rainbowruse

Quinn was a spectacle, her pretty yellow dress splattered with blood. Rivulets of it had run down to her elbow and dried. She felt the tacky feeling of it congealing in her closed hand, which she squeezed into a fist reflexively, grasping for a phantom knife handle.Her heart was racing still, thundering and thrilling at what she had just done. They were outside Quinn's house. She held Rachel close to her, smoothing her glossy brown hair and murmuring comforting nothings into her ear. The high pitched wail of an ambulance siren sounded in the distance. Rachel cried harder, sobs wracking her body as she gasped for breath. Quinn allowed herself to cry too, a few silent tears tracking down her cheeks.

The ambulance arrived in a blur, Rachel's statement tumbling out with surprising sincerity considering the pressure she was under. An accident, their helpful neighbour, rudimentary first aid and throbbing regret. The ambulance officers nodded, taking the statement down and tucking Finn on a gurney into the back of the truck. He was pale, but one of the men had smiled at Rachel kindly and said that he was already stabilised. Rachel felt a flash of fear and Quinn a surge of fierce protectiveness, the arm around Rachel tightening its grip imperceptibly. Playing the part of the meek housewife the brunette nodded, offering a weak smile. "We'll be in touch Ma'am." The sympathetic man tore off a bit of paper from the bottom of his notepad and handed it to Rachel. The address and telephone number of the hospital were scrawled messily on the slip. With lights flashing and klaxon clanging the ambulance pulled out of the ordinarily quiet cul-de-sac. Quinn glanced up and around in time to see a few sets of curtains flick closed. 'Wonderful.' She looked down at Rachel, who still clung to her dress despite how stained it was.

"Come on Rachel. Let's go inside." She felt the smaller woman tense against her briefly, but relax when she steered them both towards her own home. The one without the blood stained kitchen tiles. Who would have thought that a small, quiet town like Lima, Ohio would contain more excitement than a huge city like San Francisco? Not Quinn, certainly.

When Quinn's father died, her mother didn't know what to do. Quinn had just graduated from high school and their tiny home felt impossibly empty and sad. She'd always been Daddy's little girl and after he was gone she felt as much like spiralling into a depression as her mother. But she knew one of them had to do something, and it certainly didn't look like it was going to be Judy. So Quinn left, went to the city and signed up at a secretarial college. She got a job at a little bakery near the tiny room that she let from an elderly woman. Each fortnight she sent home some money, along with a letter. Her mother slowly began to reply. It took months before Quinn received the first letter.

Dear Quinn,

Thank you for the money, dear. I'm putting some away for you and keeping the house neat and tidy, just like your father liked it. When you have finished college there will more than likely be a job for you down at the police station. I asked Maud to keep an ear to the ground.

With love from your mother.

It had exasperated Quinn. As much as she loved her mother and father, she had always felt like there had to be much more to life than getting married, having a family, settling down and living in the same town your whole life. She would never have said she was grateful for her father's death, but it seemed it was the cause of a great and irreversible change in her life. And she was grateful for the change.

Before Russell passed away it had looked like Quinn might end up marrying the boy next door and moving into a cottage not far from home. It was to be neat and tidy, just like her father liked. But she was in the big city not five months after graduation, making something of herself. Every day when she walked to college she walked with pride, the skirt of her dress neat and her hat pressed firmly over her smoothed hair. She filed in with the other girls, behind the type writers in rows and sat down to work. She worked at the Bakery in the early morning and in the afternoon. The owner was a kind, portly man with thinning white hair and a cheeky smile. The women who came to buy bread were always happy to see him, because he always grinned and complimented them tastefully. Quinn sometimes thought to herself that she would be happy if she were to marry a man like Mr Jacobson.

She had made a few friends that she ate lunch with. They tittered and gossiped much like her friends in high school had, and she felt a degree of comfort because of the similarity. There was a girl in their class who was quiet and dignified, and quite unlike anyone Quinn had met before. They sat next to one another, and sometimes exchanged glances and smiles. Her name was Grace. The other girls would whisper about her and giggle behind their hands. Quinn found herself liking Grace despite what her friends said. One evening, not long after she'd received the first reply from her mother, she was walking home from Church. She hurried along the street with her eyes downcast, making for her little room. That was, until she saw Grace out of the corner of her eye. She was certain it was her. Quinn tried to catch her eye but the other girl slipped down an alleyway seconds after she'd been spotted. Quinn stopped, eyes riveted to the corner her friend had disappeared around. She rocked on the balls of her feet, unsure what to do for a moment before she surged forward, making for the alleyway.

There was noise coming from down the cramped little street, and a sliver of light closing in on itself as a door swung shut. Quinn made for it, certain that she had seen the tail of Grace's coat flagging behind her as she walked through the doorway. The club was crowded and smoky and there was a three piece band on a stand by the bar. Quinn hadn't been out on the town since she'd arrived in San Francisco. If she was honest, she'd been considering it but had been too afraid to take the chance. Now here she was on a Sunday evening in what looked like a jazz club. The beat of the music was slow and soft, the snare of the drum kit hissing softly under the thrum of the bass and the lilting piano driven melody. Quinn was caught up for a few minutes in the sweet melancholy of the tune before she remembered why she had come inside in the first place. She cast around for Grace, but she couldn't see the girl anywhere. Feeling the press of several pairs of eyes on her all at once, she swallowed nervously and edged towards the bar. "What'll it be?" A strong voice asked over the music and buzz of conversation. Quinn looked up to meet the bartender's gaze. In the low light of the bar she caught sight of a small, straight nose and glittering green eyes. Quinn's mouth opened to reply, only to realise that what she was looking for was right in front of her.

"G..grace?"

The girl's eyes widened. The bow-tie at her throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly.

Quinn couldn't help but take in the entirety of the other girl's change of outfit.

The white sleeved men's shirt was complimented by a black satin waistcoat. The sleeves were folded up to her classmate's elbow. Her legs were hidden by the bar, but an image of black slacks and wing-tips sprung into Quinn's mind without any prompting.

Grace was obviously shocked, caught somewhere between denial and defiance. In half a heartbeat Quinn had slid her hand across the bar to press her fingertips to the rolled shirt sleeve that sat above the crook of Grace's elbow.

"You look.." she paused, a small smile turning the corners of her mouth up, "amazing."

