An Accident of Paradise, Chpt. 22 (Part I)
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 22 (Part I)
Summary: Rachel, Quinn: the progression of a friendship, the moments between. Such things aren't always pretty.
Author's Note: I wrote this entire chapter while listening to Sigur Ros's Sæglópur on repeat. If you haven't heard it, check it out.
Puck disappeared for a week and a half. Or, more specifically, he disappeared out of Quinn’s life for a week and a half. She knew that he was, at least, alive-Santana had traded texts with him, as had Artie and Matt-but nothing beyond that. When Santana just shook her head, her mouth tight and eyes guarded, the first time Quinn asked about him, the blonde took it as a sign that he had told whoever he spoke to that he wanted nothing to do with her or Rachel, at least for the time being.
Her concern about Puck, and his feelings towards her and her newfound relationship with Rachel, left her oscillating constantly between distraction and euphoria for those three days. Rachel managed to take Quinn’s swinging moods in stride, slipping only a few times into frustration about Quinn’s obvious preoccupation with the missing boy. Brittany was a constant support, as was Finn, and Santana kept Quinn up to date about the fact that Puck was at least still alive, not in jail, and still in Lima.
Quinn was sitting in the living room, staring blankly at the television while she mulled over how to handle the whole situation with Puck, when Rachel tossed one of her jackets at her. She spit out a mouthful of cotton and shot a questioning glare at the brunette.
“Come on,” Rachel said by way of explanation. She shook the car keys in her hand. “Let’s go find him.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Noah,” Rachel said. She shrugged into her own jacket, pulling her hair loose from the collar briskly. “It’s not exactly a huge town, and even if it was, we can probably talk Santana or Artie or Matt into telling us where he is. Or, if we really have to, his mom or sister.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at Quinn with wide eyes.
“I… what?”
Rachel sighed frustratedly. “Quinn,” she said lowly. “Get up and put your coat on so we can go find Noah and slap some sense into him. Or, at the very least, talk to him. You’re ridiculously distracted about it. I mean, you barely participated in glee today, and you haven’t done a single bit of studying since we got home. If I have to go track him down alone and sedate him to get him back here so you can sort this out with him, I will. But,” she added. “I’d rather you and I just go find wherever he’s hiding and sit down and talk with him.”
Quinn stared dumbly at Rachel, her eyes wide. “Okay?” she said meekly. She allowed Rachel to lever her off of the couch and towards the door.
“Do you know where to start looking?” Quinn asked as they pulled out of the neighborhood.
“Yes,” Rachel said after a slight hesitation, biting down on her lip. She looked at Quinn out of the corner of her eye with what Quinn had come to recognize as her guilty I’ve-been-scheming face.
“You know where he is,” she accused. “You’ve known the whole time!”
“Not the whole time!” Rachel said quickly. “I promise.” She glanced over at Quinn once more, a plaintive look in her eyes that was clearly all but begging Quinn to believe her. “I just found out a little bit before I came downstairs. I owe Brittany about six hours of vocal lessons for getting it out of Santana-and oh, how I do not want to know how she managed that-but I was just getting so tired of watching you mope around. It’s not healthy to be so distracted, and when you weren’t studying for the AP exams I started to get really worried. And-“
She cut herself off, biting down on her lip and narrowing her eyes at the road nervously. Quinn raised her eyebrows, staring openly across the small car at Rachel. “And what, exactly?” she asked tartly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And…you blew me off today during your free period,” Rachel muttered, flushing darkly.
Quinn stared at her incredulously for a long few seconds before laughing shortly. “I’ve been freaking out all week about Puck hating us and running away, and it takes me not making out with you in the rehearsal room during third period for you to do anything about it?”
“To be fair, he ran off on Monday, and it’s only Thursday,” Rachel said defensively. “It’s not like I watched you suffer for weeks and only did this because you wouldn’t kiss me.” She paused, glancing over at Quinn with a pained look in her eyes.
“I’ve hated watching you worry about it all week and not being able to help,” she said, her voice soft. “I didn’t want to push because I know you hate it when I do that, and I thought if I waited you would come to me, but then you didn’t study at all yesterday or today, and then today when you blew me off I finally gave up on waiting for you to ask for my help.”
