Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, and to a certain extent I don't own this plot either. The way I will develop it however, it's completely mine.

Summary: "I wanted no pity, no half-assed attempts at lending a hand. I would make a place for me and my child in this world all on my own".

Genres: Romance, drama, family, friendship.

Warnings: If you are offended by same sex couples you should turn back, now.

Pairings: Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray, maybe some other canon pairings, yeah you know what they are.

Author's Notes: It came to me as my parents drove beside the sea, and it stuck and it flowed and it was meant to be.

"Pity Me Not"

By

Bloody Violet Heart

Chapter One: I found myself surrounded by reality

Sometimes, I'm not ashamed to say – well, I might be a little ashamed – that I like to pretend. I sit anywhere, random places that just appear before my eyes, and I look around. I stare at the people, or the animals, or un-animated objects, like trash I mean because sometimes I stare at the trees and the flowers and the ground and the sea or the sky and its clouds, and all of that it's alive you know. In occasions it makes a difference, whether I'm staring at living beings or not, if they hold warmth beneath their skins or just endless coldness on their surfaces. Other times, it makes little to no variance at all.

I wonder which will be tonight.

It feels like it should be different, sitting here on this icy and rigid rock unmoving for, how many hours? It doesn't matter. I've been here long enough to have seen the changes in the sky, how the grayish clouds that covered the whole Earth's ceiling united into one entity with promises of harsh rain. They were bluffing, although I prefer the word: lying. Like so many others they lied for they did not bring the rain down on us, on me. I would like to say that I wanted it, that I would've welcomed it, but I'm more or less indifferent to it. Not to its lies; that annoyed me quite a quantity. The clouds danced before my eyes and mocked me perhaps, moving with the wind and changing their color until they vanished. Few were left scattered to accompany the sun that had begun to abandon me as well. It too changed, its severe light that loved to make me sweat no matter where I went slowly dimed showering the skies with light blues and soft oranges, smooth yellows and pretty pinks; all those colors enjoying their unobstructed liberty.

There are moments when I think I should hate the sky. But I guess it's not truly its fault, I should not hate it for having what I desire, but I can dislike it for taunting me with what I no longer – with what I never had.

I suppose it's alright. When people lose some things they gain others. I'm not quite sure of what I won in this instance, but there's a bright moon up in this black sky and it makes me feel a bit less alone; yet so very lonely at the same time. If I was sitting in the middle of a dessert at night I would probably feel just like this, except then my skin would be freezing unlike now where my bones are the ones bitter.

All the way across this ocean pseudo stars illuminate the firmament. A bit of earth had extended away from its core and humans lost no time in taking advantage of it. There are no skyscrapers but you can see the contour of houses, just the outline for its still very dark. There are two parallel lines made of these lights, that I'm not sure what they form part off, suspended in midair and there's a Ferris wheel, shut down with a few beams in the center and on its circumference.

The fair it's sleeping, it is not time for it to awake as off yet. But it will awake someday, a rather soon day, and when that occurs it will be filled with people and candy and cheers and happiness.

I wonder when I will awake, granting I'm more curious of when I fell asleep right into this horrid nightmare.

I was supposed…there were so many 'I was supposed', I suppose I shouldn't worry about it anymore. All the 'probable's' and the 'what ifs' and the 'whatever's' are long gone. There is nothing else but now, and my right now it's definitely not what I wanted and my right now might leave me without feeling in occasion and overwhelmed with it on others, but it's my right now.

And in my uncertainness of what to do, I have to do something.

I may not be Quinn Fabray anymore, but I'm still Quinn, or what's left of her.

So yes, sometimes I like to pretend. That I'm not really the remains of Quinn Fabray, that I'm not sitting here alone and abandoned on top of a chilly rock beside a forlorn street on a chillier night. That I'm actually home, sitting by my parents with a cup of hot chocolate, talking with my mother about what dress I should wear to Church next Sunday while my dad reads the paper and looks at us with an approving smile. Because he'll be able to be proud and both of them can keep gloating about their perfect little daughter who is in the Celibacy Club, not pregnant with a child that's not even her boyfriends'.