Now Grace was shocked for an entirely different reason. A blush bloomed in her cheeks. Quinn continued to look her over, quietly in awe of the transformation of her seemingly demure, quiet friend. She was handsome in a womanly way, bringing a feminine flair to the otherwise masculine outfit.

"Quinn." Grace finally spoke, her voice coming out strained and quiet. She cleared her throat before continuing, "what are you doing here?"

Quinn looked up to meet her eyes. "Actually, I was looking for you." she said, smiling. "I saw you disappear around a corner on my way home from church and I thought to go after you, on a whim." Her smile faded slowly as she noticed the anxious pinch that suddenly drew Grace's eyebrows together. "Should I not have come?" She asked, somewhat downhearted that someone she considered her friend didn't want her company.

"No, no, that's not it." Grace was quick to assuage her fears. "It's just, don't you think it's odd, for me to be dressed like this? For everyone else to be dressed like they are?"

"Everyone else?" Quinn asked, casting her gaze around, really looking at the other occupants of the bar for the first time since she'd walked in. Her eyes caught on the firm, square jaw of a woman by the piano, and the subtle flair of hips on every second man. Her heart rate increased slightly, and a sheen of sweat broke out on her upper lip. What exactly had she walked into? Despite the anxiety that was making itself known and lacing itself with every anxious beat of her heart, more than anything Quinn felt curiosity bubble up in her and burst. She whipped around to Grace, her eyes wide and gleaming.

"What is this place Grace?" She asked, her voice doing little to belie her wonderment. Her friend cautiously answered her question.

"It's a place for people who are.. different Quinn. People who can't be who they feel they are in everyday life. This is a place they can be themselves."

Quinn's curious eyes turned back to Grace.

"You feel like this on the inside, Grace?"

There was no derision in her tone, only honest curiosity. Grace nodded once, slowly and precisely.

"I think it suits you." Quinn said plainly, feeling slightly dizzy.

Grace reddened further, breathing out a quiet "thank you." Quinn nodded again, the feeling of vertigo increasing, her own face paling.

"Quinn?" Grace questioned, watching with concern as her friend deteriorated visibly.

"!" a wordless exclamation escaped her as Quinn slumped over and slid down in front of the bar.

When Quinn woke it was in an unfamiliar place and she sat up, startled. A violent throb behind her eyes laid her back down, quick smart. Her teeth clenched together and she hissed in pain.

"Easy, Quinn." she heard Grace say before she felt a cool cloth on her brow.

With a relieved sigh she relaxed, happy to let her friend soothe her sore head.

She slowly slipped back to sleep, the throbbing in her brain fading to nothing.

–

"Quinn?" Rachel asked. Quinn startled, looking over at Rachel only to find her much closer than before. In fact, she sat right next to Quinn, her tanned fingers clutching Quinn's pale ones. "What's the matter?" She asked, her doe eyes full of concern.

The blonde swallowed at her proximity.

"Nothing, nothing. Just thinking."

"Oh." Was the small reply she received.

"You're not going to ask me what about?" Quinn asked, smiling down at the brunette.

"Not if you don't want to tell me."

Quinn felt a surge of sick concern. She wished again that she'd wielded that knife more effectively. "Rachel, honey." she began, turning her hand over so that theirs were linked palm to palm. "If you want to know, there's no harm in asking. I won't bite."

Quinn's voice was soft. She felt very much like she was trying to coax a frightened animal out of a cage. She noticed Rachel trembling and she made a soothing sound in the back of her throat, reaching her other arm around the smaller woman to pull her close.

The night sky outside held a cresent moon aloft, as Quinn held hope in her heart for the woman in her arms

===

Cheers, and let me know what you think!

I feel like I could careen like this all the time. I'm knee deep in it, up to my cerebral cortex in intoxication. And I'm pinwheeling down a steep slope like an unstoppable force. And I'm thinking of animation, reanimation and scaling on a deep, heavy bass line, slugging back and forth with a driving, simple melody. I think I tasted adulthood today. Tonight even. It washed over me like the first fizzy sip of a cider. (But really it was Peroni)  And I shivered, is this foreboding? But my sense of self persists through all of this. And I am grounded once again. It takes a thought to sweep me to the four winds. I can be here in happiness and then step back to despair. But honestly. This introspection is always a result of this thoughtful me. Sometimes it punches my joviality in the face and takes over. I don't know what the future holds, does it make sense that the only constant is myself? But I see you in it baby. Forgive my nonsense, I'm a bit drunk. Too much to do my assignment, too much to play age of empires, only enough to spew thoughtless crap into cyberspace. And isn't that just perfect? For me it is. I do wonder how it is that I lumber around like I've a severed limb, and I splash blood on everything I approach. How I do make a mess of things. 

Wonder, wander. In wonder I wander, There is no sense in their drivel, but they're entitled to that opinion, for it's theirs. My precious girl. My thoughts are half with you.

One day it will come to me, and I will be able to say 'that's what I get!' in that plain, guttural way that Trent Reznor does. 

I can't keep myself from \fiction. It's too good, too unreal. But I digress. That's all I do. 

Oh, yes I can.

It’s nearly 11am and I’m nursing the urge to fast forward through the day. It’s a shame, really. I can’t be here, doing nothing. Maybe I’m finally bored? It’s a rare thing that I can’t find something to entertain myself.

Now when I have all six seasons of Xena, a final fantasy save file that’s starting to look good (if only I could defeat the lord of Flowsand) three guitars, a ukulele, a hand drum and a whole side of the house to sand, wash and paint, I can’t make it work. Why is it now that I suddenly feel so inactive?

There’s a lot to consider when you’re trying to look inside of yourself, to discover your motives. I think before when I was using the angle grinder to grind the heads off some nails and instead ground a fair bit of skin off my fingers it was a tad demotivational. How do I continue on? Do I have somewhere to go tonight? Will I feel as I always feel, unattached and free spirited, willingly following any potential glimmer of desire I see in the corner of my eye? It’s so messed up. Why can’t I just leave it all well enough alone? With the thought of the one I love for me to go home to, to fall asleep holding her. It’s enough for most, why do I feel like I need more than that? I know I feel that desire for more, but when I feel it, I don’t do anything about it. Could you say that that is apathy? That I simply don’t care. That I know but I don’t do anything to change it? I don’t want a dictionary definition. Rather, I want to know if there’s a part of me that’s filthy, low, rotten. I know there is. I know it, but I need you to confirm it. There’s people always telling me how nice I am, or can be. But what of those who have seen me at my most horrid? My father, my girlfriend, girls I’ve crushed on previously. How is it fair that they, who I cared about, saw the worst possible side of me and were hurt by it?