Quinn remained silent, arms still crossed over her chest, though her shoulders slumped in defeat. She sighed, turning back to face the road in front of them. She didn’t recognize where they were.
“Okay,” she said eventually. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” For all that she was apologetic, it still felt like pulling teeth to verbalize it. Years of being the unapologetic queen of both middle school and high school had left her unaccustomed to actually saying the word sorry; if felt foreign on her tongue.
“It’s okay,” Rachel responded. Her voice cut through Quinn’s discomfort. “I know that I don’t understand how you feel, about the situation or where you stand with Puck, but I do understand that it’s obviously very uncomfortable. I just want to help you make things right with him, however you need to.
“So I’ll make out with you during third period?” Quinn said with a small smile.
“Mostly so you’ll feel better,” Rachel said. She shot a smirk over at Quinn. “But also so you’ll make out with me during third period. It’s quickly become the highlight of my days, you know.”
“It outranks glee?”
“Glee was tough competition initially, but making out won in the end. Handily.
“Myspace performances?” Quinn smirked when she saw a tiny hesitation in Rachel’s jaw before the brunette answered, “Also tough, but you won that one, too.”
“Well,” Quinn started, but she was unable to think of how to finish the thought. Instead, she unthinkingly reached over with her left hand and unwrapped Rachel’s fingers on her right from the steering wheel, clasping their hands together gently.
They continued on in comfortable silence until Rachel pulled into a parking lot at an apartment complex five miles outside of the city limits. Puck’s pickup truck sat in one of the distant parking spots. Quinn stared at the dilapidated building in front of her, taking in dirty windows and rusty doorknobs. Puck’s truck, which was easily ten years old, was probably the nicest car in the lot.
“What is this place?” Quinn half-whispered. She shrank away from the window when she saw a man her grandfather’s age stumble out of one of the doors at the other end of the building from where they sat, making his way unsteadily to a rusty blue sedan and fumbling for his keys.
Rachel clenched Quinn’s hand a little tighter-whether out of comfort or fear, Quinn wasn’t sure. “His father lives here,” Rachel said softly.
Quinn’s head snapped around to face Rachel. “His what?”
“His father,” Rachel repeated. “I always thought he’d left town, but apparently not.”
Quinn’s head throbbed, memories racing around of a seven year old Puck with a black eye and a broken arm who said he’d fallen out of a tree; a nine year old Puck who sat out from recess for two weeks because his ribs were cracked, supposedly from playing football without pads; a fourteen year old Finn confessing to her the countless times Puck had snuck out of the house with his mother and sister when his father was drunk, of Puck and Finn staying up all night guarding the door to the guest room at Finn’s house where Puck’s mother and sister slept, just in case his father figured out where they were. Quinn knew that no one but Finn and Puck’s family were supposed to know exactly how perfectly the senior Puckerman epitomized Lima Losers, but two years of dating Puck’s best friend had led to Finn opening up to her about exactly why Puck hated his father so much.
“Has he been here the whole time?” she forced out. Without meaning to, her fingers clenched tightly around Rachel’s hand. The small gasp of pain from the other girl fell on Quinn’s deaf ears as she stared fearfully at the pickup truck sitting in the parking lot.
“Yes,” Rachel squeaked out. “Quinn, please, my hand.”
“What?” Quinn muttered distractedly. She only pulled her eyes away from the pickup truck when she felt Rachel’s free hand wrapping around her wrist and tugging. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide. She immediately released Rachel’s hand, pulling her arm back quickly. “I’m sorry. I just…”
Her voice trailed off as she looked back towards Puck’s truck. “Does Finn know he’s here?”
“I don’t think so,” Rachel said. She was staring at Quinn inquisitively. “Quinn, what’s wrong?”
“He shouldn’t be here,” Quinn mumbled. Even throughout everything she had been through with Puck-falling into bed with him behind Finn’s back, fighting with him over the fate of their child, her frustration and anger at his apparently incessant need for sex, his anger at her decisions that kept them apart-and even though they had never actually been friends, she could do little to avoid the building concern at the knowledge that he was with the man who had abused his entire family.
