A/N: Obviously at the time of writing this, 'Get It Right' didn't exist, so the original fic had some original (and terrible) lyrics of mine. I thought it was cuter this way.
EDIT: Blargh, sorry about the stupid spacing.
September 2008
Throughout her entire middle school career, Quinn was on the cheerleading squad. She was captain back then; it was one of the few things she ever clicked with. Back then it was certainly gruelling and exhausting, but ultimately worth it: there was at least some semblance of unity and teamwork and although the girls were bitchy (as they are consistently whatever school she attends) Quinn soon learns that at McKinley things are vastly different.
There is teamwork here too, of a sort: flawlessly synchronised girls that seem to move together as a single body, something Quinn noted with awe on her first viewing of the squad. As far as unity goes, though? They are only united in their determination to claw their way to the top and relentlessly tread on any fingers hanging onto the ladder on the way up.
The current cheerleading captain, Kelly, had only been instated at the beginning of the school year; the previous captain was kicked off the team for gaining too much weight and according to Coach Sylvester, 'ruining the image of perfectly toned teasing machines' that she was attempting to create to annihilate their competition.
It's not hard to see why Kelly was picked – she is almost like a mini-Sue herself, with their ruthlessness almost on par with each other. At Kelly's feet are the grovelling underlings who swap scathing remarks behind her back when she's not around, hoping to knock the queen off her throne and take her place.
The message is clear: kill, or be killed.
Quinn isn't quite sure which one is more likely to happen to her. After watching in fascinated horror at the blood-thirsty way the other girls character-assassinate each other she's thinking it'll be the latter, especially while she's on the figurative and literal position at the very bottom of the pyramid. It's only her second week of practising and right now, they're working on their pyramid formations. Quinn suspects it's less actual practising than an exercise in learning their place.
Since it's the beginning of the year the coach wants to personally oversee every practice in order to fully 'drum the message into their thick skulls' that Sue Sylvester doesn't settle for anything less than 'perfect'.
It's coming in loud and clear, since Quinn has never felt more exhausted. On either side of her Santana and Brittany are kneeling too, flushed with the effort of keeping the cheerleaders digging their knees into their backs upright.
Coach Sylvester paces a line in front of them, screaming abuse through her megaphone as she does. No one is safe from her idiosyncratic insults.
'Johnson! Straighten up, you're wobbling so much you're giving me motion sickness.'
'I've had bowel movements with more talent than you, Reed!'
'Lopez! Brittany! Stop looking at each other. Focus!'
'Fabray!'
Quinn wobbles a little, shocked at her name being called. It sends a tremble through the entire formation and several of the girls shout down at the blonde on the bottom.
'Yes Coach?' she pants, managing to get her body back in balance. Sue stomps forward, bending down and glaring at the her. Her eyes rake over Quinn's posture, which is perfectly stable now despite her earlier wobble.
'Mediocre,' she hisses, then storms back up the line. That's all she gets. One word. Maybe it's a compliment. Then again... it probably isn't.
Half an hour later, Quinn's arms ache so much it feels like she's been lifting elephants rather than cheerleading. It's never been so intense for her, and over the past week there's barely been any time to relax at all. While the rest of the team are complaining in earnest, the one time Quinn opens her mouth to make a comment she's quickly told to shut up by some of the older members.
'No one asked you,' snaps one nastily.
Quinn scowls at the offending girl. 'Listen, you b –' Some survival instinct tells her to shut her mouth and let the comment fade. Although she doesn't finish her thought, it's fairly obvious what she was about to say and they shove her roughly as they walk past. Quinn just barely keeps her balance while they rush ahead to the showers, cackling immaturely like a bunch of particularly evil school children.
Santana pats her elbow in an awkwardly sympathetic kind of way and Brittany squeezes her hand for a second before letting go. They both wander off to the showers together.
It calms Quinn somewhat, but already her anger is rapidly fading in light of a new issue: getting undressed. She takes her time doing it, wishing to prolong the time before having to get into the shower. The other Cheerios strip off without a thought and hop in. If only it were that easy for her – instead the communal showers are becoming the worst part of her day.
The reason why? Their bodies.
It started from the very first practice.
She's no stranger to getting changed in front of people and usually, she's one of the least people to feel shy about her own body. After last week, though, she can't help it. Just as she'd pulled her shirt over her head and turned around in order to fold it up, she'd caught sight of the rest of her team, all in various states of undress and just ended up gaping unattractively like a shocked goldfish.
Although each one of them looked different with clothes on, when they were half naked and showing off their bodies more blatantly it was easy to see the similarities. And every single one had been an amazingly beautiful shape; delicately slender but with strong, taut stomachs and thighs, each one thinner than the rest.
Santana had needed to smack her quite sharply on the arm to stop her staring before anyone noticed. The resulting teasing, although expected, was quite light. Plus Quinn had received a knowing look she still couldn't work out the origin of.
After a week she should be used to it by now. She isn't. It's still difficult not to eye their figures critically and compare against her own - particularly when the toned and lean bodies are being practically shoved right in her face. And when a glance down reveals her own plump stomach and chunky thighs – well, it's not her fault she can't help but compare, is it?
She's not stupid, or blind; she knows she's passably pretty, enough to turn a few heads of overly hormonal boys. Guys are easy, though, especially at this age. Her sister taught her that, advised her as soon as she developed breasts on how she could carefully use her "assets" (a pun Allie was very fond of) to get her way in high school.
Allison never warned her how difficult girls could be, though. At school, Quinn is nothing. They take in every flaw, every curve that goes in the wrong way, her muscles that are defined - but not enough.
