The weekend passed slowly for Rachel.

Other than her vocal training on Saturday evening and a short visit to a farmers market Sunday morning with her Dads, she had nothing specific to do and no inclination to do anything else.

She didn't even want to work on her Glee assignment!

Early Sunday evening, after three or four hours spent just staring listlessly at her bedroom ceiling, she turned on her computer. She didn't always do a video for MySpace on the weekends, but maybe she would tonight just to quell the thoughts and feelings currently whirling around in her. Anything that took her mind off of Quinn right now was a good thing.

Instead she found herself logging onto Facebook and, after hardly any sensible deliberation at all, clicked on Quinn's profile.

They were only Facebook friends at all because she had made a community site for the Glee Club and had insisted that every member join so they could all be kept up to date with rehearsal schedules and other important events – like Sectionals, which, despite her and Mr. Schuester constantly reminding them of, everyone seemed to forget were coming up soon.

Quinn had left four status updates since Friday night and each one made Rachel's eyes go a little wider.

Quinn Fabray is telling Team-Berry, you're dead!

Quinn Fabray is plotting ways to kill Manhands.

Quinn Fabray is thinking Team-Berry is the stupidest team name ever.

Quinn Fabray is wondering if suffocation by ridiculously ugly argyle socks is too humane for this situation.

According to the time-stamps the updates spanned forty-four hours. There were a bunch of like-minded comments from various Cheerios, the most virulent coming from Santana Lopez, but, honestly, all Rachel could see was that she'd been on Quinn's mind for nearly two days straight.

Okay, so this wasn't the nicest form of attention, but it was better than being ignored completely.

Telling herself she was just looking to see if any of Team-Berry was online because they needed to discuss their plan of attack for Monday, she clicked on Facebook chat, and nearly closed the social networking site completely when she saw Quinn's name there.

She shouldn't, she knew she shouldn't!

She didn't have to.

Quinn: I take it I got your attention?

Rachel: I take it I got yours?

Quinn: It took twenty minutes to get it all off!

Rachel: It took nearly an hour to put on!

Quinn: Sucks to be you then.

Rachel: By getting my attention do you mean with the death threats or the cheerleading?

There was a pause before the next reply.

Quinn: The death threats obviously.

Rachel: Why do you even want my attention anyway?

Quinn: I don't!

Quinn: I'm just bored.

Quinn: You ruined everything with your TP stunt you know?

She'd known she had, even if she'd spent most of the weekend trying to convince herself it had been a lost cause from the beginning.

Rachel: I wasn't aware there was anything to ruin.

Quinn: Fine, if you say so.

Rachel decided to take a stupid chance, because after all, if her previous comment was true she had nothing to lose.

Rachel: What did I ruin?

It felt like ages before there was reply, Rachel was just starting to give up on receiving one altogether.

Quinn: Did you enjoy the football game?

Rachel smiled at the avoidance.

Rachel: Honestly? I don't think I watched any of the game.

Quinn: :)

Quinn: Sorry, my fingers slipped on the keys. Why were you there if you weren't watching the game?

Rachel: We ran out of toilet paper and I was bored ;)

Quinn: LOL

Quinn: Sorry, fingers slipping everywhere again.

Rachel: That's okay; I don't mind your fingers slipping anywhere.

Oh no! She blushed as soon as the message appeared on the screen.

Rachel: Everywhere!

Oh, Barbra, that made it sound even worse!

Quinn: Um?

Rachel: Sorry! That was MY fingers slipping! I didn't mean that how it looks!

Quinn: Okay. I have to go.

Rachel: Please don't! That really was an unintended innuendo.

Quinn: Sure. Whatever.

Quinn: Look I can't do this. I'm sorry or whatever but it's better if we just hate each other.

Rachel: I don't think you mean that.

Quinn: Everyone saw what you did to my car! I have to torture you tomorrow or else I'll never live it down.

Rachel: Does your popularity really mean more than . . .

She left the sentence in mid-air, not prepared to put herself out there but needing Quinn to answer, if she even understood what was being asked.

She did.

Quinn: Yes.

Quinn: I'm sorry, but it's not like we're actually friends or anything anyway.

Rachel: But you said yourself, we're something.

Quinn: I thought you didn't believe anything I said anymore?

Rachel propped her elbow up beside her keyboard and buried her face in her palm for a moment. She shouldn't believe anything that came out of the blonde's mouth anymore. Quinn had never proved herself trustworthy; in fact she'd always done the exact opposite. She wanted to though, so badly.

Rachel: Can you give me a reason to change my mind?

Quinn: No.

Quinn: I don't even trust half the things I say right now.

Rachel: So, I'm assuming, this conversation never happened and tomorrow we go back to the way things have been.

Quinn: I think that's for the best. I can't give you what you want.

Frustrated, Rachel's fingers pounded against the letters on the keyboard.

Rachel: All I want is for you to be my FRIEND!

Quinn: And I can't GIVE you that, Berry! Christ, don't you get it? I don't want to be your damn FRIEND!

Shoving her keyboard tray in hard and scrubbing her sleeve over the imminent threat of tears in her eyes, Rachel walked away from her computer desk to sprawl face first on her bed, not even caring that it made her still slightly bruised nose sting.

It wasn't like this was new information but . . . but she hated it! She'd dropped her guard again, starting with Quinn's acceptance of her at the football game and then cemented by their 'chat' this evening and now it had all gone horrible again.

Quinn didn't like her, even as a friend! She'd just been leading her on once more. Rachel didn't know the purpose this time, but it was bound to become apparent soon enough.

Well, Rachel wasn't going to let it happen. She wasn't going to be used by Quinn Fabray ever again.

Quinn sat at her computer, elbows on her desk and cheeks in her palms, staring at her monitor in dismay.

She couldn't believe she'd just sent that! Talk about fingers slipping and accidental innuendo!

All she could hope now was that Rachel didn't take it in the way she'd meant it. After all, there were plenty of ways to interpret such a statement, and the truth was probably the last conclusion she would jump to.

It was okay – she tried to calm her rapid breathing – any second now Berry was going to reply with something flippant and annoying that would let her off the hook.

Any second now.

Why was she taking so long to answer?

A glance at the tiny clock in the corner of her screen told her it had only been two minutes; maybe she'd had to answer the call of nature or something.

When five minutes had passed she started to get anxious. What if Rachel was freaking out? Maybe she didn't feel the same way after all! Or maybe she had but didn't care enough anymore, after everything Quinn had done, to acknowledge it. What if Rachel was right now telling everyone else on stupid Team-Berry what she had just said? It would give them the upper hand. She could be ruined by the morning!

Quinn: I didn't mean that the way it sounded, obviously.

There was no answer after a minute and she could practically hear Berry cackling with Mercedes and Tina.

Quinn: I don't like you like that! I don't actually like you at all! I have a boyfriend!

On some level she knew she was digging a bigger hole for herself but she couldn't seem to stop.

Quinn: Even if I didn't, I'd never like you!

Quinn: Because I hate you right now!

Quinn: Fucking answer me!

Quinn: Berry, answer me.

Quinn: Please, Rachel!

After another fifteen minutes of feeling frightened and thoroughly pathetic with still no response, Quinn switched her computer off and went to bed.

Tomorrow was going to be bad.

In Rachel's room, halfway across town, her computer's inner sleep alarm activated, turning itself off after twenty minutes of non-use and burying the Facebook chat deep in the PC's subconscious.