Shame warred with concern, as she bitterly realized that he was only there because of her.
“Quinn,” Rachel said sharply.
“Call Finn,” Quinn said, her voice quiet. “We need to get him out of there, but I doubt he’ll listen to either of us.”
“Quinn,” Rachel said again. She reached out, her hand coming to rest on Quinn’s forearm.
“Rachel, please,” Quinn snapped. “Get Finn over here.”
“Okay,” Rachel said softly. She kept her hand on Quinn’s arm as she retrieved her phone with the other and dialed Finn. Quinn’s eyes remained locked on the truck, Rachel’s short conversation with Finn incomprehensible through her racing thoughts. She only moved when Rachel’s hand shifted on her arm, sliding down to grasp her hand.
“Is he coming?”
“Five minutes,” Rachel said. She slid her fingers between Quinn’s. “Will you tell me why the both of you are so concerned about this?”
Quinn exhaled slowly, turning back to face a confused Rachel. “It’s not really my place to tell,” she said haltingly. “I mean, I’m not even really supposed to know, I only know because Finn told me a few years ago.” She hesitated, gripping Rachel’s fingers tighter instinctively.
“His dad isn’t just a loser,” Quinn whispered. “He’s a real bastard.” She almost smirked at the surprised look in Rachel’s eyes are Quinn’s swearing-as sharp as her tongue had always been, she had never needed curses to drive home a point-but couldn’t summon the energy.
Rachel remained silent, her eyes focused on their intertwined fingers. Quinn could practically hear the gears in her head turning as she put the pieces together.
“He hit them,” she said eventually. It wasn’t a question, and Quinn nodded wordlessly. She watched as Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he come here, then?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “I guess he didn’t want us to find him?”
“But Santana knew he was here,” Rachel said. Her eyes flashed. “Why would she let him stay here?”
“She doesn’t know,” Quinn said. “No one did, except Finn and his mom. I don’t think that Puck even knows that Finn told me anything about it.”
“That’s stupid,” Rachel muttered. “There are people who could have helped. The police, social services, there are shelters for abuse victims. Why didn’t they go to them?”
Quinn shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said. “But this is Puck, you know? He thinks he can take on the whole world.”
“Except for getting a slushie to the face,” Rachel mumbled. Her eyes flicked over Quinn’s shoulder, and Quinn turned to see Finn leaping out of his car. She shoved her door open and scrambled out to meet him.
“He’s been here the whole time?” Finn asked hurriedly.
“Apparently,” Quinn said. “I don’t know why he came, but you know you’re the only one who can get him to come home.”
“Yeah,” Finn muttered, his jaw set. Quinn could only ever remember seeing him so upset once before, and it had ended with Puck nursing a sore jaw and her homeless once again. “Which one?”
“Eighteen,” Rachel said softly. She looked tiny standing between the two of them, arms wrapped around her stomach guiltily. Quinn could see the fear in her eyes and felt a stab of guilt for panicking on Rachel. She watched as Finn nodded shortly and stalked off towards the apartment with a short “Stay here,” issued to the both of them.
“You don’t think that…” Rachel seemed unable to make herself finish the sentence, but her meaning was clear. Quinn leaned against the car, her hands trembling.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Puck’s tough, he can handle himself in a fight.”
Rachel nodded, her eyes locked on the door that Finn had just shoved his way through. She stepped to Quinn’s side, arms wrapping around the taller girl’s waist. Quinn shifted closer, her arms instinctively going around Rachel’s shoulders and her forehead dropping down to rest atop Rachel’s hair.
Neither of them moved-Quinn was unsure if she even breathed-until the door that Finn had disappeared through flew open and Finn dragged Puck out by the shirt. Quinn shuddered as she saw them both duck under a bottle that came flying out the door and hit the railing, shattering.
“Oh, God,” Rachel practically whimpered. Her fingers tightened on Quinn’s jacket. They stared as Finn followed Puck down the stairwell, then led him over to where they stood.
