, in the old child-like fashion with one finger. Rachel giggled, and the tense moment was broken. “Did you wanna play cards before we go to bed? I don’t have much else in the way of entertainment, except for an old snakes and ladders game that someone left in the closet.”
“Snakes and ladders?” Rachel asked with a child-like gleam in her eye, and the decision was made. The set was in rough shape, and missing all of the tokens to represent the players - a dilemma solved with a penny and a gold star sticker retrieved from Rachel’s bag - but the die was in the box and the board was usable, if a bit worn. They ended up playing more games than either of them bothered counting, and the playful banter between them slowly devolved into increasingly silly, childish insults the longer it went on. Somewhere around the two hour mark, Rachel had called Quinn vapid, which had struck her as terribly funny. She was giggling - and then suddenly she wasn’t, and her hand was clapped firmly to her mouth as large tears rolled down her cheeks. Rachel reached out for her, but she pulled away and backed into the corner of the room.
“Quinn, what’s wrong? Did I do something, or say something to offend you?”
Quinn shook her head in the negative, sliding down the wall until she was seated on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her gaze was unfocussed, and her expression completely, utterly devastated. Rachel tried taking a tentative step toward her, but she pulled her knees closer and shook her head. She dropped her hand from her mouth. “I need you to leave,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“Quinn-”
“Please leave,” she begged.
Stymied, she packed up her clothes and called her father to pick her up. “May I come back another night?” she asked softly, keeping a steady distance from the corner. Quinn shook her head no, and in the process the shoulder of her robe fell open to reveal another tattoo on her upper arm that Rachel couldn’t make out. “I - I’ll respect that if it’s what you really want, but I want you to know, you’re not alone. I do hope to see you at school tomorrow.” Her phone chirped with a text from her dad, alerting her that he was nearly there. “You really are my friend, Quinn. Please take care of yourself.”
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When Karofsky approached her with a grape slushie the next morning, it wasn’t a great surprise. What was a surprise was the fact that Santana stepped in between them and grabbed him by the collar of his letterman jacket, pulling him aside. “You didn’t get the same memo that everyone else got, asshole?”
“I didn’t think you were serious! I mean-”
“I’m dead serious. First one that does it - for any reason - gets to deal with me. Clear?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he shook out of her grip and walked away, dropping the drink in a garbage can. Santana looked at Rachel, whose confusion must have shown on her face.
“Control yourself, midget. I didn’t do it for you. Q asked to cash in one favour I owed her, for old times’ sake. Britt threatened to stop putting out unless I did it, so I did it. Enjoy your free pass - and if anyone breaks it, you let me know. It’ll get taken care of.” She didn’t wait for thanks, just walked away and joined Brittany, who was lurking at the end of the hall. They linked pinkies and walked away, headed for whatever class they had first.
Rachel wondered when that call had been made - last night? Earlier? She was still deeply troubled by the night’s events, and even the knowledge that she could walk the halls without fear of a cold corn syrup facial wasn’t enough to drive them from her mind. She couldn’t imagine what it was about their activities that had upset the other girl so much. There must have been some particular word or phrase she’d used - but she’d been laughing only seconds before. And then something Quinn had said clicked into place in Rachel’s mind, and she suddenly understood - or, at least, she thought she did.
“Hey, Rach,” Finn fell into step beside her, shaking her out of her thoughts. “I had a really good time last night.”
“Hi, Finn,” she mustered up her best stage smile. “So did I - it was so interesting what you were saying about, uh, aliens,” it was a shot in the dark, but it turned out he’d been talking at some point about a movie called Aliens, and that got her off the hook. He talked incessantly about the movie and its sequels - the only part she caught was something about hating the last one - and then, mercifully, the warning bell rang and she had an excuse to leave and get her books from her locker. As she took her seat in U.S. History - a class he should have been in with her, but had apparently forgotten he was taking - she began to wonder what she had ever seen in him. He was a strong vocalist, no question, but he didn’t seem the least bit interested in anything that she shared an interest in.
Will, displaying some sort of odd schizophrenia, was all over them again in Glee. Their songs weren’t executed well, he complained, they should be working harder, their choreography was sloppy, and they should have found another member by now. Rachel finally snapped during the last of his tirades, raising her voice loud enough to drown him out. “I’m surely as vocal about our need to improve before the Invitational as anyone, but you know, Mister Schuester, if you’d done your job properly as a teacher and tried to talk Quinn out of leaving, we wouldn’t need another member!”
The room went quiet around them, except for Santana’s whisper of “damn,” from the back of the room. Will stared daggers at her. “Principal’s office, Rachel. I’ll see you there.”
“You can be a disciplinarian if you like, but that still doesn’t make you a good teacher,” Rachel muttered, knowing it was loud enough to be heard. She grabbed her bag and stormed out, heading for the well-used chairs outside Figgins’ office that awaited those unlucky enough to be sent to him. She sat down heavily, trying to take cleansing breaths.
“Rachel?” Miss Pillsbury sounded shocked to see her. Rachel looked up and gave her a weary smile. “Who on earth sent you here?”
“Mister Schuester.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“I may have, perhaps, insulted his abilities as a teacher.”
“And why would you do that?”
Rachel explained in as general terms as she could about the situation with Quinn, careful to exclude any details that could identify her and never naming her beyond ‘a fellow student,’ and Emma nodded thoughtfully.
