Author's Note: This is set during the Vietnam War, during the 1960s. Song's referenced are Across the Universe and Revolution by the Beatles. I don't own anything!

It was a ritual. Friday nights, before they'd go out to the clubs, the bars, and wherever the hell they found themselves, tripping and experiencing life, they'd all sit together in the apartment and watch the news.

Rachel had insisted upon it first. She had insisted at first that it was because as a celebrity, she'd be asked question about current world affairs. They had all known better, she was checking up on him.

Finn Hudson had been drafted at the start of the war. He had never gone to school, he hadn't gotten a steady, well paying job. He had been living off Rachel, living the high life.

Rachel had been devastated.

The day he left was unfitting. It was sunny outside, the summer heat kissed their tear stained cheeks as they watched him drive off in the orange taxi.

Orange.

Every mention of it sent Rachel into hysterics, sobbing uncontrollably as Mercedes or Tina held her close. They had to rid the apartment of anything of that color, Mike's favorite t-shirt was gone, Kurt's feather boa was sent into the trash, even Rachel's own orange stuffed Unicorn was ripped to shreds. Just like her heart.

That Friday night, as they surrounded the cheap, black and white TV that Noah stole from some neighboring flat, Quinn Fabray had a sense of dread.

Her stomach was in knots, her mouth tasted sour, and her brow was sweating. Quinn Fabray did not sweat.

She did not know what brought on such feelings, even tucked under her boyfriend's protective arm did nothing to calm her. Maybe she was still feeling the effects from the acid they took yesterday. She was certain it wasn't supposed to last that long. Maybe someone spiked her drink? She looked warily down at the beer bottle in her hand, imagining tiny little skulls floating at the top.

Mike leaned over and whispered in her ear, something sweet and sexual all at the same time. Normally it would have given her a different effect, she would have leaned over and just barely grazed the top of his pants, teasingly hoping he'd get the message. Not tonight.

Quinn looked forebodingly ahead. She knew something was going to happen.

"Mike, there's something in the mail for you."

Santana's message rang clear, she held the small white envelope in her tanned hand, staring down at it. There was just a single piece of paper folded inside. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mike looked over the couch toward the kitchen at her. His eyes furrowed together. Quinn looked positively horrified.

He stood up slowly.

Three seconds.

Three seconds was all it took for him to walk to the kitchen and take the envelope from Santana's shaking hands. Four seconds for him to open it, ripping the top off and tossing the waste on the floor. He too was shaking.

"What is it, man?" Sam's voice carried from the other side of the kitchen, where he sat on the counter, his shaggy blonde hair falling over his eyes in a mock Beatles style.

Mike didn't have to answer, Quinn's sobs as she sprinted to her bedroom did instead.

Artie was drafted three months before Mike left.

Brittany didn't understand. "He's leaving me?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

Santana held her in her arms, "He'll be back." Though she believed otherwise.

It broke Santana to see her this way. Sure, she had always wanted Brittany for herself, not with that nerdy little Artie Abrams. But never like this. Never with Artie shipped off to Vietnam to get his brains blown out. And for what? The good of the country.

Fuck America, Santana thought.

"You should have never dropped out of school," Quinn hissed, standing up from the bed just as Mike had sat down. She was venomous, a Quinn that Mike hated to see.

"Quinn-"

"If you hadn't dropped out of school, to do what, oh yes, be a street performer, this never would have happened!"

"I know-"

"And you know what else?" Quinn was seething, pacing around the tiny bedroom they shared. "You're going to go over there and get yourself blown up for no fucking reason! And you're going to leave me here all alone!"

Mike moved to get up.

"No, fuck you Mike. This is all your fault."

She stormed out of the room, still sobbing.

It wasn't his fault; it was hers.

Noah and Kurt were the only two boys who didn't end up going.

Noah, because he ran a successful bar on the Upper West Side. Kurt, because he was still only nineteen and attending school.

Sam received his notification two days after Mike. He seemed almost excited to go. He thought it was his patriotic duty. He wanted to serve the country. He wanted to make his mother proud. And in some sick and twisted way, everyone else seemed happy for him. Maybe Sam could find himself over seas.

As long as he didn't lose himself in the process.

They did not reconcile before he left.

Mike had simply kissed her forehead before leaving. Quinn had simply looked at her feet.

His departure was much more fitting. It was raining, the harsh splash of water on the street as he looked over his shoulder once more to see Quinn. Just one last look. He couldn't leave without it.

Quinn didn't look up.

Rachel was getting better. She'd received a letter from Finn, she had been walking around, smelling it, claiming it still had his sent on it. Everyone was so happy for her.

Except Quinn.

Finn's letter had said that he was currently on leave, that he was to be at the base for a while longer before going back into the jungle. He applying for a desk job, but he wasn't certain if he'd get it since he wasn't so good at math.

Fingers crossed.

Santana and Quinn joined a protest group.