I don’t want the responsibility of my actions almost all of the time. For a world free of consequences but not necessarily free of guilt. How crazy is it that I can’t perceive myself but other people appear as open books to me? It is frightening. I am frightened by my capacity to be sweet and awful all at once. And for no one to be any wiser. Is it the people that care most that see the least of you? Their perception of you blinkered by their love for you.

I can’t. I just can’t. Everything comes to me in pieces, never as a whole. Only short statements, or single words appear to me out of the void and I struggle in vain to put it all together. Who am I, really? I want for people to know my whole self, but by all that exists I am terrified to reveal it!

Let’s keep it simple. I’ll numb the life questions and live day by day. How is it that I can’t say what I mean? And mean what I say? I owe you more than that. I feel like I’ll never not be in debt.

---

She'd been no great prize in high school, but Finn had been the quarterback for the varsity team. One day in their senior year she'd caught his eye on her way to the choir room for practice. He'd asked her out the next day and she'd been swept off her feet. They went to the drive in, the hop and picnicked in every park in Lima.

Theirs was a sweet romance and after graduation Finn had asked her to marry him. She'd agreed with little hesitation. Her father had gladly given her away, shedding a solitary tear as she'd walked back down the aisle as Mrs Finn Hudson, hand in hand with her groom.

---

The problems had started when their old high school music teacher had dropped by. They had been married almost a year that afternoon when mister Schuester knocked on the door. It was half three, so only Rachel had been home. She'd answered the door and upon seeing Mr Schue there had smiled delightedly, ushering him into the house. He'd smiled and took his hat off, stepping over the thresh-hold.

Once Rachel had made some coffee he levelled his gaze at her, “Rachel, I have a favour to ask you.”

She'd nodded, smiling as though he could ask her anything and she'd accept. “Mrs Bradley has taken ill and we've no one to play the piano for choir practice.” He'd said, searchingly.

She already had a good idea of what he was going to ask. “And you were such a good student, Rachel. Best sight reader I ever taught and a lovely voice to boot.” Rachel blushed a little at the compliment even as Mr Schuester continued. “The kids would just love it if you could play for us, I know they would. I've even convinced Figgins to pay you a small salary if you'll take the position.” He'd coaxed.

Rachel hardly thought twice before she'd agreed.

Mr Schuester reached across the table to take her hand. “Thank you so much Rachel, this will mean so much to the kids.”

“I'm happy to help Mr Schuester, really.”

The man laughed then, “Please, I think you can call me William now.”

It was that moment that Finn walked into the kitchen.

“Mr Schuester, what are you doing here?” He'd asked, his brow knotted.

“Finn! Good to see you!” He stood to greet his former pupil, his hand out and ready to shake Finn's.

“I asked what you were doing here.” Finn stated, somewhat coldly, the light of suspicion sparking in his eyes. Mr Schuester frowned, withdrawing his hand.

“I just came over to offer Rachel Mrs Bradley's position down at the school. She's on leave until further notice.” He explained, looking curiously at Finn.

“Why would you ask Rachel?” Finn had asked then, looking over at his wife.

“You know how good she was in school Finn, you saw our choir compete. I knew she'd be the perfect replacement. She's already agreed.”

Finn's expression was petulant and sneering all at once.

“She's got a life with me now, she's not your star pupil any more Mr Schue.”

“But Finn, darling,” Rachel interjected, her eyes still shining from her earlier elation, “William said I'd even earn a small salary. We could afford to pay your father back for the wedding, and maybe even have a little to put away.”

“William?” Finn had asked incredulously.

His nostrils flared as his grip on the handle of his briefcase tightened.

“You don't need a job Rachel, I make enough for both of us and you take care of the house. We're fine.” He turned to Mr Schuester. “And you, take your offer elsewhere. I don't want you coming around again.” His free hand was clenching and unclenching.

Mr Schuester paled. “Finn, I don't understand!” he exclaimed, looking searchingly at a boy he'd almost thought of as a son.

“I told you to get out!” he roared, his index finger jabbed the air in front of him, pointing to the door. Mr Schuester followed the direction, scuttling past Finn while casting worried looks at Rachel.

“Don't look at her!” Finn hollered, his face red and sweaty. The front door closed with a damning click. Rachel trembled in her seat at the table, her hands still wrapped around her coffee mug. “Get up.” Finn said quietly, dangerously. She startled, but did her best to rise without trembling. “Go to the bedroom and wait for me there.” He told her, his hand loosening the tie knotted at his neck. She complied wordlessly, her skin awash with cold, prickling dread. Sitting demurely on the bed she waited.

It was only a minute before Finn joined her, sitting beside her, hunched over and breathing heavily. “Do you know how much I love you?” He asked, not looking at her, his fingers digging into the bedclothes.

She nodded, tears gathering in her eyes.

“And then I come home to see that? Do you know how I felt?!” He was suddenly yelling, looking right at her with accusing eyes. “Do you care how I feel Rachel?!”

“O-of course I care Finn! I love you darling, of course I care!” She reached for one of his hands but he smacked it away, stiff-arming her onto the bed in the process.

“Then show me.” He gritted out, hands sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress and tearing at her underclothes.

She never been able to get completely invested in their love making. Finn meant well, she knew but his heavy, clumsy movements negated her enjoyment most of the time. And if she actually started to feel what she thought she might be meant to feel, he'd finish and roll away immediately. What had happened that afternoon though was something else entirely. He entered her roughly as soon as he'd gotten her unclothed. She stifled a scream at the burning sensation. She wasn't ready for the quick pace he set by any means. It felt as though she was being rubbed raw. Thankfully Finn only took a few minutes to shudder against her in release. He'd shoved her away then, scoffing and rolling off the bed. She'd cried herself to sleep in the remnants of her favourite dress.

