"Quinn? Are you doing anything tonight?" Rachel asks one day after practice.
"Probably doing my homework, watching endless amounts of trash TV, and eating half of whatever's in the fridge. Ugh… I miss bacon," she sighs. After Finn found out and kicked her out, she's been living with Puck, which so far isn't much of an improvement, even though she no longer feels guilty every time she looks at his mom.
"We have bacon," Rachel says softly. "I-I don't eat it, being a vegan and all, but my dads have it sometimes. And we have lots of other foods – anything you could want. And DVDs, so you don't have to watch whatever's on cable."
"What are you trying to say, Rachel?"
"I really need someone to talk to. Can you come over tonight?"
"Talk about what?" Quinn asks. She still can't believe she's having this conversation with Rachel, of all people, but what surprises her even more is that she's actually considering it.
Rachel's cheeks flush pink. "It's… personal."
"Okay," she says, stunning herself. After all, it's Rachel, the girl she's hated and tormented for years. But it's also the same girl who helped her clean up when she got slushied, and has never been truly mean to her. Sometimes, it feels like she's the only semi-friend Quinn has. Plus, any chance to get out of Puck's house is much appreciated.
Rachel smiles, and any doubts Quinn had about this decision disappear. "Thank you."
After three hours at the Berry household, Quinn doesn't think she ever wants to leave.
For starters, it's way nicer than Puck's house. Rachel's two gay dads are a little odd, but very sweet, and they give the two plenty of space. And best of all, there's no questions asked when she devours three BLTs (oh dear God, how she has missed bacon) just while they're doing homework.
If she isn't careful, Quinn could really get used to this.
Rachel's dads left money for takeout – they had some kind of a club meeting to go to tonight, Quinn wasn't paying attention – so they ordered Chinese. Then, after finishing their chemistry homework, Quinn had a chocolate craving, so the two girls baked brownies, which were currently in the oven. (A lot of uncooked batter went into Quinn's mouth before any made it into the pan, despite Rachel's repeated warnings about the raw egg not being good for the baby.)
They managed to make small talk for most of the afternoon – discussing homework, laughing about their teachers, talking about Glee Club – so it isn't until their dinner comes that Quinn asks the question that's been on her mind all afternoon.
"Okay, Rachel, why am I really here?" she asks, taking a sip of her soda.
"Wh-what?"
"As much fun as this afternoon has been, I know you didn't just invite me over so I could get away from Puck's annoying family and eat some seriously good food. In Glee club today you said there was something you wanted to talk to me about. What is it?"
Rachel blushes. "It's about… boys."
"Let me guess… it has something to do with that guy Jesse from Vocal Adrenaline."
"How… how did you know?"
"Please. Your "hypothetically" thing the other day wasn't fooling anybody. You're lucky it was just the girls who heard – the guys probably would've gone to Mr. Schue again."
Rachel looks genuinely shocked – that girl really needs to work on her secret keeping. "Anyway… so, you know how he wanted to, um, go all the way?"
"Yes…" She has a sinking feeling where this is going.
"Well… I did it. Last night. And I thought I was okay with everything, but then I woke up this morning and I just felt… overwhelmed by what I did. I can't shake this feeling that I might have made an enormous mistake, and I just… I need to talk to someone – someone who's been through this."
"Oh, and I guess because I'm pregnant that makes me the perfect person to talk to about sex." Quinn rolls her eyes.
"No, Quinn, that's not it. I couldn't ask someone like Santana or Brittany, and not just because they'd probably laugh at me." This, Quinn admits, is true. "You were probably in almost the same place that I am right now. And… of all the girls in New Directions, you're probably the only one I could sort of call my friend…"
Quinn is inexplicably touched – this is Rachel Berry, after all. But it is kind of sweet that Rachel feels like she can come to her about this. (Oh, how she'd wished there was someone for her to talk to after what happened with Puck.) "So what do you want to talk about?" she asks.
"What was it like for you?" Rachel asks, and Quinn has to think.
"Well, it was definitely not how I'd imagined losing my virginity," she laughs, and Rachel smiles, as if to say "I knew that."
"Did it… hurt?"
"I was drunk – the alcohol dulled the pain."
"It hurt for me," Rachel says. "God, I had no idea how much it would hurt." She winces just thinking about it."
"And… I have to ask, considering what happened to me – did you guys use protection?"
"Oh God yes," Rachel says. "I had a box of condoms in my dresser drawer just in case, but he brought some." Quinn breathes a sigh of relief.
"Was Jesse a jerk about it, or a good guy? I mean, he had to know it was your first time."
"Oh, he was a perfect gentleman. He even got me flowers. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find two dozen fresh red roses in Ohio during the winter?"
Rachel's words tug on something in Quinn's heart. Puck certainly never gave her flowers, and he got her pregnant.
"Did you enjoy it?" Quinn asks. She's surprised by how much she honestly wants to know the answer – this one afternoon has semi-bonded her with Rachel.
"Yes and no. It was painful at first, but then it got better." She smiles, as if remembering something good. "Jesse was really sweet. If I even flinched, he would kiss me until I didn't feel the pain anymore."
For a split second, something flashes in Quinn's mind. A memory, however brief, of Puck doing the same thing Rachel just described – kissing the pain away. It disappears as quickly as it had come, and Quinn blinks, trying to figure out what just happened. Was that memory real, or just something conjured up by her imagination? (She'd have thought she would remember if it were real…)
"Quinn? Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah. It's nothing." She swallows another bite of the most delicious cold sesame noodles she's ever tasted – making a mental note to ask Rachel the name of the restaurant where they got the food – and tries to pretend like everything's normal again.
Rachel spears a piece of carrot out of her tofu and veggie stir-fry dish, but pauses, the fork midway to her mouth. "So… now what are we supposed to do?" It takes Quinn a second to realize she's still talking about Jesse. "Is he going to expect me to… keep doing it?"