Quinn locked eyes with Puck, who looked unbelievably exhausted. She knew it was probably impossible for him to have become visibly thinner in less than two weeks, but he certainly looked it. There was stubble on his cheeks and the slightest shadow of a bruise on his jaw, and she clenched her jaw in anger.
Untangling herself from Rachel, she moved towards them, meeting him halfway across the parking lot. He broke their gaze, the muscles in his jaw working silently, and glared at some spot over her shoulder.
“Puck,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said shortly. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”
“Getting your dumb ass out of there, that’s what,” Finn said bluntly. He shoved Puck in the shoulder. “What the hell were you thinking, going to him?”
“He’s family,” Puck muttered, shoving Finn’s hand off his shoulder. “I needed a break.”
“So you came here?” Finn said incredulously. “Dude, seriously. What the hell?”
“What the hell do you care?” Puck snapped. He shoved Finn back. “Either of you. You,” he jammed his finger into Finn’s shoulder, pushing him back further. “Hate me for sleeping with your girlfriend. And you,” he whirled on Quinn, who stubbornly held her ground. “Don’t even care that we were going to have a kid together and decided to go all lesbian instead of being with me. Explain to my why the hell I would have come to either of you?”
“We’re your friends,” Quinn said softly.
“Bull,” Puck snorted. “We were never friends and you know it.” He was focused only on Quinn now, his eyes narrowed in anger.
“Maybe I’m not your friend,” Quinn said. “But I consider you a friend. I know you think I hate you or something, but I really don’t.”
“But you’d rather completely forget that we had anything and go jump in her bed,” he said coldly.
“Hey,” Finn said, stepping to Quinn’s side defensively. “Out of line, dude. You’re still my best friend, but don’t think I won’t punch you again.”
Quinn reached out and pulled Finn back gently. “It’s okay,” she said. “I deserved that.” She cut off his protests with a silently raised eyebrow. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Now?”
“Now.”
He sighed. “Don’t make me come break up a fight,” he said. “Either of you.” He eyed the both of them threateningly, arms crossed over his chest, before striding over to where Rachel stood wringing her hands.
“Puck,” Quinn whispered. “Please let me explain, okay?”
“Explain what?” He glared at her, but seemed unable to muster any real anger. “The part where I always come in second place, or the part where you decided that being a dyke would be fun, or the part where I had to find out from Santana and Brittany at a meeting with the fucking glee club?”
“Please,” she pleaded, stepping closer. “Puck, this isn’t about you coming in second. You have to know that.”
“Yeah, right.”
Quinn took a deep breath, looking down at her feet to compose herself. “I was going to keep her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had a name picked out for her, and we were going to be a family, because I wanted her and I wanted you and I wanted all three of us together. But then-then we lost her.” Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes starting to burn, and she ashamedly scrubbed her hands over her eyes. Tears were shining in his own eyes.
“I had all these dreams for her,” Quinn went on. She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. “She was going to have blonde hair like I do, but she was going to have your eyes. Every time I dreamed about her, she had your eyes, and you were always there looking out for her, because I knew you really would.”
He was crying silently now, and Quinn wrapped her arms around herself to keep from grabbing onto him, holding onto him and holding him up as best she could. “I look in your eyes and I see her,” she forced out. Her voice cracked, and the tears finally started to slip loose. “Every time I look at you, all I can see if her, and I feel like I’m going to drown and that I did everything wrong and she paid the price, and I hate myself.”
“It’s not your fault,” he mumbled. “You know that.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like it is.” She took a small step forward, a hand going out tentatively to rest on his forearm. He was trembling beneath her fingers.
“I wanted to be with you,” she said softly. “A part of me still does. But I’m a disaster right now, and I can’t do anything to make myself stop thinking about how much I screwed everything up. And for some reason, the only time anything makes sense, the only time I don’t feel like I lost my daughter as some kind of retribution, is when she kisses me.”
She hesitated as he tensed under her hand. “I’m sorry,” she went on. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. I thought that maybe-that maybe we had a chance. But after everything that happened, I just… I don’t know if what I’m doing is right, but it’s the only thing that doesn’t feel wrong, you know?” She inhaled shakily. “And I really, really need that, more than anything right now.”