“Whoever this student is, Rachel, I’d strongly advise that you approach her again. I’m, uhm, I’m sure she regrets throwing you out yesterday. I’m not a psychologist or I’d ask you to bring her to my office, but I’d also advise that you try and talk her into accepting some professional help, although she’s not likely to. I think it’s important, though, that you try and remain a part of her life. It sounds like she could certainly use a friend. And for what it’s worth, I agree with you - Will may be a bit preoccupied with this situation with the new football coach, but he should never have let a student quit like that without at least trying to determine why. Why don’t you run along to your next class, and I’ll have a talk with Will - Mister Schuester, I should say - when he gets here. Go on,” she made a shoo-ing gesture, and Rachel gratefully took the opportunity to leave before Will arrived to further berate her. She found Quinn outside the classroom they shared for the next period, waiting for the teacher to arrive and unlock the door for her.
“Good afternoon, Quinn,” Rachel ventured. Quinn, not surprisingly, didn’t answer. Looking around, Rachel ascertained that they were alone and lowered her voice. “I’d like to invite you to spend the night at my house tonight.” That got a reaction. Quinn stared at her, eyes wide.
“What?”
“I believe you heard me.” Rachel knew she was pushing her luck with the tone of her voice, but she needed to win the argument quickly. “As you say, I can’t be over at your apartment every night. I think it’s only fair that you spend a night at my house instead.”
“You were there last night, right? You do remember it?”
“Of course. But like I told you, you’re my friend. I’m not going to let the fact that you’re going through a hard time drive me away.” She saw Quinn preparing to argue, and knew she had to keep talking. “I certainly wouldn’t hold anything you said against you, and I respect your decision to ask me to leave. I’d really like you to join us for dinner, though, I think it would make for a nice evening.”
A bit overwhelmed, Quinn was obviously wracking her brain for a reply, but finally she just shrugged. Rachel was delighted to have won a concession. “You’ll have to text me your address - I’ll need to go home after school and get some clothes.”
“Of course.”
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Dinner was awkward. Actually, awkward didn’t quite cover it. Rachel’s dads were well aware of the role Quinn had played in torturing her over the years, and made no effort to hide the fact that they didn’t completely trust her motives for their newfound emerging friendship. For her part Quinn was nearly silent throughout the meal, excepting a few words to complement the food - which she couldn’t really have tasted, given that she’d spent the entire time pushing food around on her plate while eating as little as she possibly could. Rachel was stuck trying to carry the conversation herself, with limited success - even her extensive verbal skills could only go so far. She was grateful to see the meal come to an end, and she led Quinn up to her room before her fathers could make another half-hearted attempt at engaging her.
“Huh,” she heard Quinn say quietly as they entered the room.
“What’s that?”
“It’s not pink. I kind of expected pink. I like this color.”
“Thank you,” Rachel smiled. “Have a seat, if you’d like. Did you want to watch a movie, or perhaps play a game?”
Quinn grimaced. “Do you have any movies that aren’t musicals?”
“Of course! Between my dads’ DVDs and my own, we have an extensive collection. Do you have any preference?”
“Something really dumb - I’d like to shut my brain off for a little while. Any chance you have Weekend at Bernie’s, maybe?”
“You’re in luck!” Rachel crowed, retreating downstairs to grab the disc from the living room. When she returned, Quinn had kicked her shoes off, changed into a well-worn shirt and pyjama bottoms and lay down on one side of the bed. She looked suddenly worried.
“Is this okay? I’m not on your side or anything, am I?”
“No, you’re fine,” Rachel assured her. “Let me just get this playing and I’ll join you.” She started the movie and retreated into her bathroom, quickly changing into her own nightclothes. She sat, back propped against the headboard, right next to Quinn and watched the movie in silence. It was no more than ten minutes before Quinn’s head was in her lap, and less than five more before she was completely asleep. Rachel lowered the volume of the television and reached into her bedside table for a notebook. If her thoughts earlier in the day were accurate - and she suspected that they were, as she was very rarely wrong - then she’d need help organising the next phase of Operation Quinn.
As she wrote, Quinn shifted positions and the sleeve of her t-shirt rode up her arm until Rachel could make out the entire tattoo she’d seen the day before. It was a brilliantly coloured piece, depicting a small pigtailed girl walking away into a bright sunset. There were two words inked underneath the girl’s profile, in an elegant script - Halfway Home, they read. Rachel repeated them to herself, studying the image and trying to decipher what Quinn had meant by it when she had it done. The girl, she thought, was obviously Beth. Beyond that, she couldn’t make sense of the symbolism. She jotted down a description of the tattoo, hoping that if she came at it later something would present itself. She looked down again, and Quinn’s hazel eyes were half-open and staring up at her.
“What’re you doin’?” Quinn mumbled sleepily.
“Oh, I was simply making some notes on choreography for the Invitational.”
“Well, stop it - you’re makin’ me dream ‘bout earthquakes.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she was drifting off again, and Rachel put her notebook carefully back in her bedside table, not wanting to disturb her any further. She half-heartedly watched the movie, marvelling that someone as smart as Quinn could possibly enjoy something so stupid. When that got tiresome, she returned her full attention to Quinn.
Her hair, Rachel noted as she idly ran her fingers through it, seemed thin - she hadn’t noticed it before but tonight, with her hormones seemingly under control, she could focus more on the sensation. The jut of her hipbones was pronounced, and the t-shirt that had tightened up around her as she shifted in the bed did little to hide how thin she’d become. She was muttering quietly in her sleep, the same phrase over and over, and Rachel had to lean in close to hear it - “I’m sorry.” She nudged Quinn awake in an attempt to shake her out of the bad dream she was obviously experiencing.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered, “I just need to get out from underneath you and use the bathroom before I go to sleep myself.”
Quinn blinked. “Is it that time already? I’m sorry - I’ve been sort of crappy company, all I’ve done is sleep.”
“That’s perfectly acceptable, I assure you - you obviously need it, after all.”
“Do you want me to go to the guest room? I mean, are your dads going to be mad if we share a bed?”
