Glee 1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** Okay, guys, this is just a preview. I don't intend on adding any more stories to my list until 'Color Me Confused' and 'Playing Games' are finished, but I wanted to see if you guys thought I should continue with this one. So please let me know in feedback if it's any good, and if it's not, I'll toss it out. ;) Also, this has a little bit of a supernatural/magic thing going on in the beginning, which is why it's AU. Thanks, you guys are so awesome. :)

**Prologue**

The future looked dismal.

Not for Rachel personally, of course. No, she'd already been accepted to Julliard and she would be on her way there two weeks before September. Her dads were already stockpiling her with dorm-friendly furniture and a laptop that was more compatible with Julliard's network and hook-ups. She'd graduated in the top two percent of her class—with honors, of course—and with plenty of scholarships to help her dads out with the expense of such a prestigious school. In fact, she'd been offered free rides to several of the colleges she'd considered. But as soon as the white envelope with Julliard's name on it arrived, Rachel's heart was irreversibly set.

So why was she so miserable?

Well, there were many reasons. One, which was the most important—much to her own vexation—was that her friends weren't happy. Yes, friends. Multiple, in fact, and all of them in glee. It wasn't that Rachel minded having friends, per se. To be perfectly truthful, she loved it. There was always someone there for her to cry on, to shop with, to chat with, and three years ago it had all been so new to her. Three years ago she had no friends, only herself. Which was what led her to her current vexation.

Before glee, Rachel had no ties to anyone. No one to be sad for but herself. Well, and her dads, but when were they ever sad? Only when she was sad, and then she couldn't be sad for them for being sad for her. But now she had eleven wonderful friends to be sad with and for, and it was so horrible for her ambition, because all she wanted to do was stay with them as long as possible and fix everything for them instead of rushing off to New York to leave them all behind. But, in all honesty, it was unfixable. Even if she did stay.

Artie and Tina broke up over a year and a half ago. The cause was simply this: Artie sided with Finn, and Tina sided with Rachel. Both Finn and Rachel were wracked with guilt over the argument that imploded the couple. They tried to fix it, but Tina wasn't just tired of Artie's endless devotion to his male friends over her. She was tired of his chauvinistic tendencies and his incessant moodiness.

The months and months of watching her dance without him had taken their toll, and Artie was seldom able to watch her without becoming a ball of self-pity and bitterness. And instead of taking comfort in Tina, he lashed out against her, slowly creating cracks in a wall that would eventually crumble into dust. The result made things worse than ever between Finn and Rachel.

After the breakup and Tina's refusals to return to him, Artie gradually came to the realization that she wouldn't be coming back this time. And he sank into a deeper depression than Rachel had ever seen him in, until there was hardly a glimmer left of who he used to be. Tina took no notice and focused harder than ever on her ballet and her singing, but her grades began to slip. Not much, but just enough.

She and Mike dated briefly, but that ended in disaster, too—with the side effect of Tina losing her virginity. When Artie found out, he nearly lost it. If it wasn't for glee, Rachel was sure he would've.

Tina received a few scholarships, and she was planning on going to the University of Toledo. It certainly wasn't her first choice, but it would do. Rachel might've been concerned about the change of environment if Tina was the same shy girl she'd been three years ago, but the heartache she'd suffered had turned her hard—at least outwardly—and she would be fine. But Artie? He was doomed to stay in Lima, locked away in a room dank with acrimony.

Things weren't much better for Mike, or Matt, for that matter. During his train wreck of a fling with Tina, Mike became convinced he'd be able to do the same thing as her—fly on scholarships for dancing. So he quit football. But there weren't many scholarships out there for being able to pop-and-lock, and he'd ended up with little choice but to drag himself off to the nearest community college with his newest tattooed girlfriend.

Matt didn't fare any better, but not because he quit football. No, he stayed on, but not one scout noticed his potential. There was no way he could make it into a university without the scholarships; he just didn't have the grades. He had no prospects except what Mike had—community college. Until his father was laid off from the auto company he was working at. And now he was damned to work at the local McDonald's, a spectacle for the delight and mocking of McKinley High students for as long as he worked the window; his only flicker of 'hope' was the chance to become a manager, where no one would see him.

Santana was fine. Or, at least, that's what she kept telling everyone. Cheerleading—with the distinct help of healthy bones defending her from injury and birth control protecting her from Quinn's fate—had gotten her the scholarships she'd wanted. Now she was out of Ohio and on a plane to become what Rachel was sure would be the best head cheerleader those Dallas girls had ever seen. There was just one problem.

Brittany was staying in Lima. Obviously, she didn't have the grades to go anywhere, even though she did have scholarships from cheerleading. She'd begged Santana to take her with her. Right in front of glee, when Santana announced her acceptance, Brittany broke down in tears and begged and pleaded with her. She was lost without her, she loved her, and she was tired of Santana hiding behind their sexual escapades. Santana refused her, and it broke Brittany. Everyone but the stubborn woman herself could see it broke Santana, too.

Kurt was keeping Brittany at his house for the time being. It calmed her to be near someone who was so much a part of the family she'd built in glee. But things weren't going too smoothly for Kurt, either.

After his first boyfriend, a boy by the name of Kevin, Kurt became quite the…gay man's man. Which was what broke him and Kevin up in the first place. When Kurt learned he did, in fact, have appeal to men who were gay, he couldn't resist flirting and teasing, and it tore Kevin up until he couldn't take it anymore. Kurt pretended to take the breakup in stride, dating this boy and that boy. Secretly, it broke him as badly as Brittany was breaking now. So, Rachel supposed, it made sense for the two to take comfort in one another.

Noah…well, Noah's case was a little different. After Quinn gave Beth to Shelby—who (as far as Rachel could tell) had disappeared off the face of the planet, or at least out of Ohio—he broke all the promises he'd made to Quinn. She took it in stride, resigned to her fate, but that only made Noah wilder about it. It wasn't that he started throwing people in dumpsters or giving them slushie facials again (not the people in glee, anyway). It was that he became even more of a fanatic for sex. Which was hard to do, if you were Noah Puckerman, but somehow he managed it.

And eventually, as they'd all feared, he contracted HIV. Even though, after Quinn, he always used protection, it was never one hundred percent safe. It destroyed his mom, and she might've kicked him out if it hadn't been for the financial support he offered. He ended up cutting sex cold turkey, and instead threw his excess energy into his more aggressive tendencies. Rachel knew for a fact that he'd participated in a couple of paid fights, but mostly he focused on his above-ground pool cleaning business to get him money and fights in the cafeteria to cool himself down. He didn't graduate, and as soon as the ceremony was over, he bid them all goodbye—and Rachel swore she saw tears in his eyes—and hopped on the first bus that came his way.

Mercedes lost her voice. Oh, it wasn't totally gone. She could still carry a tune, but it was never the same after she contracted pneumonia. It killed her; it killed Rachel. In fact, after a shouting match in which Mercedes claimed Rachel must be happy as a clam that she'd never have to fight for another solo, they shared in their grief over the loss of such a beautiful gift. Mercedes recovered better than the others from their blows. She instead focused on school work and got plenty of scholarships, and she was mostly happy to be going to the University of Michigan.

Finn was a longer story. After the loss at Regionals, he and Rachel were together for about two minutes. All right, perhaps longer than that, but the basis of it was that Rachel didn't know what she wanted yet. She'd just broken up with Jesse, after all, and she wasn't ready to move right into another relationship. That lasted the summer, and then she gave in to his puppy dog eyes and his longing looks and they stayed together until Sectionals. They broke up then over everything—her bossiness, his dullness, her moodiness, his thoughtlessness. Anything you could think of, really.

Rachel cried to Tina, Finn to Artie. And after that debacle, they blamed one another. This growing grudge lasted until Sectionals the next year, when Finn kissed her. He apologized—for everything—and she couldn't do anything but forgive him because she missed him. Missed being his friend. And she would've done anything to have that back.

And now Finn was going to Ohio State with a football scholarship and Rachel was going to Julliard, and all the fervor of their relationship had utterly died out. There was nothing left for them now but friendship—if they could even manage that—and they both knew it, and now they had no idea what to do.

And, of course, there was always Quinn. Rachel never became terribly close to Quinn, but she knew all of her trials and tribulations, mostly through Brittany or Tina or Mercedes. And occasionally Santana, with whom she'd developed an uneasy truce based on mutual respect.

After Quinn gave Beth away, she'd been resigned. To everything. To Noah, to the unexpected pain that came with giving away her first child, to her mother's distance, to her parents's divorce, to her future—or lack thereof, in her eyes. She remained this way all summer, but thankfully for her, Sue Sylvester wasn't going to watch her once-glorious head cheerleader make a pathetic fool of herself. She welcomed Quinn back onto the team, although she made sure to paint it like the blonde had come crawling back, and she'd just been merciful enough to take her in.

So Quinn's physical shape went back to what it was before the pregnancy, as did her attire. But she was never head cheerleader again, and the damage had already been done with her mother. They tried to mend things, but Quinn still stayed at Mercedes's for several weeks at a time, for almost a year, before she and her mother came to an understanding. Even then, they didn't grow close. It was like the relationship Rachel and Quinn shared, in a way. There was a truce, an acknowledgment of what the other expected, but the bridge was never gapped. Hell, it was hardly even built.

Quinn graduated in the top ten percent of the class. The stress of the pregnancy and all she'd been through had dragged her grades down, but only so much, and she had scholarships from cheerleading—although not as many as Santana—and scholarships from her grades—although not as many as Rachel—and she was going to the University of Wisconsin, and she was resigned. That was all she was nowadays. The fire never came back. 'Resigned' became all that Quinn once was.

And Rachel's heart broke for every single one of them. All she wanted to do was fix it. It was the most purely unselfish thing she'd ever wanted in her entire life. She wanted to fix them, all of them, and mend their hearts. But there was no way to do it, no way to turn back the clock, no way to bring back the fire. And she started to hate her life because their lives were so miserable in it, even with her scholarships, and Julliard, and her brand new laptop, and her green armchair on clearance, and her two consecutive Nationals wins. It wasn't worth it if her friends had to be so miserable.

_If I had one chance…just one chance to fix it_, she thought morosely, wiping a tear from her cheek.

And that was all it took for God to hear her, apparently, because then there was someone in the room. Rachel became aware of it immediately, because they sat on the mattress next to her and patted her shoulder comfortingly and said in a motherly, gravelly voice, "There, there, now don't fret."

Rachel bolted. She went as far as she could from that voice, across the room, splaying herself against the closet door as she tried to regain a normal breathing pattern. But it didn't get any better, because there was a woman in a spring blue dress sitting on her bed, wearing the most plainly earnest expression Rachel had ever seen on a person. Still, it didn't do anything to slow her racing heart, because the woman had appeared _out of nowhere_.

"Wh-who are you?" she demanded, hating the quiver in her voice. "I have a rape whistle!"

The woman laughed. "No need, Rachel. Now calm down, I'm not going to hurt you."

She couldn't stop the questions now. "How did you know my name? How did you get in here? Why haven't you answered my question? Who are you? I swear if—"

"Quiet," she said gently, and for the first time in her life, Rachel felt compelled to obey that command. "Very good. I'm a messenger from the Powers That Be."

Rachel's nose scrunched. "The who?"

"The Powers That Be. I've been sent to give you one chance to fix everything," the woman said simply.

Rachel stared at the woman. What the hell was going on? All right, so Rachel did believe a little bit in the supernatural. There was no other way to explain her own sixth sense, but she didn't believe in things like vampires or werewolves or warlocks or women in spring blue dresses who appear in your bedroom without warning, offering you things like chances to fix everything.

For a minute, she didn't know what to do. She could pull out her rape whistle and blow as hard as she could, but chances were her neighbors wouldn't hear it, and her dads were away. She could try to lunge past the woman, but if she could randomly appear in locked rooms, chances were she was also a lot faster—and stronger—than Rachel. Plus, the brunette had a definite size disadvantage.

So Rachel decided the only option left to her was to talk her way out of it. And from what she'd read in fantasy books, it wasn't a good idea to accept whatever a strange, beautiful woman you just met offered you. They usually ended up almost killing you at the end of the book.

"Wh-what do you mean?" she managed, frowning at the woman.

She started to relax a little, not pressing so firmly up against the closet door, but she didn't move any closer. The woman smiled.

"If you accept this offer, the Powers That Be will send you back to make a choice that will reverse the misery you find yourself and your friends in now," she said gently.

The brunette stared in disbelief this time. "One choice? That's it? That's all it takes to make Santana see she needs Brittany, too, and make Kurt stop being a man whore and give Mercedes her voice back and fix things between Artie and Tina and—"

"Yes. One choice."

"That's ridiculous! One choice can't change the course of your life, let alone eleven other people's!" she blurted incredulously.

"Well, since you're so happy then…."

The woman stood, but Rachel's heart leapt and she called for her to stop before she realized she'd done it. The brunette worried her lip between her teeth. She couldn't help it; she was curious. And even though in all the fantasy books she'd read, this was what usually screwed the hero or heroine over—their curiosity—she forged ahead. She could always change her mind if she didn't like the way things progressed, right?

"You said one chance," Rachel said uncertainly. "What if I make the wrong choice and things are even worse than they are now?"

"That's always a risk," the woman allowed. "But I rather doubt you'll make the wrong choice. It's a rather simple choice, you see. You either do it, or you don't."

"What did I do the first time?" she asked, frowning.

She smiled. "Now, that I can't tell you. But I assure you you'll know when you arrive."

"At least tell me when you'd be sending me to. I can't make a proper judgment if I don't know."

"You will have a little time before the actual choice to get your bearings back," she said reassuringly.

Rachel considered this. One choice, one chance. It sounded like an easy enough deal. She would just pop back to whenever these 'Powers That Be' were sending her, make the right choice this time, and things would be all better. If what the woman was saying was true. She eyed the woman warily.

"What's the catch?" she asked suspiciously.

"Hm?"

"It's too easy. All I have to do is make one choice and everyone's happy again? There has to be a string attached somewhere," Rachel said confidently.

The woman smiled again. "No catch. Just your choice."

She frowned. She still wasn't sure. What if it didn't work? What if this lady was just a crazy lock expert and Rachel was falling prey to one of her delusions? Maybe she was an escapee from the nearest asylum and she was going to kill Rachel if she said yes. For some reason, she didn't think so. Crazy serial killers didn't go around wearing nice spring blue dresses and offering chances to fix lives, right?

"I'll need your answer soon, Rachel. Do you want the chance?"