---

At dinner they made light polite conversation. Finn regaled her with tales of his day at the lumber mill and she smiled and laughed in all the right places. When they went to bed that night he'd moved his hand over her shoulder as they lay side by side. It slipped under her nightgown and rubbed roughly over her breasts. She bit her lip to muffle the noises of discomfort that threatened to escape her. He brushed against her backside and she opened her legs enough to admit him. He strained against her, crushing her to his chest as he thrust. The fingers of one hand steadied her hips against his, digging into her soft flesh. Again, it wasn't long before he climaxed, slipping limply from her, his hot, rank breath washing over her face.

The next day she spent cleaning. He came home drunk and questioned her relentlessly about her day. She told him she had cleaned the carpet and did laundry. He called her a liar and backhanded her powerfully in the face. She fell to the floor, her cheek pressed against the carpet which smelled fresh and clean and cried silently. He'd bumbled down the hall, she heard him urinate onto the tiles and cried harder. Then she was wrenched up and her upper body was lain out over the coffee table.

“You only need me Rachel. What would you have if you didn't have me? Nothing!” He growled like a beast, stepping on her ankle as she knelt. She cried out in pain. “I know you're lying to me Rachel. And I want to give you a chance to tell the truth.” He pressed down harder and she bit into her lower lip until it bled.

“I was!” She whimpered.

She felt as much as she heard him kneel behind her and she knew what was coming. She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise up her throat. He was in her before she had time to prepare and absurdly she found herself desperately seeking pleasure from his rough handling, pressing her chest to the glass table top for some kind of stimulation. But there was nothing. It felt wrong and it hurt and there was no pleasure in it for her. She cried quietly while he finished and yelped when he slapped her sex with a large hand.

It was early morning by the time she managed to drag herself to the bathroom. He'd been asleep for hours. As the sun rose she looked at her reflection in the mirror, fingering her cheekbone. The mark was large and red and a bruise was blooming under her skin.

Just as she was leaning in to inspect it up close there was the rumble of an engine outside. Peering out the window Rachel saw a car reversing into the house next door to theirs in the cul-de-sac. A woman with a scarf covering her hair cut the engine, stepping from the vehicle and casting her gaze around. She removed the sunglasses from her eyes and untied the knot under her chin, the scarf falling off to reveal blonde, soft looking curls that sat just above her shoulders. Rachel watched on curiously as the woman went to the back of the Cadillac and grabbed a cardboard box. When she hefted it the muscles in her arms jumped, cording visibly.

Rachel looked away, turning inadvertently back to the mirror. The bruise looked worse than it had a minute ago. She touched it gingerly and winced. Greeting the new neighbour was going to have to wait until it had faded. She showered and changed quickly and quietly and was making breakfast by the time Finn bumbled into the kitchen. She kept her trembling hands under control long enough to feed him and kiss him goodbye at the door.

As he walked down their front path, Rachel saw the woman again, this time in what looked to be overalls. She was lifting another, larger box from the car. Almost as if she sensed Rachel watching she turned her head and their eyes met. Rachel felt herself blush and she averted her gaze, turning to disappear inside.

Around lunch time there was knock at the door. Rachel had been ironing Finn's shirts when she heard it, and she blanched. She couldn't answer the door. But if it was one of Finn's check ups, or one of his buddies she didn't want to give him a reason to suspect her of any foul play. She smoothed her dress down and calmly went to the bathroom to reapply make up. There was another knock at the door as she did. When she was satisfied she walked to the door, peering through the peep hole. Through the glass she saw a head full of blonde curls. Rachel felt her heart spasm somewhere in between relief and alarm.

“Hello?” she'd called quietly.

The curls bobbed as she heard the woman reply.

“Hi, I'm your new neighbour.” The voice was quiet, husky and polite. “My name is Quinn Fabray, I just thought I'd introduce myself.” there was a pause as Rachel silently appreciated the polite gesture, and then Quinn spoke again.

“I was wondering if I could impose on you for a bite to eat. I don't have anything at my place since I only just got here, and my bank account is cleaned out after the move.”

Rachel floundered. “Nice to meet you Quinn, goodness, where are my manners. Give me a moment and I'll let you in.” Rachel fumbled with the lock on the door, forgetting about everything else but her desire to stand face to face with the woman on the other side of it. “Rachel Ber-Hudson, Rachel Hudson.” Rachel smiled in greeting.

When Quinn smiled back Rachel felt herself blush again. Embarrassed she waved her new neighbour in. “Please, come into the kitchen. I was going to start lunch soon so if you could bear with me.”

“Of course.” Quinn replied, watching Rachel carefully before she walked in passed her.

“So where are you from Ms. Fabray?” Rachel asked conversationally, busying herself with preparing sandwiches.

“San-Francisco.” The blonde replied casually.

“Really? So why go from a big city like that to a small town like Lima?”

“I needed a change of scene.” Came the reply, and Rachel felt Quinn's gaze hot on her back. It set her on edge, but she didn't feel threatened. Rather she simply felt.. alive. “And you can call me Quinn by the way, if I can call you Rachel.” Rachel felt that blush resurging as she giggled lightly.

“If you're sure Quinn.”

“I'm certain.” something in the way the blonde said that made Rachel pause. There was something behind those two words that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Quickly changing the subject she asked what Quinn preferred on her sandwiches. She replied that she liked bacon sandwiches best of all and against her polite protestations Rachel fired up the stove to heat the skillet.

When Quinn asked what she did for a living Rachel replied that she was a housewife, though she gathered the blonde was just making polite conversation. After all, it was surely obvious to anyone that Rachel Hudson kept house and did little else.

“What about music, do you like it? I just got a new record as a gift not too long ago. You should come over once I'm settled in and listen to it with me.” Quinn left little room for argument but Rachel don't think she could have refused if she tried.

The bacon sizzled in the pan as Quinn talked behind her, and Rachel let her mind wander as she listened to her neighbour's soothing voice. It wandered a little too much though, as she reached out mindlessly to turn the bacon with a wooden spatula and burned her hand on the rim of the pan. With a hiss of pain she withdrew, dropping the spatula into the frying pan and cradling her burned hand against her chest.

“What's wrong?” Quinn asked immediately, and Rachel heard the muted scraping of her chair on linoleum. She felt the other woman behind her and flinched briefly when Quinn took her by the shoulders gently. There was a brief pause and Rachel waited for a question, or an accusation. But neither came. Instead she was steered towards the sink, becoming increasingly aware of Quinn behind her with each passing second.

