A/N: Warning - smut.

The Sheriff

The world was black and white, and gravel was crunching underneath the soles of Quinn's tennis shoes. The air was thick with humidity. Beads of sweat were already blossoming across her forehead. The sun was just beginning to drop from the sky as Quinn shifted her gaze upwards and caught sight of birds flying away. She wished - not for the first time in the past several hours - that she could just fly away as well.

And while her brain was strangely fuzzy and muffled, Quinn still realized somewhere in the recesses of her thoughts that she couldn't leave. She couldn't leave because of her.


Quinn's pace picked up. She had to get home. She couldn't remember why, exactly. It had something to do with the tornado sirens that were sounding. But there wasn't a cloud in the sky, why were the sirens sounding? Oh, yes. She suddenly remembered...

The Sickness had made its way to their little town. It was finally time to act.

They probably should have acted months ago.

A white picket fence loomed ahead in the distance. A beautiful, two-story house was nestled just beyond its borders. At the sight of her home, Quinn gave up on walking - she began to run as fast as her toned legs could carry her.

She jumped up the three porch steps in one huge bound, landing on the doormat and skidding a couple of inches to a stop. Her hand reached out to touch the doorknob, and she hesitated. The metal was hot underneath her fingertips from the summer sun, and she let it burn into her skin before finally grasping it fully and twisting. The bolt scraped reassuringly from its place in the door frame, unlocked and inviting Quinn to step inside.

The door's hinges creaked as she pushed it open fully. But she didn't step inside yet. Her head twisted from left to right, searching outside the house for a sign of her parents' cars. Because the Sickness had come, and Quinn didn't know who had been exposed and who hadn't - though she had an awful, sinking suspicion. Reports were new, fresh, not to be trusted. No one knew who exactly was susceptible and who wasn't. Running into her parents was a risk she couldn't take.

Quinn turned back to look into the foyer beyond the open door. Her ears strained to listen. But this black and white existence was confusing and silence was oddly pressing against her eardrums. All she heard was her own shallow breathing and the pumping of blood from her chest to her extremities.

Lub dub.
Lub dub.
Lub dub.
Lub dub.

The first step she took inside the quiet house, a hardwood panel creaked underneath her sneaker. She flinched and held her breath, but still - there was nothing. Propelling herself forward, Quinn ran up the main stairs, jumping them three at a time while still trying to keep her footfalls soft, quiet, undetectable.

She sprinted down the hallway, thankful for the silence afforded her by the carpet. Once she reached the bedroom of her childhood - because at this point, where had her childhood gone, really? - she closed and locked the door behind her. Forgoing all stealth, she bounded over to her closet and grabbed a duffel bag.

Minutes later, she had packed all manner of clothes and shoes and worldly possessions she could get her hands on into that single bag.

The radio broadcast was still resounding in her ears, bits and pieces that she would never be able to forget - not even, apparently, in her worst nightmares.

...has reached Lima...

...this reporter witnessed it himself...

...local bank completely overrun by...

...all government operations ceased as city hall became inundated by both those who...

...oh god...

...the door, lock the god damned door -

Quinn's mother worked at the bank. And Quinn's father was a government official whose office was located in city hall. Her heartbeat pounded more furiously in her chest as she tried to ignore what this meant for her, for her family.

Even though they had mostly stopped being her family when they kicked her out for getting herself knocked up.

Sex with Puck. Pregnant. Losing her home, her family. Childbirth. Staring down at her beautiful baby girl. Living again. Living with Puck and Beth and trying to start fresh.

It was too much for her. Quinn was on her knees and she couldn't breathe. Her fists clenched and grasped over and over again at the soft carpet between her fingers.

"Beth," she breathed out. Her body shuddered and shivered and shook, and she pounded her fist once, twice against the floor before resolution stiffened her shoulders.

Quinn stood and grabbed her packed bag. She had to make it to Puck's. She had to find him. She had to get Beth. They had to leave. They could make it, together. If they stuck together, they would be fine. She just had to make it there.

Her world shifted beneath her feet, and she was at her bedroom door with her duffel bag strapped to her back. Her fingers flipped the lock, and she pulled the door open.