Rachel bit her lip again. If she could make the choice, the right one…. Artie and Tina would be fixed, and Mike wouldn't be going to community college, and Matt wouldn't be working at McDonald's, and Santana wouldn't be breaking both her and Brittany's hearts, and Kurt wouldn't be losing himself, and Noah would be with his friends—where he belonged—without HIV, and Mercedes would have her voice back, and Finn and Rachel wouldn't be so screwed up, and Quinn could be _happy_ again.

And even if all those things didn't happen, would it matter? _Anything_ would be better than this, she decided.

"Yes."

XXXXXX

Rachel felt dizzy. Really, really dizzy. She flailed her arms, wildly reaching for something to hold onto, and when she found it, she clung on for dear life until the spinning slowly ground to a halt. Her vision was all blurry, so she kept holding onto whatever it was, trying to anchor herself. A bell rang nearby and she jumped, blinking rapidly, and soon she realized where she was.

McKinley High, at her locker. And the light coming through the windows was bright and people had backpacks over their shoulders, so Rachel quickly came to the conclusion that it was afternoon, at the end of the day. That still didn't help her peg down when in a larger sense. Was it two weeks ago? A few months? A year?

She shifted her grip and realized what was in her hand—her locker door. She eagerly whipped it further open and scanned the inside, searching for signs to point out when she was. There were pictures of her and her dads littered all over it, and a little calendar, but nothing indicative of glee. Which meant it could be any time before Sectionals of sophomore year, because that's when she first added a glee picture to the montage.

There was a loud bang to her right and Rachel jumped again, looking to see what happened. And there was Noah, snarling at a horrified Jacob Ben Israel as he cowered against a locker, and laughing it up with his football buddies. She sighed. That didn't tell her anything, since Noah had never stopped being mean to Jacob. Not that she could blame him.

Despite the fact that he'd just rammed someone's head into an open locker, Rachel desperately wanted to run up and hug Noah. After all, he'd still been doing that when he left, and he always had a hug saved for her anyway. Plus, he'd ditched her and she missed him horribly, but she kept herself reined in. Pre-Sophomore-Sectionals Noah wouldn't hug her, even if they'd already dated.

She had to figure out what she was doing next. None of the glee kids besides Noah were anywhere in sight, as far as she could tell. People were still swarming past her toward the exits and crowding in the halls before they left.

Even seeing the glee kids probably wouldn't have told her much, though. She wasn't friends with them yet, she reminded herself, so it wasn't like she was waiting for one of them to go shopping with or anything. Unless this was right before Sectionals, because she was closer with Tina by then, and she had hugged Mercedes, and she and Quinn were _sort of_—wait a second!

That was it! All Rachel had to do was find Quinn and she would know when it was that the woman had landed her judging by the size of her stomach! Determined now, she shut her locker and turned on her heel to hunt down the blonde, hoping she hadn't already left. She tended to ditch as soon as possible when she was pregnant, but maybe—just maybe—Santana and Brittany were holding her hostage.

Rachel pushed through the crowd to the end of the hall, keeping her eyes peeled for a blonde head as she rounded the corner. She grunted when someone crashed into her, and she stumbled back on her heels and tried to regain her equilibrium. For her, it was the first time in a while. Since glee had won Nationals, they hadn't been labeled as _quite_ the losers they used to be, and people usually moved now when she went down the hall. She wasn't used to people trying to run her over.

Once she'd gained her feet, Rachel looked up to find the culprit and—to her horror—there was Quinn the cheerleader. And not Quinn the barely pregnant cheerleader, or the more familiar Quinn the resigned cheerleader. This was Quinn the Head Bitch.

Rachel could see it in her eyes. They were cold and dark and penetrating, and every time they pierced you it made you want to whimper and cower on the ground until she went away. Rachel had never been one to do such a thing, but that didn't mean she didn't _feel_ it. It made her sad to see the sneer land on a hard face that she knew would one day grow sad and compliant, almost sadder than it made her imagining the years turning those eyes tired and sad and dull.

Feeling so sad was her mistake, though, because Quinn never missed anything. Even after years of relentless damage to her spirit, she still read people like no one Rachel knew, except maybe Brittany. But this Quinn didn't keep quiet about it or ignore it. This was the captain of the Cheerios, and the melancholy sympathy she caught in Rachel's gaze immediately disgusted her and she shoved her aside, into a row of lockers.

Rachel felt the jolt like a thousand fists pounding into her shoulder, and she knew she would later have a bruise. For the third time since she'd arrived in the past, she had to try and recover her balance.

After Quinn passed with her cackling entourage, the brunette experienced a moment of blind panic. What if that had been the moment she was supposed to change? She definitely hadn't done much differently, if that moment had happened at all. And she certainly couldn't remember Quinn shoving her into a locker before. At least not at the end of the day.

"Rachel?" a voice called. "Hey, I waited in the auditorium, but you didn't show up. Are you okay?"

Rachel looked up sharply and there was Finn, smiling but worried-looking. She couldn't help the warm smile that overtook her at the sight of Finn. It wasn't one of adoration, as she used to give him in those days, or of the love she would later give him. It was relief she was feeling.

Because Finn looked happy and bouncy the way she liked to remember him. And even though she knew he'd later become tired, like Quinn had, and frustrated, Rachel was glad to see him this way, even for a second.

She shook herself when he smiled uncertainly in reply. "Um. Yeah, of course!"

Finn's brow creased, but he nodded and walked with her back toward the auditorium when she strode to him. It took her a minute to realize that she should be peppier, bubblier, and all-around more chipper and chattier. So she started talking—she didn't know what about, she let her mouth do the work—but Finn relaxed and she suddenly realized exactly what day it was.

And what choice she had to make.

Rachel went through the motions of practicing with Finn, correcting him the way she knew, from years of experience, he liked and avoiding the ways that annoyed him. It was out of habit that she did it. She knew she should be doing exactly what she'd done then, but she couldn't remember every detail of the moments leading up to it. She only knew they had practiced, and then Finn had gotten hungry—and he did—and she'd already set up the picnic before their last class of the day.

When they sat, Rachel seriously considered putting things on hold and stopping the picnic before they got a chance to get to that part. But something told her she needed to keep going until it was time. So she smiled at him and moved his hand over his heart, and he put his thumb on hers, and the first time around she hadn't seen his eyes darken the way they did. She'd only seen him sober and knew he was looking at her lips and that she wanted him to kiss her. Now she could see the telltale signs of his growing arousal, the way he slid his thumb up and down hers. That particular movement would eventually become second-nature to him.

Rachel remembered feeling awkward the first time around. This time she felt nothing, except perhaps longing for a time that escaped her now.

She recalled the next part in vivid detail. She hurried to pour their drinks, making sure to tip back just enough to get the Cosmo on her upper lip. And Finn told her and wiped it off. His eyes got darker again. Now was when she was supposed to say it, while he was staring at her lips some more and aching to kiss her.

This was what it came down to. It didn't seem like such a big choice in the scheme of things. Either tell Finn he could kiss her if he wanted, or not. Like the woman told her, it was a simple choice—do it or don't. Rachel didn't.

But then Finn did something unexpected. He started to move forward to kiss her anyway, and she immediately forced a hand between them. His body jolted and his eyes flicked to hers.

Rachel thought fast, trying to come up with something to say to excuse her behavior. And then the words were spilling past her lips before she knew she'd decided on them.

"I really like you, Finn," she said sincerely. "Like a lot, as you could probably tell, since I've never been the most subtle person, especially when it comes to how I feel." He smiled a little, but mostly he just looked confused. "But I can't take that step with you. Not now, when glee is only getting its start. This kind of drama will only rock it, possibly right off its already delicate foundation. And I can't do that to the team."

She took a breath before she went on. "And there's a more important reason we can't do this. You have a girlfriend."

Finn's gaze dropped and, for the first time since her hand rose between them, he shrank back away from her. She could see the shame working its way through his system. She had to speak fast, because he would undoubtedly leave soon.

"A girlfriend who I already told I wouldn't go there with you, because I respect her right to you. She cares about you a lot, Finn, and I don't think either one of us wants to see her hurt."

Finn looked up in surprise then and Rachel bit her lip. She shouldn't have said that. She wouldn't have said that last bit about Quinn Fabray back then, because Quinn wasn't part of the team—the family—then. But it turned out to be all right.

Finn's gaze dropped again and he nodded once, shortly. "You're right. I'm sorry."

And then the scene turned blurry before her eyes and Rachel was very, very dizzy again.

XXXXXX

Her vision was blurry, but Rachel knew she was in her room. The color of her walls was dominating her vision, and her bed sheets wrinkled under her fingers as she curled them. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her vision, blinking rapidly again, since that seemed to work last time. She was starting to get a headache from all the time travel and being shoved into lockers and such—though at least the pain in her shoulder was gone—and she wished she'd asked the woman what would happen after she made the choice. How would she know things had changed?

So far, nothing appeared to be different. Her room looked the same as she'd left it that morning, only the curtains were open. That was the only change Rachel noticed, but her vision wasn't clear yet and her head was pounding now. She slid closer to the edge of the bed and fumbled for her nightstand drawer to dig for some ibuprofen. Before her hand was halfway in, Rachel noticed a difference. A big one, actually—at least in her mind.

Rachel blinked again. This couldn't be right, could it? But no matter how much she blinked, the photo didn't change.

Her nightstand still had its lamp on it, and there was the picture of her and her dads at the seven thousand, four hundred and eightieth running of _The Phantom of the Opera_ on Broadway, and next to it was the picture of glee club with their first Sectionals trophy, and directly next to that one of them with their most recent Nationals trophy. But in front of all of them, plain as the nose on her face, was a picture of her and Quinn Fabray.

Rachel might not have thought anything of it if not for two things. One, it was on her nightstand, in the place of honor. And two, Quinn and Rachel had never, _ever_ had their picture taken together without the rest of glee club. But there they were, grinning at the camera. They were both in dresses, Rachel's black and Quinn's dark blue, and she realized with a jolt that that was the dress she'd worn for prom in her junior year. Quinn was resting her forehead against the side of Rachel's, and it looked like their arms were around each other.

Rachel almost snatched it off the nightstand to gape at it some more, but then she wondered: were there more odd pictures like this one in her room? She sat up slowly, still feeling a little vertigo, and turned to take a look around her new world. The messenger from the Powers That Be had certainly kept her promise, she thought. But before she could think anything more than that, she heard a groan from behind her.

She froze. Was the woman back? How did she keep getting in her room? And what did she want now? Was she going to congratulate her on a choice well made? Or tell her she'd screwed it up?

There was a feminine sigh and a warm, soft hand slipped up her back, under the sleep-shirt, and Rachel was paralyzed.

"Morning, baby," a voice mumbled sleepily.

Rachel stiffened even more—if that was possible. She _knew_ that voice. The hand massaged its way up her back.

"What time is it?"

Rachel fell out of bed. Literally. She jumped away so fast her legs got tangled in the blankets and she careened and swerved and flailed and fell on her butt on the floor. And she didn't even feel it because she was too busy staring wide-eyed at the very alarmed Quinn Fabray lying in her bed.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Sigh. I give in. And I really hope everyone reads this author's note, because I'm putting some important information in here. First off, I am so glad everyone seems interested in this story. It's a huge project—a magnum opus for me, really—but I'm really excited about it.

Second, this will be a multiple-POV piece. I'd do it all from Rachel's POV, but then there is far too much 'oh, by the way, this is what happened when Rachel wasn't here' going on. So it's kind of an ensemble piece, if you get my meaning, though most of it will be from her POV.

Third, I want to explain upfront something that I'm not sure everyone will agree with. Quinn is _**not**_ going to get pregnant yet. There are multiple reasons for this that I'm going to lay out right now. (A) Rachel has set the new precedent for her and Finn's behavior regarding each other and Quinn, which means that Finn is spending more time around her—you'll see this later. Because of this, it stands to reason—in my opinion, at least—that Quinn would not turn to Puck the day she feels fat. (B) I do not see much changing as far as the storyline goes if she were to get pregnant, and I'd like to make this my own story, not 'Glee re-written.' (C) In my opinion, it works far better for _this story_ if she doesn't get pregnant yet. I hope my reasoning makes sense to everyone.

And lastly, I will not be covering scenes that don't change at all, which means there will be a lot less scene-rewriting at first (I only cover '_Acafellas_' in this chapter).

So, now that I've got all that out of the way, I hope you enjoy. :D

**Chapter 1**

"God, Rachel, are you okay?"

Rachel couldn't have moved if her life depended on it. _Quinn Fabray_ was in her bed. Well, not anymore, actually.

The brunette could only watch on helplessly as the blonde scrambled out from under the covers and dove to her side, invading her personal space and checking her over for injuries—both without a hint of hesitation—and Rachel desperately wanted to move away from her. The breach of her space bubble was most discomfiting, particularly when it was _Quinn_, who earlier—or a few years ago, depending on how you looked at it—had been shoving her into lockers.

But it all seemed so very far away, and the brunette still wasn't registering all of it, which made it difficult to force movement into limbs she was barely aware of. The only thing that was processing at the moment was that Quinn Fabray was in her bed, in her room, in her space—_touching_ her.

Nowhere inappropriate—her hands were just on Rachel's face and in her hair—but the thing was, Quinn never touched her. Not unless they had to for a number, and even then she only maintained contact as long as was absolutely necessary. And this touching was such a stark contrast from her earlier abuse to Rachel's shoulder. It was tender, almost…intimate.

"You didn't hit your head, did you?" Quinn asked, and Rachel dimly recognized the panic in her voice.

What she was more focused on was the way Quinn said it. Like if she said 'yes', she was going to scoop her up and fly to her the hospital. Like she _cared_.

The messenger from the Powers That Be was right. Things had most definitely changed. Rachel still wasn't sure if it was for the better.

"Just my butt," the brunette heard herself answer.

And with that, things started becoming more focused, more real, as if her speaking had solidified her connection to this strange reality. The first thing Rachel registered was that Quinn was wearing a lavender tank top and matching panties. And that was it. The brunette's cheeks flamed red and she averted her gaze, because that was something she just shouldn't be seeing.

The second thing was that her butt really, really hurt; the third, that her head was still pounding; and the fourth, that Quinn was still touching her. In that certain way…intimately.

And if the touching wasn't intimate, the way Quinn was looking at her certainly made it so. Her eyes were bright and fiery and _alive_, but not malicious the way they used to be. Instead they were passionate and warm and playful, and that's when Rachel truly realized two things.

One, she'd actually done it. Quinn looked _happy_, albeit concerned at the moment, and that's what she'd gone back to do. Make it better. And two, she and Quinn were _together_.