They took to the streets, shouting anti-war slogans, spreading hate against the country they lived in. Santana was arrested twice, once for punching a police officer, second for throwing a brick through the window of a shop that sold 'I Love New York' paraphernalia. Quinn and Noah bailed her out each time.

Santana didn't lose a boyfriend overseas. No, she lost something else.

Her sanity.

Noah had to look for new tenants. The lack of business at his bar mixed with the lack of rent from Finn, Artie, Sam, and Mike was creating a burden. They couldn't afford decent food anymore. The drugs that they all needed so bad had become more expensive.

Noah, Mercedes, and Brittany interviewed possible newbies. They had seen a few colorful characters, but by the end of the day they had three new roommates. Blaine Anderson, a kind, but also gay salesmen who worked at a used car lot. In New York City. Jesse St. James, an obnoxiously arrogant performer who was down on his luck. Rachel had met him at school. And finally Lauren Zizes, an overweight, harsh girl who was currently attending school at NYU.

Quinn was forced to room with Rachel, leaving behind the room that she and Mike shared. She stood carefully at the threshold, looking at the room void of all her things but filled with all her memories.

To hell with it, she thought.

It only took three months for Quinn to find herself in Noah's bed.

She curled against his naked chest, pinching her eyes shut, pretending it didn't happen.

It did, though.

She hated herself.

"Would you like to sing with me tonight, Quinn?"

Quinn looked up from where she sat at the table, furiously coloring in the letters to her sign, 'Hey LBJ, how many of my boys have you killed today?'. Rachel was leaning against the table across from her, for the first time, Quinn noticed how old Rachel looked. Her hair was long, her bangs were grown out, there were bags under her eyes.

"I'm busy tonight Rachel," Quinn replied, looking down quickly and continuing to color. She had signs to make, she had to go with Santana down to Columbia University and picket. She had so much to do.

Jesse scoffed from the chair next to her, "Busy with what? Do you actually think shouting obscene words to no one is going to bring your precious boyfriend home? Your only hope now is he'll be brought back in a body bag."

"Jesse!" Rachel gasped.

Sam sent letters every other week. Finn was almost constant, every few days. He'd gotten the desk job.

Mike only sent Quinn one letter.

Quinn,

I'm sorry. I'll be home soon.

Love,

Mike

Quinn crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash.

Tina fished it out and stored it under her pillow.

Noah and Lauren were together. As were Kurt and Blaine. Jesse was forcefully pursuing Rachel. Rachel remained faithful.

Quinn did not.

She and Jesse sat at a little café, drinking tea and discussing an anti-war protest music festival that was coming up in a few weeks. Quinn was helping set it up, Jesse was to perform.

They weren't friends. They didn't even like each other.

But their company was better than being alone, with only their thoughts and a lit joint to ease the pain.

"I'm sorry," Jesse mumbled, out of the blue. I'm sorry for saying your boyfriend would only come back in a body bag.

Quinn nodded.

But it's true.

They took a train to Lima for Sam's funeral.

It was heartbreaking. Not a single person had dry eyes. Except for Quinn.

He died a hero, saving his entire unit. They gave him some kind of medal.

As they folded the flag, closing it and stepping apart, it appeared like some sort of dance. Moving together, moving apart. The shuffling of their feet was a familiar sound.

She broke, fell to the ground, and heaved sobs. It took Mercedes and Noah to carry her back to the car.

She screamed out his name.

Mike.

Finn was coming home.

They crew waited at the airport, Rachel was bouncing, up and down, up and down, clapping. Laughing. Clapping.

As Finn approached, the giant Frankenstein he was, he tripped over someone else's luggage. He went flying, his own bags hitting Blaine and sending him to the ground.

Rachel didn't care, they both cried and hugged and kissed. Quinn almost felt sick.

When Rachel finally let him go, Finn immediately grabbed Kurt, his brother-in-law. They hugged, both crying. Finn couldn't stop crying. Quinn didn't even know if they were happy tears. He went down the line, hugging everyone. As Finn stopped to hold Santana, Jesse leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"It'll be his turn soon."

Quinn wasn't so sure.

With Finn home, Quinn had to move out of Rachel's room. She once again packed her things, but this time she didn't stand at the threshold.

She moved in with Tina and Mercedes, tossing her things into the small bed in the corner. She was just tossed around, "Oh Quinn, we're sorry that your boyfriend hasn't written in months and that you're sad, but you wouldn't mind moving again, would you?"

As she was putting away her clothes into a dresser than Tina had cleared her things out of. She stumbled into one that wasn't completely empty.

Quinn pulled out a silk nightgown, tossing it on the ground. As she stuffed in own delicates inside, her eyes caught something on the ground. A stack of papers. White, crumbled, worn like they'd been touched and read many times.

Curious, she picked them up.

Her heart stopped.

Jesse was holding Quinn back, his arms wrapped around her waist. Quinn was screaming, her arms flying, black tears streaming down her face. "How long?" she screamed, her voice straining.

Tina stood across the room, sobbing.