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 22 (Part I)
Summary: Rachel, Quinn: the progression of a friendship, the moments between. Such things aren't always pretty.
Author's Note: I wrote this entire chapter while listening to Sigur Ros's Sæglópur on repeat. If you haven't heard it, check it out.
Puck disappeared for a week and a half. Or, more specifically, he disappeared out of Quinn’s life for a week and a half. She knew that he was, at least, alive-Santana had traded texts with him, as had Artie and Matt-but nothing beyond that. When Santana just shook her head, her mouth tight and eyes guarded, the first time Quinn asked about him, the blonde took it as a sign that he had told whoever he spoke to that he wanted nothing to do with her or Rachel, at least for the time being.
Her concern about Puck, and his feelings towards her and her newfound relationship with Rachel, left her oscillating constantly between distraction and euphoria for those three days. Rachel managed to take Quinn’s swinging moods in stride, slipping only a few times into frustration about Quinn’s obvious preoccupation with the missing boy. Brittany was a constant support, as was Finn, and Santana kept Quinn up to date about the fact that Puck was at least still alive, not in jail, and still in Lima.
Quinn was sitting in the living room, staring blankly at the television while she mulled over how to handle the whole situation with Puck, when Rachel tossed one of her jackets at her. She spit out a mouthful of cotton and shot a questioning glare at the brunette.
“Come on,” Rachel said by way of explanation. She shook the car keys in her hand. “Let’s go find him.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Noah,” Rachel said. She shrugged into her own jacket, pulling her hair loose from the collar briskly. “It’s not exactly a huge town, and even if it was, we can probably talk Santana or Artie or Matt into telling us where he is. Or, if we really have to, his mom or sister.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at Quinn with wide eyes.
“I… what?”
Rachel sighed frustratedly. “Quinn,” she said lowly. “Get up and put your coat on so we can go find Noah and slap some sense into him. Or, at the very least, talk to him. You’re ridiculously distracted about it. I mean, you barely participated in glee today, and you haven’t done a single bit of studying since we got home. If I have to go track him down alone and sedate him to get him back here so you can sort this out with him, I will. But,” she added. “I’d rather you and I just go find wherever he’s hiding and sit down and talk with him.”
Quinn stared dumbly at Rachel, her eyes wide. “Okay?” she said meekly. She allowed Rachel to lever her off of the couch and towards the door.
“Do you know where to start looking?” Quinn asked as they pulled out of the neighborhood.
“Yes,” Rachel said after a slight hesitation, biting down on her lip. She looked at Quinn out of the corner of her eye with what Quinn had come to recognize as her guilty I’ve-been-scheming face.
“You know where he is,” she accused. “You’ve known the whole time!”
“Not the whole time!” Rachel said quickly. “I promise.” She glanced over at Quinn once more, a plaintive look in her eyes that was clearly all but begging Quinn to believe her. “I just found out a little bit before I came downstairs. I owe Brittany about six hours of vocal lessons for getting it out of Santana-and oh, how I do not want to know how she managed that-but I was just getting so tired of watching you mope around. It’s not healthy to be so distracted, and when you weren’t studying for the AP exams I started to get really worried. And-“
She cut herself off, biting down on her lip and narrowing her eyes at the road nervously. Quinn raised her eyebrows, staring openly across the small car at Rachel. “And what, exactly?” she asked tartly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And…you blew me off today during your free period,” Rachel muttered, flushing darkly.
Quinn stared at her incredulously for a long few seconds before laughing shortly. “I’ve been freaking out all week about Puck hating us and running away, and it takes me not making out with you in the rehearsal room during third period for you to do anything about it?”
“To be fair, he ran off on Monday, and it’s only Thursday,” Rachel said defensively. “It’s not like I watched you suffer for weeks and only did this because you wouldn’t kiss me.” She paused, glancing over at Quinn with a pained look in her eyes.
“I’ve hated watching you worry about it all week and not being able to help,” she said, her voice soft. “I didn’t want to push because I know you hate it when I do that, and I thought if I waited you would come to me, but then you didn’t study at all yesterday or today, and then today when you blew me off I finally gave up on waiting for you to ask for my help.”
