TITLE: Music Notes
PAIRING: Rachel/Quinn friendship
PROMPT: What if Rachel actually did have sex with Jesse in TPOM?
Rachel has sex with Jesse only to find out that she is pregnant. She tells Jesse whose response is to go back to Vocal Adrenaline and egg her citing that "It's your problem, not mine."
Rachel, hurt and saddened goes to Quinn and asks for help. Instead of Quinn telling the whole school and ruining Rachel, the blonde tells her that she will support her no matter what the brunette's decision
Cue Quinn taking Rachel to get an abortion with depressed!Rachel and unsure but supportive!Quinn
Can be Faberry relationship or friendship.
RATING: PG-13 ish
NOTE: This does not necessarily reflect my or the prompter's views on abortion. It's just a story.
Written for the glee_angst_meme on livejournal. My first post over there, and I'm nervous about it. I hope this turned out okay.
…
She never thought sleeping with him would be much of a big deal. It's a clichéd answer in times like these, but it's what she felt.
He was pressuring her a little, she'll admit that. But it wasn't like she didn't want to do it. If anything, Rachel Berry is in control, and expressing mutual love through sexual contact is perfectly normal. They were safe. It's not like losing her virginity suddenly makes her the town tramp. She's no Quinn Fabray (though she's come to accept the girl as a fellow club member, she did sleep with her boyfriend's best friend).
At least, she shouldn't be, because Rachel Berry has Plans for her Life. She's going to Julliard and Make It on Broadway. She will win Tony awards and live a posh life in New York City.
These "plans" do not include the pregnancy test she is now holding in her hands. It was never suppose to end up like this. Not when she was still a teenager. Not now.
But it is what it is. And this little pink plus sign is telling her that she is pregnant.
Pregnant. With child. Bun in the oven. Knocked up. No matter how she twists it, it doesn't make it any better. It certainly doesn't change anything.
What is she supposed to do next? What does anyone do next in this type of situation? If anything could knock her off her feet, this would be it.
She certainly isn't going to tell her fathers. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. She has to make sense of this first. Rachel takes her cell phone in one hand and the test in the other, walking outside and sitting on the curb. She scrolls down until she reaches Jesse's name in her contacts, dialing.
The dial tone in her ear seems to take forever, "Hello?"
"Jesse. Hi," the words come out soft. She's still clenching the pregnancy test in her fist.
"Hey Rachel. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I just... haven't talked to you in a while."
"I know. I'm sorry, I'm sure I'll see you soon."
She sighs, hot air colliding with her fist, "There's something I need to tell you, but I don't think I should do it over the phone…"
"Well what is it? You can tell me, Rach."
She doesn't want to tell him. How can she even say the words out loud? Saying it will make it real… But it's already real. You just don't want to accept it.
"I'm pregnant."
The words are met with cold silence on the other end of the line. She waits, holds her breath and counts to ten. When he doesn't say anything, she figures she should at least make sure he didn't drop dead of a heart attack.
"Jesse? Are you there?"
"Yeah, Rachel. I'm here."
"So, what-"
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I have to go."
"But Jesse-"
"Not now. I really have to go. Goodbye."
The sudden dial tone fills her mind. He didn't even say anything.
Well… tomorrow, then. He's just shocked, that's it. Yes. He needs time to process this, just like she does. Tomorrow they'll discuss it like two mature people committed to a relationship and decide what to do.
She almost wants to laugh at herself for sounding so proper, like her being pregnant is a United Nations negotiation summit. But she doesn't laugh. Rachel yanks the top off of the garbage bin by the curb and shoves the pregnancy test down underneath yesterday's trash (yesterday's mistakes). The cover comes back down with a metallic clang echoing inside her head, and she turns and walks away. Tomorrow will be better.
…
But tomorrow turns out to be nothing she ever could've imagined. Tomorrow is a hoax, a nightmare, if you will. Tomorrow takes her already broken world and grinds it into white powder dust.
Jesse St. James is a liar. She doesn't want to believe it, but he's returned to Vocal Adrenaline. He's just awful. Awful, awful, awful.
Rachel doesn't know what to say, because they were supposed to talk about this and he won't even look at her. What is she supposed to do now? At least before she had some sort of plan. Now… now… well, she doesn't deal well with being at a loss for… everything.
So of course, she's hopeful when he tells her to meet him, because everything that's happened since she bought the test (just to make sure. Of course, she only had the flu. That wishful thinking has been smashed, as well) has been like a dream, so why can't this be part of it? Maybe this is all a dream. He's coming back. It was a mistake.
But as she dashes into the parking lot, she is suddenly and quickly pelted with eggs.