How had this happened? All Rachel did was not kiss Finn! How did she get from not kissing Finn to being with _Quinn Fabray_? The messenger woman must've made a mistake. This couldn't be right. Or…or maybe this was just a dream. A really, really weird dream in which she saw some crazy lady who sent her back to not kiss Finn and she'd ended up with Quinn, and soon she would either wake up or a purple elephant playing the banjo would walk in.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Quinn cut in, and she bent to catch her gaze.

Rachel almost blurted that no, she was most definitely not okay. But Quinn had no idea how messed up things were, and telling her would only serve to make her think Rachel was crazy. So instead she nodded dumbly.

"I'm fine." Quinn looked dubious, and for some reason, she wanted to reassure her. So she added, "Just a little dazed." Because that was really true. "I'll be all right in a minute." She wasn't sure if that was.

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, still wanting to dive away, but fairly certain she wouldn't in whatever strange reality this was. Quinn still didn't look convinced, but she stroked her hair once—which surprisingly felt kind of nice—and said with a heavy sigh, "If you're sure."

And then Quinn kissed her _on the lips_.

They were sitting so closely and it happened so quickly that Rachel hadn't been able to do anything to stop her—she'd hardly realized what the blonde was about to do—and for a moment afterward she was too shocked to do anything but sit there and be kissed. When function returned to her brain, however, she jerked backward a split-second after registering the thought that Quinn's lips were very soft—which lead to her staring wide-eyed at the blonde some more.

Hurt and surprise flickered over Quinn's features before the hurt settled there on its own, and Rachel's jaw flapped soundlessly. She had actually _hurt_ Quinn's feelings by _not_ kissing her. How had this happened? And what should she do now? God, Quinn looked so…the brunette didn't like that look on her face. She wanted to fix it, so she wracked her brain for something to excuse herself with.

"Uh…morning breath," she managed, and congratulated herself on her quick thinking.

The hurt look went away and Rachel felt like she could breathe again. Instead, Quinn playfully rolled her eyes—something the brunette hadn't seen her do in…forever, and the sight brought a small bubbling of joy with it.

"I think we're a _bit_ past the point of worrying about that," the blonde purred, and leaned in again.

Rachel sucked in a breath and tried to ignore the fact that her stomach started flipping when Quinn talked like that—low and sultry… seductively. Her cheeks were on fire again when she wondered…what else had they done? Had she and Quinn had—

A cell phone chirped and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, which Quinn covered with an irritated groan before she stood and went to look for the offending object. This was just too weird. Quinn wanted to kiss her. Which…actually made sense if they were together, but…Rachel really needed her new memories. And now.

She clenched her fist around the edge of the mattress and tried to control her breathing when the thought occurred to her that she might never get the new memories. How was she supposed to survive in this crazy alternate dreamland without memories?

God, Rachel hoped this was a dream. Then she could wake up and go meet everyone for brunch at Starbuck's and Quinn would just nod at her as usual instead of trying to kiss her. And, with that thought, the brunette was immediately torn.

She didn't _want_ Quinn to be resigned and sad and tired. She wanted this fire in the blonde's expression, the sparkle in her eyes, even the renewed strength in her voice. But it was just so bizarre. How had she and _Quinn_ ended up together? And _happy_? And where was everyone else? Were they happy, too? Was Finn okay with her being with Quinn?

"You should know better than to call at nine in the morning on a weekend," Quinn snapped suddenly.

Rachel jumped so hard she nearly made it onto the bed, but fortunately Quinn was snapping at whoever had called and hadn't randomly reverted to the cold, cruel version of herself the brunette had seen just a few minutes or years or whatever ago. She rubbed her temples. The headache was getting worse.

"Oh, you know I broke her of that," the blonde was saying, and Rachel furrowed her brow at her. Broke who? What? The confusion grew when Quinn winked at her. "So? Takes us twenty minutes, tops." She rolled her eyes. "We'll be there. I know. Eleven o'clock. Yeah, so are you."

It had been a really, _really_ long time since Rachel had heard that bitchiness in Quinn's voice, and it had her staring at the blonde in fascination. Oddly, Quinn noticed her staring and didn't seem to mind. In fact, she stared back. Only in a slightly more…uh…_suggestive_ fashion.

Cheeks were flaming yet again as the hazel eyes lowered and darkened, and Rachel fought the urge to snatch the blanket off the bed and cover herself when her body actually started to _react_. What was happening to her? Why was this happening? This was so…so…she had to get out of there.

"It's Santana," Quinn said.

Rachel jumped again. "Huh? Oh!" She tried to think of something to say. She actually didn't know you were allowed to talk on your cell phone on the plane, but then, Santana had never been one to listen to authority, so…. "Uh…i-is she having a-a good flight?"

The blonde's brow furrowed. "No…. Oh, baby—" the brunette tried her best to shake that off "—I'm sorry, did I forget to tell you? They're putting off the move another week. We're having brunch with them later."

It was the diva's turn to frown. "Them?"

"Yeah, Brit and San."

"Brittany an-and Santana?" Rachel almost lunged across the bed to…she didn't know. Hug Quinn for that wonderful news? Steal the phone and squeal her happiness to Santana? "Together?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah…are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

Rachel bobbed her head in the affirmative, too distracted by her delight in Santana and Brittany's relationship to flip about the blonde showing so much concern for her, but Quinn's frown deepened a moment and she looked like she might say something else. But Santana must've said something, because she put the phone back to her mouth.

"Yes, I'm still here." Her voice sounded bitchy again. "I _told_ you."

The conversation continued, but Rachel tuned it out and used the bedpost to pull herself up unsteadily when she felt Quinn start…looking places again. She couldn't stand feeling her body betray her this way. It was just so wrong. It was _Quinn_. And Rachel was desperate for whatever memories would reveal how not kissing Finn had led to waking up in bed with Quinn Fabray almost three years later.

And she wanted to know about the rest of her friends. If this wasn't a dream after all, then she wanted to know if they were happy like that woman had promised—like Santana and Brittany were.

Rachel slipped past the blonde, who was still in the midst of a banter-fest with Santana, and into the bathroom. Space was crucial at the moment—she didn't know if she could take much more of Quinn staring at her and her body responding to her. It must've been because her body was used to reacting to Quinn in this reality, she decided. Even if they hadn't had…the thing, they obviously had relations, so it was only natural. Just because she happened to like how Quinn's brand new fiery eyes lit up when she looked at her didn't mean anything. She was just happy she was happy.

The brunette took a moment to pray her bathroom didn't have clothes that weren't hers lying around and pictures she didn't remember being taken sitting on her shelves like in the bedroom. Fortunately, it just looked like her ordinary bathroom. Except for the red toothbrush sitting on the sink next to Rachel's blue one. She ignored it and splashed some cold water over her face. And she didn't wake up.

Which meant it was true. Brittany and Santana…together! The thought filled her with joy all over again, but Rachel couldn't help wondering about the others. Could Mercedes sing again? What about Kurt? Was he with Kevin? And Artie and Tina, what about them? And Mike and Matt and Noah and Finn? What were their lives like? And why…was Rachel with Quinn? If she were with anyone, she would've thought it would be…well, Finn, to be honest. From the start, it had seemed their destinies were entwined somehow.

But Rachel and…Quinn? Really, of all the people from glee she could've ended up with, the only person who seemed less likely was Kurt.

And Quinn wanted it. Wanted _her_. A chill traveled down her spine, settling in the pit of her stomach, and Rachel closed her eyes as she gripped the counter. This was too weird.

There was a soft chuckle behind her before that gravelly voice said, "I'd get used to it, if I were you."

Rachel whirled on her heel with a yelp of surprise, which was quickly overtaken by severe irritation at the sight of the woman in the spring blue dress perching on the edge of her bathtub. She glowered at the woman, who was smiling at her, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"_Must_ you keep doing that?" Rachel snarled.

She couldn't help her irritation. The day was getting weirder and weirder, she still had a headache, her butt was sore now, and she was sick of alternating between dizziness, shock, and fright. And she wanted to know how the hell she'd ended up in bed with a Quinn who liked kissing her and didn't care if she heard her conversations on the phone and wasn't embarrassed to be in her underwear in front of her.

"My apologies, but this is the way we messengers get around."

She didn't _sound_ very sorry to the brunette. Her ire increased.

"What are you here for now?" she growled. "Did I do something wrong again?"

She chuckled. "Well, for one thing, you might've tried kissing your girlfriend." Rachel's eyes went wide. "You might've even enjoyed it."

"Bu-but it's…Quinn! And she-I-we—" she sputtered, gesturing aimlessly.

The woman looked like she was really enjoying this, and she asked sweetly, "What? Don't you like her?"

"Not that way! I mean, we're barely friends on a _good_ day! And now we're…." Rachel shook her head in disbelief.

The messenger shook her head right back, with what looked like a mixture of amusement and frustration on her face. The brunette just shot a glare at her, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter, and wondered if Quinn could hear them, or if these Powers That Be had more tricks up their sleeves than she'd thought.

"Think what you like. I'm just a messenger," the woman was saying.

"So what's your 'message' this time?" she spat irritably.

She took a breath. "I was sent to warn you that what's coming next is going to be very painful at first. After the initial pain, you'll slip into a slee—"

"Wait. What's coming _next_? I thought we were done!"

There was _more_ to this insane choice? Rachel didn't know if she could take anymore dizziness on top of this headache, which was now reaching migraine levels of pain. She held her forehead.

"Think hard, Rachel. Is there anything missing?" the woman said gently.

Her heart leapt. "I'm going to get my memories?" she squeaked hopefully.

She dipped her head. "But, as I said, it's going to be painful. Three years worth of memories trying to encode themselves on your brain all at once isn't exactly easy work, and the Powers That Be can only do so much."

"Will I remember the way things used to be when it's over?"

She wasn't sure which answer she wanted to hear, but she needed to know—badly.

"Yes. The Powers That Be have views on this sort of thing," the woman replied, the first hint of annoyance entering her expression. "You won't have learned a lesson if you don't remember."

"Oh." She didn't know if she liked the idea of 'being taught a lesson,' but that wasn't really important right now. "When will it happen?"

"No longer than ten minutes. I imagine your head is throbbing at the moment." It wasn't a question, so Rachel didn't answer. "It will get worse. As I said, it will hurt at first, but then you'll be asleep through most of it. The process will only take a few hours—though it'll be longer for you, of course."

Rachel nodded mutely. This was a very strange day, indeed. First a woman popped into her room. Then she time-traveled and was shoved into a locker before refusing to kiss Finn—which probably hadn't ever happened in the history of glee club before this, come to think of it. Then she time-traveled again and woke up in bed with Quinn Fabray. Now she was talking to the same woman who popped into existence about how her new memories would be 'encoding' soon. Weird, _weird_ day.

But, Rachel Berry was nothing if not resilient, so she shoved all the shock to the back of her mind—except about the Quinn part—and took it in stride.

"Good luck, Rachel," the woman said then, and she smiled sincerely.

The brunette couldn't help but smile in return, but then it occurred to her—her friends! She leapt forward, catching the woman's arm.

"Wait! I-I know Brittany and Santana are okay. Or at least that's what it sounded like, but what about everyone else?" she asked eagerly.

The woman smiled mysteriously. "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

And then she popped out of existence. Which was eerie to watch, to say the least. Rachel was still blinking in shock when she was gone, and then her first order of business was to take a breath. Once that was done with, she took stock of her aches and pains of the moment. Her head really, _really_ hurt. So much so that she hardly felt the pain in her butt anymore. She didn't have any ibuprofen in the bathroom, though—and it might not do any good anyway, judging from what the messenger said—and she wasn't quite ready to rejoin Quinn in the bedroom.

So, Rachel decided to take care of that morning breath problem—just because she was waiting for the memories to come didn't mean she should neglect her oral hygiene. She didn't want to wake up feeling even more disgusting than when she fell asleep, after all.

She bypassed the red toothbrush again, keeping her gaze trained away from it so she wouldn't have to think about how it was probably Quinn's toothbrush, and how Quinn's things were in her room, and how Quinn was in her room. And, just for a moment, she was able to forget all that and focus on the simple, familiar task of brushing her teeth. It was refreshing, but it didn't last.

When Rachel finished tapping the toothbrush on the side of the sink, she glanced up to find Quinn leaning against the doorframe behind her. The phone was no longer to her ear, but she hadn't changed her clothes—the brunette fought a blush again—and she was wearing that look. That intense, _warm_ look that seemed to say 'want.'

Another chill sped down Rachel's spine and she grappled for control of herself when her body betrayed her yet again. Quinn smiled at her in the mirror and the brunette struggled to return it. It was so odd, having the blonde smile at her so much. And so…genuinely.

Quinn started moving toward her before she could pull up a decent smile, and Rachel froze—what should she _do_? She couldn't pretend she hadn't seen Quinn edging closer, nor could she dodge her in these close quarters without being completely obvious about it.

The diva was indecisive too long—Quinn wrapped her arms snugly around her waist, pulling their bodies so close together Rachel could feel her breasts against her back and heat radiating from around her hips. The brunette was horrified when the proximity shot a flutter through her body that settled right between her legs. She almost leapt away, but Quinn was doing other things now. Things with her lips.

The blonde pressed soft, barely-there kisses over her shoulder and steadily moved upward, inching toward collar of her sleep-shirt. Rachel's heart raced and she bit her lip to keep from panting while Quinn's hands started to rub her abdomen and her lips finally found skin. The brunette couldn't help it—her hips bucked as the blonde's hot, open mouth landed on her neck, and that was just terrifying enough for her to try to break away. But Quinn was making her weak, and she only ended up wedged even tighter between the blonde and the counter.

"Q-Quinn," she managed, and her voice was just a whimper. "I-I-I thought we had…brunch and—"

Those magical lips whispered across her skin as the blonde answered, "We have time. And I haven't had you since…." She paused, and Rachel could not, for the life of her, think of anything to say to fill the silence. "Yesterday."

_Oh. My. God. I have sex with Quinn Fabray._ Who was currently kissing her neck again, this time flicking her tongue out to taste the brunette's skin. Rachel heard herself whimper, and she squirmed a little in Quinn's arms. This was…surreal and weird and…well, if the brunette was being perfectly honest, hot.

"I need you now," the blonde purred, and Rachel seriously considered letting her do it.

For a split-second that didn't mean anything. It was a lapse in judgment. A short circuit from the headache. She'd quite possibly gone insane. But after that second, she regained her senses and thought fast—she needed to get out of this. She needed to distract Quinn with something—_anything_—before she managed to wear her down.

"C-can you do something for me?" Rachel asked, trying to ignore the part of her that really, _really_ wanted Quinn's hand lower.

"Anything, angel," she replied, and planted another of those kisses to her pulse point.