"I'm the wrong person to talk to about that," Quinn laughs, reaching across the table for a spring roll. "But if you just want my opinion? You're not obligated to do it again unless you want to. Did you enjoy it?" Rachel nods. "Would you want to do it again?"
"Maybe… I don't know. This would be so much easier if he wasn't in Vocal Adrenaline," Rachel sighs.
"With boys, almost nothing is ever easy." Quinn shakes her head. "Just remember that you don't have to do anything. And if he tries to pressure you to do it again and you're not comfortable, dump his sorry ass."
Rachel laughs. "Thank you, Quinn," she says softly. "I mean it. For everything."
"Any time." She's surprised when she realizes she actually means it. Who would've thought the bossy, self-obsessed diva who'd tried to steal her then-boyfriend on multiple occasions would've become her… friend?
Thankfully, the timer for the brownies goes off, saving them from having to stumble through any more surely to be awkward conversation. "That'll be the brownies," Rachel says, sounding flustered, as she gets up from the table. "We have ice cream – do you want to make brownie sundaes?"
"Oh my God, yes. I used to love those when I was a kid – I'd have my parents make them for me every year at my birthday parties." Heavy conversation abandoned, Quinn joins Rachel in the kitchen, where they proceed to make a giant mess scooping out chunks of brownie and ice cream and whipped cream and all other manners of toppings.
It's the best day Quinn can remember in a long time.
"Ow! Holy cow, Quinn, what the heck is in this thing?" Rachel jumps up and down on one foot, her face scrunched up in pain. Quinn's big navy blue suitcase lies abandoned behind her, as the blond bites her lip to keep from laughing at the other girl's expression.
"Come on, it's not that heavy," she laughs. Her arms are piled with boxes and various other little bags or things that wouldn't fit in a suitcase.
"Well excuse me if I'm not Finn or Puck. I'm sure it was no problem for them, but if you haven't noticed, I'm not six feet tall and on the football team."
"You're being overdramatic as usual, Rach. Here, if it's such a hassle, I'll take it and you take these." Quinn dumps her stuff into Rachel's arms, and the diva promptly buckles under the weight, her skinny legs and feet clad in patent leather platform Mary Janes sticking out from underneath the pile like the Wicked Witch of the East. The blond girl, meanwhile, takes two steps pulling the suitcase before she too stumbles and falls over, landing on top of one of the boxes. "Okay, maybe you were right about that suitcase."
"You think?" Rachel retorts, the bite in her voice diminished by the fact that it's coming from underneath a giant pile of Quinn's books and stuffed animals. There's a brief pause, and then the two girls dissolve into peals of uncontrollable laughter simultaneously.
This is by far the best moving day she's ever had, Quinn thinks, as her cheerleading-toned body shakes with laughter together with the girl that's rapidly becoming her new best friend.
Since that first semi-awkward night when Rachel asked for advice, the former head Cheerio and the diva have spent almost crazy amounts of time together, talking and doing homework and practicing for Glee Club and just… hanging out. Quinn's so-called friends have deserted her since the reveal of her pregnancy and her subsequent fall from grace, and Rachel never really had close friends to begin with, so they slide into an easy, natural rhythm of spending all their time together – sitting next to each other in class, going off-campus for lunch in Quinn's car, spending afternoons studying and goofing off at Rachel's house…
For the first time in a long time, they both have a real friend – someone to clean them up after being slushied, sit with in study hall to protect from bullying, and hang out with on the weekends instead of sitting home like a loser. Quinn puts up with Rachel's tendency to talk too much and her borderline obsession with Broadway (she has every song from Wicked on her iPod and memorized to show for it), while Rachel indulges Quinn's doughnut cravings at 2 AM and the morning sickness (which is a total misnomer, since she pukes morning, noon, and night). Quinn even learns to tolerate Jesse, since he and Rachel have become practically attached at the hip since he transferred to McKinley to be with her.
It was Rachel who suggested the blonde move in with her. Quinn was already practically living at Rachel's house anyways – why not just make it official? Moving for the third time in about as many months was not exactly her idea of a fun Saturday afternoon, but at least this time it's not under duress, like the first two times.
And she certainly never laughed this much – or got herself into a predicament like this – moving with Finn or Puck.
"You girls." Hiram Berry shakes his head as he steps around the piles of Quinn's stuff laying in the front hall, sprawled around the two girls still lying on the floor. "We leave you alone for five minutes, and already you've made a mess of everything. Just who do you think is going to pick all of this up? And why are you on the floor?" His thick Indian accent – still not diluted after over fifteen years of living in Ohio – makes this little speech come out more silly than serious, and Quinn bites her lip to keep from laughing again.
"We're sorry, Mr. Berry," she says, righting herself and picking up a few of the boxes, scooping up a few things that fell out when Rachel dropped them.
"Now, Quinn, for the millionth time, you have to drop this 'Mr. Berry' nonsense. You're part of the family now! Besides, it can get quite confusing with the two of us, I'm sure." Leroy Berry appears behind his partner, carrying the last of Quinn's stuff from the car.
Quinn looks at the Berry men, who are smiling broadly at her, then back to Rachel, whose face wears a big grin of her own. Involuntarily, her lips curl into a smile too. This is maybe the last place she'd ever have thought she'd end up, but then again, this whole year has been a giant rollercoaster ride, with all kinds of things she'd never dreamed of happening to her. Her friendship with Rachel, though, is something Quinn would never change if she had the chance to.
"Let's get your stuff in the guest room, and then if you don't mind waiting a bit to unpack, I do think this calls for a little celebration," Rachel declares finally. "Quinn – it should be your choice. Where would you like to go for dinner?"
"Breadsticks?" She really is craving a plate of their fettuccini Alfredo (the one nice thing about being pregnant is not having to count calories obsessively like on the Cheerios), but more than that, her parents often frequent Breadsticks on Friday nights and, yes, maybe she does want to rub it in their faces a bit that she has a new home now.
