Quinn stares at the bubbles with disinterest. What's the point of an aptitude test if I'm never getting out of Lima anyway? She rolls her eyes when Brittany looks around frantically, peering at other people's answers. On her right, Santana is connecting the dots and making checkerboard patterns.
These are her friends.
In front of her, Rachel's hair swishes from side to side as she moves through each question, filling in her name, her address, her social security number, her future plans.
Bet there's a gold star at the top of that answer sheet when she's done, Quinn thinks.
Mr. Schuester catches her eye as she let her gaze wander around the room and he smiles, pointing down at the desk. Work on your test, he's telling her, and she smiles back sweetly – in a manner so fake – and gets busy. The first section ends up being a picture of Mickey Mouse, which is harder than she thought it would be. She's halfway through a crude, rudimentary sketch of The Eiffel Tower when Rachel smiles – and Quinn can hear it, the crackle of the corner of the smile, like an electrical wire hissing – and pushes her chair back from her desk.
"I'm done," she announces, unnecessarily, as if anyone cares. Rachel looks over her shoulder at the class and Quinn keeps her head steady, staring right through the brunette. She thinks she sees the other girl falter and Quinn feels her own hand slip on the page.
Mr. Schuester smiles so wide, Quinn feels her own face muscles pulling, but she drops her head back down and focuses on how many colored in circles she wants the base of her tower to be. "Great, Rachel." There's silence and then the shuffling of paper and then the click-clack of heels.
When Quinn looks up again, the door is swooshing shut and Rachel is gone.
She looks down at her answer sheet and frowns: she missed a bubble and now she'll have to start over.
---
Her test comes back with a note from Mr. Schuester attached to the envelope it's in, to ensure privacy.
Dear Quinn, it says. I know I'm not supposed to look at these, but I wanted you to know that we're both aware of how much better you could have done. I know things are hard, but don't count yourself out of the game yet. You'll get your day. I just wish you would see that.
It's not even fair that disappointing Mr. Schuester makes her feels like she just kicked someone's puppy.
---
"I have aptitude." Rachel's announcement simultaneously scares her and has her rolling her eyes.
"Congratulations, Sacajawea." Rachel doesn't move though, blocking Quinn's only exit out of the bathroom. "You can run along now."
"Mr. Schuester says you have no motivation," Rachel continues, stepping forward. Quinn takes a step back and all but growls. "Or aptitude."
"Which you have," Quinn says through gritted teeth.
Rachel smiles brightly and nods. "I have an abundance of aptitude. I was wondering if you wanted any of it."
Quinn scoffs and steps to the side, but Rachel moves with her, cutting to the side and then forward. "You want to give me your aptitude."
"Since you have none, yes," Rachel finishes.
"I have plenty of aptitude," Quinn sneers. Rachel takes another step forward and Quinn's back hits the box radiator against the wall. "Get out of my way."
Rachel grins – too wide and it sparkles too bright. "You don't. Mr. Schuester told me so. He said to give you some of mine. Here," and Rachel sticks out her hand, stretching it towards Quinn's face. Quinn cranes her neck back and squeezes her eyes shut, like Rachel is going to stab her with something hard and piercing. She's not prepared when something soft and gentle lands on the curve of her shoulder and moves down her arm, catching in the crook of her elbow. "It's like fairy dust," Rachel whispers, stepping in even closer. She exhales loudly and her breath ghosts across Quinn's mouth. She inhales and licks her lips and then her hands react on their own, coming up between their bodies and pushing Rachel hard.
Vitamin D isn't really supposed to smell like anything, but Quinn is pregnant and the slight whiff of fish on Rachel's breath is enough to make her stomach turn somersaults.
Rachel stares at her with wide eyes and now Quinn can see that her pupils are dilated and she's flushed and Quinn's embarrassed this even happened. "I told you taking that would be a bad idea," she grounds out through clenched teeth. Rachel's hands are gripping the edge of the sink and Quinn has the sudden, irrational urge to slap Rachel, hard, across the face. She settles with crossing her arms over her chest and frowning down at Rachel, as if she's a five-year-old who dropped the vase in the living room.
"Quinn, -I"
"Don't come near me. Ever again."
Aptitude, she thinks to herself. I've got plenty of it, thank you very much.