Good God, Rachel was really losing it. She couldn't do this with Quinn—it was wrong and…and she didn't feel that way about her! Without her memories, this was like taking advantage of resigned Quinn instead of being with this Quinn. She couldn't do it. Besides, she wasn't attracted to Quinn. Her body may have disagreed with that at the moment, but she wasn't. Really.

"Could you…um…get me a glass of water?"

_Out of all the things you could've said, _that's_ the only thing you could think of? Brilliant, Berry, brilliant_, she chastised. But, to her everlasting surprise, Quinn took the bait. She ceased attacking her neck, and Rachel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. And then the blonde turned her around and kissed her again. But it was short and chaste, and it didn't require a whole lot of participation from the brunette, and she thanked God for her good fortune.

"You're stalling, but yes," Quinn said playfully, smiling so happily it made Rachel's heart melt a little. "You're just lucky Puck has Beth again tonight."

Rachel's mouth dropped open and her eyes bugged. "_Beth_?"

The happy smile shifted to another of those concerned frowns, but her tone was still teasing when she said, "Yes, our daughter. Blonde hair, brown eyes, likes to call you 'baba'?" She stroked Rachel's hair again, and the motion loosened something in her chest. "Are you sure you're okay, Rach? I can call San back and cancel if—"

"N-no. I'm fine, I just…." Rachel trailed off, staring up into hazel eyes that stayed warm and fiery, never going sad and dull or cold and cruel, and suddenly she didn't mind so much that she was in Quinn's arms. "Our daughter," she echoed softly, awed by the sound of it.

"Of course…. I don't need to drive you to the hospital, do I?" she asked, and her voice was filled with such concern that Rachel found herself beaming up at the blonde.

"No. No, I'm fine."

But then she wasn't, because it felt like someone had split an axe straight down the center of her skull, and she cried out and held her head while everything inside cracked and snapped and popped, and then she dropped to the floor, and Quinn's terrified face was the last thing Rachel saw before she blacked out.

XXXXXX

_3 years earlier…_

The guilt was making Rachel feel sick. Tearing down Mr. Schuester's confidence that way wasn't exactly something she was comfortable with, but Quinn and Santana knew what they were talking about, right? You didn't win a national cheerleading competition without a little choreographic experience, and Dakota Stanley certainly sounded like the perfect candidate to bring glee up to Vocal Adrenaline's level. Which was the goal, after all.

Her gut twisted as the image of Mr. Schuester's wounded expression flickered in her mind's eye, and she folded her arms uncomfortably across her ribs. If only he had accepted her 'I'm Sorry' cookies—which instead went to New Directions's growling stomachs—then the diva was positive it would've made things better. Maybe he would've even come back to rehearsals.

Instead, Rachel had Finn attacking her in front of the rest of glee over it. As if she wasn't beating herself up over it enough already. Thank God Quinn had gotten bored. _Now there's something I never thought I'd think…._

"Hey, wait up!"

She groaned internally, but slowed her steps so that Finn could catch up. A small flicker of hope remained that he might apologize to her, but it went up in smoke when he stage-whispered at her ear.

"You can't do this to Mr. Schuester!" he said urgently, voice heavy with indignation.

Rachel's stomach clenched again and, for once, she wished Finn would just go away. The combination of her gut rebelling and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end was unpleasant to say the least. Why was he even talking to her? Shouldn't he have been off somewhere following Quinn's every move with his big moon eyes? That's what he'd been doing for the past week or so, after all.

Ever since they almost kissed in the auditorium, Finn became so faithful he practically started stalking the blonde cheerleader. Even when Quinn lost her temper and snapped, he stuck around to grovel until she gave in with a huff. Rachel honestly didn't know how he could stand being yelled at so often with that dopey smile still plastered to his face. She would've been snapping right back within ten minutes. But not Finn—he put up with it and _still_ worshipped the ground the blonde walked on.

"What?" she retorted sharply, irritation making her shoulders bunch. "Make him a hero? Once we hire Dakota and win Nationals, he'll thank me for it." She sighed. "You heard Santana: it's all about winning."

Which it was. If they didn't win Sectionals, glee would officially be over and this entire semester would've been a waste that Rachel could've spent buffing up her resume with community theater parts. They _had_ to win.

"Since when?" Finn sounded disgusted, and she tightened her hold on her ribs.

"Look, you have your popular clique and your football and your cliché of a blonde girlfriend," she spat impatiently—he just didn't get it. "Glee is my one shot. If this doesn't work out, then my whole high school career will be nothing but an embarrassment."

"Wait, what's a cliché? Is that a bad thing?" he stammered anxiously.

She rolled her eyes. Any other day, she might've found his confusion endearing, but right now she was just pissed. At herself, for hurting Mr. Schuester; at Finn, for picking Quinn; and again at herself for believing he'd ever leave her.

Finn's hand was on her arm, spreading goose bumps over the spot, and he circled in front of her, blocking her path down the hall.

"Wait, wait, wait." He sighed, meeting her gaze seriously. "Is this one of those chick things where you-you're pissed about one thing, but you're just pretending like you're pissed about something else? Cause…."

Rachel scowled up at him. What were they, animals? Did he really want to have a private conversation in the middle of the hallway?

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said snottily.

Evidently he did. "Well, for a while there you were kind of all over me, and now you just yell at me all the time. It kind of makes me think you're mad at me about what happened in the auditorium."

"I'm not!" she snapped, and shoved past him.

Okay, so obviously Rachel was a little upset. How could she not be? He'd almost kissed her, for heaven's sake, and then he just meanders back to Quinn like nothing happened? She'd meant what she said, of course. They couldn't share any sort of relationship behind the cheerleader's back like that; it would be wrong. But Finn had feelings for her, and that's what was frustrating.

"I've moved on, and I'm focusing on my career now," she added, for good measure.

That's what this Dakota Stanley business was all about, after all. Her career.

"D-do you wanna talk about it?" Finn called after her, and she huffed.

Did it really _look_ like she wanted to talk about it? And why was he following her today? Had he seen a squirrel and ripped his leash out of Quinn's hand or something?

She whipped to face him, hating the stirring in her middle that rose upon seeing him.

"No, I don't. And shouldn't you be waiting outside the locker rooms for your girlfriend or something?" Rachel snipped, unable to check that snide little comment. Her brain-to-mouth filter was permanently broken, she swore.

Finn looked triumphant. "I knew it! You're mad at me."

"I'm not," she insisted between clenched teeth.

"You are. But…I don't get it. I thought we agreed to be friends," he said earnestly.

She huffed. "We did."

He pouted in confusion, gazing at her imploringly. "Then why are you mad? I mean, we said nothing could happen while I'm with Quinn, and…I just don't get it. What did I do?"

Rachel eyed Finn for a long moment. He really didn't understand. He hadn't thought about what an affect almost kissing her would have on her. And then to dismiss her so easily afterward…. She tightened her folded arms. It was like she didn't even matter. But she knew that wasn't how he really felt. He wanted her, too, but he couldn't admit it—to himself or to Quinn.

That was the worst part about it. They'd agreed that they didn't want to see Quinn hurt, and here he was hurting her anyway by omitting his true feelings, all because of some misguided belief in the social hierarchy high school developed long ago. Rachel shook her head.

"You know, it's kind of ironic how you're Mr. Popular, and I'm just this nobody that everybody makes fun of," she said softly, so he would listen closely, "but _I_ have enough confidence to say out loud that what we have is real. You have feelings for me, and you just don't have the guts to admit it." She paused, straightening while Finn gaped at her. She strengthened her voice when she added with finality, "We're hiring Dakota Stanley."

Then she turned and trotted down the stairs, only to be stopped in her tracks by six words: "Even if it means me quitting?"

Rachel hunched over her arms a bit, wishing her stomach didn't hurt so badly. Finn quit glee? He was what made it work! They wouldn't have Quinn and Santana and Brittany if not for him, and how could Rachel stand to go to glee everyday without seeing him? Not that they talked much during glee these days anyway—he was too busy drooling at Quinn's feet to pay much attention to anyone else.

And anyway, this wasn't about Finn. This was about her career. Finn hadn't been in her plans until glee—her career had always been the plan. Her career was her life; it was the most important thing. And if that meant she had to live without seeing Finn every day….

Her stomach twisted and she took a shaky breath, but she managed to steady her voice when she answered, "Yes."

And walked away, only to be nearly railroaded by Quinn Fabray—again. Rachel stumbled back on her heels and mumbled an apology, to which the cheerleader replied with one of those oddly chilling, sickly sweet half-smiles—evidently the woman was incapable of forming a full smile—and stepped politely to the side. The brunette's shoulder twinged when she met the blonde's eyes, and she hurried on.

Why did Rachel care if she had an affair with Quinn's boyfriend, again?


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I believe someone asked in a review of one of my stories if it's typical for my updates to be so far apart. Well, they wouldn't be if I didn't have five classes this semester, including a voice class (eek). I would love to update more frequently, but right now I will have to update things whenever I can. Thank you guys for your understanding, and if it makes you feel better, think of my voice class as research. ;)

This chapter will cover '_Preggers_.' There was a lot more to change in that episode—for obvious reasons—so it gets its own. Sadly, there is not much Faberry in this one. Thanks; you guys rock. :)

**Chapter 2**

Finn was driving Quinn _insane_. If she looked over her shoulder to find him trailing her like an oversized toddler one more time, she was going to snap, and from that point on, she would not be taking responsibility for her actions.

It had been going on for a few weeks now—ever since Quinn joined glee. Her goal had been to put a stop to whatever was going on between IT and Finn, but it appeared her paranoia had been unnecessary. There was nothing going on there. How did she know this? Because Finn didn't have _time_ for an affair with IT; he was too busy stalking Quinn. Not that she didn't still take delight in rubbing this in IT's face at every opportunity (the look on her face right before her dramatic storm off the day before had been particularly delicious).

Her overgrown lapdog hadn't been so bad about it at first. When she first joined glee, he was simply excited about her presence and spent more time than was typical with her, but she still had time to attend to other business—like her manipulations within glee's ranks, starting with IT and Mr. Schuester. Of course, when she rejoined him, Finn would tell her that he'd missed her and give her a hug, and she'd viewed it all as a good sign—nothing more. What it really was, was a warning sign.

As time went on—and most markedly after that apparent argument he'd had with IT in the hallway—Finn started spending more and more time with Quinn, to the point where she'd taken to going to classes the long way around in order to avoid him. It started bothering Santana first, of course. She'd repeatedly asked why Quinn didn't have him whipped enough to leave when he wasn't wanted, but the blonde merely shrugged it off, since she was just being Santana. It was when Brittany commented on it, a few days later, that Quinn realized they had a point. And now she couldn't get him to just go away.

It wasn't that she didn't like Finn. He wasn't exactly the hottest boy in school, but out of all the boys at McKinley, he was the best fit for Quinn's needs. Clean-cut and respectful, which impressed her parents; cute (in a dopey way, but still) and captain of the football team, which impressed her peers and helped to maintain her reputation; not to mention, he was as dumb as a box of rocks and therefore easily manipulated. Most boys would take a month, plus heavy makeout sessions and a carefully planned argument, to get whipped. Finn took three dates.

So, really, how could Quinn not like Finn? Especially since he had the added bonuses of being sweet and reliable (though he'd been fairly inadequate in the latter when he first joined glee, he'd since recovered). She should be grateful to have him, willing to do anything to hold onto him. And she was. A few weeks ago, when she hadn't seen so much of him she was going to personally remove his doltish grin with his own drumsticks if she found him following her again. He was even starting to intrude on the new 'diet' she'd given herself, which was practically unforgivable.

The combination of Finn's rebellion in joining glee, an offhand comment made by her sister over a weekend visit, and the inevitable proof she found in the scales—she'd gained two ounces—had Quinn feeling...well, _fat_. Finn had tried to convince her she was anything but, but he'd been looking at his sheet music at the time, so his argument was only halfhearted. And he may have thought she was saying she was losing all her hair, or something to that effect, because he kept saying, 'I _love_ your hair.'

Needless to say, this did not help. Quinn added a half hour to her daily workout, and at the end of the week, she'd lost one of the ounces. It made her feel better, but that extra ounce was still there, taunting her, and its presence wormed its way into her consciousness until it was all she could think about. She found herself sucking in her stomach when she looked in the mirror, trying to ignore the voice in her head reminding her of it and the consequences should she put on any more weight.

So now Quinn was trying this new diet. She wasn't starving herself, of course. That would be ridiculous. No, instead she drank one of Coach Sylvester's recommended protein shakes in the morning and most of whatever her mother cooked for dinner. It was fairly easy to skip lunch, since the cafeteria food was disgusting and no one in their right mind would argue with that. But now that Finn was stalking her, he'd noticed her new habit, and he kept harping on her about skipping meals.

And when he wasn't harping on her about skipping meals, he was talking. Which, Quinn discovered, was her least favorite thing about him. He never talked about anything of interest to her, which she'd already discerned from their first date, but their first date hadn't lasted as long as his usual monologues about video games and football plays evidently did. Besides, after the first date, she'd trained him to shut up and listen—or shut up and pucker up. The latter worked better.

But now that he was around _all the time_, Quinn had run out of her usual lines to shut him up and he was now constantly yammering at her. And she was so, _so_ sick of it.

Which was why, when she heard Finn calling her name from down the hallway, Quinn tucked her books to her chest, ducked her head, and stretched her legs as far as she could with each stride.

"Wait, Quinn!" he called again, and she groaned inwardly when she realized he was closer. His legs were too freakishly long, she decided. "Quinn! Hey, what's with the silent treatment?"

She ground her teeth together, trying to control her first impulse—screeching at him. She gradually turned to face him on a stiff heel, craning her neck to look up into his frowning face. Her nostrils flared in her attempts to control her temper. _Don't do anything you'll regret, Fabray. Just relax._

Finn's frown automatically twisted when he saw the look on her face. He went from being offended to concerned in a flash, and Quinn felt her shoulders loosen just a fraction. This was why she liked him. He was sweet. He was reliable. He was standing in front of her for the third time today and they'd only had first period so far. The lost tension rushed right back with a vengeance.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked gently, and he reached to touch her arm.

She snapped.

"What's wrong?" Quinn echoed through clenched teeth, narrowing her eyes on him. "What's _wrong_?"

Finn's hand was off her in a nanosecond—he knew that tone, and she saw that she'd trained him well, because he paled.

"You're _stalking_ me, that's what's wrong!" she bellowed, drawing some attention from the other students milling in the hallway and, for once, not caring. "God, I can't go anywhere these days without turning around and seeing you! Have you ever heard of such a thing as _space_?"