“Oh,” the question hadn’t occurred to her. “I’ll tell you what - you did say it’s having someone else close by that’s helping you sleep, correct?” Quinn nodded. “Then we’ll stay here. If my dads ask, I’ll simply tell them we were watching a movie and fell asleep - is that acceptable?”
Quinn, eyes shining, nodded. Rachel crawled out of bed and quickly performed her nightly ablutions before returning and crawling in beside her - they were both asleep in moments.
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“Would you be averse to skipping school today, Quinn?” was the first thing out of Rachel’s mouth the next morning. Quinn stared at her as if she’d asked whether she wanted to cut her leg off.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Rachel?”
“Very droll - I just thought, perhaps we could spend some time together outside of our respective houses.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“I have it covered,” Rachel promised. “Are you in?”
“Sure,” Quinn shrugged. “It’s not like anyone there’s going to miss me.”
Rachel frowned internally at her phrasing, but kept smiling outwardly. “Excellent! If you’d like the shower first, please feel free - I’m just going to have a word with my dads.”
It was more than a word - in fact, it came very close to a shouting match, toned down only because Quinn would have been able to hear them, and Rachel was anxious to prevent that. Finally, after what Rachel thought was an incredibly excessive amount of bargaining, pleading and wheedling, her fathers granted her permission to miss school for the day - she knew that they would give in eventually, it was simply a matter of finding the right leverage. When Quinn returned from the shower, clad only in a towel as she’d left her clothes in the bedroom, Rachel’s heart skipped a beat or three, but she managed to tear her gaze from the blonde long enough to say what she’d been planning to say.
“I thought perhaps I could take you for breakfast, Quinn? Do you have any preference of where you’d like to go?”
“Anywhere but McDonald’s,” she begged. “Finn used to bring me these horrible breakfast sandwiches from there when I was,” she hesitated, “well, you know. Anyway, they were so bad I had to start pretending to have morning sickness whenever he brought one.”
“Noted,” Rachel promised. “I’m going to shower - feel free to stay in here, or there’s coffee in the kitchen if you’d like.” Given the awkwardness of the previous night, she wasn’t surprised to find Quinn still waiting in her bedroom, looking idly at the posters and playbills that decorated the walls. She turned and gave her a weary smile.
“So,” Rachel asked brightly, “would you like to go to IHOP?”
“IHOP?” Quinn repeated, confused. “Do they have anything even remotely vegan?”
“Absolutely - there’s fruit, and hashbrowns with vegetables - trust me, I’m thoroughly aware of the vegan options at almost every restaurant in the city.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Quinn smiled.
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“Mini-golf?” Quinn stared at her. “You want to go and play mini-golf?” she took a small bite of omelette.
“Yes, I thought it might be fun. Have you never played?”
“Well,” Quinn thought, “no.”
“Me either,” Rachel confessed, “but Finn’s told me repeatedly that it’s fun, and he says the course we have here is outstanding, and open until the first snowfall.”
Quinn had another bite, contemplating. “Yeah, alright.”
And that was how the two of them ended up on the fifth hole of a nine-hole course at Gorilla Golf, in downtown Lima. Quinn was staring at her putter, a battered old club with a purple grip, with a fierce scowl. “This is stupid,” she muttered.
“You’re only saying that because you’re four strokes over par,” Rachel smirked.
“Beginner’s luck,” Quinn muttered. “Plus your putter’s better.”
“They’re precisely the same, I’m sure of it.”
“Fine. Whatever. If I can do a handspring, I’m sure that I’m co-ordinated enough to putt a stupid ball into a stupid hole, so it’s got to be the club.” Despite her complaints, though, Rachel was grateful to see a bit of mirth in her expression. “Okay - I can do this.” She stood over the ball and lined up her shot, looking at the windmill she’d need to putt through. She watched for a moment, trying to time the blades, and then swung her club. She watched her aqua-coloured ball as it rolled downhill, between the swiping blades and through the windmill, all the way to the hole where it landed in the cup with a solid thunk. Quinn pumped her fist and grinned - and then her face fell. For a moment Rachel worried that there would be a repeat of her breakdown from the other night, but instead she glanced at her wrist, murmured something to herself, and calmly collected her ball. Her smile, however, had disappeared.
Rachel fell into step beside her, carrying the score card in one hand and her ball and putter in the other. She spoke up, reluctantly. “You know,” she said, careful to moderate her tone as much as possible, “you’re allowed to have fun, if you want to. You’re allowed to be happy.”
Quinn stopped short, and Rachel nearly ran into her. She looked away, at the giant clown on the next fairway, but a slight quiver was obvious in her voice. “No, I’m not. That’s what the tattoo is for, to remind me of that every time I look at it.”
“Is that related to what happened the other night when we were playing snakes and ladders?” she knew she was taking a chance asking about that, but she felt it was worth the risk.
“Yes,” Quinn answered simply. “I forgot for a second.”
“You forgot what? To be sad?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “For a second I forgot about her. I forgot what I’d done, what I was responsible for. And I can’t ever let myself do that.”
“Why?” Rachel pressed. “What good does it do Beth for you to be sad? How does that make her life any better?
“Don’t say her name,” Quinn snapped. “Are you telling me,” she changed the subject, “that you don’t want Shelby to be sad about giving you up? You don’t want her to hurt for turning you away when you finally had a chance to find each other after sixteen years? That’s crap, Rachel, and I just don’t buy it.”
Rachel chose her words carefully. “You’re confusing Bet - her, I mean, her possible anger at you with self-loathing, Quinn. Did I, for a while, wish ill of her? Of course. Was I devastated that our reunion didn’t go to plan, and that she’d rather have a nice new baby than she would have me, like the people who go to animal shelters and won’t adopt old cats because the new baby kittens are cuter? Yes. Do I want her to spend the rest of her life hating herself, and forcing herself to be miserable because she gave me up? No. I want her to have a nice life, even though she hurt me. I don’t expect her to be sad forever.”