---
Finn has a big mouth. Not just size-wise, but in a "can't-keep-it-shut" kind of way. Big in a way that gets him in trouble and when he tells Quinn that Rachel gave Jacob Ben Israel a pair of her underpants, just to keep him quiet about the whole bun-in-the-oven thing, Quinn sees red.
Quinn huffs and just comes shy of throwing her books into her locker. "You think she did that for me? Just to be a good teammate?"
Finn, who is so naïvely sweet, gives her a look that says "well, duh." "Yeah, that's what she told me."
Finn is sweet, but he's an idiot.
---
Quinn finds Rachel at her locker, fiddling with the combination lock. "Don't do me any favors," she whispers hotly, coming up behind Rachel so softly that the brunette jumps and her forehead connects with the metal.
"Quinn!" Rachel rubs at her forehead, but Quinn ignores her.
"Did you hear me, Treasure Trail?" There's no space between them – not enough for Rachel to turn so they're face to face, but Rachel manages it and Quinn ends up with her mouth almost against Rachel's forehead. "No favors. Next time JewFro wants to write an article about me, you let him. Do you understand me?"
"I wasn't doing you a favor" Rachel hisses, so fiercely that Quinn takes a step back as if the words press against her shoulders and shove. "I was doing it for Finn."
"Of course you were." Quinn laughs, but it's hollow and mouth doesn't even turn up. "Let me be clear then. Don't do either of us favors? Got it?"
She turns – ending this in her favor will give her the "okay-ending" to her day she's needed – but Rachel grabs her wrist and spins her back so they're staring at each other again. Quinn can see the apology in the corner of Rachel's mouth, but she doesn't want it. She told Rachel once that she would never have done it – the nice thing, and she wasn't kidding. Quinn Fabray was raised to be deceptively vicious in front of adults, and glaring bitchy towards people her own age and she's always been the best at what she does.
Rachel looks up at her for a minute in silence, before she opens her mouth and says what they're both thinking; what Quinn knows is inevitable. "He's going to ruin you."
"Bring it," Quinn whispers back, resisting the urge to motherfucker.
---
Of course, when it's "brought" she wishes that she had someone more than Finn to hold onto, because while she still fits in all the right places, his hand is too heavy against her neck, cutting off access to half of her lungs so that she's only breathing in partially what she could be, and her sobs are louder and heavier because of it.
She can feel Rachel staring at her down the hall and Finn is muttering "its okay, its okay" over and over when it's not okay.
She prays that Jacob Ben Israel burns in a special section of Hell; she prays that Rachel will stop looking at her like she's dying; she prays that Finn will just let her go – he holds her too tight when she just wants to break free.
---
If they expect Quinn to mope and they're surprised that she doesn't, they do a good job of hiding it. When she strides into Glee with her head held up so high her neck muscles strain, no one bats an eyelid.
Tina smiles and waves; Mercedes does the same. Matt and Mike don't really stop their conversation, but they grunt while Artie grabs her hand and brings her into his momentum, twirling her in a circle. Brittany and Santana flock to her side, Rachel ignores her, Puck leers and Finn smiles sleepily from behind his drum set.
Kurt, that beautiful boy, grabs under her chin, tilts her face up so that he has to be able to see the tears building in her eyes and shakes his head.
"I thought we went over blending last week," he scoffs, brandishing concealer in one hand and a makeup brush in other. "Remember what I told you?"
She laughs as the brush tickles the base of her neck, but he sighs pointedly and continues working. "You said, 'blend, blend, blend'," she finally says.
"Blend, blend, blend," he echoes. "Smooth, smooth, smooth."
---
"You should give her a chance," Finn says offhandedly one morning as they're walking into school. He says it because Rachel turned around when she saw them and went the other way, weaving through the students, ducking slushies.
"A chance?" Quinn gives a cruel little laugh. "If I give her the slightest amount of wiggle room, she's going to just weasel her way in here and sink her dirty, un-manicured nails into you."
Finn's shoulders drop and his smile fades. "God, Quinn. What did she ever do to you?"
"She wants you," she feels the need to point out.
"At least someone does," he grumbles and she chooses to ignore it, because God, what does he expect. I'm pregnant. "I'm just saying," he continues, louder, "that she's a really good person if you just take the time to get to know her."
