These strange steps

4. Four

It's ridiculous to be crying.

It's ridiculous, because Quinn is right. It doesn't make Rachel any less right, but it does mean that in seven years they've managed to not move an inch forward from where they were when they last saw each other: at high school graduation, Quinn giving the speech and still sounding like her future was ready to bloom at any second.

Rachel had cried then, too, because at some point Quinn had looked right at her and almost smiled—and it had almost made it all worth it. The bullshit about Finn, the final year of having to watch Quinn separate from him altogether and grow up into her own, the realization that she'd stopped giving a shit about Finn and instead wanted to follow this new, mature Quinn wherever she was going, and then finally the knowledge that it was never going to be an option.

She'd hoped, then, that things could be different. And now? Now, she's sitting in her car, deadly still, wondering what the hell else she can do. She wants to talk to someone about this; not her therapist, who would just tell her that she's being unhealthy.

Well, no shit. Of course she is. Being told that she is unlikely to help at this point.

She'd tell Puck, but he and Quinn have such a complicated history that she has no idea what his reaction would be: barging in and fireman-carrying her out of the club, or just that deadly, jaw-locked expression that he gets sometimes when he doesn't want to let on that something upsets him.

A bigger issues is that she can't tell anyone who knows Quinn, because it would mean giving up Quinn's secret, and—maybe she doesn't care if her friends know that she's now blown an embarrassing amount of money on lap dances, but she cares too much about what they would think of the person giving them to her.

Her own reaction had been oh God, what has happened to you. Santana's and Puck's wouldn't be as polite, and they had been Quinn's people, once. She can't even imagine how Kurt would react.

There's only one person who wouldn't judge Quinn, but Brittany still can't keep a secret from Santana for the life of her, and so all Rachel can do is sit in her car and wait for her vision to clear, hoping that an answer will just come to her. .

...

The knock on the window is what wakes her up, and when she blinks blearily, she sees Quinn. Not that that's something new; except that the frown on Quinn's face isn't exactly the stuff of dreams, nor is the impatient motion she's making at the window.

"What are you doing?" she asks, when the window is lowered..

"I fell asleep, Quinn. Last I checked it's not a crime."

Quinn's mouth sets, but then she says, "Are you hungry?"

"No, but I could use some coffee," Rachel says, because it's true; her hands are shaking with something and the caffeine will steady her.

"There's an all night diner about five minutes away from here," Quinn says, after another second of hesitation. "I can direct you there."

Rachel says nothing; not because she doesn't have words, but she's worried that if she voices any of them, Quinn will just disappear again.

It would really help if she had some idea of what was happening right now.

...

The diner's almost empty, and after a few moments Rachel slides off her sunglasses and almost relaxes into the booth.

She watches as Quinn rattles off an order that sounds a lot like "the usual" and then asks for some regular drip for herself.

"What happened to your hair?" she finally asks, when Quinn folds her hands together on the table and doesn't say anything otherwise.