“Even though you will be?”
Rachel was, in a rare occurrence, speechless. The depths of Quinn’s anger and shame were greater than she’d thought, and she had a feeling she was only skimming the surface. And if she were brutally honest with herself, she didn’t have a good answer to Quinn’s question. She did have to live with Shelby’s rejection every day of her life, and she couldn’t in good conscience pretend that it had no effect on her. Quinn nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she started to walk away, but Rachel reached out and grabbed her shoulder.
“Okay,” she conceded. “I can’t tell you not to be sad, you’re right. You make a valid point. But I do think you need to stop hurting yourself, if nothing else.”
“Hurting myself? Rach, you make it sound like I’m slitting my wrists.”
“Well, maybe you’re not, but you’re starving yourself, and it’s the same thing.”
Quinn slouched. “I’ve just lost a bit of weight, Rachel. It’s not the end of the world; I had baby weight to lose anyway.”
“Quinn, could you honestly look in the mirror and tell me you’re not too skinny? Look - I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I’ll make you a deal. If you put some weight on - just a little bit, even - I’ll, uh, we can, um,” she fumbled, realising she hadn’t thought her offer through. Quinn turned and patted her on the arm.
“I’ll try, okay? If only to get you to leave me alone,” a small smile took the sting out of her words.
“Is there any way I could talk you into returning to Glee, then?”
“Rachel-“
“Hear me out, please - Mister Schue’s been absolutely dreadful to all of us about finding a last member to replace Matt. If you would come to practices - I don’t expect anything else from you, just show up, I’ll make sure you don’t have solos - that would help the rest of us greatly.”
“I don’t know,” Quinn wavered. “I can’t promise.”
“Think about it,” Rachel pleaded. “That’s all I ask. Now, let’s finish this round - I’d like to see how badly I can beat you.”
“Bring it on, Berry,” Quinn smirked.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: PG-13ish, some bad words
Spoilers: Through "Journey."
Summary: Quinn is broken. Can Rachel put her back together?
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...
Sam’s audition went well, which seemed to distract Will from berating them, at least for one practice. They were still short a member, of course, but even a minor victory for Glee was a nice change of piece. He distributed new sheet music - a song to learn for the Invitational, which would inevitably creep up on them faster than they’d like. Rachel hoped that perhaps he’d inquire about Quinn, but that proved frustratingly futile. She was taken by surprise, however, when Brittany approached her at the end of the practice.
“Is Quinn okay? I know you phoned Santana the other day, and I just wanted to find out. She seems really sad.”
“I believe she is, yes - sad, that is.”
Brittany nodded. “You should get her a duck. Or a stuffed animal.” She thought for a moment, and her face was lit up with a brilliant smile. “Oh! Or a stuffed duck - that would be awesome.” She turned around and yelled to Santana. “Will you get me a stuffed duck?” Santana nodded, the look on her face daring anyone in the room to make a comment. No one did, and Brittany danced across the room to hug her. Rachel could only shake her head, smiling ruefully at the exuberance of the Cheerio. Her smile vanished quickly when Finn bounded up to join her, replaced by one that felt fake and plastered on. He didn’t notice the difference, as she’d expected.
“So,” he asked excitedly, like he’d just discovered buried treasure and had to share it with someone, “Breadstix tonight?”
“What?” the non sequitur made her blink.
“Our date? Wednesday night at seven?” he looked hurt.
“Oh - oh! Yes, Finn, I’m terribly sorry, I was distracted with concerns about the direction of Glee Club. I wondered if perhaps,” she stopped, seeing in his eyes that he’d tuned her out already. “I’ll see you there, okay?” he grinned and wandered off to talk about football with Sam and Puck. She left the choir room just in time to watch Quinn take a cherry slushie full in the face. She waited, expecting an angry reaction - or any reaction at all, really - but Quinn only tightened her arms around herself and walked away, presumably toward the nearest washroom. Rachel followed hurriedly, and was grateful to find they had the room to themselves. She kicked the rubber doorstop under the door and turned to find Quinn was staring at her with a cryptic expression.
“I thought I’d help you out - I mean, if you’d like any assistance.”
Quinn shrugged awkwardly, and even through the corn syrup on her face, Rachel could see that she was close to tears. “Come here,” Rachel pointed to the nearest sink, and grabbed a fistful of paper towels. She helped clean her off, finding comfort in the simple, familiar ritual of cleaning off the spilled ice, grateful that for once she wasn’t wiping it off of her own face. They were nearly finished before Quinn said a word.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For ever doing this to you. For ever getting anyone else to do this to you, and for laughing about it when it happened.” Quinn looked down at her white shirt, and the red syrup that dotted it.
“Quinn, it’s really okay-”
“No, it’s really not,” the reply was vicious, the words bitten off one at a time.
Rachel stumbled a bit, unsure how to continue. Quinn handled it for her. “Well, this is ruined,” she indicated her shirt. “I’m just going to go home. If Figgins wants to call my mother, he can feel free to try and see if she’ll put down her glass of bourbon long enough to answer the phone. Thanks, Rachel.”
“Quinn, I could lend you a sweater, if you’d like.”
“No - I’d rather just leave. Thanks, though.”
Quinn brushed past her and kicked the doorstop out of the way before pulling the heavy door open and leaving the washroom. Rachel followed her into the hallway and watched her leave. Her stance was defeated, her steps slow and tentative, and it took all of her self control not to run after her. Quinn obviously needed her space, but the longer this depressive mood lasted - and it had evidently been going on for some time already, if she had been alone all summer - the harder it would be to come out of it. At least, Rachel thought that was the gist of what she’d learned from her admittedly brief studies of psychology texts.