Quinn rolls her eyes, pulling books out of her locker and thrusting them into Finn's arms. "I'll pass, thanks," she says in a sugary-sweet voice. Santana sidles up on her left, Brittany on her right, and when she feels like her footing on the social stepladder is steady enough – because they're Quinn Fabray and Finn Hudson and they don't just lose their popularity because they're having a baby; it's a ridiculous notion – she marches down the hall, leaving Finn to play catch up.
She tells Dave Karofsky on the hockey team to make sure he dumps an extra slushie on Rachel Berry today; he'd be doing her a favor.
---
Later in the day, during English, in the middle of Lord of the Flies, she felt the sudden urge to vomit. Nausea coupled with boys in leaf clothing trooping through the forest with a pig's head on a stick sends her head reeling and she doesn't stop on her way out the door to let the teacher know.
Having everyone know that's she's pregnant is oddly liberating and definitely something she can work to her advantage.
You don't want to take a test? they ask. You didn't do your homework? You're not prepared for class today?
Oh, didn't you hear? people ask them. Quinn Fabray is pregnant.
It's not until after she's hunched over the toilet, her esophagus burning and her eyes leaking that she realizes anyone else is in the room. Cool – almost ice-like – hands are pulling at her hair, scratching against her neck. She feels a pull, hair against the back of her sweaty neck, and then someone is tying it back into a loose ponytail, running a hand up and down her back.
"Let it go," she hears whispered; feels whispered against her shoulder.
When she's done and her body stops heaving, she turns and pulls her knees close to her chest. Rachel doesn't say anything to her, but she doesn't move away (like Finn) and she doesn't crinkle her nose at the smell (like Finn and everyone else). "Thanks," she mutters, more into her forearm than out loud, but Rachel gives her one of those stupid little smiles Quinn hates and nods.
She looks back up when she feels Rachel stare and she's going to say "what?" but the look on Rachel's face isn't something Quinn understands so she doesn't say anything. Rachel snaps out of it, shaking her head and just like that, the look in her eyes is gone and her face is clearing and Rachel is rising to her knees. The brunette pauses with her hand on the slide-latch and looks down at Quinn.
"I'm sorry this is happening to you," she says quietly.
It's a natural reaction for Quinn, the snark. "Well I don't want your sympathy!" she yells as Rachel lets the bathroom door slam shut, leaving Quinn on the floor in the bathroom, crying.
She does, though; she wants anyone's sympathy.
---
"I'm sorry," Quinn says, twiddling with her thumbs. Rachel doesn't look up; doesn't act like she even heard Quinn speaking. "I've been a jerk. Even more than usual," she adds sheepishly.
"Everyone has their moments."
"I'm trying to apologize for mine," Quinn snaps, then blushes when Rachel's eyes meet her own. "Sorry."
"It's quite all right, Quinn. You're pregnant-"
Quinn cuts her off, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her. "Why does everything think that's enough of an excuse?"
"Hormones," Rachel says, as if that's sufficient.
"Well," Quinn frowns, "Hormones is a stupid reason."
Rachel looks down at her sheet music and shrugs. "It's better than people calling you names."
Silence settles heavily on Quinn's shoulders and she glances around the empty auditorium, looking for something – anything – to comment on. There's nothing, and Rachel is busy and she's just standing there twiddling her thumbs like some nerd gathering the courage to ask out the homecoming queen.
"We're going to do okay at Regionals, right?"
Rachel's face brightens. "Of course we are. Sure, we're a little pitchy, and you and Finn are distracted all the time, but we're going to be great. We just need to mmphm-"
Quinn pulls back with her eyes still closed, horrified. She waits a moment, then opens them and wishes she hadn't. Rachel is wide-eyed, and her mouth is hanging open like Quinn had unhinged it, but it was a quick kiss, nothing more.
"I-"
"What was that?" Rachel's voice is high-pitched.
"A thank you?"
Rachel's eyes go from wide to narrow slits on her face. "A thank you," she repeats. "A thank you?"
"A mistake," Quinn jumps in, stepping back up the aisle towards the exit. "I don't know," she whines. "It won't happen again."
She hurries so quickly out of the auditorium, trying to regain any semblance of balance and poise, that she doesn't hear Rachel as the doors shut noisily behind.
"What if I want it to?"