Quinn remained silent, arms still crossed over her chest, though her shoulders slumped in defeat. She sighed, turning back to face the road in front of them. She didn’t recognize where they were.
“Okay,” she said eventually. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” For all that she was apologetic, it still felt like pulling teeth to verbalize it. Years of being the unapologetic queen of both middle school and high school had left her unaccustomed to actually saying the word sorry; if felt foreign on her tongue.
“It’s okay,” Rachel responded. Her voice cut through Quinn’s discomfort. “I know that I don’t understand how you feel, about the situation or where you stand with Puck, but I do understand that it’s obviously very uncomfortable. I just want to help you make things right with him, however you need to.
“So I’ll make out with you during third period?” Quinn said with a small smile.
“Mostly so you’ll feel better,” Rachel said. She shot a smirk over at Quinn. “But also so you’ll make out with me during third period. It’s quickly become the highlight of my days, you know.”
“It outranks glee?”
“Glee was tough competition initially, but making out won in the end. Handily.
“Myspace performances?” Quinn smirked when she saw a tiny hesitation in Rachel’s jaw before the brunette answered, “Also tough, but you won that one, too.”
“Well,” Quinn started, but she was unable to think of how to finish the thought. Instead, she unthinkingly reached over with her left hand and unwrapped Rachel’s fingers on her right from the steering wheel, clasping their hands together gently.
They continued on in comfortable silence until Rachel pulled into a parking lot at an apartment complex five miles outside of the city limits. Puck’s pickup truck sat in one of the distant parking spots. Quinn stared at the dilapidated building in front of her, taking in dirty windows and rusty doorknobs. Puck’s truck, which was easily ten years old, was probably the nicest car in the lot.
“What is this place?” Quinn half-whispered. She shrank away from the window when she saw a man her grandfather’s age stumble out of one of the doors at the other end of the building from where they sat, making his way unsteadily to a rusty blue sedan and fumbling for his keys.
Rachel clenched Quinn’s hand a little tighter-whether out of comfort or fear, Quinn wasn’t sure. “His father lives here,” Rachel said softly.
Quinn’s head snapped around to face Rachel. “His what?”
“His father,” Rachel repeated. “I always thought he’d left town, but apparently not.”
Quinn’s head throbbed, memories racing around of a seven year old Puck with a black eye and a broken arm who said he’d fallen out of a tree; a nine year old Puck who sat out from recess for two weeks because his ribs were cracked, supposedly from playing football without pads; a fourteen year old Finn confessing to her the countless times Puck had snuck out of the house with his mother and sister when his father was drunk, of Puck and Finn staying up all night guarding the door to the guest room at Finn’s house where Puck’s mother and sister slept, just in case his father figured out where they were. Quinn knew that no one but Finn and Puck’s family were supposed to know exactly how perfectly the senior Puckerman epitomized Lima Losers, but two years of dating Puck’s best friend had led to Finn opening up to her about exactly why Puck hated his father so much.
“Has he been here the whole time?” she forced out. Without meaning to, her fingers clenched tightly around Rachel’s hand. The small gasp of pain from the other girl fell on Quinn’s deaf ears as she stared fearfully at the pickup truck sitting in the parking lot.
“Yes,” Rachel squeaked out. “Quinn, please, my hand.”
“What?” Quinn muttered distractedly. She only pulled her eyes away from the pickup truck when she felt Rachel’s free hand wrapping around her wrist and tugging. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide. She immediately released Rachel’s hand, pulling her arm back quickly. “I’m sorry. I just…”
Her voice trailed off as she looked back towards Puck’s truck. “Does Finn know he’s here?”
“I don’t think so,” Rachel said. She was staring at Quinn inquisitively. “Quinn, what’s wrong?”
“He shouldn’t be here,” Quinn mumbled. Even throughout everything she had been through with Puck-falling into bed with him behind Finn’s back, fighting with him over the fate of their child, her frustration and anger at his apparently incessant need for sex, his anger at her decisions that kept them apart-and even though they had never actually been friends, she could do little to avoid the building concern at the knowledge that he was with the man who had abused his entire family.