"I just thought...you know, with us being in glee together now, we might spend more time...together," he stammered, glancing anxiously at the passersby.

"And that would be fine. If it weren't every _second_ we're awake that you wanted to spend together," she growled, shaking her head at him.

"O-okay," Finn replied placatingly, squeezing her elbow. "I-I'll back off. It's no big deal." He smiled.

Quinn fumed and he paled again. "No big deal? Finn, you've been at this for _weeks_ and I can't take it anymore!"

His expression crumpled and the panic was clear in his eyes, but all that only spurred her on. What did she need him for, anyway? She was Quinn Fabray. She could find a replacement for Finn Hudson any day of the week—all it took was a shake of the skirt.

"What are you saying?" he whimpered apprehensively.

"I'm saying it's _over_," she hissed. "Go find yourself a new girl to drool over, because I'm not putting up with this anymore."

Finn looked like she'd just kicked his puppy—repeatedly. Quinn shoved the twinge of guilt aside and shot him a final glower before whirling on her heel and storming down the hall, feeling as though a weight had been lifted. One less burden to carry. Now for a new burden: the selection of a proper replacement. Lovely.

_Why on earth do you do these things to yourself, Fabray?_

XXXXXX

Mr. Schuester simply did not understand. It wasn't as though Rachel was saying she should have all the solos, or that her fellow glee club members were horrible performers who deserved nothing but piddly background vocals. Of course she wanted them to receive chances to shine and gain confidence. But the fact was, Tina really was nowhere near ready to take on this role.

Tina was a gifted singer, and her voice would complement '_Tonight_' wonderfully—once it was up to par. She was still going sharp when she attempted notes above high B, and she tended to allow nerves to affect her when her audience was a higher number than two. And, although it hadn't been a disturbance thus far, Rachel had serious concerns about Tina's stutter interfering with her performance.

And besides all that, Rachel really was the one who worked the hardest and wanted it the most. This was her dream, her life. And all Mr. Schuester seemed to want to do was take it away from her. She wasn't averse to a few obstacles along her road to stardom—it would only make it all the more worth it in the end—but Mr. Schuester was supposed to be on her side. He was supposed to be helping her reach a new level in her singing, like he was the others, but instead he was trying to drag her down to their level.

Frankly, Rachel was convinced—and it didn't matter what he said, it was in his eyes—he was still trying to punish her. First, for the '_Push It_' debacle, and then for the Dakota Stanley fiasco. Both of which she'd fixed in the end. Had she not gotten Principal Figgins to reverse his decision regarding limitations on their song choices by threatening to sue for the clearly Christian-based list that completely overlooked any and all other religions? Had she not fired Dakota Stanley and revoked her comment on Mr. Schuester's choreographic abilities?

Yet Rachel was still paying for her poor decision-making. Not only had Quinn stolen her part in '_Don't Stop_'—when the blonde's voice _could've_ been put to much better use elsewhere, as '_Don't Stop_' was not a perfect vocal match for her, to put it delicately—but now he was taking Maria away from her when she'd made herself perfectly clear about how she felt about the role, and _she_ was the one wasting her time on the piddly background vocals. And then there was Finn.

Although they'd come together in strengthening glee against Dakota Stanley's onslaught of criticisms, things hadn't gotten any better between them. In fact, in Rachel's mind, they were almost worse. He'd taken her ecstatic smile in response to his support to mean that she was now accepting of his renewed affections for Quinn and of their status as 'friends.' When the opposite was true. Rachel could've accepted it, had Finn's feelings been less obvious to her.

But he refused to see it, so she'd been left with little choice but to refresh her dedication to her career yet again, which only led to the loss of another solo to a less talented performer. Rachel was just about at her breaking point, as a result, though the addition of '_Cabaret_' to her list of activities was lessening the ache of Mr. Schuester's blatant display of dislike for her. Even if Mr. Ryerson did give her the creeps.

Still, if Mr. Schuester didn't give her the song, there would be little point to remaining in glee club. If it wasn't going to help advance her career, why bother, right? Especially since Finn all but ignored her in favor of Quinn these days.

Since that was generally the case, Rachel wondered why he was taking time out of his busy schedule of Quinn-stalking to stand in front of her, in the choir room, where there was no blonde head cheerleader to be had. For lack of anything better to do, she stacked her sheet music on the piano, attempting to even out the crooked edges, while Finn stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets. She'd already tried saying hello. All that elicited was a solemn nod.

Silence had always made her inordinately uncomfortable—she supposed it was because she was so addicted to music that when none was playing, it made her feel something was missing—so she wracked her brain for something to say to free them from the suffocating quiet of the room.

"Is everything all right?" Rachel asked at length. "You look despondent."

Finn's face twisted with confusion and she congratulated herself on successfully getting more than a nod out of him. She was just about to define 'despondent' for him when he shook his head—probably thinking it didn't matter—and sighed as he inched forward.

"Quinn...uh...sh-she dumped me," he said, voice hollow.

His eyebrows shot up as though this was a huge surprise to him. Rachel, on the other hand, wasn't exactly shocked. The fact was, she was kind of expecting it to come to this, ever since that incident in the cafeteria last week. She'd been in the midst of paying for her meal when it happened—Quinn stood and Finn did, as well, and she could only assume he'd asked where she was going, because the blonde shrieked, "To the _bathroom_! God!" And proceeded to storm out. It was all Rachel could do to hold in her giggles.

However, anticipating it hadn't made Rachel any happier about it. Not that she wasn't glad that they'd broken up, but she wasn't as glad as she would've been if Finn had been the one doing the dumping. True, she'd had dreams where Quinn grew a heart and realized that Rachel and Finn were meant to be and let him go—but they were called 'dreams' for a reason. Also true, Rachel didn't want to see Quinn hurt, though she was having an excruciatingly difficult time figuring out why. But she would've preferred it if Finn had simply been honest with Quinn, rather than driving her to the brink with the constancy of his presence.

And now that he'd finally made Quinn snap, he'd sought out Rachel to...what? She frowned at him.

"And...what exactly do you expect me to do about that, Finn?" she asked, folding her arms.

His eyebrows shot up again and he stammered, "I...I don't...I just thought maybe we could—"

"Finn, I am your friend. I will support you no matter what, but don't ask me to comfort you over this," Rachel said evenly. She had to make herself very plain, so she made a conscious effort to dim down her vocabulary. "You know how I feel about you; I can't look at this situation with the eyes of the friend you need right now."

He stared at her. Like he literally could not comprehend what she was telling him. Rachel knew he couldn't possibly be that insensitive to her feelings, and she started to wonder if he'd come to her for a different purpose. The thought was encouraged when he licked his lips, almost nervously, and she rushed to nip whatever notion he was having in the bud.

"And if you've come to me for more, I can't give it to you." Now he looked just plain shocked. She slid her sheet music back in its folder, readying for Algebra as she spoke. "I won't be your rebound girl, Finn. If you want my advice, it's to take some time for yourself. You know, you've been Quinn's boyfriend for so long, you need some time to redefine yourself. And when you're ready..." She smiled, stretching her arm up to pat his shoulder. "I'll be waiting."

Finn's lips quirked in a sort of smile, but he still hadn't quite processed her words. Rachel smiled at him one more time before making her exit, an unconscious bounce in her step. Quinn and Finn no longer together, and all she had to do was wait patiently for Finn to have his grieving period and realize how right Rachel was for him. Things were looking up.

XXXXXX

Rachel simply did not understand. Sometimes Will thought the fact that she was so talented blinded her to others's struggles. Like with this '_Tonight_' thing. He knew Tina wasn't quite ready for it, but if he never gave her a chance, how would she become confident enough to be ready for it? If he continued to pass her over, she might lose all hope of improvement and quit altogether.

Of course, now he was running the risk that Rachel would quit on him, and he had doubts about their ability to win at Sectionals without her. Mercedes could take some of her solos, but Will would have to rearrange most of the Broadway tunes for her. Not to mention, the combination of Finn and Mercedes's voices didn't sound nearly as pleasant as Finn and Rachel's. There was always Quinn to turn to, but her voice was put to best use in old rock classics—it wasn't strong enough to carry Broadway parts like Maria or Elphaba or Evita.

Tina's wasn't quite, either. Will fought a wince as she blew the last note, instead clapping as she finished and smiling to show his support. They would work on it, and it would get better. Sectionals was still a ways off, after all. They had time.

"That was _great_, Tina," he emphasized, stepping toward her in order to avoid Brad's knowing eyes. "Good job."

She didn't buy it. "You don't have to say that. I was sh-sharp."

He sighed. This was exactly what he was talking about.

"I c-can't do this," she said, and he pushed forward to take her shoulders when he saw her crawling back into her shell.

"Hey, look at me." The girl reluctantly lifted her eyes to his, and Will smiled encouragingly. "Have you noticed the more confident you are, the less you stutter?" Tina chuckled hesitantly, and he grinned back. "Hey, I need you to be _great_ at Regionals. To do that, you've got to know that you can do this."

He tried to put his faith in her in his words, tried to make her see that she really could do it. But rather than taking his confidence and making it hers, Tina paled at his words and ran the other direction with it, the pressure weighing her down. She backed out of his grasp.

"You have to give this song to Rachel," she said with finality. "She's better than me." She frowned then. "And you know she'll quit if you don't."

Will tried not to wince at the trueness of those words. He only hoped Rachel would surprise them all and be the mature young woman he knew was in there somewhere, hidden beneath her bravado, because he wasn't giving in. Tina needed this.

"I'll just take one for the team," she said, and he wanted to smile and frown at once, because she sounded so strong when she said it, but he didn't want her to 'take one for the team.' It was time Rachel did that.

Tina walked away before he could say a word, though, and he ran a restless hand through his hair as he listened to her footsteps pound the stage. Well, he may as well pack up. Until tomorrow, at least. He turned to do just that, but a familiarly large shadow appeared beside Tina's retreating form. Will knew immediately who it was.

"Hey, Finn. What's up?" he asked, trying not to let the exasperation of this Tina vs. Rachel situation leak into his voice.

Will bent to unlock the stopper on the piano, and that was when he noticed the look on Finn's face—one of desperation, completely lost. He straightened, frowning concernedly up at the boy, who stuffed his hands in his pockets uncomfortably. Rather than answering the question put to him, he shrugged awkwardly and slumped onto the piano bench, staring out at the empty seats.

Will knew right away that packing up would have to wait. He sank next to him—this boy who reminded him so much of himself. He absently thought that if he had a son, he'd want him to be like Finn. He brushed that aside, trying to focus. Asking if Finn was okay would be one of the most ridiculous questions in the history of mankind, he decided. So he went with the next step.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Will asked, gesturing aimlessly like he always did when he talked.

Finn didn't look at him, but he said flatly, "Quinn dumped me."

And as ashamed as he was of it, Will's first thought was, _God, please don't let her quit._ Because, really, that was the _last_ thing he needed. He honestly didn't know what he would do if both Rachel and Quinn quit, likely taking Santana and Brittany with them, and simultaneously sapping all the powerful female leadership from the club. Despite their constant headbutting, Rachel and Quinn somehow managed to harness the group in an unconscious joint effort, with the brunette taming her fellow divas plus Tina and Artie and the blonde taking control of her fellow cheerleaders plus Finn.

Will shoved that aside. That wasn't important right now. He needed to focus on Finn, not himself. The boy looked completely and totally lost. Not exactly heartbroken, but definitely hurting. Will knew how he felt, but he knew saying so wouldn't make it any better. Instead he reached up and gripped the boy's shoulder firmly, squeezing it.

"I'm sorry, Finn," he said sincerely.

He didn't seem to hear him this time. "I don't know what to do. Rachel said I should take some time for me, but...what does that even mean? Am I supposed to pretend Quinn and I were never together? That it doesn't hurt?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, of course not."

"Then what? What am I supposed to do?" Finn asked, turning to face him now.

Will sighed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well...why don't we start with lunch?"

XXXXXX

Finn had already told Will the story of the complicated triangle between himself, Quinn, and Rachel by the time they reached the restaurant. He started with how at first it had been about his reputation with Quinn, and then he actually started caring about her. And then how Rachel had entered his life like the bolt of lightning she was—shocking and bright and phenomenal, but a little frightening.

He told him about the incident in the auditorium, where Rachel had stood up for Quinn's feelings, how guilty Finn felt afterward and how he appreciated her offered friendship. How the guilt had consumed him along with his feelings for Rachel, so he tried to make it up to Quinn by showering her with affection and attention. How Rachel had been hurt despite her convictions, how Quinn had grown irritated with him—no, beyond irritated. Angry with him. Enough to dump him.

How Finn had wandered the school after that, not knowing what to do with the emptiness left behind after Quinn's vicious words. And somehow he found himself in the choir room, and he realized when he saw Rachel that she was who he was looking for. He told Will how he hadn't really known what he wanted from her in that moment, but how she'd turned him down anyway with the promise to wait for him.

And how Finn had no idea what to do with himself now.

"Thanks a lot for this, Mr. Schue," he said presently, breaking into the silence they'd fallen into since they arrived at the restaurant. "This isn't really the type of thing I can talk to my mom about, you know?"

Will smiled. He wouldn't have wanted to talk to his mom about his complex feelings for two headstrong, controlling women either. Particularly since her answer probably would've been to uncork another bottle.

"Yeah, I get that."

They sat across from each other at one of the booths and Finn sighed, picking up his fork but not eating.

"I just don't know what to do. A big part of me thinks Rachel is right. I've been Quinn's boyfriend so long..." He sighed, dropping the fork heavily.

Will's lips twisted into a frown. It was strange, hearing the echo of his own thoughts voiced by the boy across from him. He tried to shove those thoughts aside as often as he could, but they were still there, lying underneath the smiles and affectionate touches he gave his wife. He felt like he was poisoning his marriage just by thinking it, but he couldn't help it. He really didn't know what he would do if he wasn't Terri's husband.

It was a scary thought. A thought he knew he shouldn't be having, especially when she was pregnant with his baby. But it was like the thoughts he had about Emma—wrong, but unstoppable. Like Finn had felt about Rachel before Quinn dumped him. Will wondered...if Terri ever left him, would he crawl to Emma as Finn had unconsciously crawled to Rachel?

In a heartbeat.

He took a moment to explore the impossible in his mind. Terri left him, suitcases packed and divorce lawyer on the phone. He would wander helplessly, like Finn, but his feet would inexorably bring him to Emma—his safe place, his forbidden love. And what would she say? He tried to envision her reaction in his mind's eye, tried to push past the mental image of Rachel flipping her hair dramatically and telling Finn he needed time for himself. And as soon as he forced past that, he saw Emma, and in her timid voice and with her sweet smiles...she'd tell him the same thing.

