The Finest Thing That I've Done

AU Quinn/Puck/Beth centered oneshot. Enjoy!

Note: I have no idea how pregnant Quinn was when anything happened. I just guessed. If she was 8 months in June, she was 6 months in April. Assuming Sectionals was mid-year/winter, I guessed and stuck her at Puck's house. Yay Quick!

Song is Hurricane by The Hush Sound

…

You're the finest thing that I've done

The hurricane I'll never outrun

I could wait around for the dust to still

But I don't believe that it ever will

…

It's been six months. Twenty-four weeks and three days, to be exact. You feel fat and jaded, and still aren't sure exactly what you want to do. Everyone knows the truth and you'll be branded as a liar for the rest of your life. Finn kicked you out and you're stuck in Puck's guest room with flower wallpaper and his mother's stink eye from across the hall. It's far from your idea of ideal, but it'll do until this is all over with.

And by "all over" you mean once the baby is gone and your parents accept you back like nothing ever happened. Your father has to forgive you, right? You're his daughter.

But you're giving your daughter away. Does that mean he's allowed to never take you back?

What if they don't let you come home? Ever?

It's thoughts like this that keep you up at night, crying into your pillow. On one of those cool, April nights, you sit up in bed and wonder how the hell you could've peed yourself.

You stand up, feet planted firmly on the floor, and you realize it's not pee. You really wish it was pee. It has to be pee. But it isn't.

Your water just broke. Even though that's impossible. Only sick babies come out this early. Sick, dying babies. A couple at your church had a baby around twenty-four weeks and he died. The buried him in the tiniest casket and had a lamb carved into his tombstone.

The baby is coming. Right now.

You pace down the hall and bang on the door to Puck's room, the first contraction kicking in. Well, maybe not the first. You've been having cramps all night, but they weren't that bad. More like period cramps. But this one hurts. Like someone just grabbed you around the stomach and is trying to crush you. How can this be happening? Not time yet, not time yet…

"What the hell…" he mutters, opening his door and rubbing his eyes, "It's one in the morning, Quinn! What the fuck is your deal?"

"I think I'm going into labor," you say, hands clutching your stomach, resting on the doorframe.

He simply stares at you, "No you're not."

"My water broke and I just had a contraction. I've been having them all day, but they weren't as bad."

His face is slowly sinking towards something like shock or confusion, completely opposite of the normal smirk he usually wears. The fact that he's dumbstruck while you're about to be forced to push a living thing out of your body is really starting to piss you off.

"Just say something!"

"You're… not in labor! It's too early!"

You roll your eyes, "I know that! But it's happening!"

"How? That's… it's impossible!"

"Gee, Puck, I never knew you were an expert on pregnancy!"

"Hey, I read the damn book! This isn't supposed to be happening!"

"No, but it's possible," you stare up at him, at his utterly terrified face, and can't help being a bit proud that you were finally able to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, "And it's happening."

He just looks at you. Again.

"So… you're really… gonna have the baby?"

"Please, this is not the time for you to – aargh!" a cry flies from your throat as another contraction comes, squeezing on your abdomen. Your hands grasp your stomach, and you try to keep your breathing steady. It hurts. This really, really wasn't worth losing your virginity…

"Ahh… fuck," he says quietly, suddenly springing into action and running down the hallway, "Mom!"

Mom… mom…

And you suddenly wonder, will your mother be here? Your mother should be here…

Instead, it's Ms. Puckerman who is helping you sit down in a chair in the kitchen while Puck's little sister Lily looks on, fearful. It's Ms. Puckerman who packs a bag for you, making sure to bring the stuffed pink rabbit you bought masochistically on impulse. It's Ms. Puckerman who drives you to the hospital, Puck with you in the back seat, wincing every time you squeeze his hand through every contraction pang, staring sympathetically and pathetically as you whine for some damn epidural already.

Once you're dilated, before they take you and Puck into the birthing room, you ask Ms. Puckerman to call your mother. You don't know if she loves you anymore, but you just need your mother here with you, even if she hates you. You don't want to be alone.

You go in alone. With Puck, but alone. Alone in that without-my-mother way. Alone as in without the only person who understands. Not only understands giving birth, but understands living in a house where mistakes are unacceptable. Where mistakes are brushed under the carpet, never to see the light of day. Understand the fear in being one of those mistakes, of having that mistake discovered, and having the ruler of the house shove you under the carpet and never let you out again.

Your mother managed to dodge the dustpan and the broom. You weren't so lucky. You need her here with you, someone who weathers the same storms, to tell you everything will be okay.

She doesn't make it in time. You try to tell yourself it's the thought that counts. But what if she wasn't even thinking of you, until after the ringing of the telephone woke her up?

…

It hurts worse than anything you could've imagined, but not as bad as they said it would be. Is that because it's not time yet? Because she isn't really ready?

As you push through the pain, you can't help wondering if this is your fault. Is this a punishment for all your sins?