They're all over her clothes and in her hair, and Jesse's just standing there with a terrible look on his face that she could either interpret as pity or sadness or anger or satisfaction (she isn't sure which anymore). Then he's stepping up, egg cradled in his hand.
"Do it," she swallows, keeping the tears inside, "Break it like you broke my heart."
He looks hurt. But why should he be? He doesn't have to do this. No one's forcing him to leave her.
"I loved you," he sneers, and crack, the egg breaks against her forehead and slides down her nose.
(Those poor baby chicks…). Like the baby inside her, because there's a real thing there, just like all these murdered little fluffballs…
Their eyes lock as he's backing away, and his face softens a little as if he knows exactly what she's thinking. Before she can blink, his cold frown is back again.
"And in case you didn't get the message: it's your problem, not mine."
Of course. Because the star of Vocal Adrenaline can't be a father. Neither can the star of New Directions, but he's the one who can walk away and she can't. Life's not fair.
So she simply stands, yolk sliding down her face. Life could not get any worse than this. Something is literally breaking inside, so much she can't even find the tears to cry about it. Tears shouldn't be wasted on him.
No. But they can certainly be wasted on her. So she lets them fall as she realized who she really is now. Teenage tramp, all alone with just the baby in her belly.
And suddenly, she's very thirsty. But besides that…she knows what she has to do. There's only one person who could possibly help her now. Hopefully, she won't kill her in the process.
…
After she cleans up (she has an emergency "I just got a slushie facial" kit in her locker. It gets the job done), she finds Quinn Fabray in the choir room sitting at the piano, even though she knows she can't play. On a different day Rachel would question her about this, perhaps offer to give her lessons. Not today.
"Quinn?"
The blonde girl looks up, stunned, fingers absentmindedly brushing the keys, "Oh. Hi, Rachel. If you need to do some weird practice ritual, I can leave-"
"No, it's fine. Stay," she walks over and sits on the other end of the bench, pressing keys one at a time, "You don't play, do you?"
"No," she smiles bitterly, "My parents thought it was a waste of time."
"That's a shame. No child should be denied the arts," she can't imagine her life without her fathers fully supporting her in her quest to become a star. But then… where is that going now? If she's pregnant… surely, the pregnant girl beside her has some advice, "I know we're not exactly friends, but… I need to talk to you."
Quinn looks confused, probably for good reason, so Rachel doesn't blame her, "What do you need?"
"Well, Jesse and I… we…" she doesn't know how to say it.
"I heard about him egging you. I know me saying it doesn't really help, but he's an asshole."
"Thank you," she takes a few breaths before she starts again, "But Jesse and I… well, we slept together. And now… I'm… pregnant."
Quinn glances down at Rachel's flat stomach, and then at her own inflated abdomen, "Really?"
"I really don't think I'd be joking about this, Quinn."
"Sorry, it's just… wow. I never thought it'd happen to you of all people."
"That's a bit hypocritical of you."
"I guess it is. So… why are you telling me?"
"Well, you obviously have experience in this type of thing. I was wondering if you could… help?"
She laughs a little, "I don't exactly have good experience. My parents kicked me out, not to mention I lied to Finn about Puck."
"Yes, well, I don't have the paternity problem like you, and I've decided I'm not going to tell my fathers."
Quinn raises and eyebrow, "You realize they're going to find out eventually, right? Not to sound… hypocritical again, but you know, been there done that?"
"I know. I'll cross that bridge when it comes. I just… need someone to talk to. I thought you…"
"I get it," she smiles, placing her hand on top of hers, "You're scared and you don't know what to do. But trust me, eventually everything's going to be okay."
"I… hope so," though she has a hard time seeing that ever happening. How could it ever be okay? For her, being pregnant does not end with okay. She never should've slept with him. Idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She can't become a Broadway star with a baby on her hip. She can't get out of Lima with a baby.
Everyone already hates her. Now she'll just be another school slut. Another demeaning remark to add to the list.
"What are you going to do?" Quinn asks quietly, pressing a piano key lightly. She waits for the sound to fade before she opens her mouth.
"I don't know."
Another note rings out. B flat, by the sound of it.
"Well, whatever you want to do, I'll support you."
"Really?"
Quinn nods. Rachel looks down, taking deep breaths, trying to hide the fear in her eyes even though it's written all over her face. As Quinn hits another key, she speaks over the sound.
"I don't want to have a baby."
The note goes sour, almost, quiets, and fades away.
…
They pull into a parking space at the clinic and Quinn puts the car in park. It's 10:42. Her appointment's at eleven. Her appointment for her abortion.