"I...I think Rachel's right, Finn," Will blurted, and the boy looked up from his plate in surprise. "I'm not saying forget about Quinn this instant; that's impossible. But you can't dwell on it, either. Give yourself a break from thinking about girls. Focus on something else for a bit, you know?" He smiled. "Like football. This season isn't going so well, is it?"

The look on Finn's face was answer enough.

"Well, you're a smart guy. You can think of ways to help better the team, get your mind off things."

Finn was thinking about it, so Will picked up his fork and busied himself with his meal. They'd have to get back in about a half an hour, and he did want to eat something before dealing with his last classes of the day.

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Finn said brightly, nearly making him choke on the bite he'd just taken.

Will managed to cough it back up and smile at the boy, who was suddenly looking much more cheerful.

"Just glad I could help."

XXXXXX

"So does this mean we get to quit the stupid little club?"

Brittany drooped almost automatically at hearing the sharp words issued from the Latina at Quinn's right. She pouted down at her fellow blonde, begging silently for the answer that wouldn't crush her hopes of staying in glee. Quinn sighed. As if she would actually do that. Much as she hated to admit it, glee had become a pillar in her life. It was a refuge; it was...fun.

"No," she snapped sharply, and Brittany almost clapped with delight, linking their arms to show her happiness.

Quinn uncomfortably slipped away, but the blonde didn't seem to notice. Santana, on the other hand, was rolling her eyes.

"Why?" she grumbled. "So you can watch Man Hands drool after the Jolly Green Giant some more?"

She bristled. "Might I remind you that we still have work to do? Coach didn't let us stay in the club for no reason, you know."

"Yeah, and for the past few weeks, you've been sitting on your ass about it," she shot back.

"Well, it's a little difficult to sabotage when one of the people you're trying to sabotage is following your every move," Quinn growled. "Besides, Coach hasn't given us any further instructions."

Santana rolled her eyes, leaning behind her to mock-whisper to Brittany, "Code for: 'I'm a gleek now! Oh, God, where is my argyle?'"

"Hey, shut it!" she snarled, ignoring Brittany's giggle. "I don't care about glee club. I'm in this for the tears and torture." She smiled wickedly, for Santana's benefit. "Can you just imagine the wailing when those rejects see their pathetic excuse for a team come to an end?"

Santana grinned back, and it was filled with malice. Quinn reveled in the comfort its familiarity brought to her. It had only been a few hours since she broke up with Finn, and she was already feeling the aftereffects of it. Boys stared more openly; girls gaped with either rage or envy—not much different there, though some looked at her with indignation on Finn's behalf this time. She felt naked, vulnerable, without the wall of Finn protecting her from all the unwanted gawking.

Granted, Quinn also felt relief in what she'd done. For some reason, it felt like something she should've done a long time ago. Like one of those tasks you're dreading and you put off for weeks, even though you know you shouldn't, and when you finally do it, it's so simple you wonder why you put it off in the first place.

She didn't let her inner musings betray her, however. Santana would've been on that like a pitbull having a bad day. The blonde felt Brittany's stare from her left, but she refused to look, knowing the other girl was pouting again. Much as she enjoyed defacing photos in yearbooks and insulting poor fashion sense, Brittany was a sweetheart, and she'd grown fond of the glee clubbers rather quickly over the past few weeks. The insults weren't in good humor anymore.

Santana disagreed. "RuPaul'll have a coronary," she snickered.

_If she's still _in_ glee club_, Quinn mused with a frown. Before she could get any further with that thought, however, a heavy arm laid claim to her shoulders, steering her away from her friends, and she knew who it was before he spoke. The musky scent was unmistakable.

"Hey, babe," Puck drawled, shooting a sideways grin her way.

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, Pig."

He was unfazed. "I heard about the breakup. Pretty harsh." He waggled his eyebrows. "Just the way I like 'em."

Again, Quinn rolled her eyes. She found it rather difficult to do anything else when she was in the presence of Noah Puckerman. He grated on her nerves with his incessant innuendos and his always-too-familiar glances, and the only reason she ever put up with him was because he was Finn's best friend. She had to give Finn _some_ freedom, after all, and even though she greatly disapproved of his choosing—and didn't hide it—she let him keep Puck.

Now, however, she didn't have to put up with this bullshit. Another weight lifted off her chest.

"Lucky for you, I'm in the market," Puck continued, releasing her from his arm as he circled in front of her. He leaned casually against the wall, raking her form leeringly.

"Oh, gee. What great timing," she replied sardonically, and proceeded to roll her eyes and move past him.

He blocked her movement. "I was thinking so, too. Too perfect, since Santana and I just broke up this morning. Coincidence?"

"An unfortunate one, at that. Didn't you break up with Santana two days ago?" she retorted, brow arching of its own accord. She never could keep track of their relationship.

Puck shrugged gracefully. "What can I say? We like it fast. But I'll go slow for you all night long, babe."

Quinn glowered up at him. Did he really think she would go for this? Did the title 'president of the celibacy club' mean _anything_ to him? She straightened, pulling every bit of disgust into her expression as she possibly could—which wasn't hard when he was so blatantly staring at her chest like this. It was time to go in for the kill.

"Wow, what a tempting offer. Let's see...what to do." She tapped her chin mock-thoughtfully. "Miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime to lose my virginity to my ex-boyfriend's best friend in the backseat of his mother's van, or...remain STD-free? I just don't know what to do!"

Puck was gaping at her, and she didn't have to work at pulling up a wicked smirk this time. She knew she'd struck a nerve somewhere, and it was going to sting for a while.

"Sorry, Don Juan. Maybe next time," Quinn added sarcastically, and patted him on the shoulder mockingly as she passed to catch up with Santana and Brittany.

And ran straight into IT. Again. What was this, like the fiftieth time? It certainly felt like it. IT looked just as exasperated, but that did nothing to soothe Quinn's irritation. She sneered down at IT and shoved past, ignoring the gasp she elicited when she ran into the same shoulder she'd maimed a few weeks ago. IT should've known to move by now, anyway.

XXXXXX

"Mr. Schue!"

Will almost spilled his coffee all over his shirt. He barely managed to stop the scalding liquid from escaping the mug and splattering all over him—one drip still slid down the side. He sighed with relief as Finn bounded to his side with a wince.

"Sorry about that."

"It's okay," Will assured him. "What's up?"

Finn bounced on his heels. "I figured it out!"

Okay...more information was probably necessary. "What?"

"The football team's problem!" He grinned. "Remember when we were working on that Acafellas stuff, and you helped me and Puck with the dancing?"

Will absently rubbed his chin as they walked, unsure of what the boy was driving at. "Yeah."

"You loosened us up, and that's it. That's the football team's problem. I figured it out watching Kurt kick those field goals." He hurriedly swung his backpack over his shoulder and dug through it. "And check this out. I got this at the school library," he proclaimed proudly, offering Will the hardback book. There was a brief crack in Finn's gusto. "Did you know that you can just...borrow books from there?"

Will chuckled as he looked over the cover, but he didn't comment. He was still trying to puzzle out what Finn wanted.

"All of them. Except for the encyclopedias, but...anyway, it says in here that Walter Peyton was a great dancer. In college he won dance competitions on '_Soul Train_', and he took ballet lessons, and he even got the whole Bears team to take them the year they won the Super Bowl. That's how they came up with the Super Bowl Shuffle," Finn continued animatedly.

He looked like he might go on, so Will held up his hand. "Wait, hold on a second. Let me see if I'm understanding you correctly. You want me to...teach the football team how to dance?" He couldn't help it. His lip quirked with amusement. "I don't think Ken will go for that."

It didn't decrease Finn's enthusiasm one bit.

"We'll talk him into it." He smiled confidently. "Look, you said you needed guys for glee club, right? If you can help us win one game, they'll start to trust you. And then I'm sure some of them will want to join. It's a win-win for both of us."

Will stopped at the choir room door, looking up into the boy's bright brown eyes. And again, he thought that if he had a son, he'd want him to be like Finn. And after that, he knew he couldn't say no to him.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Whew! So, one of my reviewers drew it to my attention that I haven't really paid much attention to the fact that this thing only has 3 chapters and there are already 100+ reviews. Let me just say…I am so stunned, I don't know what to say. I've loved reading every single one of your reviews and I look forward to seeing what you'll say every update. I seriously love all this support, and if I could, I would bake every single one of you your own batch of cookies cause just…wow. I love ya guys. :)

So now that I have rambled about how awesome you all are…this chapter covers '_The Rhodes Not Taken_'. Level of Faberry: Low. Sorry, guys—but, next chapter, I promise there is some real, honest-to-God Faberry interaction. :D Just hang in there.

**Chapter 3**

Quinn had learned a lot in the little time she'd been single, and not all of it was pleasant. In fact, she would go so far as to say that 99.7% of her new, single life was just plain annoying. Still, that was far better than the 99.9% of annoyance her old, taken life had had. It was just that there were all kinds of _new_ things to be annoyed about.

For instance, in place of Finn stalking her, there was just about every boy in the school doing so. Not that they were as bad as Finn about it—she didn't have anyone trailing her to classes or anything—but she couldn't walk down the hallway anymore without feeling like a piece of meat. When Finn had been her boyfriend, there was a six foot three inch wall protecting her from the innuendos and drooling mouths.

Now Quinn had to rely on her wit—which wasn't difficult, since the Neanderthals were easy to insult—but it was tiring. After a couple days, she had taken to stonewalling them. Santana approved of the new method, since that meant she got to watch the idiots make even bigger fools of themselves while Quinn simply stood there with a scowl on her face, the boys growing paler by the second.

Not that Quinn blew off all of them. The ones with decent appearances and a Christian heritage were given at least one conversation to prove themselves worthy of replacing Finn. But that, as it turned out, was impossible. Right now she only had three prospects, and she had her doubts about all of them. Stan had been slushied once (it was by accident, but still); David was an inch shorter than her; and Kyle…well, he was the most promising, to be truthful.

And yes, Quinn knew she was being high maintenance and picky, but if she settled for anything less than the best, she wouldn't be Quinn Fabray, would she? So the fact that Kyle had sandy blonde hair instead of the usual dark brown she went for was reason enough to push him back to David and Stan's level, in her opinion.

Another annoyance was the empty slot on her Friday nights. There was the occasional party to attend and football games, but the rest of the time Quinn was left at loose ends. Attempting to hang out with Santana and Brittany was futile. For some reason, they were extremely protective about their Friday nights, and as a result, Quinn was left lying upside down on her bed watching old '_Friends_' episodes more evenings than was healthy.

And then there was Finn himself. Despite his rather unconventional win the other week boosting his spirits, the boy was still constantly shooting her puppy dog looks. Like right now. Honestly, did he think singing '_Don't Stop Believing_' with her was going to magically mend their relationship? She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Surprisingly enough, the only reasons her new, single life was that .2% less annoying than her old, taken life were glee…and _Man Hands_.

Glee was turning out to be more fun than Quinn had initially realized. As cheesy as it was, singing and dancing really did make her feel less stressed, and for the hours she spent in the auditorium or the choir room, she could forget about the boys wolf whistling at her, and Finn and Puck's puppy dog eyes, and her empty Friday nights, and that ounce of fat still plaguing her despite cutting down on how much she ate again, and the drinks constantly present in her parents's hands. Instead, she was focusing on her dance steps and her pitch and just…_relaxing_.

Granted, glee did have its annoying points. Puck and Finn were two big ones, but then there was that Goth girl and the boy in the wheelchair. They weren't that bad, truthfully, but every time Quinn even looked at Goth Girl she started stammering. And the guy in the wheelchair, she found, had a tendency to roll his eyes a lot. She didn't appreciate the attitude. The gay boy and Mercedes (Quinn still really wanted to finish her name with 'Benz' every time she said it) were the really annoying ones.

Now that IT had gone on to greener pastures, they had no one to argue with for solos but each other—and Quinn. She tried to put a stop to that around the third rehearsal of the two grumbling about the '_Don't Stop_' part, but that only led to a red-faced Gay Kid and the intensifying of the headache Quinn had had for the past week. She would never understand how RuPaul managed to get them to back the hell off.

Which brought her to the second reason she was feeling a little less irritated. Quinn never thought she would ever see the day when IT was making her life _less_ annoying, but she was managing it. Of course, she also managed to pull that colossal voice out of that tiny little body, so Quinn probably shouldn't have been too surprised by any other miracles the Yeti managed to perform. Even more amazing was that she wasn't less annoyed because IT wasn't in glee anymore (if anything, that just gave her _more_ reason to be annoyed, but that was clearly the fault of Gay Kid and Mercedes-Benz).

The reason was that, to Quinn's shock, Man Hands didn't leap at the opportunity to be with Finn. Not that she cared if Finn eventually got a new girlfriend. Quinn probably wouldn't even care if IT took her place (Finn's popularity level was no longer her responsibility, after all, so if he wanted to commit social suicide, he could feel free). The fact was that Streisand was actually (completely inadvertently, she was sure) helping maintain Quinn's reputation.

It would've been a train wreck if Finn found a replacement before Quinn did. People would've started speculating that he'd been the one to do the dumping—despite there having been plenty of witnesses to her blow-up—and she would've been the one suffering the pitying looks and not-so-subtle gossiping. It was already bad enough that he'd pulled a miraculous win for the team out of his ass, because now she had to listen to comments about how being dumped by Quinn looked good on Finn.

But that was bearable, if only because Finn was still giving her the wounded puppy dog looks—proof that Quinn Fabray wasn't easy to get over after all. And, again, the Social Leper was helping out by staying away from him. Now, if only IT would suck it up, get her scrawny ass back to glee, and get the Dorky Duo off Quinn's back….

"Whoa! I got you!"

Quinn latched onto Finn's arm, wobbling a second longer before she finally found her footing. Mr. Schuester was already halfway to her and Puck had her elbow. She was fairly certain his motivations lie in the possibility that he could cop a feel, which she did not appreciate, to say the least.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"Should we take her to the nurse?"

"I'm _fine_!" Quinn growled, glaring around at all the concerned faces. "There was just…something on the floor. I slipped. I'm fine."

That was a big fat lie—actually, she'd had a dizzy spell. The second one in as many weeks. Frankly, that and the headache were starting to concern her a bit, but she was sure it had something to do with her menstrual cycle or hormones or something. It would wear off.

Once Quinn knew she had her balance, she forcefully shoved Puck's rough hand off of her and distanced herself from Finn, who still hadn't stopped with the puppy dog looks. Mr. Schue was looking dubious.