She was distracted all through her date with Finn, but his conversational choices of football and “awesome” science-fiction movies pretty much precluded her from having anything to contribute in any case. The restaurant was busy, and the meal seemed to take an absurd length of time. She was grateful when the end of the night came, and Finn dropped her off at her front door. She accepted a quick kiss and retreated inside, changing into a more comfortable outfit before approaching her fathers for permission to spend the night at Quinn’s.
“I don’t know, Rachel,” Hiram frowned. “You were there last night too, and it’s a school night.”
“You know that I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it was important, daddy - I’m not asking for permission to go to some frivolous sleepover with movies and popcorn, after all. I just believe she badly needs some companionship.”
“Fine,” he conceded. “But why don’t you ask her to come over here one night? It’d be nice to see this girl you’re spending all your time with lately.”
“I’ll do that,” Rachel promised, knowing what the answer would be. She assembled her outfit for the next day and quickly left the house before they could change their minds. The night was dark, but a warm breeze kept it from being inhospitable as she walked through it. She was grateful that the apartment wasn’t any further away, or else she’d have been forced to ask for a ride, and that might have lessened her chances of being allowed to leave. On a whim, she stopped at Starbucks and picked up a decaf latte as a sort of peace offering for coming over so late.
When she knocked on Quinn’s door, there was a bang and a muffled curse from inside. When the door opened, Quinn - dressed in a loose nightgown covered by a white terrycloth robe - gave her a rueful half-smile. “Sorry. Dropped my book. I, uh, I didn’t expect you to be over again tonight.” She opened the door wider to allow Rachel in. “Didn’t you have a date?”
“I did,” Rachel conceded. “Wait - where did you hear that?”
“Are you kidding?” Quinn snorted. “If anyone’s been within a block of him today they’ve heard about it. Guy never shuts up about you.”
Rachel felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it aside - she’d make things right with Finn another time. For now, she was more needed here. “We, uh, we finished dinner already. I brought you a coffee - decaf,” she extended the Starbucks cup. Quinn took it gratefully, and gave Rachel’s overnight bag a hesitant glance.
“Are you - I mean, did you want to stay over again?”
“If you’d have me, certainly.”
“Please - the last two days are the first time I’ve actually had any energy in I don’t know how long. I sleep better with you here,” she admitted. “I am sorry, though.”
“What for?”
“Keeping you. I mean, I know you’re busy with rehearsing for Glee, and your videos, and Finn and all that stuff - it’s not fair of me to ask you to be here. This has to be the last place in the world that you’d want to be.”
Rachel took her free hand and led her to the bed, sitting her down. She took a deep breath and made sure Quinn was looking at her before she spoke. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be - I assure you. You’re my friend, Quinn, and this is what friends do for each other - if you need my help sleeping, then I’m absolutely grateful to offer it to you.”
“Thanks,” she bit her lip, looking at her lap. “Oh,” she added suddenly. “I got some food for when you’re over, too - I asked the girl at the grocery store about vegan food, but she looked at me like I had a second head, so I went on this website and found some things that’d be good. Just so, you know, there’s something for you to eat.”
“I’m grateful - did you get anything for yourself?”
“Rachel,” she sighed, standing up and pacing. “Can we not do this? I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t either, but you’re scaring me a little. I was serious when I said I could see your ribs.”
“Look,” the reply was quiet. “Can we do this another night? Please? I’ll talk about it if you that’s what you want, just not now. Just let me have another night.” Her eyes were filled with silent pleas, and Rachel couldn’t help but give in.
“Fine. But we are going to talk about this, understood?”
“Cross my heart,” and Quinn did, in the old child-like fashion with one finger. Rachel giggled, and the tense moment was broken. “Did you wanna play cards before we go to bed? I don’t have much else in the way of entertainment, except for an old snakes and ladders game that someone left in the closet.”
“Snakes and ladders?” Rachel asked with a child-like gleam in her eye, and the decision was made. The set was in rough shape, and missing all of the tokens to represent the players - a dilemma solved with a penny and a gold star sticker retrieved from Rachel’s bag - but the die was in the box and the board was usable, if a bit worn. They ended up playing more games than either of them bothered counting, and the playful banter between them slowly devolved into increasingly silly, childish insults the longer it went on. Somewhere around the two hour mark, Rachel had called Quinn vapid, which had struck her as terribly funny. She was giggling - and then suddenly she wasn’t, and her hand was clapped firmly to her mouth as large tears rolled down her cheeks. Rachel reached out for her, but she pulled away and backed into the corner of the room.
“Quinn, what’s wrong? Did I do something, or say something to offend you?”
Quinn shook her head in the negative, sliding down the wall until she was seated on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her gaze was unfocussed, and her expression completely, utterly devastated. Rachel tried taking a tentative step toward her, but she pulled her knees closer and shook her head. She dropped her hand from her mouth. “I need you to leave,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“Quinn-”
“Please leave,” she begged.
Stymied, she packed up her clothes and called her father to pick her up. “May I come back another night?” she asked softly, keeping a steady distance from the corner. Quinn shook her head no, and in the process the shoulder of her robe fell open to reveal another tattoo on her upper arm that Rachel couldn’t make out. “I - I’ll respect that if it’s what you really want, but I want you to know, you’re not alone. I do hope to see you at school tomorrow.” Her phone chirped with a text from her dad, alerting her that he was nearly there. “You really are my friend, Quinn. Please take care of yourself.”
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When Karofsky approached her with a grape slushie the next morning, it wasn’t a great surprise. What was a surprise was the fact that Santana stepped in between them and grabbed him by the collar of his letterman jacket, pulling him aside. “You didn’t get the same memo that everyone else got, asshole?”