And Quinn's blood froze in her veins as she was met with the staggeringly intimidating form of Russell Fabray.


He growled. He literally growled. Russell had always been easy to anger, but he was often more articulate. Quinn's eyes were impossibly wide as he took one step forward and she took three steps back, landing halfway on her bed.

"Quinn." Her name left his lips in another growl, and she shuddered. Spit flew from his lips, and her eyes watched its path. She sighed a miniscule sigh of relief as it landed two feet in front of her.

"I thought you had work today," Quinn said. She was thankful that she was able to utter the words without stuttering.

"I did," Russell said, confirming that he had likely been at city hall when the scared, infected masses had swarmed - seeking relief or safety or whatever it was people looked for when they were lost and terrified.

Quinn gulped and inched her way to the edge of the bed. She had to make it out of this house. She had to get away. She had to get to Beth, to Puck.

"Daddy," she said once more, trying to convey to him that she was still his little girl. She looked into his eyes. They were bloodshot. His skin was flushed, and he was sweating profusely. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

He was starting to froth at the mouth.

Quinn squeezed her lips shut, repressing a scream as he stepped into the room. She noted that his movements were more clumsy than usual. She could make it out of here, she could make it out and things would be ok.

Hopping over her bed, Russell followed her. "This isn't your house anymore," Russell rumbled from deep within his chest. "You don't belong here!" He was yelling now, and lunging at her. His fingertips closed on the hem of her shirt as Quinn jumped once more over the bed and out of his reach. She wrenched her body forward, and the shirt ripped in his grasp. "QUINN!" he bellowed in her wake as she sprinted out the bedroom door and practically fell down the stairs on her way outside.

The air was still oppressive once she escaped the confines of the house, but she could breathe more easily than she had been able to breathe in her room - with her infected father on her heels, his touch and his acrid breath too close to her for comfort or safety.

Quinn took off running, the duffel bag bouncing methodically against her back. She didn't stop when Judy Fabray's weaving vehicle approached her on the road, and she didn't stop when her mother called out to her from the rolled down window, "Quinnniieee!" It only took the briefest of glances to see that her mother was already another statistic.

Quinn was swimming in tears by the time she let herself slump against the gate that led into Puck's yard. She sobbed into the back of her hand. Had she gotten too close to Russell? Had she let herself get infected? Would she become another victim of the Sickness?

She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Santana.

Ran into Russell. I don't know if I'm safe anymore.

Sinking down to her knees in the dirt, Quinn clutched the phone in her hands and looked towards the house. The screen door banged open, and a tiny girl stepped outside. She immediately dropped down to the ground and started playing with a doll she had left there earlier. Quinn remembered - she had been playing with her a few hours before. Even from this distance where Quinn could no longer make out the Osh Kosh overalls and the polka dotted shoes on her feet, Quinn knew every last detail that belonged to the little girl on the porch with the doll in her hands.

Her phone vibrated.

Brit and I are in the same boat. I barely got her out of her parents' house in time. We have to leave, Q. We've all been exposed. Where are you?


Her tears started to dry up as she waited on Santana's response. She glared at the phone when she received the message that she knew was coming - the message that held all the potential to crush her completely.

You know you can't see Beth, Q. You can't risk her like that. We need to leave. You can come back for her someday. When it's safe again. Brit and I are on our way to you. We'll be there soon. Be strong.

The tears flowed faster, harder than ever before. A sob echoed from her throat into the black and white, and the sun was setting overhead.

Beth heard her, and Quinn saw her little head perk up on her shoulders. "No," Quinn wanted to scream it out. She couldn't notice her now. If Beth came to her, she could get sick. If Beth got close to her, Quinn would never be able to leave her.

Just as Beth started to stand, a gleeful smile on her face and "Mama!" on her lips, the front door opened and Puck's little sister stepped out. She immediately spotted Quinn kneeling in front of the gate and swooped down to grab Beth up into her arms.

Quinn would eternally be grateful for Abigail's strength in that moment when she had lost the last of her own.