"All right, well, why don't you sit and rest a minute anyway? We'll take a short break and then run through it again," he said, ushering her toward a seat.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, slumping into the chair gratefully—though if anyone asked, she'd say they were just overreacting and she wasn't an invalid, for God's sake. If Gay Kid's huff was any indication, though, he was about to be, because if he bitched about the part one more time, she was going to grab Puck's guitar and smash it over his perfectly coiffed head.

Sure enough, Gay Kid opened his dumb mouth. "Can we please talk about the giant elephant in the room?"

Santana, of course, couldn't possibly let that go. "Your sexuality."

There was a pregnant pause and Santana smirked triumphantly at the blonde across the room. Quinn rolled her eyes fondly.

"Rachel," Gay Kid said, an edge to his voice now. "We can't do it without her."

The others nodded in agreement and Quinn arched a brow. For how much he complained about her, she never thought she'd hear him admit to that. Er, say that. It wasn't as though IT was the only thing that could pull this pathetic little group through to—ugh, who was she kidding? Fine, Man Hands was the best singer in the damn club and she was the only way they were going to get past Sectionals. Quinn folded her arms, pouting at her inner admission.

Mr. Schuester, ever the optimistic one, shook his head. "That's not true. We may have to layer Santana and Mercedes over Quinn's solo, but…we'll be fine." He smiled.

Quinn rolled her eyes again, but before she could speak up to point out that she was actually sitting in the room (so they didn't have to talk about her like she wasn't there) and that Mr. Schue had taken his bright outlook on life to new extremes, Wheelchair Boy interjected.

"Maybe for the Invitationals, but not for the Sectionals. And certainly not the Regionals," he said matter-of-factly.

"Wheelchair Kid's right," Puck added, and Quinn ignored the odd urge she felt to stick her tongue out at him. He wasn't supposed to steal her mental nicknames for people. "That Rachel chick makes me want to light myself on fire, but she can sing."

Brittany was frowning, but Santana shot Quinn a wicked grin over the other blonde's head. The head cheerleader knew that, eerily enough, the Latina was imagining what the hobbit would do if they came at her with a flamethrower. She abruptly decided she should memorize the location of all the fire extinguishers in the building.

"Rachel _left_, guys," Mr. Schue cut in irritably.

Quinn was beginning to think IT just did that to him—every time she spoke, he wore that same expression on his face. The one he had now—aggravated, veiny…. Not that she could blame him. Man Hands did, as Puck so eloquently put it, make people want to light themselves on fire just so they wouldn't have to hear her grating voice or look at her ridiculous clothing. Quinn sighed. Puck really didn't need to open his stupid mouth and give her sociopath of a best friend ideas like that, though.

"She's gone," Mr. Schue continued, and Finn folded his arms, pouting at the floor. Quinn felt another eye-roll coming on. "And if we're gonna make this thing work, we can't look back."

"I hate to point this out, Mr. Schue—you have no idea how much this physically pains me—but just because IT—" at Mr. Schue's warning glare, Quinn altered her wording "—_she_ left, doesn't mean she can't be convinced to come back."

Santana scowled at her, but Quinn ignored her co-conspirator's questioning frown in favor of continuing this nauseating speech. Really, she felt sick to her stomach admitting this out loud, but it was true. Besides, she sort of, _kind of_ owed Man Hands for making her life less annoying lately.

"And we don't have a shot without her."

Mr. Schuester sighed heavily. "See, and as long as you believe that, we really don't."

"But Quinn's right," Finn said determinedly, false confidence seeping into his voice. "We could get Rachel to come back."

"Right. And how are you going to do that, Meathead?" Santana retorted, shooting Quinn a meaningful glare that the blonde promptly chose to ignore. "Seduce her? Hope you're ready for a surprise under those little skirts."

Brittany giggled, but Quinn knew it was only because Santana was grinning at her. She didn't really get the joke. Finn, on the other hand, did. He was almost the color of a tomato by the time Mr. Schuester also got it and intervened.

"Look, guys, no one is going to convince Rachel to come back," he said firmly, and Quinn couldn't help but pin him with narrow eyes. "If she wanted to be here, she would be; end of story. Now, let's take five."

She fought the urge to point out that that entire discussion had taken approximately five minutes when Mr. Schuester retreated into his office. There was a collective sigh and the gleeks broke formation to huddle in their respective groups. Since Santana didn't plan on taking it easy on Quinn any time soon, the blonde heaved to her feet and joined her fellow Cheerios near the door so she wouldn't have to listen to Gay Kid and Mercedes-Benz chattering about how amazing yet unappreciated their voices were.

"What the hell are you doing?" Santana growled as soon as the head cheerleader was in range. "We're supposed to be taking the club _out_, not advising them on how to win."

"You think they'll have a better chance with Carlotta in the mix?" Quinn scoffed, though she knew it was true. She just couldn't let _Santana_ know she knew.

The Latina's brow wrinkled in confusion, along with Brittany's. "Who?"

"Carlotta. The prima donna from '_The Phantom of the Opera_'?" the blonde prompted.

Her cheeks tinged pink as she spoke, because she knew what was coming next.

"Oh, my God, you have been spending _way_ too much time around these geeks," Santana groaned, holding her forehead. "Maybe I need to tell Sylvester it's important that you get the hell outta here, before you start swimming in sheet music and wearing penny loafers."

"You will not," Quinn snarled, taking a threatening step forward. She wasn't going to go to all the trouble of double-crossing Sylvester and helping glee just to get yanked out of it. She wanted the club around—even if she couldn't admit it to Santana, it was true. "And if I catch you snitching on me to her, I will, I promise, see that you get a slushie from every single Cheerio every morning before practice. Got it?"

The Latina didn't answer, but Quinn could see the message had been received. She may not have liked it, but she definitely got it. Santana's lip curled in a sneer as she prepared to speak, but they were interrupted.

"I miss Rachel," Brittany sighed.

Both cheerleaders exchanged a wide-eyed glance before staring at their spaced-out friend.

"Britt, you've never even _talked_ to RuPaul," Santana pointed out, arching a brow.

"She talks to me," the blonde replied brightly. "And she wears bunny shirts." She nodded sagely.

Quinn abruptly decided that she would never, ever know what went on in that pretty blonde head, and that she really didn't want to know anyway. Santana had apparently come to the same conclusion, because she sighed and shook her head before picking up the conversation where they left off.

"Look, you know damn well Berry can belt it. If she comes back—"

"_If _she comes back, the geeks will be back to squabbling over solos like hyenas," Quinn said evenly, letting a smirk twist her lips. "And Man Hands doesn't take it as calmly as I do." She arched a meaningful brow.

"So you think if she comes back, they'll argue themselves to death," Santana replied skeptically.

The head cheerleader shrugged gracefully. "Which would you rather watch? The slow draining of the geek's spirits until they ultimately lose everything at Sectionals? Or the festering dissention in the ranks that eventually explodes and wrecks their chances before they even get there?"

"You know I like slow death better," the Latina said airily, shrugging right back.

Quinn sighed. Apparently no matter how she explained away her actions in keeping New Directions afloat, Santana was going to find a way to be unhappy with it. Which was really typical Santana and normally that wouldn't bother Quinn, but if the Latina tattled to Coach Sylvester, the blonde was going to be in some deep shit—and much as she liked glee, she wasn't losing her position on the Cheerios over it.

"Okay, guys, break's up," Mr. Schue announced as he emerged again.

Quinn trailed her fellow Cheerios back to the group of gleeks, lips set in a deep frown. Well, as long as she didn't have another dizzy spell, she could spend tonight enjoying the .3% of her life that wasn't annoying, and she'd worry about Santana's big mouth tomorrow.

XXXXXX

Things were really going great for Finn. Well, for having been dumped a couple weeks ago, anyway. That part still really sucked, but there wasn't really much he could do about it. Plus, he was starting to think he didn't want to do anything about it.

It wasn't that he didn't still have feelings for Quinn or he didn't have a blast when they were together, but now that he thought about it? The bad times outweighed the good a pretty big portion of the time. She was always mad at him for something, it seemed like, and the brief moments where she'd smile at him, truly pleased, weren't really worth all the snapping. He used to think Quinn was just a cranky person in general, but really, she didn't yell at Brittany or Santana as much as she did at him.

Now Rachel? Rachel never yelled unless she was really mad, and she looked at him like…like he hung the moon in the sky or something. It felt awesome, especially since she always complimented him, too. He didn't feel like such a screw-up around her. It really sucked that she wasn't in glee anymore, but he still saw her in some of his classes, so that was good.

Rachel was so patient, too. She'd kept her word and she wasn't dating _anybody_ while she waited for him. Even though he was pretty sure she had a new male lead now, and that usually meant she would go after them. But since she hadn't, Finn guessed there was just something special about him—about _them_. Honestly, he was really excited for when they could go out.

Right now, he really was enjoying the single life and the friendship he had with Rachel. It would do for now, while he kept sorting out the football team. It took a lot to convince Kurt to stay on the team. Ever since they won the game, the dude was like super sensitive about stuff for some reason, and he made Finn swear a million times that he didn't just want him to stay on the team because he was a good kicker. He was totally honest about it—he wanted Kurt on the team because it would make it easier for him to go between glee and football, _and_ it would help the team.

It was great having Puck and Mike and Matt in glee, too. Mike wasn't the greatest singer, but he and Brittany were helping Mr. Schue out when his choreography sucked so bad even _he_ knew it. Finn didn't know Mike was so good at the dancing, but he was working on using that for football. He would make a great back-up quarterback or kicker.

And Matt was pretty awesome, Finn found out. The dude could sing—not as good as some of the other people in glee, but he wasn't awful like Mike—and he wasn't bad with the dancing. He was a great wingman on Call of Duty, too, and they actually beat Puck over the weekend—which was sweet. And? The guy could bench press like 250. Finn was working with him a lot lately, both to keep that up and to work in plays where he'd be more involved.

A bonus to all this was that Coach Tanaka _and_ Mr. Schue were impressed with Finn's leadership skills, which meant they weren't coming down so hard on him all the time. Not that they were bad before, but Finn didn't feel quite so exhausted all the time anymore. Instead he felt kind of energized—like he could run on this steam forever. He didn't know quite what it was making him so energetic, but he thought it might have something to do with Rachel and how good she made him feel.

Or winning that free cheeseburger from McDonald's on the Monopoly game.

In any case, after he was done working with Matt, Finn planned on hunting down Rachel and trying to use his new leadership skills to get her back to glee. Even though Mr. Schue shot her down, Quinn totally had a point. It was kind of weird that she wanted Rachel back to glee, since she hated her so much, but he thought maybe she wanted to win Sectionals, too. That was pretty cool of her, he had to admit. But anyway, Quinn had had a point—nobody just asked Rachel to come back to glee. Not even Mr. Schue.

Finn was pretty confident he could get her to come back, even if it was just for him. He wouldn't mind that a bit.

"Dude, I'm exhausted," Matt called as he threw the ball back. "Can we pick up tomorrow? I've got a date with Amy tonight."

Finn caught it and grinned. "Sure. You did good work today. Just remember to keep that shoulder iced tonight."

They'd done a lot of tackling practice earlier, and Matt took quite a hit when he sacked Puck. Matt nodded and waved his goodbye as he took off for the showers. Finn had to work on clean up before he could get the smell off, so he flapped his shirt a bit to get air circulating under the sweat before he started picking up equipment. This part of being captain wasn't so fun, but since the rest of it was, he was willing to go through it.

Plus Kurt had been helping him out with it lately, so that made it more bearable.

After he had everything packed up, Finn showered off, relieved that nobody else was there. There may have been dividers, but it was seriously uncomfortable being naked in a room with a bunch of other dudes. While he was scrubbing his pits, he tried to remember that time Rachel had recited her entire daily schedule to him. He hadn't asked, but it was still good to know.

He thought she said something about an interview or something, but he didn't remember the room number she gave him until he was halfway to the auditorium. Then he had to turn back around and head upstairs, and on the way, he tried to think of what he would say. Besides, like, 'come back to glee because it's kind of boring without you.'

Seriously, it was weird going in there without hearing a lecture from her or having her storm out of the room because Mr. Schue didn't give her something she wanted. Or hearing her pretty voice. Man, he missed that. Sometimes he considered sneaking into the auditorium during the play's rehearsals, but he usually had practice. Plus, he didn't want to seem like a stalker. That would be weird.

Anyway, it wasn't like Quinn wasn't good at being a female lead. It just wasn't the same. She wasn't the same height as Rachel, and she didn't have the same color hair. Plus her voice wasn't as strong. He felt a little off-kilter without Rachel.

He just got to the room Rachel had said when that creepy Mr. Ryerson and the possibly even creepier JewFro came out. It sounded like they were talking about nudity, but he really didn't want to know. Like he said, they were creepy.

An involuntary smile sprang up on his face when Finn peered into the room and found Rachel caressing the ends of her hair out of the way, glancing down at her chest—almost curiously. He cleared his throat to battle the sudden tightness in his pants. That was seriously a problem he was going to have to go to a doctor about or…something.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked lightly, and she looked up so fast he was glad her neck was attached to her head.

"N-nothing!" Rachel said hurriedly, clearing her throat and hastily placing her hands behind her cute little skirt. "Just…getting the star treatment I didn't get in glee." She nodded superiorly, though her cheeks were still a little pink.

Finn smiled warmly, easing closer. "Totally."

She seemed to gain confidence at this and drew herself up for another lecture. "It's time like these where I know I've chosen the right path."

He was surprised when she didn't go on for a minute and instead ducked her head. She sounded kind of sad when she went on, and he wanted to hug her.

"I'm never going back to glee. It's clear my talent is too big for an ensemble."

Finn sighed. Well, this really wasn't going to be easy. But if he knew Rachel, and he thought he did pretty well by now, she just needed a little nudge to hear that everyone missed her, that she was needed. And maybe the missing part wasn't really true…per se. They missed her voice. But the needing part was totally true.

"You're not gonna get an argument from me."

Rachel's head snapped up, eyes wide and questioning. "I'm not?"

"No. You're like the most talented person I know," he assured her with a sincere grin. She really was. "Even more than that guy at the mall who can juggle chainsaws."

When she ducked her head again with a smile, Finn knew he was getting somewhere. He bounced on his heels eagerly.

"I just wanted to let you know that if you needed someone to run lines with, I'm available," he added with a nod. He really was now that he wasn't with Quinn…sometimes, and he couldn't believe he was saying this, but _sometimes_ the video games got a little boring. He didn't really have anything else to do.

