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Sinking Like A Stone In the Sea

Title: Sinking Like A Stone In the Sea
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Spoilers: Through "Laryngitis"
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,577
Description: Rachel, Quinn, hate and alcohol-infused sex.
Warnings: Dubcon
Author's Note: This is quite different from other things that I've written. I'm not sure where this came from, but it's here.



I'm sinking like a stone in the sea. I'm burning like a bridge for your body.

"Tautou" - Brand New




When I look at you, all I want to do is to tear you apart.

I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate that you always have to be the center of attention. I hate how you always manage to be so damn superior about everything. I hate that when you laugh, all of you laugh, and your dark chocolate eyes light up. I hate how your brown hair just perfectly cascades around your face like the prettiest frame and picture mother nature ever made. I hate that when you sing, the world stops. I hate that everything about you is honest and real and nothing like me.

But what I hate the most about you is how I don't mean the slightest bit to you.

And I've tried. Oh, I've tried. Those slushie facials? The crude pornographic drawings? The name-callings and constant insults? I spew my vitriol at you, hoping that it would make a dent, and I hate how you just shrug them off. When you look at me, your eyes are always clear, warm and friendly. You could be looking at Brittany or Santana or Mercedes or Tina. And I don't want you looking at me like you do at everyone else. I am Quinn freakin' Fabray, but you always make me feel like I'm just another girl.

So I can't stop myself from trying to hurt you. Being hated is better than being nothing.

"Finn, can you get me another drink?" My voice so sweet that it hurts.

Literally, it churns my stomach, because I don't have any feelings for him anymore and I'm doing this for all the wrong reasons. I'm doing this because I know that you're watching. I glance out of the corner of my eyes to confirm - but of course, I'm right. You're standing off in the corner, passively listening to Tina and Artie chatting, but your large doe eyes are wounded and glued to us (to me). It's been over a year since glee club started, and so much has changed since then, but some things never do. After Puck, after Jesse, after everything, you still want him. And after Puck and the baby, after you, after everything, he still wants me, because now he's grinning like a sap as he bounces off into the kitchen to fetch me another beer.

I shift, and I look at you fully. You, caught staring, force a tense, friendly smile. So I saunter over. As if sensing danger, Artie and Tina disperse, which is perfectly fine by me. It leaves you alone in my sights.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," you say quickly.

"Nothing?" I pretend to seethe because it's fun to watch you squirm.

"That's not what I meant!" It's cute when you're flustered, do you know that? But of course you don't.

I'm thinking of the perfect insult to hurl at you when Finn returns, clutching two bottles of beer. I suddenly have a better idea. I take both bottles from him, and I shove one of them into your hands.

"Thanks, Finn." I smile fawningly, sickeningly. "You didn't get one for yourself?"

"Oh, those were the last two. I thought that-" Finn's mouth flaps ineffectually. But he's too much of a gentleman to point out that I'd just stolen his beer and given it to you. "Time for a beer run!" His grin is so genuine. Sometimes I wonder why I don't love him, then I wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

He bounds away to collect Puck for a beer run. You're watching him go. I'm watching you and hating you.

"Well?" I demand. "Drink up!"

"But, Quinn, I don't-"

"Don't be rude, Berry," I snap. "I thought the gays had more etiquette. Didn't your dads ever teach you that it's rude to refuse a drink?"

"No, and I'm a frequent reader of Miss Manners. I don't believe that-"

"Oh, my god! No wonder you're such a loser! Just shut up and drink. Mike was stupid enough to invite you to one of his parties, and this is how you repay him? Look around you. All the popular kids are here tonight. Could you try to act like a decent human being for once and not embarrass the hell out of your host, not to mention the rest of glee club?" Yeah, it's low, but it works because after a moment of hesistance, you bring the bottle to your lips and take a sip.

They say that it's important to stand up to bullies, and you really should have stood up to me just then. Because now I've got you and from there on, it gets easier. Finn and Puck are still out on the beer run, so I talk Mike into raiding his parent's liquor cabinet.

"Drink," I prompt as I hand you a shot of clear vodka.

"Drink!" I insist as I hand you a shot of golden whiskey.

"Drink it!" I command as I hand you a shot of dark rum.

And you do.