By the time they reached the sink Rachel was bright red again. And then Quinn was flush against her as she reached around to turn the tap on. Water gushed out, running over the clean steel sink. Quinn took Rachel's trembling hand between her own and pressed it under the stream. Rachel murmured with relief as the stinging of the burn subsided. There was hot breath on her neck and she felt herself tingle as it washed over the sensitive skin there. This was nothing like Finn and his rough touch and harsh breath. But she couldn't be comparing a woman she'd just met with her husband of four years! She withdrew her hand and turned in Quinn's arms, her lips parted as she prepared to politely excuse herself. But when their eyes met, she felt pinned by the sharp green gaze staring back at her.

A soft, pale hand reached up to her face and pushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. Rachel's eyelashes fluttered. Then that hand was on her cheek, cool and soothing. The gentle touch had her opening her eyes in alarm however as it purposely brushed the bruise she had hoped to conceal. Quinn's quiet voice was the next thing she heard.

“How did this happen, Rachel?” The way she said her name had Rachel's heart racing.

“I have to get back to the bacon!” She exclaimed, breaking free from the other woman's loose hold. The bacon had crisped nicely and she immediately busied herself with removing it from the skillet and buttering some bread. She felt the blonde standing behind her, watching her. She only moved faster. Then she was ushering Quinn to sit down, a wide smile on her face. Sliding the plated sandwich in front of the blonde she turned away to commence cleaning. Only the dull thuds of plates and glasses hitting the sides of sink as she washed them and the ticking of the clock above the doorway kept total silence at bay.

When Rachel had finally run out of things to do, she had no choice but to turn and face Quinn. The woman sat there silently, her sandwich untouched in front of her.

“Aren't you hungry?” She asked, not able to meet Quinn's eyes. Quinn was suddenly in front of her, wrapping her arms around Rachel in a tremendous but tender hug. “Wh-what are you doing?” Rachel asked, squirming in the blonde's grip.

“It's ok, Rachel.”

“Ok? I'd hardly call this ok! I barely know you!” She fought against the feeling that was rising up within her and had nearly succeeded in stealing herself when Quinn whispered in her ear.

“You can trust me.” Rachel pulled back to stare at Quinn. Fine cheekbones, a cupids bow mouth, a nose perfect for her face and deep hazel eyes that seemed to stare right into Rachel.

She was suddenly crying, “It wasn't supposed to be like this!” she wailed into Quinn's dress at the shoulder, nuzzling and seeking warmth where she hadn't allowed herself to before. A hand rubbed firmly up and down her back and she cried harder. No one had held her like this in years. She was exhausted and sore and plain sick of it. Eventually she cried herself out and went limp in Quinn's arms. The touch on her back took on a different feel. Rachel felt herself shiver. There was something happening and it caused her skin to prickle delightfully and her mouth to go dry. She felt Quinn's head turn on her shoulder, and then that cupids bow mouth was pressing against her neck ever so softly.

“It's ok Rachel.” Quinn murmured into her neck, and Rachel felt as if she'd just been set on fire, but it didn't hurt. No, it felt warm and tantalising, but most of all it felt hungry. “You don't have to tell me anything, but I'll listen if you want to.” Rachel knew, in the very back of her mind, what it was that she was feeling. The surge of want that followed that realisation nearly made her collapse. She had never felt like this before. Not once. Now that she was feeling it though she yearned for the promise it held. She wanted to reach out to Quinn and let her hands do what they were itching to do.

The grandfather clock in the living room struck the hour and out of nervous habit Rachel's eyes found the time above the kitchen door. Two o'clock. She needed to finish ironing Finn's shirts. Finn! In seconds she had pushed Quinn away. The other woman stumbled back, trepidation plain on her face.

“I'm sorry, but you should leave, Quinn.” Rachel said quietly, not trusting herself to look the blonde in the eyes.

“But Rachel...”

“I must insist.” Again, Rachel couldn't look up.

Moments later she heard the door open and shut. She breathed a sigh of relief, though the faintest trace of regret soured her tongue as she took up where she had left off on Finn's favourite blue chequered shirt. While her mind longed to ruminate over the memories of Quinn's visit, Rachel resisted, forcing herself to instead think of what she was going to cook for dinner that evening.

The next day there was a knock at the door, around ten in the morning. Rachel went to the door expecting a travelling salesman, but what she got was her new neighbour.

“Good morning Rachel.” Quinn said, smiling sweetly. Rachel froze up a little, before taking a steadying breath.

“Good morning Quinn. Can I help you with something?” The blonde looked straight into her eyes and asked if she could borrow a cup of sugar. Seeing no reason to refuse the request Rachel agreed and turned to go inside. She was half way down the hall when she realised that Quinn was following her. Mildly alarmed and unwilling to admit she was a little pleased to see the other woman Rachel simply continued into the kitchen.

After measuring out a cup of sugar she turned to give it to Quinn, who had taken a seat at the table. With her chin on her loosely curled fist the blonde looked up at her.

“Did you still want to listen to that record? It's a new Chet Baker album. Rather beautiful.” Rachel frowned before she recalled the other woman's offer from the day before.

“I really can't leave the house.” Quinn frowned.

Rachel smiled weakly, “There's too much to do.”

“It won't take long, just come and hear one song? You can listen while I make cookies.” She said, gesturing to the sugar Rachel was still holding. Rachel found her resolve, or rather her fear lessening as she looked into Quinn's eyes. They were soft and warm, seemingly glowing with contentment and Rachel couldn't help but want to get closer to her.

“Ok, just for a little while.” she agreed and the blonde smiled brightly. They left together, trailing along the footpath trading idle chatter. The first thing Rachel noticed when she walked into Quinn's house was how unlike hers it was. The living room was the first thing you saw when you walked in. Two comfortable looking couches faced a small television set and there was a chessboard set up in the far corner next to a full bookcase.

Quinn swept across the room, disappearing around a corner. Moments later some lovely, smooth jazz minced over to court Rachel's ears. The man's voice was clear but delicate. It was like a butterfly alighting on the score that played beneath it. Rachel felt her eyes close and all she could do was listen. It was a smooth, sweet song about love.

The kind that Rachel thought she'd had. Tears threatened to leak out from between her closed eyelids. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but it was well after the LP had stopped playing. A soft touch on her arm and her eyes fluttered open. Quinn was looking at her intently.

“That was beautiful Quinn.”