A new home. God, the Quinn Fabray from last year would be physically repulsed at the idea of living with Rachel Berry, but now she's become her best friend. She hopes that doesn't reflect badly on her or something, because Rachel really is the best friend she's ever had.
Quinn's lying on the couch with her history textbook on her lap, a half-empty bowl of her new favorite studying snack (a special snack mix made with popcorn, peanut M&Ms, and dried cherries) sitting by her side. It's almost six o'clock on a Wednesday night; Hiram and Leroy are working, and Rachel has ballet, so Quinn's all by herself. At first, being alone in the Berry household made her feel too awkward, so she'd started camping out in the waiting area of Rachel's ballet studio on nights like this. But eventually she got used to being home alone. (It certainly leant itself better to studying than uncomfortable plastic chairs in a tiny cramped room with barely any heat or AC and the sounds of music and dancing coming from five feet away.)
She turns the page and sighs, reaching for another handful of snack mix, as she stares at the words on the paper but not really processing them. It's been this way all afternoon – there are way too many things on her mind to concentrate on studying. Regionals are coming up fast and with them, her due date is looming in the not-too-distant future. Although they'd never discussed it, both girls knew a big factor that started their sudden inseparable friendship was the baby. Quinn can't help but wonder if the friendship will survive once this little girl in her stomach has a new home.
As if she can read her thoughts, Quinn feels a tiny kick in her abdomen, and smiles, absently rubbing her hand over the spot. She hadn't loved starting to show originally, especially when she'd realized it meant shopping for maternity clothes (which are uniformly ugly, no matter where they come from), but Rachel had somehow found a boutique with cute maternity clothes, which lessened the blow a bit. The morning sickness finally subsided a while ago, which made everyone in the Berry household very happy (although to their credit, Hiram and Leroy never complained about cleaning up vomit from wherever Quinn happened to miss the toilet – and there were some pretty strange places…). And every night, without fail, Rachel sings to the baby – mostly Broadway classics, but there's a decent mix of classic rock and some current pop hits, at Quinn's urging.
They've all been so supportive of her… condition (for lack of a better term), so much more so than her real parents would. Sometimes, it even makes Quinn entertain crazy thoughts like keeping the baby. Of course, naturally, whenever she starts thinking like that Puck appears in her thoughts, and she's reminded of all the reasons why she's choosing adoption.
"Quinny, I'm home! And guess who I found?" Rachel slams the door behind her, sending a gust of cold air into the warm, dimly-lit house. Quinn looks up, grateful for a distraction from her 'studying'. The brunette is still in her ballet practice clothes, albeit with a pair of black sweats over her pink tights, her long hair pulled loose from its usual ballerina bun. Behind her, holding pizza boxes and a DVD case, is none other than Jesse St. James, also in what looks like ballet practice clothes – although thankfully, she's spared the image of him in anything that even remotely resembles tights.
The blond rolls her eyes. "Hey, St. James."
"Fabray." Quinn still completely doesn't trust the former Vocal Adrenaline star, but Rachel seems to be head over heels for him, and who would she be to rain on her friend's parade? He seems innocent enough, and he treats Rachel like a princess, so she puts up with him showing up all the time and their constant duet-ing (because put those two in the same room, and inevitably they will start singing). At least most of the time when he shows up unexpectedly like this, he brings food – which could be taken as him trying to make nice with her, since she's basically hungry all the time these days. Whatever. She'll take it, especially because the smells coming from the pizza boxes in his arms are starting to make her drool.
"What movie-musical are you two going to subject me to tonight?" she teases, throwing off the blanket she'd been curled up in and bringing her textbooks into the kitchen. "Please tell me you brought some of that garlic bread I love, or I think I might just have to murder you."
"Relax, Fabray, it's right here." He hands her a small cardboard box filled with the coveted garlic bread, and laughs. "No killing necessary. I know how much you love your food." Another point in Jesse's favor is that he doesn't seem to make a big deal out of her being pregnant, although he does throw in a few jokes here and there about how much she eats.
After they all grab slices and sodas from the fridge (Rachel's a special vegan cheese-less pizza, which makes no sense whatsoever to Quinn – everyone knows the best part about pizza is the cheese), they settle down in the living room for movie night. Quinn graciously lets Jesse and Rachel have the couch so they can snuggle, and makes herself comfortable on the recliner. The movie turns out to be Evita, and Rachel pretends to faint when Quinn admits she's never heard of it before. It's not half bad, if a little over-dramatic. Of course, Rachel and Jesse belt out every song, but she's been forced to sit through worse.
Sometime after Eva Peron addresses the people of Argentina on the balcony – and Rachel sings a version of "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" that even Quinn will admit is pretty impressive – the Glee power couple on the couch start to get a little… hot and heavy. Quinn only notices at first when a song comes on-screen and she can actually hear Madonna singing. After it becomes clear that they're not really paying attention to the movie anymore, Quinn stays put for a little while, but eventually gives up trying to get into the movie and goes back to her room. (She stopped thinking of it as 'the guest room' a while ago; this is home now.)
There's a TV in her room, and she flips through the channels absentmindedly, eventually just turning it off when she can't find anything worth watching. She debates trying to study some more, but that would mean getting up and going back out to the living room to get her books… where Jesse or Rachel might see her. There's no way she's going to spoil Rachel's night by interrupting them right now, even though her BFF would act like it was no big deal.
Without anything better to do, Quinn reaches for her cell phone and starts scrolling through her contacts list, not really sure if she's looking for someone to call or text or just trying to relieve her boredom. (As is, there aren't too many people on this list who would actually pick up if she did call.) The names scroll by and she's sort of only half paying attention, when she stops on a name.
Puck.
Quinn doesn't quite remember how she got his phone number – it just sort of appeared in her phone one day. As far as she can recall, she's never used it.