"How long!" Quinn screamed against, wrestling away from Jesse, only to be caught again. "You tell me how long you filthy whore!"

Tina brought her hands to face. "Two months before he left."

"Fuck you," Quinn sobbed. "Fuck you all."

She threw Jesse's arm off of her and stormed from the apartment.

Quinn's new apartment had rats.

Rats.

She screamed, throwing one of her shoes at the creature before leaning her head against the wall. This was what her life had come to.

"Move back Quinn,"

Finn, Rachel, and Noah stood at her door. Rachel couldn't even come inside for fear of getting bitten by one of the nasty creatures that lurked in the walls.

She shook her head, "I'm not living with her."

Noah sighed, reaching his hand out to take hers. Quinn pulled away immediately. "Come on Q, she is broken about this too."

"If you took her side," Quinn spat, "Get the fuck out."

"We didn't," Finn protested. "What she did was wrong, but from what I've heard from Jesse-"

"Don't you dare bring him into this."

"You cheated too," Rachel whispered from outside the doorway.

Santana moved in with Quinn two days after Artie returned.

They sat on the couch, staring at the broken television. Santana leaned her head on Quinn's shoulder, "I just want her so bad."

"I know," Quinn replied, holding her friends hand and staring blankly ahead.

"What do you think will happen when Mike comes back?"

"I don't know," She didn't. "I know I won't take him back."

She wouldn't. She couldn't.

Artie was paralyzed.

The doctors said that he was shot in the spine. It was a miracle he lived.

Brittany didn't understand, "What do you mean he can't walk?"

Quinn sat at her kitchen table, staring down at the single white envelope sitting in the middle.

Jesse stood behind her, his hands wrapped around the wood of the top of the chair, his thumbs lightly stroking the back of her neck. Rachel sat across from her, she had finally been able to walk into the apartment. Finn and Noah were in the kitchen, not saying anything. Santana was sitting next to her, holding Quinn's hand underneath the table.

"I can't do this," Quinn mumbled, pushing herself out of the chair, knocking Jesse back, and rushing to her bedroom.

Quinn didn't go with to meet Mike at the airport. He'd been injured, shot in the arm or something. Quinn didn't want to think about it.

She instead busied herself in the preparation for the music festival. Jesse and her sat inside a cramped office, planning the order of the acts and who would sing what. She wouldn't stop talking, she couldn't stop talking. If she stopped, she was sure she'd break.

"Quinn," Jesse grabbed her hand, "You have to stop."

"I can't," Quinn replied. "There is so much to do. I have to create tickets, I have to make flyers, I have to call all the performers, I have to figure out a place to have the fucking concert, I have to-"

"Let's go have a drink."

She looked up, "I can't. I told you, I'm busy."

Jesse just laughed, "Do you think I'm giving you a choice?"

They went to Noah's bar, it was strangely filled with people, more people than had been in there for the last year. Noah winked at Quinn as they squeezed into a dimly lit booth in the back.

Jesse went to get their beers, Quinn's fingers were fidgeting, grabbing the ends of her blouse and tugging at a loose string. She bit her lip, tapped her foot on the ground.

She knew something was going to happen.

Rachel took the stage, sitting on a black stool and bringing the microphone to her face. "This is for my best friend, Quinn."

The music started in the background, Quinn's stomach flipped. She knew the song. It had always been her favorite.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me

"Quinn,"

Her heart flipped.

She stomach dropped.

She knew that voice.

Mike and Quinn stood outside. He looked different. Worn, beaten, strong. His arm was in a sling and he was squirming around like he was nervous.

She was too.

Quinn couldn't look up, she kept staring at her feet. Just like when he left.

"I found out about you and Tina," Quinn said quietly.

"I know, Puckerman wrote me."

"I cheated too."

She looked up, Mike hung his head, "I know, Puckerman told me that too. He was apologizing and shit."

Swearing. He never used to swear.

Then again, she didn't use to either.

As they lay in bed together, Quinn stared at the ceiling, her naked chest uncovered by the sheets. Mike sat up, smoking and staring blankly ahead.

They were both broken. Both by the war. The bloody, fucking war.

"So you and St. James, huh?" Mike asked, tagging a long drag of the cigarette and blowing it out forward.

"Yeah," Quinn mumbled, pushing her hair away from her face.

"I suppose that's fair," he replied dryly.

"Are you Tina together?" Quinn asked quietly.

"Yeah,"

Quinn did her best not to sob.

They wouldn't work. They could never work again.

Jesse held her hand as they stood beside the stage. It was her baby. It was all her work. "This looks amazing," he whispered, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead.

Quinn didn't answer, "You're up."

Jesse winked at her, letting go of her hand and sprinted onto the stage.

Jesse too, sang a Beatles song.

Quinn watched as he moved across the stage, belting out the song in his melodious voice. Magnetic. His eyes turned her once in a while, winking, as if to say this is for you babe.

Don't you know it's gonna be alright?

She didn't. But it made her feel better that he did.