"Where is Puck?" Quinn managed to yell out. Beth giggled and struggled in Abby's arms.

"He's getting supplies. I told him to be careful," Abby responded. Her face was neutral. She was only fourteen, but she had always been sharp, smarter than most people gave her credit for - much like her older brother.

"And your mom?" Abby just shook her head. Quinn cleared her throat and called back, "Yeah, mine too. I..." she trailed off. She had never been good at saying goodbye. How could she explain? "I ran into my dad."

Abby's eyes widened. "Quinn..."

"I know," Quinn replied, standing up. "I'm not sure if... Well, I'm just not sure. I can't... I don't know..."

Abby nodded. "I'll tell Puck."

And that was that. Quinn didn't tell Abby to send her love. Quinn didn't leave any messages. Abby understood - Quinn had been exposed, and she couldn't stay. There was no time for goodbyes.

"Beth," Quinn whispered the name. And then she turned and walked away.

"Mama! Mama!" echoed behind her, and her heart shattered into a thousand shards of smooth, cold glass.

When she met Santana and Brittany half a mile down the road, they didn't say a word. They just started walking west. Because they didn't know what else to do. They were barely eighteen years old, and they were now alone, together. Santana's fingers squeezed Quinn's tightly, and she continued to cry. Brittany's fingertips brushed against the hot skin of Quinn's lower back, exposed from where Russell had torn her shirt in her hasty attempt at escape.

One final, shrill "Mamaaa!" resounded in the oppressive silence surrounding her eardrums, and Quinn screamed.

As Quinn's body shot upward off of the bed, completely drenched in sweat from the realism of her dream - her nightmare - she attempted to calm the pulsating thump of her heart.

It had been real. It had been so fucking real. But it was the past. It could stay in the past, if only Quinn's mind would let it.

The tears streamed down her face with a vengeance, silently cutting tracks across her perfect skin. But the time for whimpering and whining was over.

She threw her covers off of her body, placing her feet resolutely on the floor. The wood was cold beneath her bare toes, but Quinn remained unaffected as she headed for the only people in the world who would understand - the only people who could give her the comfort she needed.

Santana and Brittany had been her anchor, her support when she needed them the most. Santana's text that afternoon had kept Quinn from being rash and running to Beth in her weakest moment, and Brittany's warm embrace that night had kept Quinn from racing back through the darkness to Beth and Puck.

That day, Quinn had given up one family for another.

On her way to the door, she stubbed her toe on her bed frame. "Ow!" she exclaimed. "Fucking fuck!" The tears hadn't stopped since she woke up, but they did now - because stubbing her fucking toe on her fucking bed just made her angry. She was suddenly angrier than she had let herself be in a long time. She turned on her heel, walking to the closest wall and literally punching her fist through it.

"Whoa," she heard from the room connected to hers.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she roughly pulled her fist out of the wall. The room was lightly illuminated by moonlight, and she saw white powder covering her hand. She flexed her fingers, and blood began to seep through.

The door creaked open, and Sam stuck his head inside. "You ok, boss?" he questioned.

"Bring me a bandage for my hand, please," she replied shortly.

He disappeared and was back a minute later, cleaning off her hand and wrapping the bandage around it. Quinn averted her gaze from his face, choosing instead to look at his defined abs.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he softly questioned when he finished.

"No," Quinn abruptly replied. "I don't want to fucking talk about it. I don't need to fucking talk about it. Alright?"

He held up his hands in a placating gesture as he backed out of the room. "You got it, boss." He made a motion indicating the zipping of his lips, and then he was gone.

Quinn hung her head. The fierce flame of her anger had burnt out as quickly as it had grown into life. Now, she was left alone again - feeling broken and fragile and lost. Dreams elicited memories that were better left buried.

She lifted her chin and left her room, headed in the direction of her initial destination.

They would know how to make her feel again. And feeling anything was better than this hellhole of torture - memories of a time that Quinn couldn't change.

Foregoing a knock, Quinn pushed open Brittany and Santana's door. She walked across the floor, leaving a trail of clothes in her wake. As she moved closer, she took in the sleeping figures on the bed. Brittany, curled into a ball, pressing her head against Santana's bare chest. And Santana, one arm wrapped protectively around Brittany's shoulders even in her sleep.