Quinn: HEY. YOU THERE?
She doesn't know what possesses her to write that, or why she presses send. Chalk it up to boredom, or restlessness, maybe. After a few minutes go by with no answer, she's just about ready to plug her phone in it's charger for the night and try to get some sleep when the screen lights up with it's little ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE icon.
Puck: QUINN?
Quinn: DID YOU THINK SOMEONE STOLE MY PHONE?
Puck: NO… YOU JUST NEVER TEXTED ME BEFORE.
Quinn: FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING.
Puck: IS SOMETHING WRONG?
Quinn: JUST BORED.
Puck: WANT ME TO COME OVER?
Quinn's breath catches in her throat. Her phone buzzes again.
Puck: YOU'RE LIVING AT BERRY'S, RIGHT?
They're straying into dangerous territory here, and she knows the right thing to do is to tell him no – and then probably turn off her phone and go to sleep like a good girl. But just thinkingabout him is sending tingles down her spine – him climbing through her window, kissing her breathless, slowly pushing her down onto the bed…
Quinn knows he hasn't exactly been spending lonely nights pining for her to give him another chance. (Santana has a very big mouth.) It's not like she'd expected him to suddenly turn into a monk or something, but maybe a part of her had wondered if 'being a good dad to their daughter' meant, well, trying to make things work with her.
Puck gave her one thrilling, perfect night and then seven months (and counting!) of anger, confusion, and sadness. From a strictly rational standpoint, she shouldn't want anything to do with him, especially because she's giving the baby up for adoption. Yet despite all that, a part of her still longs for his kisses, his touch, his strong arms around her, making her feel safe.
The weight of her phone in her hands reminds her of the decision she still has to make. Quinn hesitates, then types a message into her phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Quinn: ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A BOOTY CALL, PUCKERMAN?
It's not really an answer, but with the teasing, almost flirtatious tone, she prays he'll understand all of her conflicted emotions that would be way too hard to convey in a text.
Thankfully, her prayers are answered.
Puck: LOL. IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT.
Quinn: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?
Puck: HOME. MY ROOM. YOU?
Quinn: SAME.
Almost unbidden, an image pops into her mind. Puck, lying on his bed, wearing a pair of baggy plaid pajama pants and a sleeveless gray shirt that shows off his muscular arms – or maybe even no shirt at all – staring at his phone, waiting for her to text him back, thinking about her the way she's thinking about him. The mental picture makes her shiver in pleasure, and she almost wishes she'd been daring enough to tell him to come over.
Puck: HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT NAMING HER?
His question catches her completely off-guard. This whole time they've been texting, they've never mentioned the baby. It was almost like she didn't exist. And now he's bringing it up, and with that a whole host of problems between them that Quinn had very much wanted to stay buried – at least tonight.
Quinn: WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS. I'M GIVING HER UP.
Puck: DOESN'T MEAN WE CAN'T GIVE HER A NAME.
Puck: SHE'S MINE TOO. I WANT TO GIVE HER SOMETHING.
Quinn: DID YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN MIND?
Quinn must have had this same conversation with herself a million times. Every time, she'd concluded that she was doing the right thing by refusing to think about baby names. Naming it would only cause her to get attached, and then make it harder for her to do the right thing and go through with the adoption. So she doesn't know why she lets Puck continue this. She's sort of half expecting him to say something ridiculous, like that they should name her after his favorite brand of alcohol. (Although whatever it is, there's no way it can be worse than Drizzle.)
Puck: WHAT ABOUT PAYSON? OR AMANDA?
She's genuinely surprised. Both are nice, pretty, normal names, names she could see herself conceivably naming her daughter. An adorable little girl, with blond hair and blue eyes, like a miniature of her mother…
Quinn looks down to see that her hands are resting on her stomach protectively, seemingly of their own accord, and flushes a pretty pink even though there's no one to see her. She realizes Puck is still waiting for a reply.
Quinn: PRETTY. BUT THAT DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING.
Puck: ARE YOU SURE ADOPTION'S REALLY WHAT YOU WANT?
Quinn: SHE DESERVES A BETTER LIFE THAN WHAT I COULD GIVE HER.
Puck: WHO SAYS YOU'D BE ALONE?
Quinn: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WE'D BE HORRIBLE PARENTS.
Puck: YOU REALLY THINK THAT? I THINK WE'D ROCK.
Quinn: HOW WOULD THAT WORK, WITH YOU SCREWING EVERYTHING IN A SKIRT?
Somehow, their fun, flirty conversation has spiraled off into something much deeper than she'd like to get into right now.
Puck: I'VE CHANGED.
Quinn: SOMEHOW I HAVE A HARD TIME BELIEVING THAT.
Puck: IT'S THE TRUTH.
A cold, hard knot of something that feels a lot like guilt settles in her stomach. Quinn decides she's had enough of this conversation.
Quinn: I'M GOING TO BED.
There's no reply, and she assumes he's pissed that she's just leaving, like a spoiled, stubborn child. She's about to turn off her phone for the night when it buzzes in her hands again.
Puck: GOOD NIGHT, QUINN. SWEET DREAMS.
Not sure what she'd thought she would accomplish by that texting session, Quinn shuts off her phone and snuggles under the blankets, forgoing all her usual before-bedtime rituals. She closes her eyes and tries to put it out of her mind.
(But even in her sleep, she can't escape him. She dreams of a life with him, raising their daughter, a beautiful little girl with dark hair and green eyes, like her father. In her dreams he's sweet and charming and wonderful, and when she wakes up her pillows are soaked with tears because it was only a dream and oh God how badly she'd wanted it to be reality.)
Rachel Berry is prone to over-dramatics. It's one of the first things Quinn ever learned about her, long before they even became friends.