“I didn’t think you were serious! I mean-”
“I’m dead serious. First one that does it - for any reason - gets to deal with me. Clear?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he shook out of her grip and walked away, dropping the drink in a garbage can. Santana looked at Rachel, whose confusion must have shown on her face.
“Control yourself, midget. I didn’t do it for you. Q asked to cash in one favour I owed her, for old times’ sake. Britt threatened to stop putting out unless I did it, so I did it. Enjoy your free pass - and if anyone breaks it, you let me know. It’ll get taken care of.” She didn’t wait for thanks, just walked away and joined Brittany, who was lurking at the end of the hall. They linked pinkies and walked away, headed for whatever class they had first.
Rachel wondered when that call had been made - last night? Earlier? She was still deeply troubled by the night’s events, and even the knowledge that she could walk the halls without fear of a cold corn syrup facial wasn’t enough to drive them from her mind. She couldn’t imagine what it was about their activities that had upset the other girl so much. There must have been some particular word or phrase she’d used - but she’d been laughing only seconds before. And then something Quinn had said clicked into place in Rachel’s mind, and she suddenly understood - or, at least, she thought she did.
“Hey, Rach,” Finn fell into step beside her, shaking her out of her thoughts. “I had a really good time last night.”
“Hi, Finn,” she mustered up her best stage smile. “So did I - it was so interesting what you were saying about, uh, aliens,” it was a shot in the dark, but it turned out he’d been talking at some point about a movie called Aliens, and that got her off the hook. He talked incessantly about the movie and its sequels - the only part she caught was something about hating the last one - and then, mercifully, the warning bell rang and she had an excuse to leave and get her books from her locker. As she took her seat in U.S. History - a class he should have been in with her, but had apparently forgotten he was taking - she began to wonder what she had ever seen in him. He was a strong vocalist, no question, but he didn’t seem the least bit interested in anything that she shared an interest in.
Will, displaying some sort of odd schizophrenia, was all over them again in Glee. Their songs weren’t executed well, he complained, they should be working harder, their choreography was sloppy, and they should have found another member by now. Rachel finally snapped during the last of his tirades, raising her voice loud enough to drown him out. “I’m surely as vocal about our need to improve before the Invitational as anyone, but you know, Mister Schuester, if you’d done your job properly as a teacher and tried to talk Quinn out of leaving, we wouldn’t need another member!”
The room went quiet around them, except for Santana’s whisper of “damn,” from the back of the room. Will stared daggers at her. “Principal’s office, Rachel. I’ll see you there.”
“You can be a disciplinarian if you like, but that still doesn’t make you a good teacher,” Rachel muttered, knowing it was loud enough to be heard. She grabbed her bag and stormed out, heading for the well-used chairs outside Figgins’ office that awaited those unlucky enough to be sent to him. She sat down heavily, trying to take cleansing breaths.
“Rachel?” Miss Pillsbury sounded shocked to see her. Rachel looked up and gave her a weary smile. “Who on earth sent you here?”
“Mister Schuester.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“I may have, perhaps, insulted his abilities as a teacher.”
“And why would you do that?”
Rachel explained in as general terms as she could about the situation with Quinn, careful to exclude any details that could identify her and never naming her beyond ‘a fellow student,’ and Emma nodded thoughtfully.
“Whoever this student is, Rachel, I’d strongly advise that you approach her again. I’m, uhm, I’m sure she regrets throwing you out yesterday. I’m not a psychologist or I’d ask you to bring her to my office, but I’d also advise that you try and talk her into accepting some professional help, although she’s not likely to. I think it’s important, though, that you try and remain a part of her life. It sounds like she could certainly use a friend. And for what it’s worth, I agree with you - Will may be a bit preoccupied with this situation with the new football coach, but he should never have let a student quit like that without at least trying to determine why. Why don’t you run along to your next class, and I’ll have a talk with Will - Mister Schuester, I should say - when he gets here. Go on,” she made a shoo-ing gesture, and Rachel gratefully took the opportunity to leave before Will arrived to further berate her. She found Quinn outside the classroom they shared for the next period, waiting for the teacher to arrive and unlock the door for her.
“Good afternoon, Quinn,” Rachel ventured. Quinn, not surprisingly, didn’t answer. Looking around, Rachel ascertained that they were alone and lowered her voice. “I’d like to invite you to spend the night at my house tonight.” That got a reaction. Quinn stared at her, eyes wide.
“What?”
“I believe you heard me.” Rachel knew she was pushing her luck with the tone of her voice, but she needed to win the argument quickly. “As you say, I can’t be over at your apartment every night. I think it’s only fair that you spend a night at my house instead.”
“You were there last night, right? You do remember it?”
“Of course. But like I told you, you’re my friend. I’m not going to let the fact that you’re going through a hard time drive me away.” She saw Quinn preparing to argue, and knew she had to keep talking. “I certainly wouldn’t hold anything you said against you, and I respect your decision to ask me to leave. I’d really like you to join us for dinner, though, I think it would make for a nice evening.”
A bit overwhelmed, Quinn was obviously wracking her brain for a reply, but finally she just shrugged. Rachel was delighted to have won a concession. “You’ll have to text me your address - I’ll need to go home after school and get some clothes.”
“Of course.”
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Dinner was awkward. Actually, awkward didn’t quite cover it. Rachel’s dads were well aware of the role Quinn had played in torturing her over the years, and made no effort to hide the fact that they didn’t completely trust her motives for their newfound emerging friendship. For her part Quinn was nearly silent throughout the meal, excepting a few words to complement the food - which she couldn’t really have tasted, given that she’d spent the entire time pushing food around on her plate while eating as little as she possibly could. Rachel was stuck trying to carry the conversation herself, with limited success - even her extensive verbal skills could only go so far. She was grateful to see the meal come to an end, and she led Quinn up to her room before her fathers could make another half-hearted attempt at engaging her.