Somehow, Puck ends up holding your hand, even though you're screaming at him about how he's so stupid, how you want to cut off his balls. You don't want to touch him, but you're glad he's here. Someone's here. You need someone to hold your hand.

Maybe that's all you wanted in the first place.

…

She comes out in blood and phlegm and whatever other fluids could be leaking from your body. You don't see much before they rush her away, but you do see that she's small. So, so, small. How is she even alive?

Is she alive?

But before they leave, you hear her cry. A beautiful little wailing filling the room before they run away, nurses screaming about heart rates and fluids and NICU.

She's yours. Beth.

Puck kisses your forehead as they clean you up, the emptiness of the room settling over you and feeling wrong. She's both of yours.

It's too hard to think about the reality of the situation, of how fragile her life is. Instead, you wonder if you're excited or disappointed that she didn't come out with a mohawk.

…

Two hours later, you're fine. You're sitting up in bed sipping on ginger ale. A little tired, a little sore, but you can't fall asleep. Your mother is sitting next to your bed, rubbing circles in your palm with her thumb. Your father refused to come; you think they might've broken up, but you don't want to ask now.

It's around seven thirty in the morning. Most of your friends are at school. Ms. Puckerman and Lily are in the lobby, reading magazines. You think Puck ran off somewhere once Finn showed up, probably trying to deal with it "like a man" even though that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard.

The doctor said your baby is very small. Her organs are underdeveloped. She can't breathe on her own. They are trying to stabilize her heart. She is very, very sick.

All you want is for her to get well. To be able to hold her and touch her. You want to see her live a life, with you or not with you. Just to live.

What if… they can't save her?

"Mommy?" your voice is raspy, broken, strange.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you've missed her so much.

"I'm scared."

And she looks at you with this brokenness, this pity – it makes you feel even more hopeless, even more frightened-

"Honey…" she says softly, sitting on the bed and pulling you to her chest. She holds you as you cry, rocking back and forth just like when you were a little girl. The realization hits hard that you're not a little girl anymore, you're a mother and she's a grandmother and your daughter might be dying…

"Just get some sleep, baby. I'm sure they'll let you see her soon."

You fall into an uneasy slumber, but make her promise she won't let go of your hand. To her credit, she doesn't. There's one promise she kept.

…

When you wake up, it's almost noon. You're starving and sick of lying in this bed. You want to get up.

You and your mother walk down to the cafeteria to get some food. You halfheartedly swallow a muffin and some orange juice while she stares off into space. Puck's there with Finn, drinking coffee. You want him to see how red your eyes are from across the room and feel guilty. You're not sure why, because this isn't his fault. It would help if there was someone to blame, but there isn't.

You approach him, slowly making your way across the cafeteria (you're still sore), saying, "Want to go see her?"

He takes your arm and both of you make your way towards the neonatal intensive care unit. A nurse on duty points her out through the window. She's right up front where you can see. Later, you learn that the sickest babies are the ones at the front of the room so they can always be watched.

She is so small, laying there with sickly translucent skin. Her veins are purplish, eyes closed, needles and wires strapped to her body. Monitors are blinking outside her incubator. Her heart is stabilized, but her lungs are so small she is on one hundred percent oxygen. She could get brain damage or go blind or deaf or develop a disease she can't fight because she's not ready.

She is only two pounds. Two pounds, four ounces. She could fit in both of Puck's hands, if you were allowed to touch her. Not today.

You are witnessing an almost miracle, a child who should still be in the womb. She should still be inside you, safe and sound. You should be protecting her-

"She's beautiful," he says, staring through the glass.

"Yeah," you smile a little, even though the smile feels out of place, clutching your bathrobe closer to you, "She is."

"Do you want to keep her?"

It's a question you've been debating for months. Adoption was going to be your choice. It was the only way to go. You want a life. A real life away from Lima, at college, with a job.

But who is going to adopt a sick baby? Who will pay for her medical bills? Whose to say the government won't just let her die once she's placed in foster care?

And is it okay, to have a real life with a daughter? You can still graduate with a baby. Maybe even go to college with a baby (maybe). One day, you'll even get a job and move away somewhere else, with or without a car seat in back. You're Quinn Fabray. You can make it happen. Puck will help. He wants a chance to be a good father. Your mother will help, and your friends, and…

"Yes."

He looks down on you, hesitant, "Really?"

"We can't just… give up on her. Not now. Not ever."

He's smiling and laughing now, and you're smiling, and he's hugging you, holding you close like you always wanted him to, like Finn used to, except you don't think you ever really loved Finn.

"I love you," he smiles, staring through the window, at the sign with her name (Beth) written in pink marker. Then, he looks down at you, "And I love you."

You smile, at him, at your baby, "I know."

…

Your mother wants you to go home. It's been one night. Your baby made it through one night. It doesn't seem right to leave her here.

"Please, honey, at least shower. I'll cook you breakfast and you can get a change of clothes, okay?"