That said, Rachel has a perfectly good reason for wanting to curl up in a ball and cry. And that's exactly what she's been doing the past two days, ever since Vocal Adrenaline showed up at McKinley and intimidated the crap out of New Directions. Quinn's tried everything to get Rachel to talk about it, but it's like Jesse reached down her throat and yanked out her vocal cords as well as her heart. (Damn it if Quinn hadn't been right not to trust him completely; this girl now is like a ghost of the real Rachel Berry.)
It's late, almost getting dark, and Quinn is starting to get seriously worried about Rachel. She hadn't come home after school, and had no after-school activities scheduled for today. That combined with the way she'd been acting lately – like she was moving through fog, only half there – well, it was a dangerous combination. If she wasn't thinking straight, who knows what could've happened?
Quinn's heart pounds. No. Don't even think like that. Rachel is fine. She's going to walk through the doors any minute and–
…look like hell.
"Hi," Rachel says, in a tiny voice. "Sorry I'm so late."
"What happened to you?" Quinn stands up and walks closer to Rachel, examining her from all angles. She looks… well, to put it bluntly, she looks like a total mess. Her hair is dirty and tangled, her eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks are streaked with tears, there's some kind of yellow goop on her face and clothes, and… dear God, are those eggshells in her hair? "Did you get in a fight with a bunch of angry chickens?"
Quinn had been aiming for funny and teasing – a joke, to break the ice a bit and get Rachel to crack a smile – but instead, it just sets off the waterworks. "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry," she says hastily. "What's wrong?"
It takes Rachel a good couple of minutes to stop sobbing long enough to form words, and even then, she's still barely coherent. "Jesse… parking lot… Vocal Adrenaline… trap… stupid!"
Though she's making about zero sense, Quinn can read between the lines to see what's going on here. If Jesse St. James was nearby, he'd better run for his life; hell hath no fury like a pregnant girl scorned.
"That dirty rotten good-for-nothing lying little bastard!" she rants, trying to clean off the worst of the eggs from Rachel's hair and clothes. (She has a few more particularly choice words to describe Jesse in mind – mostly taught to her by Puck and Santana – but little Beth is always listening.) "I can't believe him! Should I call Puck and tell him to get the guys and go beat up Jesse for you? Because they will in a heartbeat, no matter how much trouble they got in last time. This is seriously sick, Rachel, even for Vocal Adrenaline. And Jesse knew you were a vegan, so that just makes it worse."
"Don't get the guys involved," Rachel murmurs, so softly Quinn can barely hear her. "It's not worth them getting in trouble again."
"Of course it's worth it, Rachel! What they did to you was wrong, on all levels. Come on, we have to at least tell Mr. Schuester. Maybe he can go yell at Ms. Corcoran or something. God, I'm an idiot – why not just go directly to the source? Somehow I doubt your mom will stand for her Glee Club turning her daughter into a human omelet." Quinn pauses to take a breath, realizing just how worked up about this she's getting.
"If you don't mind, Quinn, I think I just want to clean up and go to bed." Rachel walks past her to the stairs, sounding utterly defeated. Quinn just stares, watching her go and wondering how it was possible for one person to break her like this.
(If she ever got her hands on Jesse St. James, there would be hell to pay.)
The blond tries to go through the rest of the night like everything's normal, finishing her homework and making dinner, but it's impossible not to think about the poor girl upstairs washing egg out of her hair. She's sure that all the trigonometric formulas she'd filled out on the math homework are wrong in some way, and she'll have to do the unthinkable and copy the English questions off of Kurt or Mercedes tomorrow morning because she couldn't stay focused long enough to concentrate on the reading assignment. Thank God there were leftovers in the fridge, because she's scared to think about what might've happened had she tried to cook in this state. Nothing good, most likely.
Rachel finally appears almost an hour later with wet hair, her tiny frame nearly swallowed up by the enormous pair of flannel pajamas she's wearing. She then proceeds to wrap herself up in blankets on the couch, turn on the TV, put in a DVD, and stare blankly at the screen. Quinn tries numerous times to get her to talk, offering the brunette tea, leftover Chinese food, chocolate, anything she can think of that might help. (The only one that works is the last one, and even then Rachel just takes the candy mutely and goes back to not-really-watching her movie.)
She's just about given up hope when the credits start to roll and Rachel gets up from the couch, still wrapped in her blanket, and starts to go upstairs. Quinn sighs, grateful at least that Rachel's not all alone right now, even if she's not talking to anyone. (If she weren't so deathly afraid of what might happen if the diva was left alone, she'd drive right over to Akron and give St. Jackass a piece of her mind.)
Though it's way earlier than she usually goes to bed, she doesn't know what else to do. Especially now, with all this pent-up energy and aggression, there's no way she could concentrate on something solo and passive like reading or watching TV. And maybe some extra sleep will calm her down enough to not want to go rip out Jesse's throat. (It must be baby hormones that are increasing her maternal instinct or something, because she's honestly never wanted to watch someone suffer as much as she wants to see him suffer right now – and she was head cheerleader.)
Quinn turns out the light and slides into bed, trying not to think about those pricks from Vocal Adrenaline pelting her best friend with eggs. Just as she can feel herself hovering on the periphery of sleep, her bed shifts under the weight of a new person, who pulls back the covers and slides into bed right next to Quinn.
Only one person could get away with doing this, and that person was supposed to be upstairs in her own room, mute and practically comatose.
"Rachel?" Her eyes adjust to the darkness quickly, and she sees that yes, the petite brunette is lying in bed next to her.
"I'm sorry for just barging in like this when you were probably trying to sleep, but I just… I need to talk to someone."
Although her compassion for her friend will always win out above all, especially when she's in a state like this, Quinn can't resist a little jab. "So after you came home looking like you lost a fight with a bunch of angry mother hens, then refused to let me call the rest of the team or Mr. Schuester to do something about it, basically stopped talking – which is incredibly unlike you – and had me worried sick for the entire night, now you want to talk?"