“Huh,” she heard Quinn say quietly as they entered the room.
“What’s that?”
“It’s not pink. I kind of expected pink. I like this color.”
“Thank you,” Rachel smiled. “Have a seat, if you’d like. Did you want to watch a movie, or perhaps play a game?”
Quinn grimaced. “Do you have any movies that aren’t musicals?”
“Of course! Between my dads’ DVDs and my own, we have an extensive collection. Do you have any preference?”
“Something really dumb - I’d like to shut my brain off for a little while. Any chance you have Weekend at Bernie’s, maybe?”
“You’re in luck!” Rachel crowed, retreating downstairs to grab the disc from the living room. When she returned, Quinn had kicked her shoes off, changed into a well-worn shirt and pyjama bottoms and lay down on one side of the bed. She looked suddenly worried.
“Is this okay? I’m not on your side or anything, am I?”
“No, you’re fine,” Rachel assured her. “Let me just get this playing and I’ll join you.” She started the movie and retreated into her bathroom, quickly changing into her own nightclothes. She sat, back propped against the headboard, right next to Quinn and watched the movie in silence. It was no more than ten minutes before Quinn’s head was in her lap, and less than five more before she was completely asleep. Rachel lowered the volume of the television and reached into her bedside table for a notebook. If her thoughts earlier in the day were accurate - and she suspected that they were, as she was very rarely wrong - then she’d need help organising the next phase of Operation Quinn.
As she wrote, Quinn shifted positions and the sleeve of her t-shirt rode up her arm until Rachel could make out the entire tattoo she’d seen the day before. It was a brilliantly coloured piece, depicting a small pigtailed girl walking away into a bright sunset. There were two words inked underneath the girl’s profile, in an elegant script - Halfway Home, they read. Rachel repeated them to herself, studying the image and trying to decipher what Quinn had meant by it when she had it done. The girl, she thought, was obviously Beth. Beyond that, she couldn’t make sense of the symbolism. She jotted down a description of the tattoo, hoping that if she came at it later something would present itself. She looked down again, and Quinn’s hazel eyes were half-open and staring up at her.
“What’re you doin’?” Quinn mumbled sleepily.
“Oh, I was simply making some notes on choreography for the Invitational.”
“Well, stop it - you’re makin’ me dream ‘bout earthquakes.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she was drifting off again, and Rachel put her notebook carefully back in her bedside table, not wanting to disturb her any further. She half-heartedly watched the movie, marvelling that someone as smart as Quinn could possibly enjoy something so stupid. When that got tiresome, she returned her full attention to Quinn.
Her hair, Rachel noted as she idly ran her fingers through it, seemed thin - she hadn’t noticed it before but tonight, with her hormones seemingly under control, she could focus more on the sensation. The jut of her hipbones was pronounced, and the t-shirt that had tightened up around her as she shifted in the bed did little to hide how thin she’d become. She was muttering quietly in her sleep, the same phrase over and over, and Rachel had to lean in close to hear it - “I’m sorry.” She nudged Quinn awake in an attempt to shake her out of the bad dream she was obviously experiencing.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered, “I just need to get out from underneath you and use the bathroom before I go to sleep myself.”
Quinn blinked. “Is it that time already? I’m sorry - I’ve been sort of crappy company, all I’ve done is sleep.”
“That’s perfectly acceptable, I assure you - you obviously need it, after all.”
“Do you want me to go to the guest room? I mean, are your dads going to be mad if we share a bed?”
“Oh,” the question hadn’t occurred to her. “I’ll tell you what - you did say it’s having someone else close by that’s helping you sleep, correct?” Quinn nodded. “Then we’ll stay here. If my dads ask, I’ll simply tell them we were watching a movie and fell asleep - is that acceptable?”
Quinn, eyes shining, nodded. Rachel crawled out of bed and quickly performed her nightly ablutions before returning and crawling in beside her - they were both asleep in moments.
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“Would you be averse to skipping school today, Quinn?” was the first thing out of Rachel’s mouth the next morning. Quinn stared at her as if she’d asked whether she wanted to cut her leg off.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Rachel?”
“Very droll - I just thought, perhaps we could spend some time together outside of our respective houses.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“I have it covered,” Rachel promised. “Are you in?”
“Sure,” Quinn shrugged. “It’s not like anyone there’s going to miss me.”
Rachel frowned internally at her phrasing, but kept smiling outwardly. “Excellent! If you’d like the shower first, please feel free - I’m just going to have a word with my dads.”
It was more than a word - in fact, it came very close to a shouting match, toned down only because Quinn would have been able to hear them, and Rachel was anxious to prevent that. Finally, after what Rachel thought was an incredibly excessive amount of bargaining, pleading and wheedling, her fathers granted her permission to miss school for the day - she knew that they would give in eventually, it was simply a matter of finding the right leverage. When Quinn returned from the shower, clad only in a towel as she’d left her clothes in the bedroom, Rachel’s heart skipped a beat or three, but she managed to tear her gaze from the blonde long enough to say what she’d been planning to say.
“I thought perhaps I could take you for breakfast, Quinn? Do you have any preference of where you’d like to go?”
“Anywhere but McDonald’s,” she begged. “Finn used to bring me these horrible breakfast sandwiches from there when I was,” she hesitated, “well, you know. Anyway, they were so bad I had to start pretending to have morning sickness whenever he brought one.”