A floorboard creaked, and Santana's eyes snapped open. Quinn didn't stop her forward progression until she was mere inches from the bedside. "Santana..." Her voice sounded small to her ears, weak and insufferable. When had she become this fucking shell?

Santana's free hand reached out and grasped at Quinn's uninjured hand, easily lacing their fingers together as she had done so many times before. The fiery Latina had always been capable of incorrigible crassness, but there was another side of her that she only showed in moments like these - moments where Brittany or Quinn needed her to understand. And she always understood. She knew when to be gentle and how to make all of the bad things disappear. Santana knew how to take care of them, even though she would never admit it.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" Santana questioned softly. Her arm that was wrapped around Brittany began to rub the blonde's shoulders, softly waking her from her deep sleep.

"Everything," Quinn managed to whisper. Her voice was hoarse. "Nothing." Her eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to make sense of her emotions. "Something," she finally choked out as the tears returned full force.

Brittany's eyes had blinked into awareness while Quinn spoke, and when tears began streaming down her face, Brittany took action.

"Oh, Quinn," she said, sitting up into a kneeling position, grabbing Quinn's other hand delicately over her bandages. She didn't question the injury, and she didn't question the tears on Quinn's face. She just pulled Quinn closer so that her thighs were pressing against the mattress, and she lightly brought her lips to the distraught girl's cheeks, kissing away the saltiness.

"I..." Quinn struggled for words, words that weren't there and hadn't been there for quite some time - words that may never be there again.

"Shhh," Brittany whispered against Quinn's lips. She stroked the sides of Quinn's wet cheeks, pulling her hopelessly closer and kissing her soundly.

When Quinn moaned, it was involuntary. She couldn't help it, she really fucking couldn't. And while Brittany had given her kisses on the lips before, Brittany had never fucking kissed her - not like this. "God," she muttered against Brittany's lips. Brittany just smiled and ran her tongue along Quinn's upper lip. Quinn wanted to mention how good she tasted, how hot her mouth was, how much she needed something - and how much that something was turning into this.

Santana was still holding her hand, Quinn hadn't forgotten. And then soft lips were caressing the underside of her wrist, and Quinn shuddered. She broke the kiss with Brittany to stare down into Santana's eyes - eyes that were so dark they might as well have been black. The girl's lips were consuming every millimeter of Quinn's sensitive skin. She threw her head back in pleasure, and Brittany's tongue licked a path along her throat.

Such simple touches, and Quinn was already coming undone. It had been way too fucking long since she had been properly fucked. But had she ever been properly fucked? She was already starting to think that no, she fucking hadn't.

Brittany grasped the back of Quinn's neck and pulled her forward into another kiss. This time, their tongues began to explore each other. Carefully, almost hesitantly. Santana brought one of Quinn's fingers to her lips, sucking the digit into her mouth. Quinn responded with a throaty moan of pleasure, and Brittany took advantage - leaving all hesitation behind and snaking her tongue into Quinn's mouth, tasting the girl more fully than ever. Quinn immediately had her hand on the back of Brittany's head, holding her in place, sucking deliciously on her perfect tongue and wondering why she had never done this before.

Santana removed Quinn's finger from her lips, taking her friend's hand and placing it on Brittany's chest. An already hardened nipple was suddenly between Quinn's fingertips, and she attacked Brittany's lips with a vengeance as she rolled her fingers roughly. A muffled moan of pleasure crossed from Brittany's mouth into Quinn's.

"Here," Santana softly said, gaining the attention of the blondes in front of her briefly. She pulled Brittany backwards, delicately caressing her between the legs as Brittany leaned back against the pillows. Once Brittany was situated, Santana hopped off of the bed to stand next to Quinn. She looked her right in the eyes, and Quinn felt safe. "Come on," Santana whispered, wrapping a hand around Quinn's hip and indicating that she should lay down.