"I'm sorry, okay? I just… I was in shock. It's not every day the so-called love of your life recruits a bunch of his friends to throw eggs at you, you know?"
Quinn winces; she'd been so worried sick about Rachel that it hadn't even occurred to her that poor Rachel herself was probably going through complete hell right now. "What did– How did he– Why would you–"
"Jesse called me after seventh period, and told me to meet him in the parking lot. Obviously, it was a set-up. He…" Rachel's voice trails off, choked up with sobs. "He said he loved me."
"What?"
"And then he smashed an egg on my forehead."
"What?" Quinn thinks that Jesse St. James must be bipolar or something – his recent behavior suggests no other options. Her hands ball into fists under the covers seemingly of their own accord, nails digging into her palms with anger.
"And now, every time I close my eyes, I keep seeing his face." Rachel buries her face in her hands. "I just… I really thought it would be different this time. God knows I have the worst luck when it comes to boys, but Jesse wasn't like the others. Was it stupid of me to think that I might actually get a happy ending this time?" She scoffs, running her fingers through her hair several times, to the point where it almost looks painful.
"Sweetie, if for one second you think this had anything to do with you, you're so far off it's not even funny. There are obviously a few screws loose in that boy's head, and in that case, he doesn't deserve you anyway." Quinn wraps her arms around the smaller girl, feeling fiercely protective, like it was Beth and not Rachel who'd just had her heart ripped out of her chest by the guy she thought she loved.
The brunette sighs. "Do you mind if we don't talk about it anymore? I know it's not healthy to keep it all inside like this, but right now, I just can't take it anymore."
"Of course." The two girls lay next to each other in silence for a while, Quinn's arms still wrapped around Rachel.
Finally, the diva breaks the silence. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Anything. Just talk to me. I need something new to think about to get my mind off of it, or I'll be up all night." Quinn struggles for a minute, not knowing what's appropriate conversation matter at a time like this.
"Puck wants to keep her."
Whoa. Where did that come from?
Despite their so-close-they-were-practically-sisters friendship, the one topic that's studiously avoided in the Berry household is Noah Puckerman. It's a conscious choice made on Quinn's part – she knew the brunette would be more than happy to listen and offer advice, but it's just too hard to talk about it, about him. He's like an open wound on her heart, and it takes all her strength to keep from picking at the scar.
Rachel arches one eyebrow. "Really? Since when?"
Quinn reaches over and grabs her cell phone, showing Rachel the texts from that night a couple weeks ago – somehow, she couldn't bring herself to delete them. The smaller girl scrolls through, more than a few of them eliciting a response in some form of undecipherable body language or a soft "Hmm…"
"What is it with you two? Are you together or what?" she asks finally, handing Quinn back her phone.
"It's… complicated." Already, she's starting to remember why they never talk about him – it hurts too much. One of her hands absentmindedly reaches down to rub her swollen abdomen, and Beth kicks, almost as if she knows they're talking about her daddy.
"But it doesn't have to be."
"Are you forgetting what went down earlier this year?"
"That's all in the past now, Quinn. There's nothing stopping you two anymore but your own stubborn pride."
"You have no idea what you're talking about, Rachel." What feels like the beginning of tears sting the corners of her eyes, and she blinks them back furiously. "Puck is not good for me. We're like the complete opposites of each other – those relationships only work in sappy rom-coms. Well guess what? Our lives aren't a movie! There's not going to be a happy ending for us where he sweeps me off my feet with some grand romantic gesture and vows that he's changed and only wants me. If I hadn't gotten pregnant, that one stupid night would've just been that – one stupid night. And if you hadn't interfered, and if Finn had been dumb enough to still believe the baby was his, he wouldn't have fought for me. That's just the way the world works. Guys like him do not end up with girls like me. The only thing that will happen if I put myself out there is that I'll just end up getting hurt again, and honestly, I've had enough hurt in the past nine months to last five lifetimes." Somewhere in that enormous monologue, the tears started to fall, but silently, so Quinn doesn't even realize she's crying until she tastes something warm and wet and salty above her upper lip.
"You really like him, don't you," Rachel says. Quinn's first instinct is to protest and deny, but then she realizes it's pointless to keep up the façade. This is Rachel, her soul sister – if she can't be honest with her, who can she be honest with?
"It doesn't matter, does it?" she sighs, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. "The second I'm not pregnant he has no obligation to me anymore, and he'll just go back to Santana and all his other sluts."
Rachel sounds like she's trying hard not to laugh. "Did you just call Santana a slut? I thought she was, like, your best friend."
"Well, she is a slut!" Quinn laughs. "She's not my best friend. You are."
Silence.
Quinn is practically a member of the Berry family, they spend every minute possible together in and out of school, and some of their friends have actually started to refer to them as "Faberry", since so rarely do you find one without the other close in tow. Yet they've never put a label to their relationship – at least, not out loud. Her statement, although short and simple, holds more power than should be possible out of something so small – and with it comes the ever-present reminder that a mere twelve months ago they were almost mortal enemies.
Unsurprisingly, it's Rachel who breaks the silence. "C-Can I sleep here tonight?" she asks. "I-I'd fully understand if you'd be weirded out, but I just don't want to be alone tonight."
Quinn tightens her grip on the brunette. "Of course you can stay."
Their conversation is far from over and they both know it – there are so many wounds left open, old scars with fresh blood. But boy drama can wait until later.
Right now, Quinn is content to fall asleep next to her best friend.
She must be hallucinating. Yes, that's it; the endorphin rush from their amazing performance must be causing her to hallucinate – auditory, visual, tactile hallucinations that her mother is here, backstage at Regionals, after she hasn't heard a peep from the woman in almost five months. That has to be it. It's the only logical explanation.
Except this feels very, very real.