She never thought she'd be hearing herself think that. But then, who does really? Does anyone plan these types of things? She makes plenty of plans, but not this kind.
"Does this make me… selfish?"
Quinn turns her head and watches Rachel stare at her feet. A lot of people would call her selfish. She would've, once upon a time, but now that she knows her a bit better, she'd simply say Rachel was sometimes too ambitious for her own good. At least she has good intentions. It's strange to see her so vulnerable and broken.
"Why would it?"
"Because I'm not following through. I'm… only looking out for myself."
"If I've learned anything from being pregnant, it's that way too many people spend their time being people pleasers. You have to look out for yourself first. People probably think it's selfish for me to give up my baby, but it doesn't matter. I have to do what's best for me and what's best for her."
"But what if…"
"Rachel, you can't waste your time with what ifs, or we'll never get anywhere. Do you know what you want to do?"
She's had a week to think about this, so she isn't sure why she's feeling uneasy now. She felt fine before. But Quinn's right. She can't sit here all day questioning herself when she knows what she needs to do.
She nods, "I can't… be pregnant. I have do this. For me."
"Okay. Do you want me to come in with you?"
"I think… I'll be fine by myself. It'd be a little odd for you to come, considering how far along you are."
"Right. I'll just… wait out here."
She sits and watches through the window as Rachel disappears through the glass doors. Hopefully, everything will still be okay when she comes out.
…
An hour later, Quinn is in the middle of flipping through radio stations as she sees Rachel walking towards the car. She climbs into the passenger seat without saying anything, buckling her seatbelt and staring straight ahead.
She turns down the radio, "How do you feel?"
"I'm tired," she says quietly, still not looking at her, "Could you take me home please?"
She nods and starts up the engine. As they pull out of the parking lot, Rachel begins to cry silently. Quinn has a hard time keeping her eyes on the road.
…
They pull into her driveway and sit in silence. If she were feeling better, Rachel would see the irony in the situation. For one thing, that a pregnant girl drove her to get an abortion, never mind the fact that they are (were) both pregnant teenagers with different decisions.
She wishes she could forget about it, but she probably won't for a while because her stomach hurts and all she really wants to do is go lay down somewhere (maybe in the middle of the road, so she can get run over by the garbage truck).
Rachel had read that she'd probably feel guilty, but she didn't expect it to happen this fast.
"Are you okay?" Quinn asks quietly. It seems like a stupid question, and it probably is, but she doesn't know what else to say.
"Not really."
"Do you want to… talk about it?" Also a stupid question, but what is she supposed to say? She's pregnant and Rachel's not anymore. Quinn really doesn't know the first thing about abortion except that people like to yell about it a lot, her parents included.
"I don't know."
These short sentence answers, very un-Rachel like, aren't going to get them anywhere, "Well do you want me to do anything?"
She sits and stares at her hands, picking at her nail beds. She doesn't want to feel any of this. She wishes she could go back to before she slept with Jesse. She should've known he would hurt her. She shouldn't have ever gotten pregnant. She shouldn't have let this happen…
She might as well be taking her own egg and smashing it against the pavement. She killed her own baby chick, like the one Jesse smashed against her forehead. What a terrible analogy…
"Tell me I did the right thing."
Quinn sighs, hands resting on her stomach, "I can't."
Her head snaps up, "What?"
"I don't know if it was the 'right thing.' But it was the best thing for you, Rachel. I don't want to see you beat yourself up for the rest of your life over it. It isn't attractive."
"Why didn't you get an abortion, then? It certainly would've made life easier for you."
"Yeah, probably. But it wasn't what I wanted. I'm going to give her away, even though I still don't know how I'm going to deal with that. It's what's best for me."
What's best. Rachel can't help wondering how anyone knows what's best. Not in these situations.
"I still feel guilty. What if I could've done more?"
"And what if you couldn't?" Quinn gives her a stern look, "I'm not playing this game with you. No what ifs. It happened. Now, you just live with it."
"Is that what you decided when you got pregnant? To live with it?"
"I guess. Everyone makes choices. This is a hard one. No one thinks any less of you because of what you chose."
"Well actually, a lot of people-"
"Sorry," she smiles, "I guess I mean that I don't think any less of you."
It doesn't make it any better, but it certainly lightens her mood. Maybe someday, she'll feel okay again.
"Thank you, Quinn. For everything."
"It's fine."
"No, really. I don't know how I can repay you."
"I'm glad I could help. It's okay-"
And suddenly she remembers moments from earlier in the week, of music notes filling the room and her mind.
"Did you ever want to learn how to play the piano?"
FIN