As the liquids run from clear to dark, so does my mood, because you're handling the situation with more grace and courage than I would have expected. Every time I turn around, you're holding an empty shot glass in your hand and a bright (if nervous) smile on your face. This isn't the reaction I was expecting. I expected tears in your eyes, coughing gags, pained winces - more ammunition for me to humiliate you with. But even as I feel the alcohol in my own body kick into effect and the room starts looking a little blurry, you're still standing there, calm and composed.

I hate you so much.

"Wallflower!" Is it just me or am I slurring a little? "Are you planning on mating with that ficus?" You've been hovering next to a potted plant in your little corner all night. I can't humiliate you if you're huddled up in a corner instead of drunkenly tripping all over yourself. You're holding an empty shot glass again, even though I had handed it to you full of liquor not a minute ago. You're wearing a slightly guilty expression on your face. I think that there's something I'm missing here, but I can't quite put it together at the moment. Everything seems so fuzzy.

I decide to investigate by taking a closer look. Somehow, my feet get tangled up, then I'm falling forward and I find myself in your arms.

"Quinn." Your voice so close to my ear that it makes me shiver. "I think that you're inebriated. Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to cease-"

"Oh, blah blah blah!" I cry out. I can't take all the words right now. "Don't you ever shut up, Berry?"

You're slipping in and out of focus. I'm seeing spots, black and soft around the edges, contracting and expanding, blotting you in and out of existence. (I wish.)

Next thing I know, I'm hunched over the sink - the bathroom, I think - and I'm splashing cold water on my face. Except that my hands are firmly gripping onto the counter's linoleum edges. I don't know when I grew a second pair of hands, but they feel nice. They're soft and warm as they bring the cool water to my overheated cheeks. They're comforting and strong as they gently dry my face with a towel. Then the hands and the towel are gone, and I see you.

I'm dimly aware of you saying my name, but it takes a little time to adjust. I recognize the setting as the upstairs bathroom. I don't really remember walking up the stairs, but the vague recollection of you tugging at my arm and a sharp pain in my right shin (banged against the steps?) tell me that I did, and that it hadn't been a particularly easy journey.

"Quinn," you say. "Say something."

"Why are you so short?"

The edges of your mouth temporarily tighten into a line, and maybe there's a slight flicker in your eyes, but for the most part, you don't seem very offended. How disappointing.

"For your information, the average height of the American female-"

Thankfully, I don't hear the rest, because a sudden rush of blood to my head overwhelms me and all I can hear is my own heartbeat. I'm tipping forward. I think I feel your arms around me, but I can't be sure because a black cloud descends over my consciousness.

When the cloud lifts, I find myself in a dark room, and I'm lying on a soft surface. A bed. I can hear the sounds of the party going on downstairs. This feels awfully familiar, and not in a good way. The last time that I was this drunk and in a bed, I woke up with a baby. I begin to panic a little, half-expecting to hear a deep, husky voice by my ear, or to turn my head and see a naked male form next to me. I think that I'm thankful when I hear your voice.

"-not to move," you're saying. "I'm going to see if Noah's back, and he can take you home-"

"No!" I'm too drunk to disguise the panic. "Not him. Please, not him." Nothing against Puck. After all, he's the father of the baby I gave away, and that kind of thing bonds you to someone. But him, here, right now, with me in my current state - that just brings back too many bad memories.

The room is so still that I wonder if you didn't already leave. But then:

"Would you like me to get Finn?" I can hear the ache in your voice. I know that I can hurt you if I say yes, if I make you bring him to me. Instead, I hear myself saying,

"No. No, I'll be okay in a minute."

"Very well. I'll sit with you." I don't know why you would. You're just that good, I suppose. That kind of goodness makes my stomach turn with bile. Or maybe that's the alcohol. I don't know, it's a little hard to tell at the moment.

I feel a dip, and then you're sitting on the bed next to me. You're quiet, and this is almost nice, until I remember how much I dislike you.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Seeing as how you're barely enunciating your vowels, I would say that the evidence points to the contrary."

"Why do I hate you so much?" I blurt out.

"I wouldn't know," you reply softly.

Propping myself up by my elbows, I struggle to sit up. You help me by placing your hand against my back, but you use too much force or I'm much too weak, because I stumble forth into your arms. Limbs tangled, chest against chest. You're so close that I smell the scent of your skin. You're trying to pull back, but my fingers dig into your forearms.