Quinn wants to listen to what her mother's saying – she really does. But there's an odd sort of sensation going on in her stomach and… lower regions, and it's making it quite hard to concentrate. She only catches an odd sentence here or there – "I came to hear you sing"; "He was having an affair with some tattooed freak"; "turn the guest room into a nursery" – and as she's trying to piece it all together, she feels something wet drip down the side of her leg.
In an instant, all of the pamphlets and pregnancy books Rachel had forced her to read come rushing back to her.
"My water just broke."
If she wasn't in excruciating pain, this might actually be kind of funny – all the members of New Directions, still dressed up in their flashy gold and black performance clothes, running down the hospital halls in a panic, as she's being pushed in a wheelchair by Puck, who looks like he's about to wet his pants.
But she is, and so it's not.
"Mom, it hurts so bad!" she manages to squeak through the pain. She gulps a few shallow breaths to try and calm down, but good Lord, this hurts.
"My daughter is having a baby!" her mother exclaims, flagging down the first medical professional she can find. Throughout the whole process, she's remained remarkably cool-headed and efficient – unlike poor Mr. Schuester, the other adult in tow.
"Right this way, ma'am," an Asian-looking nurse in green scrubs and a lab coat says, gesturing down the hall. The others start to fall back into the waiting area, as Puck starts pushing the wheelchair in the direction the nurse said, her mom following.
"Wait! Wait!" she cries, turning around to the others. "I want Rachel with me too." When a few seconds pass and there's not a peep from Rachel, her anxiety starts to escalate. "Where's Rachel?"
"Goddamn it, where the fuck is Berry?" Puck growls, looking like he wants to punch something.
"Miss, we need to get you to a delivery room right away," the nurse says.
Mercedes grabs her outstretched hand. "I'll go with you, Q."
Another spasm of pain hits, and Quinn realizes that doing what the nurse says right now is probably in her best interest. There'll be time later to figure out what happened to Rachel.
As the nurses are helping her out of her gold dress and into one of those paper hospital gowns, it finally hits her – she's having a baby.
That's her last coherent thought, before the pain becomes even more intense (if that were even possible), and the epidural drugs kick in, and everything goes to black.
"Hey." Quinn looks up from her magazine to see Rachel standing in the doorway of her hospital room, still wearing her gold dress from Regionals. "H-how're you doing?"
"Alright, now. Labor was a bitch and a half, though." She flings the magazine towards a nearby table, not really caring if it ends up on the floor. "Come, sit."
"I am so sorry," Rachel starts, sitting down in the wholly uncomfortable-looking plastic chair near the hospital bed. "I don't know what I was thinking – of course I should've been with you when she was born, but I just… I had to see Vocal Adrenaline."
"And?" She's not all that mad at the diva, although she has every right to be. Jesse St. James is the root of this problem, and after all the crap he's put Rachel through, she could highly fault her friend for wanting some sort of closure on their relationship. It's unfortunate that things fell the way they did, but that's just life. (Plus, she was so out of it during the actual birth that she highly doubted it would've mattered, having Rachel there or not.)
"They were really good," she admits. "I'm sure you know by now that we lost, and although I certainly don't like it, I can understand it."
"That's not what I was asking about, Rach, and you know it."
Rachel sighs. "I chickened out. I don't know what I was thinking, that I could confront Jesse in front of all of his friends."
"You were thinking that you two need closure, and you do. But you're only human, Rachel. If you're worried about my feelings, don't be – like you said, I don't like it, but I can understand why you did what you did."
"I just feel so bad. I should have been there for you."
"Don't worry about it. You're here now." Quinn reaches out and grabs Rachel's hand, squeezing it tightly. "How did you get here, anyways?" she asks out of curiosity, knowing the petite brunette is car-less.
"Puck brought me – after thoroughly reaming me out for staying behind. I swear, he looked like he was trying hard not to do serious bodily harm when I asked him for a ride."
Quinn laughs; that does sound like Puck. Ever since her water broke, he's been the complete opposite of his normal sarcastic, angry, so-called "bad-ass" self – catering to her every whim. She finally had to tell him to go home a couple hours ago, because she wanted some peace and quiet. "Yeah, he was pretty pissed when I asked for you and you weren't there."
"He really cares about you." Quinn bites her lip.
"He said he loved me." To Rachel's awestruck expression, she adds, "I don't think it really counts, though – I sort of prompted it out of him."
"What is it with you and making excuses for him? No matter what he says or does, you always find some reason to deny the validity of it. It's almost like you can't let yourself believe he might actually have real feelings for you."
Something painful twists in Quinn's gut. Rachel's words are hitting way too close to home.
"…For a while, it seemed like I was just going through my life on autopilot – straight A's, captain of the Cheerios, president of the Celibacy Club, dating Finn… But when I tried to live a little, all I got was prejudice, heartbreak, and misery."
"That's not true." Rachel's hand is on her shoulder. "You got to experience new things. You learned who your true friends were. You carved out your own path for once, instead of the one pre-determined for you." The brunette hesitates. "Do you honestly regret this year? Wish that you could go back and change it?"
The silent, unspoken question in Rachel's words comes through loud and clear – Would you really give up our friendship if you could?
"…No," she says finally, taking Rachel's hand from off her shoulder and placing it in her lap, squeezing it tightly. Rachel looks up at her tentatively, before smiling and squeezing back.
"I know that trusting him again is probably a lot to ask of you after everything that's happened, but… he seems like he really means it. That he wants you, and only you. And I believe that everyone deserves a second chance." Quinn is silent, her mind processing the other girl's words.
Maybe she's right; maybe it wouldn't be such a colossal mistake to trust Noah Puckerman with her heart again. After all, she realizes, he's truly had it all along, and so far, so good.
"Finn said he loved me." Quinn's head jolts seemingly of its own accord, and she snaps to attention immediately, looking down at the brunette from her hospital bed. "Actually said it, with no prompting or anything."
"So? What did you say back?"
"Um… I didn't."
Quinn's eyebrows disappear into her hairline. "You didn't say anything?"
