These strange steps

19

Notes:

AN: I have never been to rehab. I don't know anyone who has been to rehab. I'm also not a psychologist. This (part of the) story is therefore pieced together with as much care as possible, but possibly reads totally unrealistically, in which case you should all blame Lindsay Lohan and Google, in that order, for providing me with my 'factual' background. :)

Chapter Text

Her only real associations with Hawaii are either ridiculous stereotypes, or Lost.

The latter feels marginally more appropriate as a point of reference for the mysterious door she's stepping through, and if not for the fact that Brittany and Santana have been watching her carefully all morning, she'd be high as a kite right now. She has about twelve Xanax left. They'll be taken off her as soon as she enters treatment, she's fairly sure, and so-it's now, or never.

But then, Cody steals a chicken sandwich off the plate Brittany is preparing, and thus commences a forty minute scramble to try to chastize and catch the dog. When they finally do, Santana says, "Oh, shit, we need to drop you off" and her window of opportunity closes, in a rather final way.

She's mostly silent, on the drive over, until Brittany looks over her shoulder and says, "Hawaii really is pretty awesome. Are you going to be allowed outside, or is this kind of like prison but for people who are sad?"

Santana reaches for Brittany's knee and gently squeezes it, which probably means be careful or something in spousal-speak, but Rachel just shrugs. "I don't know. I imagine I'll be asked to stay on the grounds, at least, but-there will probably be outside areas."

"The ocean's pretty amazing," Santana says, after a moment, glancing at Rachel through the rear view mirror. "Maybe you can take up scuba diving or something, while you're there; now that you're all about clam diving anyway..."

Rachel rolls her eyes, and Santana flashes her teeth for a second before looking at the traffic ahead and shaking her head again.

"Going to be close, Rach. Sorry."

"That's all right," Rachel says, with barely a waver, because-if she misses her flight, that's at least another hour or so of... well.

Belaying the inevitable.

...

But, she makes the flight; Brittany squeezes her into a hug so tight it actually hurts, and Santana presses a kiss to her cheek and says, "Get better. I want be able to make fun of the shit you wear without feeling like I'm kicking a puppy again, okay?"

They are the strangest words of encouragement she's gotten, but it's very much in line with what she herself remembers, hilariously, as the better days-the ones on which most of the insults just slid right off of her.

It would be great to go back there, and that's the thought that carries her through check-in and security, until she's waiting in a lounge for her flight to board.

The quiet, and the alone time, automatically brings her mind back to Quinn; Quinn, who does not like pineapple on pizza but doesn't judge anyone who does, especially not vegans, who are so self-limiting in what they can eat anyway; Quinn, who prefers sweet and sour to barbeque sauce but also hasn't eaten at a McDonald's in close to six years now; and Quinn, who has surprisingly strong feelings about eggplant.

It's my asparagus. Blegh - is her final word on the subject, and Rachel feels indescribably lighter just composing a quick reply to that message.

Red cabbage is my asparagus. I don't think I'll be eating a lot of it in the next month though, unless my expectations of Hawaii are completely off base. What about favorite vegetables? I will do you a favor and answer before you ask: everything but red cabbage and, you've guessed it, asparagus. Though I'm particularly fond of sugar snaps and broccoli.