Pretending that is my reality is nice. But most of all, I pretend I have someone that loves me. Truly loves me, for who I was, for who I am, for who I will be, someone who loves me even with my mistakes and who searches for my virtues just to make me see them. Someone who loves me for all that is me, whoever that is.

Nonetheless, this is reality and in my reality all of my imaginations are nothing more than the best Hollywood movie ever made.

I should just get up from this rock and go find myself something to eat. I may have screwed myself over, but there's no way I'm starving my child before it's even born.

Maybe Clarice will have something to spare.

"I'm sorry girly, but today been Saturday all got sold out". A nonchalant shrug raised her shoulders but I could see in her dark eyes that she really was sorry about it. I nodded and turned to walk away. Clarice's restaurant always had the best soup; I would have liked something warm for my baby tonight.

"You know sweetie, you can always go to the Center." I looked at her and quickly shook my head. I was not a charity case even if I was asking for it right from this elderly woman. But no, I was not going to put my baby through that kind of environment. It was hard to believe because the streets were hard but that place where every homeless, addicted and criminal human being was overly packed in, that was much worst. It was dangerous just to go near it for you could be assaulted right in front of the building, but it was also hazardous to my health and by a very relevant extension, to my baby's health.

"Then what about the Church?" She managed to both shout and whisper that last word.

"No way." I said quickly. Go to the church and get a meal and a one way trip to Child Services. If I think about it, it sounds like the best most rational plan but then, I would lose even more freedom. I have to think of both short and long term consequences of my actions. If there's something I've learned it's that.

"Thanks anyway." I told Clarice and began to hurriedly walk away, let it not be that she thought she would help me by calling Child Services on her own account. I don't really think that she would since she had not done it the first, or second or any of the times that I've come by. But some sights are enough to melt the hardest heart of the toughest man and that graying old woman, who gladly gave me her leftovers, was neither coldhearted nor a man.

Three nights in a row without supper it's certainly bad for my kid, but what am I to do?

I shouldn't have allowed my pride to get in the way. Today been a holiday will mean most places will be closed, making this the fourth day I will go without food. This is not acceptable, I'm starving, and I can only imagine the type of torture this must be for my child.

The first place I went was to Clarice's but it was obviously closed; I don't even know what we celebrate today.

Down this street there are so many stores, more than half of them sell food either already cooked or raw for the clients to take home. Yet today, none of them are open.

My stomach its beginning to hurt, I can feel it start to close into itself and it shots pain up to my ribs. I lay for a second on a wall to try and gather my bearings. A few minutes later I retake my walk up to a small fountain. Dirty yet deceivingly clear water enters my mouth and works its way into my inner walls. It's slightly refreshing, although very worrisome.

I stand again with a bit more of security and walk down the almost deserted street. There's a man a block down and he's lowering plastic boxes down from a truck, they are filled with some type of fruit.

Let us not make the same mistake twice, aside shall you go pride.

"Can I please take an apple?" I ask the man as I near him.

"What?" His eye-brows inch closer in his forehead.

"I-I was wondering if you could give me an apple." I repeated a bit louder yet still polite.

"Do you have one dollar and twenty seven cents?" I could almost taste how cynic that sentence was.

"I don't have any money." I stated, trying to keep my frown in check.

"Then you can't have an apple." His tone and his restart of lowering boxes from the truck completely dismissed me.

"But sir, I'm starving." My voice was a bit weaker by now. In all honesty I had not expected him to be so cruel as to deny me a simple apple. I had only asked for one.

"And I'm poor." – He said coming down from the back of the truck to stand right before me. – "Look kid, I can't and won't give you anything. Go stand under a street light or on a corner. You will probably make more money with that last one though, but it would be even better if you could get a real job, like the rest of us. Now go away." He took a step closer and I took one back.

I stared at him for a moment longer and gritted my teeth, then turned around and walked away as fast as what was left of my dignity would allow. How dare he? To go ask money like drug-addicts do below the street lights? Did he imply that I should prostitute myself? What an insult! I will not allow my child to know his mother did such things. I'm not that type of girl.

I am a girl however, barely sixteen years old. To get a job he said. Why I would have done that a long time ago if someone would give it to me!

What a worthless motherfucking prick!