"It was right before we were about to perform, for crying out loud! He's lucky it didn't break my concentration, or I might've seriously killed him; he should know by now that right before a performance is not the ideal time to tell a girl you love her…"
"Rach, calm down. This is Finn we're talking about, remember?" Rachel nods and laughs. "Well, if it hadn't been at such an inopportune time, what would you have said?"
Rachel bites her lip. "I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"I just… I don't know. I'm starting to think that maybe I'd be better off just swearing off boys forever. All they seem to do is bring drama, confusion, heartbreak, and misery."
Quinn laughs slightly. "You say it, sister." Her face turns serious. "But not all boys are more trouble than they're worth."
"Well, all the ones I know are." Rachel sighs.
"Finn's a good guy, Rachel. And yes, he made a couple of stupid mistakes, but weren't you the one just saying how everyone deserves a second chance?"
Rachel snorts a laugh. "It'd be more like his fifteenth chance."
"Finn may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's sweet, he's kind, and he's a truly good guy. There aren't many of those left."
"Why are you talking him up like this?" Rachel asks suddenly, staring into Quinn's eyes. "I would've thought you'd be the first one telling me to stay away from him."
Rachel's question makes her pause. Honestly, she's right – Quinn has every reason to be dissuading Rachel from getting back with Finn.
But the girl who would've done that is long gone.
"I hurt him – badly – with what I did. There's no excuse for that. So if I can make it up to him in any small way, I'll sleep better at night." She takes a deep breath. "I've seen the way he looks at you – like he never looked at me. There's something real there. Don't push him away."
Rachel sighs. "Even if you're right, I don't think I'm relationship material right now. Not after Jesse. My heart is too raw, too full of scars that haven't started to heal yet. If anything were to go wrong… I'm not sure I'd survive the fallout."
"Well, that's why you have me." Quinn smiles and pats the diva lightly on the arm. "But I don't think Finn would hurt you again. He may not be all that bright, but he's smart enough to know better than that by now. And you're not going to get over Jesse any faster by sulking in your room with ice cream and Barbra movies all summer."
Rachel protests good-naturedly, but thankfully, she seems to have gotten the point. Quinn finds herself desperately wishing that the two of them will get together. It's sort of the least she can do for them after everything else she's put them through.
She winces as something cracks in her neck, which is tilted at a weird angle so she can look down at Rachel from the hospital bed. "Hey, get up here."
The brunette blinks. "What?"
"There's plenty of space." To prove her point, she scoots over a couple inches, leaving room for the smaller girl to join her. "My neck hurts from looking down at you, and that chair can't possibly be very comfortable. So get up here already."
"A-Alright," Rachel says hesitantly, taking Quinn's hand.
The bed, although big, was definitely not built for two, and they're quite squished together. But neither one cares, and for a moment, they just sit in silence, enjoying each other's company.
"Your mom was here earlier."
Why she brings up Shelby, Quinn truly has no idea. It's one of those times when your brain isn't quite connected to your mouth, because she knows that Shelby is a touchy subject for Rachel.
Indeed, she can feel Rachel stiffen next to her, as she releases the blond girl's hand. More than anything, Quinn wishes she could take back what she said, but it's too late – the words are out there, causing damage the likes of which guns and knives could only dream of inflicting.
"I went to see her. At Regionals. It was kind of embarrassing, actually – I asked her to come teach at McKinley, and she turned me down flat. Said something about wanting a real life, and a family." Rachel swallows hard, blinking back what looks like the start of tears in her eyes.
"Hey, hey, hey, sweetie, don't cry." Quinn wraps an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "It's her loss if she doesn't want to get to know you. Don't think for one minute that this has anything to do with you."
The brunette just sighs. After a tense moment, she finally asks, "So why was she here?"
Quinn bites her lip, hating whatever stupid part of her brain thought that mentioning Shelby would be a good idea. She has no idea how Rachel's going to take this news. "Um, she wanted to see Beth."
Slowly, the wheels begin to turn in Rachel's brain; Quinn can see it on her face as she starts to put everything together. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then changes her mind before any sound comes out, and simply exhales.
"Can I see her?" she asks finally.
Surprised (and relieved that the topic of Shelby seems to have come to a close), the blond replies, "Of course. But can we wait until later? I'm really tired right now."
Rachel nods. Then, like a little girl leaning on her mom, she rests her head on Quinn's shoulder.
Quinn absently runs her fingers through the other girl's hair. For the first time in God only knows how long, she feels completely at peace.
Maybe Rachel and Finn will get back together; maybe they won't. Maybe Quinn will take another risk on Noah Puckerman, and maybe it will pay off. Maybe Shelby and Rachel will reconnect after all, and they'll all be a tight little family. Maybe she'll forgive her mom, and maybe even move back home.
No matter what happens, though, one thing will never change: Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray are best friends for life.
I'll be there for you, because you're there for me too
Author's Note: I realize that this is enormously late and now ridiculously AU, but I don't care. It's nearly 20 pages and some of my best work to date, I think, so I am posting it.
I know the characters seem a little OOC, but remember, I started this way back in season 1. Originally, it was just supposed to be that last scene of them in the hospital, but then the story (as mine are prone to do, it seems) kind of took on a life of its own and spiraled off into this monstrosity.
Below is a rough timeline, in case anyone was wondering where all of these little anecdotes would fall in with canon.
Ciao, darlings!
- Authoress
Timeline –
First night: during "Power of Madonna" (before Jesse transfers)
Moving day: some time between "Home" and "Bad Reputation"
Movie night: after "Dream On", before "Theatricality"
Sleepover: during "Funk" (after egging, before ND sings "Give Up the Funk"); while we're at it, let's pretend the whole Quinn-singing-with-the-Unwed-Mothership-Connection thing (which was just plain freaky) never happened
Hospital: during "Journey to Regionals", obviously – after Shelby visits, but before To Sir, With Love