---
Mr. Schuester claps his hands together and the noise startles them all. "That's it! That's exactly what I want to see, Quinn. Excellent work."
Quinn gives everyone a look that says "well, duh" and then smiles at Finn; except that Finn is too busy staring at Rachel who is staring at Quinn.
"So," Mr. Schuester continues, "I think we're set for today. Make sure you know the next part for tomorrow, though," he yells over the dim roar of metal-legged chairs and zippering backpacks. "Excellent, Quinn," he says again, patting her on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Mr. Schue," she beams.
Finn trots out of the room, Puck on his heels.
"Nice to see they made up," Rachel says from behind her. Quinn turns and just stares. "Well, I mean, I heard about their fight."
Quinn finally nods. "It was a stupid argument." She shoves her notes and music into her bag and slings it over one shoulder.
"I wasn't," Rachel starts, and then stops. Quinn, halfway to the door, pauses and turns back to face the brunette, watching her hands instead of her face; watching as they interlock and then separate – a nervous habit. "The Vitamin D-" she trails off again.
"What," Quinn says, hands on her hips. "The Vitamin D what?"
"I knew what I was doing," Rachel says slowly. "I know you probably don't think so. I know you probably think that I was," she pauses to choose her words. "Under the influence," she decides and Quinn holds back her snicker. "I wasn't, and I wanted to make sure you knew that."
"Anything else?" Quinn asks sarcastically. "Or were you going to give me a coming out speech too?"
"Quinn," Rachel sighs.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says arrogantly.
She doesn't know what Rachel is talking about, because the brunette thinks in a pattern that ultimately confuses Quinn, but when she steps forward and Rachel steps forward, it doesn't matter what either of them are saying, because Rachel's tongue is being put to better use.
Quinn's hands clutch greedily at Rachel's waistline, and her hips press hungrily against Rachel's, grasping for as much as she can get before this moment is over.
Rachel whimpers into her mouth and then hands are pulling at the hem of Quinn's shirt, sliding up under the fabric and pressing gently against the swell of her stomach. She pulls back to breath and Rachel moves her mouth to where Quinn's neck meets her collarbone, sucking against the bone, her tongue soothing the skin when she bites down softly.
A locker slamming in the hallway jars her back into reality and she finds her hands lifting off Rachel's waist and pushing against Rachel's shoulders. The brunette stumbles back a little but finds her balance.
"Quinn," but Quinn lifts a hand to shut Rachel up while she catches her breath.
"This," she pants, "never happened."
Rachel looks confused and hurt for thirty seconds before Quinn's body language and the look on her face sinks in. "Oh," she whispers. "Right."
"Never," Quinn stresses, but her hands are reaching out for Rachel and pulling her back to Quinn, her mouth snaking down to meet Rachel's. "Never happened," she says again.
"Never," Rachel repeats.
Quinn pulls away again, straightening her top and grabbing her bag off the floor. She steels her shoulders and marches towards the door. When she goes for the door handle, she looks back at Rachel.
"See you later, Quinn," Rachel says softly.
Quinn nods, her face blank, but as soon as she shuts the door behind her, she smiles.
---
She's late for Glee, but Mr. Schuester just grins at her when she slips into the room in the middle of a jam session. Rachel is standing on a chair by the drum kit, eyes closed, one hand raised above her head, belting it out.
Artie starts the clapping when the song comes to an end and Rachel jumps down from the chair sheepishly.
Quinn rolls her eyes as she takes a seat near Finn, wrapping her arms around his bicep. "Show off," she mutters, loud enough for Finn, Rachel, Puck and Santana to hear her. Puck smirks, Santana nods, and Finn sighs.
"Can't you be nice, for like, two seconds," he hisses, shutting his mouth as soon as Mr. Schuester turns back to hand out some new music.
She glances at Rachel out of the corner of her eye and waits until the brunette looks at her.
"You're amazing," she mouths. Rachel ducks her head to hide her blush, but when she looks up, her eyes are sparkling and her mouth is turned up. She shimmies in her seat and sits a little taller; Quinn stifles a giggle.
"What?" Finn asks, looking down at Quinn.
She schools her facial features, going blank in the face. "Nothing. Pay attention," she admonishes.
Finn sighs again and faces forward.
Quinn looks to her left and winks; Rachel grins back at her.