How…humiliating…

The tears have obscured my vision, blurred my hundreds of thoughts to the extent of confusion. I walked a long way and for a long while I did not know where I was headed. My feet have carried me here, to where I wished to never return as much as I wished I had never left.

On the outside, nothing has changed. There's no white fence to physically protect them but everyone knows there are imaginary barriers keeping those who my family deems beneath them out. We never had a dog because my father found them too annoying and my mother would not put up with its care. But the house it's still as intimidating as always. Exuberantly and unnecessarily large, impeccably painted of whites and creams and a slight touch of dark maroon on the roof and vertical edges and with its own light posts that guide the way up to the entrance.

It was all presumption. Not the wealth, that was as real as my predicament; the house was as affluent inside as it was on the outside. Nonetheless, that was all they had, and during that time of my life that was all I had too. Which of us is more destitute now? Me for having nothing but the lessons I've learned, or them for having nothing but what they can buy.

I had been blinded for such a long while that clarity it's overwhelming. This family, that used to be mine, has an awful lack of integrity. I did too, and for what I'm about to do I believe uprightness should not be a word associated with the Fabrays'.

I've notice, that I've taken account of everything as I've kept walking, down the sidewalk, across the street and up to the Fabrays' porch. I blink my eyes of the remnants of useless tears and try to peek through the window. Everything is dark which would mean my parents are either not home or sleeping. I lack the time of day, probably seven or so, but I do recall today been Sunday.

Sunday it's important for Catholics, especially hypocritical Catholics.

It fills me with relief to know my parents are off maintaining their reputation of flawless Christians. I take a glance around me towards the other houses and seeing no one around I take a deep breath that does nothing to my rattled nerves. I try to relax, even though I know that silent houses don't mean empty houses, and that vacant porches don't mean unseeing neighbors. It is a hard thing to do, to lighten up as if this was an everyday thing. I doubt it would have been easier even if it was.

"Concentrate". – I whisper to myself. – "This is for her." I take a breath and step off of the 'Welcome' mat.

"Damn it!" It's not under it. I stand up and look around, where could it be? I accept that I had once told him that hiding the extra key down under the mat was too easy, but did he have to heed my advice now of all times. Had he not said that the most obvious place was always the hardest to find?

Exasperatedly, I slide a hand through my long golden hair ending at the end of my nape with a hard tug. What I needed, the most important tool was in there.

"God…"I raised my eyes and silently plead. The Bible has spoken of many times of wrong doings for the right reasons. Could I not be spared this one time as well?

I lowered my head as the tears reemerged, but before they could flood my orbs my sight fell on a thick crystal plate hanging by the door: 'And God made man on his image, on the image of God he was created. Genesis: 27'. It had to be my dad who had chosen that specific phrase, from the whole Bible he had to choose that one. By God, the man couldn't be more conceited.

However…the most obvious place…

Carefully I raise the plate. My eyes fix on the wall behind it where a key awaits stuck to the wall. Gratefully, I enclose it in my hand and waste no time in entering the house.

I'm not being cocky as I ignore all my surroundings heading straight to my goal. I would not say I'm extremely focused either. I'm incapable of caring about my potential mistakes, about the possibility that someone has seen me and called the police or if maybe they have recognized me and are coming over to ask if everything's okay. It would be rather odd to find the youngest daughters of the Fabray's sneaking into her own house after been missing for such a long time; but I'm sure my father has covered that hole with some lame excuse.

That's not to say that I'm completely aware of everything that's going on right now. I hear nothing but my own breathing and feel nothing but the violent thuds of my heart against my chest. I see everything and nothing but I know exactly where I'm going.

Up the stairs and down the hall all the way to the end, my parents room is always open just like that drawer on his side of the bed. Because who would dare to double-cross the man of the house? Arrogant bastard.

The feel is completely unfamiliar; a coldness that only metal can achieve lashes at my hand. But that's alright. It is a tool to be used only in emergencies.

I want to deem it foreign every single time I touch it.

I need a mask and a hoodie, but I have none.

I have little materials to my advantage. No king would go to war like this, but I have other things, probably not to my advantage either.