"Rachel." I hate you, I want to say. I loathe you. Instead, what comes out is a half-frustrated, half-strangled growl before I crush my lips against yours.

Maybe you're just too surprised to do otherwise, but your mouth springs to action, breathing into me the essence of life. Your tongue is a live wire jolting a monster into being, and I feel its unbidden hunger, forceful and angry after years of forced slumber. I kiss you hard. So hard that you cry out in pain and start pulling away. I pursue like any good hunter would, gripping you by the back of your head to bring you back in. Your struggle is very brief. Once our lips touch, you stop pulling away and start pushing against me. I hate how easy you make this.

We're kissing and kissing and everything's almost okay until you gasp and begin to retreat. It's only then that I realize that I have my hands underneath your shirt, pushing up the bra and groping at the flesh underneath. I honestly wasn't conscious of making the decision to do that. I guess my sneaky drunk hands have a mind of their own.

"Quinn." I hear the trepidation in your voice. "I don't think this is a very good idea as you and I are-"

"Shut up, Berry." I press my lips to yours, and you mutter a weak protest, but you're not backing away anymore. I lightly bit at your bottom lip, and you groan beautifully. I kiss my way along your jawline up to your earlobe. My tongue darts out for an experimental lick before I take your earlobe between my lips. You shiver as I do. My mouth hotly pressed against your ear, I whisper furiously, "Don't ruin this, Berry. Just shut up and don't ruin this like you ruin everything else. Just shut up." At this point, I don't really know the difference between a plead and a threat.

As I continue to whisper my refrain, I lean my body into yours until you're sinking down against the mattress. My hands are working at undressing you, fumbling over the smooth hard buttons of your blouse, the rough metallic zipper of your skirt, the soft, warm flesh I'm seeking to unveil. You whimper, but you don't say anything and you're not stopping me. That is, not until I'm tugging at the waistband of your panties.

"Quinn." Your hands on my shoulders. "Maybe we should-" I try to cut you off with another kiss, but this time you turn your head. "No, really, we must discuss the-"

So I dip my head and take one of your breasts into my mouth. That works. Your words die into an intense hiss as you arch yourself into me. I work my tongue against your nipple as my fingers finds its way to the other peak, massaging and pinching. Then you're panting and moaning and writhing with such intensity and that you forget whatever it is you were going to say to me.

"Fuck," you say, your eyes shut tight. I've never heard you curse before. Curses are supposed to be crude and vulgar; from you, breathy and heated, it sounds sexy. I hate that you make it sound that way. So I tug at your panties, mostly because I want to touch you, but also partly because I know you don't want me to. Sure enough, you rouse yourself from the carnal mini-vacation you're taking at the moment; your eyes snap open and you grab my hand to stop me. I take my mouth away.

"What?" I snap, even though I already know the answer.

"I just- I mean, I've never done this so- I don't-" Under normal circumstances, I would pride myself on having rendered you speechless. Right now, I'm just annoyed, and you know it. So you hurriedly add, "Here- I can- why don't you let me-"

Then your hands are on my jeans, unbutton, unzipping, sliding down. You slip one hand inside my panties. You don't hesitate in delving in, and then I feel your fingers pressing right there and holyjesuschristalmighty it feels amazing. You start rubbing, gently at first, then increasingly harder, faster. My head is already a pulsating mess from the drinking, now my lower half is engulfed in a throbbing flame. It's like sensory overload, and I have to close my eyes just to keep myself from being overwhelmed.

You keep moving your fingers, but you're not trying to enter me. I think about asking - no, telling - you to do it, but before I can, I feel an unexpected orgasmic wave pass through me. I dig my fingernails into your shoulders as I cry out. The shudders pass through my body. You press a tender kiss to my lips, like you're happy and content with this. I'm not. The moment was over too soon, and I feel a little cheated.

I turn to you with renewed vigor. Our teeth clash together as I pull you in too roughly, and it hurts a little, but it's worth it. My tongue pushing insistently into your mouth, my hands pulling adamantly at your underwear. The third time's the charm. You don't stop me. I shove you down against the mattress and climb over you, my hands possessively prowling over your body. You moan as I do. It doesn't surprise me to reach down and find you soaking wet. You stiffen when I touch you there. You grab my wrist, stopping my hand, my fingers on your clit like a trigger.