You finally agree. Puck promises to stay with Beth until you get back, and then he'll go home. You're trying to trust him, so you do it, leaving him with a peck on the cheek.

It feels good to wash your hair and wear something besides a hospital gown and bathrobe. Your mother makes bacon and eggs and tea. You eat and don't ask why all your father's things are gone. In a way, you already knew. Your brain is too preoccupied with Beth to really care, anyway.

You get back to the hospital and say goodbye to Puck. As you take up your post by the window, you see the stuffed pink rabbit sitting inside her incubator. You're happy it wasn't bought in vain, after all.

…

The entire glee club visits. Rachel brings a sign to hang up on her crib, decorated with pink and purple and, of course, gold stars. Artie and Tina bring a stuffed kangaroo, which happily joins the rabbit. Kurt and Mercedes bring a baby blanket; she'll eventually use it when most of the wires are gone. Santana and Brittany bring a stuffed duck (a male duck, a ballad, as Brittany points out). Mike and Matt bring a dog that sings a lullaby when you press its paw. Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury bring a book (a book of nursery rhymes) so you can read to her.

No one stays very long. They all say the same thing. She's so tiny. Poor thing. She'll be okay. How are you?

You get tired of answering their questions. You just want her to be okay. That's all that matters

…

On the third day, you are both allowed to hold her.

If you were having any doubts, you now know you have to keep her.

She's so tiny and fragile, you're afraid you'll break her, but you do it, after washing your hands and dousing them with hand sanitizer, making sure you aren't sick. Even the slightest cold could kill her. That terrifies you, but you try to let that out of your mind as you just hold her.

You never knew you could be that in love with anyone before.

Puck holds her after you do. You find him much more attractive when he's defenseless, melting, staring down at his daughter, instead of putting on his act and pretending to be a badass.

You're inside the room for half an hour, quiet and still. You read her a few nursery rhymes. Then, you have to leave. It's the hardest thing you've ever had to do.

…

Two weeks later, they discover she has a hole in her small intestine. They've inserted a tube to drain the fluid, but if it doesn't heal on its own, she's going to die.

The doctors prepared you for this, but it still doesn't change anything. Going to die…

You go outside, standing in a deserted parking lot, and look towards the sky.

"I don't know if you're real anymore," crossing and uncrossing your arms, folding your hands together out of habit, "I don't know much of anything anymore. But please… if this is some kind of punishment for what I did… I'm sorry. Don't take it out on her. Do whatever you want to me; I don't care. Just please let her live. I'll do anything, God… let her live."

And you're on your knees, crying, crying, crying. Your throat is raw and you can't see anything except for blurry asphalt, and suddenly someone is there with you, holding you on the ground, sobbing with you.

"Amen," you whisper though your tears, and grab Puck's hand, squeezing tight. You don't want to ever let go.

…

It's a miracle. A miracle.

The hole closed all on its own.

You grip your cross around your neck and whisper thank you. You start to really believe in God again, and wonder, if maybe your sins can be forgiven after all.

…

Eventually, you have to go back to school. You wake up early and visit her in the morning and then after school as well. One day, you walk up to the glass window and realize she isn't there.

For a second, you panic. What did they do with her?

A nurse places a hand on your shoulder, "We moved Beth to the back of the room today, Quinn. She's making good progress."

Relief floods through you. She's getting better. But there's a new baby in her place. A new little dying baby…

This is when you truly learn to count your blessings.

…

Day by day, she is making progress. After four months (August 15, 2010), she is allowed to come home.

You spent hours with Puck and your mother arguing about what color to paint the nursery. You finally decide on a nice mint green with lilac stenciling, and a light purple dresser and crib and changing station. You didn't want to go with the stereotypical pink. Your room is pink from when you were little, and you don't like it. It's just too obvious.

Beth fits in perfectly. Life isn't easy, but it's certainly easier than when you were up all hours of the night, worrying. You feed her and change her and rock her to sleep, loving every minute. Puck comes over and helps constantly. Honestly, you didn't expect him to be so dedicated. He's really had a change of heart.

This isn't the life you planned, but it's the life you were given and it's the path you chose. No matter what happens, it will turn out okay. You have, to rely on that, or else there is nothing. Whenever you have any doubts, all you have to do is look down at your child, and then you just know. If she can survive, then you can too.

Yay for babies! The ending is a little cheesy, and the whole thing is far from the angst I usually write. I had her keep the baby, even though I think giving her up for adoption was the best choice for Quinn. And I thought about having Beth die, but I couldn't do it... hmm I guess I was just in a good mood.

All the premature baby information was based on my own experience. I was born at 24 weeks (1 pound 11 ounces!) and was allowed home after 5 months (I also had a hole in my small intestine that healed on its own, along with other complications). It was a bit weird writing this and having to sort of step into my mother's shoes. At least I have a newfound apprication for her now! (that's probably why I couldn't kill Beth... too close to home if you know what I mean)

I hope you liked it. Review :)