These strange steps

18

The real world doesn't have much patience for her heart.

Tuesday morning starts with a double dose of coffee that makes it wince, and a glass of orange juice that makes it wince, and a shower that makes it wince because of the other towel in her bathroom-and she dumps that spare towel in her hamper, but all she sees there is borrowed clothing that also makes her heart cringe in on itself.

There is a used toothbrush next to hers that makes it wince, and she's out of floss, which is the last in a set of endless pricks that remind her that, no, this is not just any other day.

This is the first day, in a long time, where she will actually be alone.

Even if Puck and Kurt probably won't let her out of their sight.

Her heart feels like a pin-cushion, by the time it's eleven am, but-and this is the part that surprises her-it's not the worst she's felt, lately or otherwise.

Maybe that can be explained by something simple; like that she knows she did the right thing, even if it will hurt for a very long time. Or maybe it's even simpler than that; like the fact that there have been many, many days, on which she's been alone, and what she has now is a Facebook status notification that says Lucy Q. Fabray has accepted your friend request.

It's alone, but less lonely than she's been the last few years, somehow.

...

By the time she's having lunch, her Facebook notifications roll over again.

Quinn's acceptance is joined by a friend request from a Nicole Fowler, and some part of Rachel's heart quietens down at that, because other people being involved, in a project she's now started thinking of as Quinn and Rachel, Volume Three-well, it just makes her feel less like the last two months of her life have been a fever dream.

Not that she really, ever, could feel that way; not with the way her heart pulses softly, like it's figuring out how to work on its own again.

She pops a Xanax before the stage show because her mind is letting go of the lyrics unexpectedly, but all in all, she goes into the performance feeling something, and that's more than she can say for a lot of the performances she's given in the last year.

When she's letting out a stripped-down, acoustic version of I Learned From The Best, she means every third word, almost, and on her next five minute water break, one of the dancers puts a hand on her shoulder and says, "I believed you, just now."

There are tears in the girl's eyes, and she smiles at those, a little.

It figures that she'd finally win-and maybe it's deserve, really-the respect of the people she's working with, in Vegas, exactly at the point where she has nothing left to give.

...

Wednesday morning brings with it a message from Nicole, and a friend request from Fiona Nguyen, which she also accepts.

The message is straight-forward, as Nicole has been to date:

I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, especially not from an almost-stranger, but someone has to tell you anyway: what you did gave the two of you a future. I hope your time in Hawaii goes well and feel free to get in touch if you have any questions or just want to hear how Q is doing. (The day you'll get a straight answer from her, you'll know she's ready for you.)

Rachel smiles despite herself, a little, and then indulges for a long moment, by clicking on Quinn's profile.

The profile picture Quinn has up is recent; she's at some conference or another, with her square-rimmed glasses perched almost crookedly on her nose, and she's laser-pointering at something in a crisp blue button-down and navy slacks. And-she looks so... smart, and together, and beautiful. She looks like...