The blonde smiled softly, “I thought you'd appreciate it.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Did you want to hear something else?” Rachel nodded, smiling, forgetting her self imposed curfew. Taking her hand the blonde led her into the next room, Quinn's bedroom she surmised, from the double bed taking up most of the room. Unthinkingly Rachel asked,

“Are you married, Quinn?” The other woman froze, her fingers resting on the spines of her record collection. Moments passed before she finally replied.

“No.” she answered slowly, keeping her eyes on the records, her fingers in motion once again.

Rachel felt as though she'd said something wrong.

“Oh.” she replied quietly.

Half an hour later Rachel was still in Quinn's living room, listening to another record while the blonde put the raw cookie dough in the oven. The clock was ticking away silently as Rachel sang along softly to the classic that was playing.

It's only a paper moon

Hanging over a cardboard sea

but it wouldn't be make believe

if you believed in me

“You have a lovely voice.” Rachel jumped in the armchair, her eyes snapping open. Quinn was smiling softly at her from the doorway that led to the kitchen.

“Ah, n-no, I only ever sang in choir in school.” Rachel said, looking away from the blonde.

“That doesn't mean you don't have a nice voice. It's more than nice really, it's beautiful.”

Rachel felt her cheeks heat up. She didn't know what to say. No one had complimented her for.. for an embarrassingly long time. Probably not since Mr Schuester. That thought had Rachel sitting up painfully straight, neck craning in search of a clock. She was as tense as a rabbit poised to flee.

“What's the matter?” Quinn asked.

“I have to get home.” She said, giving up on her search for a clock, but knowing that she had stayed longer than she should have.

“But the cookies will only take fifteen minutes to cook.” The other woman reached for Rachel, but she darted from the chair and toward the door with impressive speed.

“I'll see you later, Quinn.” She said quietly, not lifting her eyes to look at the other woman. And then she was out the door and heading back home. It took maybe thirty seconds for her to reach her front door and once she was inside she breathed a sigh of relief. The clock in the hall showed it was nearly noon. She grimaced. As much as she'd enjoyed spending time with Quinn, it seemed like a luxury she could hardly afford. She had a lot of washing to catch up with and she hadn't even thought of what to make for dinner. Rachel went to work immediately, hoping Finn was in a good mood when he arrived home.

-

Unfortunately, he wasn't. Rachel spent half the night on tenterhooks, a brief time cursing what her life had become and then the other half crying and trying to snatch some sleep from the jaws of insomnia.

-

She suffered through breakfast, barely able to look at her husband. When he left she collapsed against the kitchen counter and cried. Yesterday with Quinn had made her realise that her life was a shell of normalcy. No wife should fear her husband, his anger or their intimacy. But Rachel was fearful of all those things, terrified.

When a knock sounded against the door at around nine, Rachel knew who it was. And she had to turn her away. Despite Quinn's insistence and excuses there was no way she was allowing anyone to see her in the condition she was in. Fingermarks stripped one side of her face, long and purple. She could hardly stand up straight without whimpering from the pain in her spine. Finn had thrown her against the table last night before he'd held her face in one hand, pressing her right ear into the surface of it so all she could see was the damnable clock. And then he had proceeded to shatter her in that final, awful way. It made her feel sick and wrong and dirty. Quinn was still outside, insisting that she should come in, but Rachel just walked away from the door. She needed to get clean, to scrub any vestige of last night from her skin.

It was days before she saw Quinn again. When they were together again though, sitting at that same kitchen table drinking cups of tea, Rachel relished in the concern and warmth the other woman exuded. They'd kept to small talk, but Rachel could tell Quinn wanted to broach the subject that stood in the corner, the enormous pink elephant. She played innocent though. She couldn't stand to admit that weakest part of herself to someone who seemed to only see the best in her. Weeks passed like that, with them enjoying one another's company in that superficial way. Until one afternoon, when they were sharing a plate of tea cake, Quinn just said it.

“I know he beats you Rachel. I can hear him yelling and I'm not blind like you seem to think.” There was a hint of hurt in her tone, but compassion shone in her eyes.

Rachel was frozen, her fingers clenched into fists.

“Does he..” and there even the courageous Quinn seemed to pause, looking away before refocusing on Rachel with renewed determination. “When you.. couple.. do you actually want to?” Quinn regrouped before reiterating, “Is he forcing you?”

Rachel was trembling, she knew that, but she couldn't feel it. Tears were cascading down her cheeks and Quinn was reaching to brush them away with a handkerchief she'd produced from the sleeve of her cardigan. Her jaw ached from holding back the wails she couldn't contain. Quinn was holding her in a matter of moments as she deteriorated.

“We were so happy!” She bawled into Quinn's shoulder unintelligibly, “And then he was jealous and angry! I couldn't stop him, couldn't convince him I wasn't lying.” She sniffed deeply, “There's something wrong with me! I couldn't enjoy laying with him, I couldn't be the wife he needed.”

Quinn just rocked her back and forth, murmuring. “There's nothing wrong with you, Rachel. You're beautiful, you're perfect.”

It took over an hour but Rachel eventually calmed down, half falling asleep as she listened to Quinn whisper. “You can leave, you know. There's no reason for you to stay.”

“I can't. I can't.” she replied weakly, gripping handfuls of Quinn's cardigan.

“Please Rachel.” The blonde implored, pulling the shorter woman impossibly close.

“I can't, Quinn. How would I survive without him?”

“You'd have me.” Quinn's voice was quiet, her fingers skated up and down Rachel's spine.

The brunette shivered in the embrace, trying to process what she was hearing and feeling simultaneously. She rubbed her lips together, unsure of what to say. Her heart thrilled, but her brain was telling her to be cautious. Quinn pulled back to look into her eyes. It was that look that Rachel couldn't mistake. It was the look of someone who saw only her. And Rachel knew then that she did indeed have Quinn and that Quinn might just have her. But she owed Finn her loyalty, she'd vowed it. Her fingertips trailed down Quinn's cheek, marvelling at the softness. The blonde's eyes slid shut as she leaned into the delicate touch. Rachel couldn't help smiling. She knew she was lucky to have met Quinn Fabray.

-

Her life became an often confusing mixture of despair and hope after that day. Finn slew her heart every time he'd take to her, but Quinn resurrected it with a smile and the reassuring touch of her hand. It was enough to keep existing, it pulled at her from every direction but she could keep her head above water holding on to the good things.