"You- you don't have to-"

"I want to," I say firmly.

"But-" you swallow hard. "Quinn, I'm a virgin."

"Gee, really?" My voice drips with sarcasm.

"I- I just don't know if I'm ready-"

"It's not a big deal, Berry," I say sharply. "Besides, it doesn't count if it's two girls."

Your brows furrow. I would find it cute if I didn't hate you.

"I'm reasonably certain that's not true."

"Oh, so you can touch me but I can't touch you?"

"But you wanted me to-"

"It's not a big deal." I start to pull away from you. Every movement of my body is infused with resentment. "I should've known that you'd be a freak about this."

That works. Your eyes widen and you grab onto my arm.

"No!" you plead. "No, please don't go."

And I've got you now.

When I kiss you, you kiss back with zeal, like you've got something to prove. You pull me on top of you. You take a hold of my hand and guide me south. I can feel you trembling as you do. I dip my fingers in, seeking out your clit and I rub slowly. I want to make it burn so good that it hurts. You start panting, and the noises that you make reignite the fire in my belly. I want to touch you. I need to.

But I think that maybe this is wrong. I think that I'm drunk. I think that your judgment must be heavily clouded from all those shots you downed earlier. I think that this shouldn't be happening. I think don't do it don't do it don't do it.

Even as I think these things, my fingers push in deep inside of you.

You cry out. It sounds like pain. I thought that I would enjoy hurting you more, but I don't. But then again, this feels incredible - you feel incredible, and I can't resist the urge to move my fingers, to feel you from the inside. I don't know how I feel about any of this. I don't know, but I can't stop, but you're so tight and clenched that it's hard to move. You whimper. You take a deep breath. I see you forcing yourself to relax. It's easier now. I start pumping my fingers in and out, curling my fingers against the ridges of your inner wall and your hips rise to meet me even as you grimace with pain. I reach your clit with my thumb, and I press against it hard. You grunt. I see your hands balling up the sheets. So I do it again. You grunt again. It's like having my hand in a puppet.

I think about touching myself, but I know that I'm much too drunk for that amount of coordination. Besides, it's plenty fascinating to be watching you. I settle for rubbing myself against your thigh. You jolt when you first feel the wetness on your skin, but then I twist my fingers inside you and you don't question it. I start pumping faster, harder, reaching into you as far as I can like I want to possess you. I feel you squeeze against my fingers, so I give you one final thrust, then you're coming undone by my hand, my name on your lips.

So that's what that's like.

I come quietly against you. I suddenly feel tired, the combination of liquor and orgasms having finally sapped the last bit of energy from my body. I roll off you and sink heavily onto the bed, my eyes fluttering shut. I feel you reach for me, but I slap your hand away. I feel my consciousness slip away, and I don't try to fight it.

When I wake, the house is quiet. I can tell that it's almost dawn by the dim gray light peering through the blinds. I'm underneath the covers. My head feels like a jackhammer and my mouth feels like the Sahara. I feel heavy in my body. I close my eyes and think of last night's events, and it feels almost like a dream. If I keep my eyes closed long enough, maybe it will be.

Then I hear it. You. I didn't even know that you were still there.

I open my eyes and follow the direction of the thick, stifled, half-sobs. You're next to me in bed, your back turned to me. The early morning gray lights cascade through the blinds, casting horizons on your bare, trembling shoulders and faintly illuminating your fragile outline as you weep quietly, repressively, mournfully. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and it's breaking my heart.

Now I look at you, and all I want to do is put you back together.

I just hope that it's not too late.

Comments

Thanks so much!

Honestly, I hadn't thought about writing a continuation when I wrote this. I left it open-ended because of how manipulative and hateful Quinn was for most of the story, people may not agree that this situation is fixable!
seriously, you cant leave it like that!
I totally was going to leave it like that.

I'd have to really think about how to fix this. I don't have a plan! :p
I wish I had a continuation planned! I left it the way I did because I wasn't sure whether this could even be fixed.
as much as i would love love love a continuation i see where you're coming from, not knowing whether this can be fixed. i think the only way to do this whole thing justice would be a multi-chapter fic because the build-up would have to be gradual, there's no way another one-shot could fix it all.

this was gorgeous though, heart-breaking but completely beautiful.
I'd love to do it, but I think a multi-chapter fic on this would kill me.