Rachel started to smile, but then she had that look on her face. That suspicious look. Like she'd had right before she told him she would wait for him. Finn tried not to falter, but on the inside he was cursing his luck. He knew he shouldn't have sounded so…flirty when he said that.

"Finn, while I sincerely appreciate the offer, I _am_ perfectly capable of learning my lines by myself, and honestly, I don't think you're quite ready to spend such a significant amount of time with me." She frowned sadly, but went on. "I've seen the way you look at Quinn. You're still not over her, and—"

"No, Rach, Rach!" He chuckled nervously, waving his hands. "I wasn't saying I—I was just offering as…as a friend." He smiled innocently when she looked suspicious again. "I swear, that's all."

He decided not to say anything about glee right now. She'd probably get all mad at him for trying to manipulate her or something.

"Oh." Rachel frowned again, but it wasn't so much sad this time as embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and—"

"No, it's totally cool." He grinned for emphasis.

She drew herself up again, smiling that big smile. "All right. Well, then I graciously accept your offer, and I will see you in the choir room tomorrow afternoon?" He nodded and she softened her voice a little. "Thank you, Finn. You're a real gentleman."

Finn was pretty sure that was a really good thing, so he grinned as wide as he could at her.

XXXXXX

"'I'm sleeping with him.'"

"'So am I.'" Finn's expression contorted adorably before he broke character and said uncomfortably, "This play's weird."

Rachel's chuckle quickly turned into a frown of disgust as she remembered Mr. Ryerson's gleeful smile every time John recited that line.

"That's Mr. Ryerson's favorite line," she told the boy across from her, trying to make it sound positive.

She'd been keeping up this cheerful façade since she left glee, pretending things were hunky dory in her comfy new role. Pretending she didn't miss glee and that this was so much better for her. The truth was, Rachel was realizing she'd made a mistake. Mr. Ryerson treated her with as little or less respect than Mr. Schuester did—and at least Mr. Schuester didn't endlessly rag on her about how boring her performance was or how badly she sucked.

And she just felt so…lonely. She'd never really been lonely before, she didn't think. Sure, she was on her own most of the time, unless her fathers happened to be home for an evening or a weekend, and it never really bothered her. It was starting to now. She missed her 'friends' in glee club. Perhaps they only appreciated her for her voice and didn't actually want her company, but they were the first people who had ever really paid her any mind, or truly wanted her around for _any_ reason. It was slightly addictive, really, and she felt so alone in the play.

Not that Rachel could let on to Finn about this. No, glee club would have to work for it if they wanted her back. She wouldn't just waltz back…no matter what.

"You're a really good actor, Finn," she said cheerfully, wrestling her mind away from her self-induced reclusion from the club.

For a brief moment, an idea entered her mind. If Finn were in the musical with her, she would have that safety zone, that person to ease her loneliness. She cast it aside almost as soon as it arrived, however. First because she didn't want to give Finn the wrong idea—he still hadn't gotten over his infatuation with Quinn as yet, and Rachel didn't really mind—she could wait forever for Finn if need be—but she refused to be the rebound girl. He had to be good and over the head cheerleader before he could step over to the singer.

Second, because it wasn't just Finn she missed seeing. For the brief time she'd been in the club with them, Noah, Mike, and Matt had seemed cooperative and interesting enough, and they balanced the dynamic of the group. No longer was it five geeks, one jock, and three cheerleaders. With them, the geeks may have been outnumbered, but it was only by two, and when they were in glee, the stereotypes didn't matter as much.

Tina and Artie were enjoyable to be around, if only because they had less of a tendency to tell her to shut up than Mercedes and Kurt. They were polite, mild-mannered, and Rachel enjoyed them. Mercedes and Kurt, while at times irritating beyond words, understood Rachel's passion for music and they made good competitors in the race for solos. As much as she hated to admit it, their voices were superb, if a little untrained, and though she and Mercedes had completely different styles, it was a pleasure to listen to her.

Rachel could not say she missed the Cheerios as much as the five core members, though Brittany was certainly adorable in her own right. Though she didn't seem to comprehend half of what Rachel said, she didn't interrupt, and her off-topic comments were a relief in comparison to the hissed 'I don't give a fuck, RuPaul; go stalk something your own size' from Santana. Rachel could not say in truth that she missed the Latina at all.

Quinn…well, she was Quinn. Hostile when approached, tolerable when ignored, and someone Rachel didn't want to see hurt. Which, by the way, was still one of the most confusing things in the world to the diva. Why should she really care?

"Rach? Hello, earth to Rachel."

The brunette blinked rapidly and stumbled backward from the large thing waving in her face. She breathed a sigh when she found it was only Finn, waving his hand dangerously close to her nose and grinning at her. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slumped onto the piano bench.

"Where did you go?" he asked playfully. "You were staring into space for, like, ever."

Rachel smiled and smoothed her skirt beneath her as she sank onto the bench next to him.

"I'm sorry; I was just thinking."

He nodded slowly, sobering as he looked across at her. She saw him take a deep breath, as though bracing himself, and waited patiently for him to say his piece. It took a few moments, but eventually the much taller boy turned on the bench, facing her completely, and looked at her determinedly.

"Rach?"

She smiled encouragingly. "Yes, Finn?"

"I-I want you to come back to glee," he said bravely, and promptly gulped after the words were out and her smile dissipated. "I—we miss you, all of us. It's not the same without you in there to tell us what we're doing wrong or-or to argue with Mr. Schue. And, plus, we-we really need you." He dropped his gaze briefly, as though ashamed. "We can't win Sectionals without you, and glee will be over if we don't—and I know you don't want that to happen."

Well, this was a twist. Rachel never expected _anyone_ to simply ask her to come back, let alone admit that they had no chance at Sectionals without her—not even Finn. She pushed the shock aside to focus on what he'd said, keeping her gaze trained on the black and white keys before them.

His slip-of-the-tongue was rather telling. The rest of them did not, in fact, miss her—just her talent. It was needed, as he said, to get past Sectionals. She shouldn't care if glee failed now, but she knew deep down she did. It was a refuge for people like her and the other four core members. Outcasts, losers, who were able to come together in a safe place and work as a team, unified as they were unable to be without glee. Rachel did not want to see that end.

However, she couldn't simply come running back to glee because Finn asked her to. He was clearly the only one who truly wanted her back, but she couldn't allow her feelings for him to get in the way. It would've been a different story if it were someone else who had asked…like perhaps Quinn. Yes, if Quinn asked, Rachel wouldn't hesitate, because that would mean she was needed, that someone biased in the exact wrong direction could admit that she was an integral part of the team.

But Quinn wasn't asking (and never would). This was Finn, and if Rachel scurried back to glee at a moment's notice after he asked, it would give the wrong impression. Besides, she had her dedication to the play to think of. Despite her adamant and growing dislike of Mr. Ryerson.

"Rach?" Finn prompted quietly. She met his gaze silently, and he added, "Please. It would mean a lot."

Rachel sighed heavily. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Her emotions were always so strong, and they were all pulling her in different directions. Her pride was yanking her toward the play, her disgust with Mr. Ryerson and her love for glee were pulling her back. And, of course, her feelings for Finn were pushing her both ways.

Finn was still pouting at her, and she knew she had to give him _some_ sort of answer soon. She sighed again.

"I'll think about it."

His face immediately lit up so brightly she couldn't help but smile back, but their moment of happiness was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

"Don't I know it?" a voice with a strange, almost Southern drawl to it announced as they came in.

Finn sped off the piano bench as though he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and Rachel eyed him for a moment before turning her attention back to a grinning Mr. Schuester and the thin blonde woman who had entered the room. Her cocky swagger put Rachel off almost immediately, but she decided not to pass judgment until she'd properly met the woman.

"Hey, Rachel," Mr. Schuester greeted, still beaming like he'd won a Tony. "April Rhodes, Rachel Berry."

Rachel stood quickly and offered a hesitant smile back to Ms. Rhodes when she saluted her. The brunette thought that handshakes were more customary when meeting someone new, but the woman _did_ seem a bit…eccentric.

"Hey, can you give us the room, Rachel?" Mr. Schuester asked as she started gathering her script. "We need to teach April the cues for '_Don't Stop Believin'_.'"

Rachel froze and felt Finn do the same beside her. Huh. Funny how Finn had forgotten to mention some wannabe cowgirl—or should she say cowwoman?—taking _her_ place in his little speech about how much glee club needed her. Guess they didn't so much after all. Unless this woman could really sing, though Rachel still doubted she could do the part as much justice as even Quinn could.

Honestly, it was ridiculous how Mr. Schuester tossed that part around so flippantly.

"Wait, she's singing the female lead?" Finn asked, and Rachel glanced up to find him pouting apologetically at her.

She bristled and directed her gaze to the other two, hoping it would cool her down. Finn probably just had the same doubts about this woman as she was having. He wasn't trying to manipulate her by leaving it out, he was merely downplaying the woman's importance. That was all.

"She's in glee club?" she asked Mr. Schuester, raising a skeptical brow. He nodded blankly. "She's…ancient."

Sometimes Rachel doubted the existence of Mr. Schuester's brain. How could he possibly justify a woman of that age prancing around the stage and singing (possibly romantic) songs with children half her age? Besides, if she could really sing, shouldn't she be on Broadway or recording labels? Not stealing the spotlight from teenagers trying to earn their way.

"Talent don't age, sweetheart," Ms. Rhodes said with a wink.

Rachel's brow furrowed of its own accord. That really wasn't what she meant. Of course talent didn't age. Look at Betty White, or Kristen Chenoweth. Granted, the latter example wasn't _that_ old, but would Mr. Schuester let either of _them_ into the glee club simply because they had talent?

"That's Rachel's part, Mr. Schue," Finn said, just as Rachel shook her head to dismiss Ms. Rhodes and directed her next comment at Mr. Schuester again: "Isn't that Quinn's part?"

Mr. Schuester looked bewildered, and Finn was looking at her with bug eyes, as though he couldn't believe she'd just said that. Rachel sighed and stacked the rest of her binders, gathering them to her chest.

"Never mind. It's none of my business anymore, right?" she asked with a pointed look to Mr. Schuester. He frowned, almost sheepishly. "Just be sure you don't trample on other people's talent because of one person."

With that, Rachel raised a meaningful brow and swept out of the room. There, that should show Mr. Schuester what a hypocrite he was being. In the meantime, she had lines to rehearse.

XXXXXX

This was beyond ridiculous. Beyond insanity. Beyond lapse in judgment. There were no words to describe how obscenely awful this was.

Which was exactly why Rachel had to find Ms. Sylvester. Expecting Satan in a tracksuit to fix something so outrageous may have been a bit naïve, but Rachel felt certain she could appeal to the woman's evident disgust with anything and everything outside the norm and mend the damage. Though, frankly, the diva wasn't certain she'd care if it was fixed. She'd probably still want to go back to glee, despite that psychotic Ms. Rhodes and her unhealthy addiction to being a high school star.

Rachel shook her head of that. After that day in the choir room, she'd sworn she wouldn't go back, because it was clear Mr. Schuester didn't want her. Finn continued to plead with her and ask if she'd reached a decision—though no one else had approached her—and she continued to put him off, not wanting to see the look of utter disappointment on his face. Though part of her knew that her reason for waffling on her decision had nothing to do with Finn and everything to do with her desire to go back to glee.

She could handle losing a solo or two now, as long as Mr. Schuester didn't repeatedly yell at her that she sucked. She could even handle his rampant desire to destroy her career over that. She'd had so much trouble sleeping lately because of that awful little man.

Rachel shuddered and braced herself as she peered into Coach Sylvester's office, but it was vacant. The woman was nearly impossible to find, she decided, and turned back to hunt for her in Principal Figgins's office instead. She seemed to go there at least once a week to attempt to make it mandatory for every student to be able to run thirty suicides without passing out in order to pass Physical Education.

She didn't get far before she collided with someone. Whoever it was stumbled, nearly crashing on top of the brunette, but she grabbed their shoulders and held them steady. Once she was sure they had their feet, Rachel looked up and was shocked to find none other than Quinn Fabray.

The diva might've known it was her, simply because they seemed destined to crash into each other at least once every couple weeks, but Rachel was usually the one stumbling. Quinn was the one who stood there like a boulder from Stonehenge, unmoving and unmovable. The brunette took advantage of the blonde's moment of recovery to hastily observe her, just to be sure she wasn't injured.

Nothing appeared to be amiss—no brace on her ankle or knees to suggest an impairment of that sort. Although…Rachel thought she might look paler than usual. The head cheerleader was blinking rapidly and shaking her head, as though trying to regain equilibrium. The brunette suddenly had a horrible feeling in her stomach, like something was very wrong. She frowned deeply.

Quinn rudely broke her out of her trance, shoving her hands off of her shoulders with an expression of disgust.

"Keep your man hands off me," she snarled, but Rachel wasn't deterred—something was wrong here, and she was going to find out what.

"Are you all right?" the brunette asked, voice low.

The blonde pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is it any of your business?" She paused, pursing her lips, but went on when Rachel only gazed at her. "I'm fine, Mother. Thanks for asking." She rolled her eyes.

The diva sighed, reminded of her own irritation at Quinn's tone. "Would you happen to know where Coach Sylvester is? I've been trying to track her down for the better part of the day, but she is startlingly apt at eluding detection."

The cheerleader blinked. "No, I don't know where she is."

Okay, something was definitely wrong with Quinn. She didn't even insult her. Rachel's stomach tightened again and she frowned in concern. The blonde's lips started to curl in a sneer, but before she could shove her into a locker again or something, the diva shifted her expression into one of mild frustration, immediately calming the taller girl.

"If you could please tell her I'm looking for her the next time you see her, that would be much appreciated," Rachel added. She didn't want to push her luck, but this Mr. Ryerson thing _needed_ to be taken care of. "I fear if she doesn't appear soon, the play will ultimately turn into an all-male chorus line wearing loincloths and possibly feather boas."

Again, Quinn blinked at her. Her mouth twitched, but soon it was set back straight.

"Fine, whatever. While I'm at it, I'll see how she feels about ankle monitors so you can stalk her more easily," she retorted, and proceeded to brush past her.

Rachel leapt out of the way, flattening herself to the wall in order to protect her shoulder, but Quinn didn't even glance back. The brunette breathed a sigh of simultaneous relief and concern. On the one hand, it was nice to interact with the cheerleader with only halfhearted attempts at hostility. On the other, something was clearly wrong—the stumbling, the forehead pinching, the extra pale hue to her skin. Not to mention the lack of superior insults.

Rachel set her jaw determinedly and nodded to herself. She would just have to keep a closer eye on Quinn.


End file.

Glee, Angst, Romance