-

Some weeks after Quinn had offered to take Rachel away, Finn came home in a sour mood. Rachel was staring dazedly out of the bathroom window at Quinn's driveway when she heard the door being wrenched open and then slammed shut. She winced and whipped around to face the mirror, quickly checking her reflection before she went out to greet her husband. He stormed past her down the hall, ignoring her murmured greeting. There was a chink from the crystal decanter her father had given them as a wedding present, followed by the tell-tale sound of tall finger of whiskey being poured. She swallowed slowly, trying to calm herself.

“Don't think I haven't noticed!” she heard from the den and a cold sweat burst from her, trickling down her spine. She remained silent. There was no use prompting Finn, it only made him angrier. He perceived it as an attack on his intelligence. “I can hear you hum sometimes, and you smile so widely when you think I'm not looking that it can only mean one thing.” He finished, pausing to take a swig, probably straight from the decanter. Rachel's fingers dug into her palms. Footsteps, a creak and then Finn was in front of her. His tie was askew, his shirt was half tucked into his pants and his jaw was tight. “Seen much of Mr Schuester lately, Rachel?” Rachel's gaze shot up.

“What?” She asked incredulously, near gaping at her husband. A sharp slap snapped across her cheek and her head jerked to the side. The shock kept the pain at bay for a few moments before the heat set in with the sting. She raised a trembling hand to cover her face, tears gathering in her eyes.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about!” Finn yelled. Rachel didn't. The last time she'd seen Mr Schuester was at the grocery store. He'd given her a worried, pitying look before he'd hurried out with his bags. That was months ago. “He's been coming around, hasn't he?!”

She couldn't even gather the wits to try and deny it. He was gathering momentum and she was still reeling from the accusations and the slap. “I give you everything you need Rachel!” he was pacing, down the hall and then back to where she stood by the hat stand, running his hand through his hair repeatedly. “I go out and work and come home to you every day! I love you Rachel! I love you so damn much, but that isn't enough for you, is it?!” he was yelling so loudly Rachel thought her ears might bleed. She was crying in earnest, leaning against the wall and watching him rave. His eyes riveted to her and he made to move towards her.

There was a pounding at the door before he made it and they both turned. The knocking was insistent. Rachel dared to look at Finn, who made a vague gesture for her to get it. She took a few steps and stood on her tiptoes to see through the peep-hole. The first thing she saw was a familiar head of blonde hair. Her initial reaction was joy, which was smothered quickly by fear.

“Rachel!” Quinn cried, knocking again.

“I'm here Quinn.” she replied without thinking, focused on the blonde.

“What's going on? Are you ok?” Quinn sounded worried, and Rachel felt her heart warm.

“I'm fine.” She said automatically, hoping to soothe the other woman.

“Can I come in?” Quinn asked quickly.

“No.” came the reply from behind her.

With a start Rachel remembered Finn at her back. He had come forward, a hand on Rachel's shoulder pushing her firmly back and away from the door. He pulled the door in, fixing Quinn with a harsh glare.

“Kindly stop bothering my wife and I.” There's was no inflection in the sentence that suggested it was a question.

Rachel saw the door open wider to reveal Quinn standing firm on the doorstep, one pale hand pushing their red front door open as wide as it would go.

“Not until I see Rachel.” She said, staring Finn down. And then she spotted her behind Finn's large frame. “Rachel!” she said, moving forward, only to be blocked by Finn.

“I don't know how you know my wife, or how she knows you, but I intend to find out. I'll find out from her though, and you will get off our property immediately.”

Quinn glared up at him. “Or what, you'll call the police?”

Finn hadn't expected retaliation, Rachel could tell by the way his jaw dropped open.

“It's ok darling.” Rachel said, taking a chance as she gently took Finn's elbow and guided him away from in between she and Quinn. “We'll only be a moment.” And she closed the door on his stupefied face.

“Rachel.” Quinn said softly, her hands already reaching for the brunette's face, tracing the tear tracks and the newly forming bruise. Rachel felt despair as she looked up into Quinn's sweet face. She knew she might not be able to walk straight for days after she went back inside. But having Quinn soothe her was very nearly worth it. She was crying again, grimacing fiercely against the onslaught of tears and sobs she could already feel herself dissolving in. But then Quinn was holding her and everything hurtful seemed further away.

“Just tell me to take you away Rachel. Just tell me and we can be gone in a second.” Quinn whispered, clutching the brunette close, stroking her hair. Rachel whimpered. It was so tempting. Then the door was opening again and a livid Finn filled the doorway.

“Get back inside Rachel!”

“Please Quinn, just let it go.” Rachel whispered into the blonde's ear. If Quinn got hurt, she knew she would not be able to handle it. Quinn turned towards him, pressing Rachel's face into her hair, petting her head reassuringly.

“If you touch her again, I will kill you.” she spat, her voice absolutely dripping with venom. Finn looked taken aback for a moment, before he barked out a laugh.

“I don't know you and you can't tell me how to treat my wife. Now leave.”

“You know where I am if you need me.” she said so only Rachel could hear before she reluctantly let her go.

---

The guys at work had been hassling him. Said he couldn't keep his wife under control, couldn't handle her. That he was less than a man. When he'd come home to see Mr Schuester sitting across from Rachel in his own kitchen, he flipped. He knew that had to have been what the guys were talking about. He'd denied his old teachers request, kicked him out and taken Rachel roughly in their bed. She was still so beautiful, even when she looked half-terrified. He felt a little sick afterwards, but shook it off.

The next day at work he held his head a little higher.

When the guys would get him down or he felt frustrated or was made to look like a fool, Rachel received his ire. Still she cooked him breakfast, kissed his cheek in the mornings, smiled at him and he was buoyed by her devotion. He felt less useless each time he had her, reached out to guide her into her place. But there was always a lingering sense of failure. And he couldn't fail, he had to keep himself afloat. When she questioned him he was furious and showed it. Soon she learned not to question him.

He hardly noticed that her light had gone out until one day it flared back to life. She smiled to herself and hummed sweetly as she swept about the house doing the chores. He couldn't stand it. After the guys had reamed him out one afternoon for messing up a timber order, he'd arrived home ready to get some answers from his wife. And then some woman had showed up, a new neighbour apparently.