Shame warred with concern, as she bitterly realized that he was only there because of her.
“Quinn,” Rachel said sharply.
“Call Finn,” Quinn said, her voice quiet. “We need to get him out of there, but I doubt he’ll listen to either of us.”
“Quinn,” Rachel said again. She reached out, her hand coming to rest on Quinn’s forearm.
“Rachel, please,” Quinn snapped. “Get Finn over here.”
“Okay,” Rachel said softly. She kept her hand on Quinn’s arm as she retrieved her phone with the other and dialed Finn. Quinn’s eyes remained locked on the truck, Rachel’s short conversation with Finn incomprehensible through her racing thoughts. She only moved when Rachel’s hand shifted on her arm, sliding down to grasp her hand.
“Is he coming?”
“Five minutes,” Rachel said. She slid her fingers between Quinn’s. “Will you tell me why the both of you are so concerned about this?”
Quinn exhaled slowly, turning back to face a confused Rachel. “It’s not really my place to tell,” she said haltingly. “I mean, I’m not even really supposed to know, I only know because Finn told me a few years ago.” She hesitated, gripping Rachel’s fingers tighter instinctively.
“His dad isn’t just a loser,” Quinn whispered. “He’s a real bastard.” She almost smirked at the surprised look in Rachel’s eyes are Quinn’s swearing-as sharp as her tongue had always been, she had never needed curses to drive home a point-but couldn’t summon the energy.
Rachel remained silent, her eyes focused on their intertwined fingers. Quinn could practically hear the gears in her head turning as she put the pieces together.
“He hit them,” she said eventually. It wasn’t a question, and Quinn nodded wordlessly. She watched as Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he come here, then?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. “I guess he didn’t want us to find him?”
“But Santana knew he was here,” Rachel said. Her eyes flashed. “Why would she let him stay here?”
“She doesn’t know,” Quinn said. “No one did, except Finn and his mom. I don’t think that Puck even knows that Finn told me anything about it.”
“That’s stupid,” Rachel muttered. “There are people who could have helped. The police, social services, there are shelters for abuse victims. Why didn’t they go to them?”
Quinn shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said. “But this is Puck, you know? He thinks he can take on the whole world.”
“Except for getting a slushie to the face,” Rachel mumbled. Her eyes flicked over Quinn’s shoulder, and Quinn turned to see Finn leaping out of his car. She shoved her door open and scrambled out to meet him.
“He’s been here the whole time?” Finn asked hurriedly.
“Apparently,” Quinn said. “I don’t know why he came, but you know you’re the only one who can get him to come home.”
“Yeah,” Finn muttered, his jaw set. Quinn could only ever remember seeing him so upset once before, and it had ended with Puck nursing a sore jaw and her homeless once again. “Which one?”
“Eighteen,” Rachel said softly. She looked tiny standing between the two of them, arms wrapped around her stomach guiltily. Quinn could see the fear in her eyes and felt a stab of guilt for panicking on Rachel. She watched as Finn nodded shortly and stalked off towards the apartment with a short “Stay here,” issued to the both of them.
“You don’t think that…” Rachel seemed unable to make herself finish the sentence, but her meaning was clear. Quinn leaned against the car, her hands trembling.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Puck’s tough, he can handle himself in a fight.”
Rachel nodded, her eyes locked on the door that Finn had just shoved his way through. She stepped to Quinn’s side, arms wrapping around the taller girl’s waist. Quinn shifted closer, her arms instinctively going around Rachel’s shoulders and her forehead dropping down to rest atop Rachel’s hair.
Neither of them moved-Quinn was unsure if she even breathed-until the door that Finn had disappeared through flew open and Finn dragged Puck out by the shirt. Quinn shuddered as she saw them both duck under a bottle that came flying out the door and hit the railing, shattering.
“Oh, God,” Rachel practically whimpered. Her fingers tightened on Quinn’s jacket. They stared as Finn followed Puck down the stairwell, then led him over to where they stood.