“Noted,” Rachel promised. “I’m going to shower - feel free to stay in here, or there’s coffee in the kitchen if you’d like.” Given the awkwardness of the previous night, she wasn’t surprised to find Quinn still waiting in her bedroom, looking idly at the posters and playbills that decorated the walls. She turned and gave her a weary smile.
“So,” Rachel asked brightly, “would you like to go to IHOP?”
“IHOP?” Quinn repeated, confused. “Do they have anything even remotely vegan?”
“Absolutely - there’s fruit, and hashbrowns with vegetables - trust me, I’m thoroughly aware of the vegan options at almost every restaurant in the city.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Quinn smiled.
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“Mini-golf?” Quinn stared at her. “You want to go and play mini-golf?” she took a small bite of omelette.
“Yes, I thought it might be fun. Have you never played?”
“Well,” Quinn thought, “no.”
“Me either,” Rachel confessed, “but Finn’s told me repeatedly that it’s fun, and he says the course we have here is outstanding, and open until the first snowfall.”
Quinn had another bite, contemplating. “Yeah, alright.”
And that was how the two of them ended up on the fifth hole of a nine-hole course at Gorilla Golf, in downtown Lima. Quinn was staring at her putter, a battered old club with a purple grip, with a fierce scowl. “This is stupid,” she muttered.
“You’re only saying that because you’re four strokes over par,” Rachel smirked.
“Beginner’s luck,” Quinn muttered. “Plus your putter’s better.”
“They’re precisely the same, I’m sure of it.”
“Fine. Whatever. If I can do a handspring, I’m sure that I’m co-ordinated enough to putt a stupid ball into a stupid hole, so it’s got to be the club.” Despite her complaints, though, Rachel was grateful to see a bit of mirth in her expression. “Okay - I can do this.” She stood over the ball and lined up her shot, looking at the windmill she’d need to putt through. She watched for a moment, trying to time the blades, and then swung her club. She watched her aqua-coloured ball as it rolled downhill, between the swiping blades and through the windmill, all the way to the hole where it landed in the cup with a solid thunk. Quinn pumped her fist and grinned - and then her face fell. For a moment Rachel worried that there would be a repeat of her breakdown from the other night, but instead she glanced at her wrist, murmured something to herself, and calmly collected her ball. Her smile, however, had disappeared.
Rachel fell into step beside her, carrying the score card in one hand and her ball and putter in the other. She spoke up, reluctantly. “You know,” she said, careful to moderate her tone as much as possible, “you’re allowed to have fun, if you want to. You’re allowed to be happy.”
Quinn stopped short, and Rachel nearly ran into her. She looked away, at the giant clown on the next fairway, but a slight quiver was obvious in her voice. “No, I’m not. That’s what the tattoo is for, to remind me of that every time I look at it.”
“Is that related to what happened the other night when we were playing snakes and ladders?” she knew she was taking a chance asking about that, but she felt it was worth the risk.
“Yes,” Quinn answered simply. “I forgot for a second.”
“You forgot what? To be sad?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “For a second I forgot about her. I forgot what I’d done, what I was responsible for. And I can’t ever let myself do that.”
“Why?” Rachel pressed. “What good does it do Beth for you to be sad? How does that make her life any better?
“Don’t say her name,” Quinn snapped. “Are you telling me,” she changed the subject, “that you don’t want Shelby to be sad about giving you up? You don’t want her to hurt for turning you away when you finally had a chance to find each other after sixteen years? That’s crap, Rachel, and I just don’t buy it.”
Rachel chose her words carefully. “You’re confusing Bet - her, I mean, her possible anger at you with self-loathing, Quinn. Did I, for a while, wish ill of her? Of course. Was I devastated that our reunion didn’t go to plan, and that she’d rather have a nice new baby than she would have me, like the people who go to animal shelters and won’t adopt old cats because the new baby kittens are cuter? Yes. Do I want her to spend the rest of her life hating herself, and forcing herself to be miserable because she gave me up? No. I want her to have a nice life, even though she hurt me. I don’t expect her to be sad forever.”
“Even though you will be?”
Rachel was, in a rare occurrence, speechless. The depths of Quinn’s anger and shame were greater than she’d thought, and she had a feeling she was only skimming the surface. And if she were brutally honest with herself, she didn’t have a good answer to Quinn’s question. She did have to live with Shelby’s rejection every day of her life, and she couldn’t in good conscience pretend that it had no effect on her. Quinn nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she started to walk away, but Rachel reached out and grabbed her shoulder.
“Okay,” she conceded. “I can’t tell you not to be sad, you’re right. You make a valid point. But I do think you need to stop hurting yourself, if nothing else.”
“Hurting myself? Rach, you make it sound like I’m slitting my wrists.”
“Well, maybe you’re not, but you’re starving yourself, and it’s the same thing.”
Quinn slouched. “I’ve just lost a bit of weight, Rachel. It’s not the end of the world; I had baby weight to lose anyway.”
“Quinn, could you honestly look in the mirror and tell me you’re not too skinny? Look - I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I’ll make you a deal. If you put some weight on - just a little bit, even - I’ll, uh, we can, um,” she fumbled, realising she hadn’t thought her offer through. Quinn turned and patted her on the arm.
“I’ll try, okay? If only to get you to leave me alone,” a small smile took the sting out of her words.
“Is there any way I could talk you into returning to Glee, then?”
“Rachel-“
“Hear me out, please - Mister Schue’s been absolutely dreadful to all of us about finding a last member to replace Matt. If you would come to practices - I don’t expect anything else from you, just show up, I’ll make sure you don’t have solos - that would help the rest of us greatly.”
“I don’t know,” Quinn wavered. “I can’t promise.”
“Think about it,” Rachel pleaded. “That’s all I ask. Now, let’s finish this round - I’d like to see how badly I can beat you.”
“Bring it on, Berry,” Quinn smirked.