She and Rachel had disappeared outside and it didn't take long for Finn's rage to renew itself. He burst out on them, demanding Rachel come back inside. Then the woman had the audacity to tell him that if he touched his wife she'd kill him. He sneered down at her and told her to get off their property. Rachel had paid for making him look foolish and he'd learned that the woman was indeed a new neighbour, and that she and Rachel had made friends. He forbade her from seeing the blonde woman and considered that to be the end of the matter.

A month passed relatively uneventfully before he learned that Rachel had been disobeying him.

---

The scream of agony woke Quinn up from a dead sleep. Cold dread washed over her as she recognised the voice as Rachel's, even though it was tainted by terror. She was pulling on clothes even as she stumbled out through her front door. There was light in Rachel's kitchen window. She heard Finn's raised voice get louder as she sprinted toward the back door. She tried the handle, it was locked. Gritting her teeth as she heard more noises of distress she tried the windows either side of the door.

“Rachel!” She called, trying the kitchen window, feeling a surge of triumph as the bottom sash slid up. She was tumbling over the kitchen counter with a crash before she had any time to think about it. They weren't there and the yelling continued, amplified by the enclosed space. She stood up, eyes darting around until they caught sight of what she didn't know she'd been looking for. Purposefully Quinn's fingers wrapped around the handle of a butchers knife, drawing it from the knife block. Her grip was white-knuckled and her hands trembled as she crept out into the hall. Then she saw them in the living room. Rachel was crying, sprawled over the coffee table, her face was red and she was grimacing ever other moment. Finn was behind her and Quinn felt bile rise in her throat even as her grip on the knife tightened.

“Get away from her!” She yelled hoarsely. She walked down the hall towards them. Finn had glanced up, looking angry for the first few seconds before a struck-dumb expression took over. Rachel saw her and began to cry harder. Refusing to be put off Quinn advanced. “Didn't you hear me? I said get away from her!” The knife caught the light, glinting dangerously. She saw Finn's eyes zero in on it and felt a small surge of power at the uncertainty that seemed to cloud his eyes.

Rachel winced one last time and then he stood. Quinn focused on the brunette, wanting to reach out and comfort her but she knew she had to take care of Finn first. “You're going to walk out now, and not come back until tomorrow night.” Quinn told him, a hard glint in her eye that told him she was not to be trifled with. He looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, but he shut his mouth and ambled past her. Quinn made sure she was facing him the whole time, the knife pointed at him. She waited until she heard the door shut before she dropped the knife and rushed to embrace Rachel.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She murmured, unable to stop herself from pressing kisses to Rachel's hair. The other woman just sobbed, grabbing onto Quinn and clinging to her tightly. Quinn fussed while Rachel cried, fixing her dress and smoothing her hair, rubbing her back soothingly. Rachel was going limp in her arms and Quinn felt trapped inside the house. She knew they had to get out as soon as possible. Her arms went around Rachel completely and she lifted her up, carrying her out into the kitchen. She wasn't going to lie and say it didn't feel amazing to have the shorter woman snuggling into her hold. After she put her down in a kitchen chair the blonde set water to boil on the stove.

“I'm going to pack some of your things, ok?” She told Rachel, looking sadly at the other woman’s crumpled form.

Then she was looking into her tear filled eyes, “Don't go!”

“I'll only be in the next room.” The blonde said, before thinking better of it and adding “do you want to come with me?”

Rachel nodded meekly, “but.. I'll need help.”

“Let's go.” She had an arm around the smaller woman, supporting her as they walked to the bedroom.

“Just, just take everything. There isn't much anyway.” Quinn nodded and filled a small carry case with what was in a small dresser by the bed.

“Come on, we'll have some tea and then we're going to my house.” Quinn said kindly, slipping her arm around Rachel once more. They sat in the kitchen beside one another, sipping slowly at hot cups of tea. Occasionally Rachel would start crying again, silent tears leaking from her eyes. Quinn was quick to comfort her with an arm around her shoulders. Then the front door creaked open and they both froze. Quinn was on her feet and standing between the doorway and Rachel in seconds. Finn loomed in the dark hall, a sadistic sneer on his face.

“Get the hell out of my house!” He yelled, the tendons in his neck straining.

Quinn saw no reason to argue, but as she went to gather Rachel in her arms Finn roared, “Leave her! Just you! Get out and never come back!”

“I'm not leaving Rachel here with you.” Quinn said calmly, even though she was terrified. “You've already proven yourself unfit to provide for her.”

That hit a nerve. With a growl Finn was on her, huge hands clamping around her arms and forcing her back against the counter. A cry escaped her as he forced himself against her, his teeth bared and his breath washing over her in waves.

“Finn, no!” came from behind his hulking frame but it was like he hadn't heard as he continued bearing down on her, clenching his hands tighter. Then he was turning around, pain and surprise evident on his face. Rachel stood behind him, half leaning on the table, a frying pan in one hand. Quinn's eyes once again zeroed in on the knife block, her pale hand drawing another knife from its place. And as Finn made a start towards Rachel she felt adrenalin surge through her. The time for words was over.

There was a lunge and the slight resistance of tissue but then the blade was sliding so easily, sheathing itself between two ribs. She heard Finn's surprised gasp and reflexively pulled the knife free. Blood gushed from the wound and Quinn felt herself pale. The tall man stumbled and fell to the side, one arm wrapped around him and clamping over the stab wound.

Rachel screamed and Quinn was by her in a second, pulling her into an embrace. When they came together Quinn couldn't help but press a kiss straight onto Rachel's lips. The shorter woman whimpered into the kiss, her hands coming up to hold Quinn's face close to hers. And despite everything, the dying man on the floor, the knife dripping blood on to the counter in her hand, Quinn felt blessed.

“You're safe, you're ok.”

“Quinn!” Rachel cried, pressing their foreheads together, refusing to relinquish her grip on Quinn's cheeks. Finn gurgled in the corner, blood frothing from his mouth.

“But we should call an ambulance.” Quinn murmured.

Rachel nodded, reaching for the phone on the counter. She gave them the address, citied an accident and watched as her neighbour, her friend, her love, bandaged her husband's ribs.

“Let's go Rachel.” She said as she stood up from beside Finn, depositing the knife in the half-full sink and rinsing her hands. Taking the case with one hand and wrapping the other around Rachel, Quinn walked out of the Hudson house for the last time.

---

Epilogue?