Quinn climbed onto the bed, but she pulled Santana with her. And as she laid down on the cool sheets, she drug Santana down on top of her naked body. Their lips crashed together, and it was powerful and explosive and everything Quinn's brief sexual encounter with Sam hadn't been. Brittany's fingertips were trailing up and down her body, and Santana's tongue was making her see stars behind her eyelids, and Quinn wondered why she had never before had sex with a women.

Unintelligible sounds left Quinn's lips in whimpers and moans as Santana detached their lips and moved down Quinn's figure. Brittany leaned up and took Santana's place, sucking on Quinn's tongue this time and causing more stars to explode in Quinn's mind.

"Fuck!" Quinn exclaimed as Santana's hot fucking mouth descended on her left breast, sucking and licking and nipping and generally making Quinn fucking lose it.

Brittany grinned against Quinn's lips and turned her head to look down at Quinn's chest where Santana's head was moving back and forth, up and down. Quinn could do little more than breathe raggedly against the smooth skin of Brittany's neck above her. "That's so fucking hot," Brittany proclaimed to the room at large. Santana raised her eyes and gave Brittany a sly grin, Quinn's nipple between her teeth. She raised a hand and crooked a finger, indicating that Brittany should join her.

With a mouth on each of her breasts, Quinn could barely maintain the coherency to fucking breathe - let alone think or form sentences or give direction. Her hands were on the back of brunette and blonde heads, but she wasn't guiding - she was just trying to convey how fucking good they felt on top of her (as if her guttural exclamations hadn't been indication enough).

Quinn felt the bed shift and Santana moved slightly. And Quinn thought she had seen fucking stars earlier, but now her eyes were open and all she could see were the two beautiful girls on top of her, and all she could feel were their fingers touching her in her most intimate of places. Because two hands were between her thighs, but Quinn couldn't tell up from down, let alone Brittany's hands from Santana's.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered. And then someone parted her folds, and she could hear her wetness in the quiet atmosphere of the room, and she was screaming as someone entered her, "Oh, fuck!" Fingers were circling her clit and fingers were inside of her and fingers were tweaking her nipples and Quinn couldn't fucking function beyond curse words and hip thrusts and keening moans of desire and need.

She didn't even have time to be embarrassed by how quickly she was going to come. All she could do was gasp and writhe and not think about Beth or Puck or the world beyond these four walls for a few blissful minutes. That was all this was about, right? That's all she had really needed - to forget and to feel something besides despair.

"Jesus Christ," she panted into the warm air. "San," she moaned, grabbing the brunette's hair between her fingers and pleading with her movements for the girl to move. Santana obeyed Quinn's unspoken request, pressing her breasts into Quinn's and kissing her roughly on the lips. Fingers pumped in and out of her, and Quinn couldn't tell if they were both inside of her or not, but she was inclined to think that they were. Brittany's foot caressed her curled toes, and her chest pressed against Quinn's side. The blonde's lips were sucking forcefully on the pale skin of Quinn's neck. "Brittany," Quinn gasped into Santana's mouth. "Please," she spoke - to fucking anyone who would listen, "please, fuck me!"

They obliged.

Quinn had never felt so complete - so full of warmth and surrounded by love - and when she came, she came with the names of her best friends on her bruised lips.

Her body rocked forward with her orgasm, electric spasms spreading through her from head to toe before she collapsed back down on the bed. Santana and Brittany each spread out along her sides, and they continued to kiss all of her exposed skin.

For some reason, a smile had found its way onto Quinn's lips. Memories and nightmares and obligations hadn't yet resurfaced, and she was free - blissfully fucking free like she hadn't been in years. Brittany leaned up on an elbow and kissed the corner of Quinn's smile. "We've missed you, Q," she said, her voice quiet and sincere as she allowed her moist fingertips to trace the smile on Quinn's lips.

Quinn nodded - her voice incapable of forming coherent words - and wondered to herself when exactly it was that she had left.

A/N: So, Quittana. I realize that some people don't like deviations from their Faberry/Brittana OTPs. But I can't really apologize, because this made sense to me. And while smut isn't my strong suit, I hope that this was enjoyable to read - and if you're upset that it wasn't Faberry, just imagine how hot it will be when they finally have sex.