Thank you so much for reading.
Well, the ending it's sad but at the same it's like hopeful imo.I know that you're not sure yet if to write a sequel to this but if you don't I kinda liked this ending too. Because at least I know that Quinn want to make things right. It'd be like totally awesome if you decide to do the sequel though lol :P

Awesome like always, thanks for sharing!
A sequel would be so very, very tough to write.

Thanks for reading!
Honestly this was wretched and devestating and I don't see how it's fixable unless somehow this becomes the bastard love child of Glee and late 80s General Hospital era idiocy. Because really if you pull a Luke and Laura and have Rachel fall in love with her rapist then I don't think I could do anything put toss my laptop across the room in frustration. And utter disgust.

Because sadly though hauntingly erotic in its depiction what was ultimately depicted was rape. And sure a body responds but a mind, a soul a heart is broken and that doesn't heal easily.

I'm not saying that this wasn't well written. It is powerfully so, more so because you left the ending as you did.

Now what would interest me as far as a sequel goes would be the backlash shown realistically. Including Quinn's guilty conscience.

As I reaad what I have already written it occurs to me that I am making the enormous assumption that when people say 'fix it, fix them" that they are asking for things to end in a 'ship between them. Perhaps I should give my fellow readers a bit more credit and take it to mean that what they are really asking is to at least have them come to a place of contrition and an uneasy civil truce between them. So lets see Remorseful!Quinn and Angry!Rachel try for closure.

Thank you for sharing this incredibly powerful vision. YOu have a wonderful talent and I count myself lucky to have read this.
That's the thing with this story - when I was writing it, I knew that people would walk away from it with vastly different interpretations. Some, like you, would see what had happened as a point of no return (a perfectly valid viewpoint) while others would see it as a horrible but fixable mistake (also a valid interpretation, I think). I was never a GH fan, but from what I understand, Luke and Laura were quite popular, as controversial as they were.

So I decided to let people draw their own conclusions.

Thank you so much for reading this and sharing your opinions with me. It is very, very appreciated.
amazing. that about sums this up
Thank you!
It was really sad and intense and Quinn's all over the place. But I'm happy that she felt a need to do the right thing at the end.
I'd love to see a sequel :)
Quinn's terribly conflicted.

I want to do a sequel, but I honestly have no idea how!
Wow. This felt kind of like a punch in the gut. A powerful, awesomely written punch in the gut.

I don't see how it could be continued (not towards a happy ending at least). To me, it's perfect just as it is. Amazing.
I'm sorry I punched you in the gut.

Thank you. :)
Oh god. You. You and your first person point of view and your clarity and your words mixing with that sex and that story and I just. That.

That.

I am a creature of words and descriptions so long you need a map for them, and I can't even get out the tiniest bit of words for this. Because all of it is beautiful beyond human description.

You are so much a poet. I am so much breathless.

Fuck, man. I hope you don't mind, I'm kind of having your literary babies right now.
P.S. Added bonus: I couldn't help giggling at "holyjesuschristalmighty" and the word "panties".

Teehee... "panties"...
This was incredibly intense and so sad. Quinn is so screwed up she has no idea what she feels, and how to deal with it. She's a ball of thread, unravelling slowly. Poor Rachel!
As much as i would like a sequel, I can also understand the need to leave it there. No good could possibly come from this...despite Quinn wanting to fix things. Well written and powerful. Thanks
I realized the other day that I characterize Quinn as a bitchy psycho in 90% of my story despite (or because of) the fact that she's actually my favorite.

Thank you for reading.
Oh Quinn of course its not to late! Is there a possible sequel? I would love to see her putting Rachel back together. This fic rocked btw.
Thank you!

Unfortunately, I don't think I could do a sequel. I'm personally conflicted about if Quinn could fix things, and it looks like reader opinions split 50/50 so that's not helping my decision. :p
Why do you write so perfectly? This was amazing... and I'd love to read the next chapter :-)
Thank you so much!
This was so sad. I'd love to see you write how she puts Rachel back together. :)
Than you. I would too, but I think my skills are sadly limited on that front. I just don't know how to do it!
yuuuuuuuhhhssssssss. i luh dis. and the title especially. no, the sex, especially
Thank you!
Rachel was spilling the drinks in the plant, right? So she wasn't nearly as drunk as Quinn and it makes the story even more painful... I don't know if I'd like to see a sequel, I think it's ok as a one shot but I have faith in your ability as a writer to make a believable follow up. I prefer your comedy one shots though XD.