Quinn locked eyes with Puck, who looked unbelievably exhausted. She knew it was probably impossible for him to have become visibly thinner in less than two weeks, but he certainly looked it. There was stubble on his cheeks and the slightest shadow of a bruise on his jaw, and she clenched her jaw in anger.
Untangling herself from Rachel, she moved towards them, meeting him halfway across the parking lot. He broke their gaze, the muscles in his jaw working silently, and glared at some spot over her shoulder.
“Puck,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said shortly. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”
“Getting your dumb ass out of there, that’s what,” Finn said bluntly. He shoved Puck in the shoulder. “What the hell were you thinking, going to him?”
“He’s family,” Puck muttered, shoving Finn’s hand off his shoulder. “I needed a break.”
“So you came here?” Finn said incredulously. “Dude, seriously. What the hell?”
“What the hell do you care?” Puck snapped. He shoved Finn back. “Either of you. You,” he jammed his finger into Finn’s shoulder, pushing him back further. “Hate me for sleeping with your girlfriend. And you,” he whirled on Quinn, who stubbornly held her ground. “Don’t even care that we were going to have a kid together and decided to go all lesbian instead of being with me. Explain to my why the hell I would have come to either of you?”
“We’re your friends,” Quinn said softly.
“Bull,” Puck snorted. “We were never friends and you know it.” He was focused only on Quinn now, his eyes narrowed in anger.
“Maybe I’m not your friend,” Quinn said. “But I consider you a friend. I know you think I hate you or something, but I really don’t.”
“But you’d rather completely forget that we had anything and go jump in her bed,” he said coldly.
“Hey,” Finn said, stepping to Quinn’s side defensively. “Out of line, dude. You’re still my best friend, but don’t think I won’t punch you again.”
Quinn reached out and pulled Finn back gently. “It’s okay,” she said. “I deserved that.” She cut off his protests with a silently raised eyebrow. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Now?”
“Now.”
He sighed. “Don’t make me come break up a fight,” he said. “Either of you.” He eyed the both of them threateningly, arms crossed over his chest, before striding over to where Rachel stood wringing her hands.
“Puck,” Quinn whispered. “Please let me explain, okay?”
“Explain what?” He glared at her, but seemed unable to muster any real anger. “The part where I always come in second place, or the part where you decided that being a dyke would be fun, or the part where I had to find out from Santana and Brittany at a meeting with the fucking glee club?”
“Please,” she pleaded, stepping closer. “Puck, this isn’t about you coming in second. You have to know that.”
“Yeah, right.”
Quinn took a deep breath, looking down at her feet to compose herself. “I was going to keep her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had a name picked out for her, and we were going to be a family, because I wanted her and I wanted you and I wanted all three of us together. But then-then we lost her.” Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes starting to burn, and she ashamedly scrubbed her hands over her eyes. Tears were shining in his own eyes.
“I had all these dreams for her,” Quinn went on. She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. “She was going to have blonde hair like I do, but she was going to have your eyes. Every time I dreamed about her, she had your eyes, and you were always there looking out for her, because I knew you really would.”
He was crying silently now, and Quinn wrapped her arms around herself to keep from grabbing onto him, holding onto him and holding him up as best she could. “I look in your eyes and I see her,” she forced out. Her voice cracked, and the tears finally started to slip loose. “Every time I look at you, all I can see if her, and I feel like I’m going to drown and that I did everything wrong and she paid the price, and I hate myself.”
“It’s not your fault,” he mumbled. “You know that.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like it is.” She took a small step forward, a hand going out tentatively to rest on his forearm. He was trembling beneath her fingers.
“I wanted to be with you,” she said softly. “A part of me still does. But I’m a disaster right now, and I can’t do anything to make myself stop thinking about how much I screwed everything up. And for some reason, the only time anything makes sense, the only time I don’t feel like I lost my daughter as some kind of retribution, is when she kisses me.”
She hesitated as he tensed under her hand. “I’m sorry,” she went on. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. I thought that maybe-that maybe we had a chance. But after everything that happened, I just… I don’t know if what I’m doing is right, but it’s the only thing that doesn’t feel wrong, you know?” She inhaled shakily. “And I really, really need that, more than anything right now.”