Intangible things like drive – wrongly fuelled drive – and a necessity, more like desperation, push me forward. I keep telling myself that I have no choice. That I'm the type of person that holds on to fight before flight, that this is an emergency that demands drastic measures for drastic times.

I hear, like the diming light of a dying fairy, in the farthest corner of my head a voice that speaks of reason. I heed it not, the rattling of my harbored breathing obstructs my understanding and I sense I have little time to stop and try to comprehend it.

This is a now or never kind of moment. The darkness has made its nest on lil' old Lima and every person with a home to return to has done so. The scratching of my worn out tennis echo throughout the deserted street as I near the empty gas station.

I hurry my pace, clutch it tightly in my right hand and with a strength I thought I had lost yesterday, pull the door open crashing it against the adjoining window.

The clerk is surprised for a second, but frightened the next.

"Raise your arms and don't fucking move." I can almost hear the gulp that rises in his throat as his trembling arms obey me.

When did I gain these guts, or lose all this feeling? It's like I'm not really here. I wonder if my child will be ashamed or utterly proud of his mother. Without a tremor on my own arms I keep a tight hold of my weapon nearing the boy; his hairless face divulges his youth, he can't be much older than me. I take advantage of his poor experience and my infamous bitch face to intimidate him.

"Give me a cart." I spit, slightly shaking my arm for emphasis. He flinches as if I had already shot him before giving me the closest handcart he can find; one that was actually right on the counter but all the way to the end of it, adjacent to him.

I take it. – "Keep your hands up." – I repeat taking a few steps backwards up to a rack with junk food.

I level the gun with his upper body swiftly taking glances at the merchandise before returning my glare at him. This is not suitable, chocolate muffins, chips, cookies, what is this, gummies sharks? None of this qualifies as decent nutrition, but it will have to do.

I grab a few muffins and those strange candy sharks thinking of my sugar and push the cart with my foot in search of the canned articles. Another glance at the boy to keep him in place, he's still standing nervously; as he should, so I get back to my raid.

"Rachel!" An urgent hiss full of warning and worry seems to have frozen me in my place. My arms drop to my sides like pulled by the ground. My whole body tenses as gravity increases just for me. Only my eyes can move to fall onto the petit form of that girl. The one that has no fault yet has always been around to see my own.

"Quinn." She whispers, so silently that had I not been staring at her face I would have not noticed the sound. I consider the possibility that in reality she did not uttered a word for me seeing her here in this allegedly empty gas station could just as well be an hallucination brought before me from starvation, but then I know for a fact that no one was ever able to miss her voice; I was no exception. And to imagine it as perfect as I would never admit it is, would be to give myself too much credit.

The jolt that sends me back to my reality it's not the picture of Rachel Berry standing at the end of the store, nor is her expression, full of confusion and remorse. It is something much louder, the constant shrieking of an alarm, the thump of a wooden door and the crash of metal railings all over my immediate escape routes.

I whip my head to the front counter to find it empty. The boy must have pressed the alarm before running out the back door. I briefly wonder if I should go after him, but what for? From all the things that I am, a murderer is not one, neither is a kidnapper. But if that door is open…

I take the cart and run around the counter right to that door that I presume the clerk left through. I turn the handle and feel rage ignite in my stomach from turning and pulling and pushing and having no luck in opening the door. I throw my shoulder with all my strength against it and when that doesn't work I kick it, over and over again. But even I know that it's more to ease my frustrations than to actually try and open it, because the thing barely has a dent.

I walk out from behind the counter and throw my cart with everything in it at the windows, which also don't crack. So I let my body fall to the floor and hug my knees to my chest while I allow my tears to run down my cheeks.

I guess this is it.

Must be karma or some shit like that. Was it when I allowed myself to fornicate out of marriage? Or for lying about my child's father? Maybe lying by omission to my parents? If I go farther back than that, it might have started with words like 'RuPaul, Man-hands and Treasure Trail'.

I chance a glance up at her sure that she's still here in the same spot staring at me. And I'm surprised to find a single tear rolling down her left cheek. I can't discern her expression. Her eyes hold something that I'm unacquainted with. I believe it has little relevance though.

I can already see the first police car screeching to a halt before the store. What's the rush? I'm not going anywhere.

To be continued…