In short, awesome work.
Indeed, she was. I'm happy that this is noted. Granted, this was probably an important point, but these are the perils of a limited first person POV.

Thank you. I'll probably do a comedy next. I need to switch between the two to give myself a little variety.
So sad! Please fix this!
I'm not sure if I can. :(
My little broken heart really wants you to fix this... But as far as *properly* fixing it in a sequel, it probably wouldn't work with a one shot. I doubt it'd end all that happily even if you did a multi parter, but reaching a stage where they get closure (and Quinn works out her serious Rachel issues) would be possible. Whatever you do (if you decide to continue it, that is) would be amazing anyway.

I wouldn't say no to a partner fic from Rachel's POV though! My heart would break some more, but it'd be good.

And also, what is your icon from? It looks really familiar to me. If I've not said it already, this really was brilliant. =)
I'm exhausted just thinking about the multi-parter. I've been contemplating a Rachel POV, because Quinn's very limited POV didn't give the full picture of what happened. But I'm just so lazy...

Thanks for reading! And my icon is from the cover page of a comic book called Fables. You can see the full image here.
Wow.. This was indeed beautifully written.

I didnt see it as rape, like some of the readers.

The fact that Rachel wasnt drunk, increaded the sadness of the story BUT she was in her clear mind when she made the decision to let Quinn touch her. Rape is involuntary sex, and this didnt feel involuntary to me, yes she she refused at first but then again she did it because she wanted reassurance, and even if she didnt get it, her hopes for this to change things between the two of them (she had feelings for Quinn, because Rachel doesnt seem like the type to just sleep with whomever) and reaching out for Quinn was her needing to know this wasnt a mistake but Quinn rejected her and Rachel ended up feeling hurt, disappointed and used.

This is just how I see it! *ducks from pitchforks* Haha

Loved it :D hope you make a continuation.
*increased :P Damn it.. Hope you get what I mean :P
Ohmygoodness why is this so amazing and so heartbreaking at the same time. I don't even know how to handle this. I want more, but I see how it's just frozen, best to end it as it is...

Meanwhile, GUH, brb drooling forever with that sex. To quote Quinn, "holyjesuschristalmighty."

So. Good. [/late to the party, as per usual]
Better late than never? ;)

Thanks so much for reading and leaving such lovely comments!
I like it just the way it is. Honestly, it seems like most Faberry fic is to fluffy for the characters, and while they should get a happy ending, I always feel like this would be closer to the start

Gah!

Dude I want to be like you when I grow up in my writing skills. Right now I'm ashamed to type anything, let alone a fanfic....

Seriously, Quinn is my favorite character on the show and I love how you portray her. Although this is a difficult situation, I got this "maybe all this time Rachel wasn't really looking at Finn at all..." vibes and the fact she agreed to sleep with Quinn (albeit under Quinn's mind fucking pressure) showed me that she wanted something, and that's when things turned ugly.

I must say I was on this position a couple times in my life (once I was Rachel, once I was Quinn, twice I got really messy and confusing situations in my hands), but it out turned out OK, so I'll stick to the thought that they will be (or were) able to fix everything. I'm a fan of sappy happy endings.

I would love reading a sequel to this, only to put my mind at ease (because I'm have this problem with official stories Vs what I see in my mind...) and because I can't get enough of your fics. But I know, I know, its hard to put this kind of thing together (it took me a year and some time to put myself together), still I can't help but wish for more...

Re: Gah!

Thank you so much! And don't rag on yourself. You know the old adages - you won't know until you try, practice makes perfect, yada yada yada.

I can't imagine being in either girl's position and NOT end up with a messy and confusing situation in the end. But I'm very happy that you came out of yours okay.

I hate to disappoint, but I think this story has to be left as a one-shot. This is one of those times where I think it best if people were left to draw their own conclusions. :)
I love this fic... you should write more angst - you're obviously good at it

keep up ;)

June 2011

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