A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. A small Quinncedes drunken drabble challenged to me by guyanarose. Thanks!
Quinn is confused. Something she's used to feeling lately, sure, but not something she's comfortable with. Is it the pregnancy hormones? The ache she has for real friends that won't abandon her for something she regrets every day?
Well, she sighs, fingers massaging her temples as she stares at her knees below the swelling of her stomach, whatever it is, it seems to be permanent.
Mercedes had opened her house to her; had given Quinn the life back she never could have expected to see again until all the sin of her pregnancy had been gone. Her family, versus the Joneses, was sadly lacking. Was that all that this was?
There is a light rap on the door. Leaning back, forcing her voice to sound nonchalant, Quinn hopes it isn't who she hopes it's going to be. But she is wrong, and her heart pounds as Mercedes asks if it's okay for her to come in.
"Of course," Quinn nods, smoothing her shirt over her belly, not for the first time wishing this was happening under some other situation.
The door creaks open, and it takes everything Quinn has not to erupt in a full blown blush.
"You okay?" Mercedes asks, stepping in, Quinn drawn to her full smile.
"Sure," Quinn answers. It's the only thing she can answer. She wants Mercedes. She wants her in the way she shouldn't want her.
Mercedes' smile widens, and she sits next to Quinn's knee, at home on her bed. "Good," she pats Quinn's knee, Quinn's hazel eyes drawn to the touch, her heart skipping a beat, "Mom came home with some more bacon just. For. You."
Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, Quinn nods. "Thank you," she murmurs, catching Mercedes' hand, marveling at how achingly beautiful it is, the difference of her pale skin next to Mercedes' dark, it making her heart pound in a way she hadn't thought possible – is it wrong she's drawn to how Mercedes is different than her?, "I appreciate it."
Mercedes smiles again, and Quinn falls even more. If this is wrong, she thinks, lacing her hand with Mercedes', then she'll wish to be wrong until everything right doesn't mean anything anymore.