There's nothing beyond a mocking snigger or badly concealed comment behind their hands when the other girls eyes rake over her form, knowing full well Quinn knows what sort of things they're saying. They make it perfectly clear that she isn't enough with their looks and their laughter.
The rush of water squeaks to a stop when Quinn wrenches the tap back around, shrugging a towel around her body as quickly as she can. It was a short shower and most people are still washing up, but at least that means she can change in peace without being late to her lesson.
She's just stuffing her still slightly damp body back into clothes when Charlotte – also a quick washer - taps her shoulder.
'Hey,' she says. 'Someone's keeps knocking at the door and asking for you. She won't go away.'
Someone's waiting for her? Santana and Brittany are in the showers still – sneaking peeks at each other none too discreetly – so she has no idea who it might be. Quinn snatches up her jacket and puts it on, the drying dampness on her skin making her cold.
The exit is the other side of a partition wall to stop people seeing in, thankfully, so no one sees exactly who is waiting in the doorway. And it's just as well, because it's Rachel Berry, her arms crossed impatiently, looking over her shoulder and not in Quinn's direction.
'What are you doing here?'Quinn blurts without thinking.
Rachel's head snaps around at the sound of Quinn's voice. 'Quinn! I - oh!' She steps back suddenly, her face turning bright red. She holds a hand up to shield her eyes. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd be… wet...'
Quinn's mind, ever the teenager, jumps straight to the gutter.
It takes her a moment to shake off those thoughts before she realizes what the problem is. Having not had time to dry herself properly, her Cheerios top is clinging rather snugly to her chest and those assets she was thinking of earlier are a little too visible for her liking, especially in front of this girl. She quickly pulls her jacket ends together, covering herself up.
She says, mortified, 'I was just getting changed, I'm sorry...'
Rachel peeks through the gaps in her fingers, then slowly lifts her hands away. Her cheeks are still pink. 'It's no problem! A – after all, you have nothing I don't have and of course I've seen my own, so I shouldn't be tu - I mean, embarrassed, at all…'
Considering how cool and composed Rachel seemed the other day, it's a relief to see that she gets embarrassed about things as well. She suppresses a smile. 'W as there something you wanted, Rachel?'
'Ah! Yes, thank you for reminding me.' Rachel clears her throat, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. 'You'll have to excuse me, I'm a little all over the place this morning. Anyway, my reason for coming here and bothering you ... W ell, I – you had the flyer when we met last, so I wondered... I was going to ask...'
She's floundering again. Quinn says pointedly, 'Sometime today would be nice?'
The comment makes Rachel's eyes narrow. This time, she speaks slower and more deliberately. 'There's another glee meeting. I wondered if you wished to audition today.'
Quinn blinks at her. In all honestly, in the time since she started at McKinley, she'd forgotten that the school even had a glee club. All the so-called 'freaks' of the school started to blur into one after a while, although she isn't sure she'd classify Rachel as a freak, even though the rest of the school ignored her. Nonetheless, there aren't many 'gleeks' other than Rachel for a reason; joining the club is social suicide. As such, Quinn isn't in a hurry to join them after her brief brain lapse last week.
Rachel continues, seemingly unaware of Quinn's unresponsiveness. 'I would've sought you out later in the day, but I didn't seem to be able to find you anywhere.' With good reason – whenever Quinn saw her in the hallways she did a quick u-turn in the other direction, wary of being caught up in another conversation where she could potentially look like an idiot again. Rachel's caught on apparently. 'Then I remembered you joined the Cheerios and decided the best plan of action was to seek you out now, before class starts.'
The verbose sentences are too much for Quinn's brain to get around. Another thing she'd forgotten – how much Rachel talks. Rubbing her forehead, Quinn says dimly, 'Oh... I don't know, Rachel. Isn't the glee club, like, full?'
Rachel huffs. 'Quinn, we have a total of three people attending every practice. One of them is me. The other is Jacob Ben Israel, who simply stares at me the entire time. He can't even sing nursery rhymes. The final one – who, as a teacher, doesn't actually count as a member - is Mr Ryerson.' She shudders. 'And he is simply a creepy man altogether. In fact, I even suspect he may have been inappropriate with a male student.'
Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes at Rachel's dramatics. 'Then he's probably gay. Leave him with Jacob, you'll be fine,' she reassures her.
Okay, maybe it's a slightly off-colour joke, but it's meant to make Rachel laugh. However, Quinn suddenly finds just over five feet of brown hair and tanned skin right in her face.
'I will not be fine!' shrieks Rachel. 'Quinn, I cannot be expected to fully realise my dream of being on Broadway if I am being stunted by the lack of members in our glee club! How can I be expected to shine if we never perform at competitions because there is only one member!'
'I thought you said there were two, not including the teacher,' she retorts weakly.
'Two – but only one with talent!'
Rachel's voice is much too loud, especially around the ears of cheerleaders practically salivating in their eagerness for dirt to dig up on each other. Quinn realises a split second too late that it will undoubtedly attract the attention of the cheerleaders only on the other side of that wall.
A giggle from her left indicates that she was correct in her assumption. The two twins, Kylie and
Lauren are watching them eagerly.
'Are we interrupting something?' says one of them (Quinn doesn't know which). Her eyebrows are raised above maliciously glittering eyes that rake over the scene before her, already calculating how to twist this to her advantage. Her sister's expression matches it perfectly.
It isn't going to need much twisting. That flush in Rachel's cheeks never quite disappeared. In fact, it's been made even worse by her passionate outburst about needing more members for the glee club. Add to that the fact that Quinn's clothes are rumpled, and the miniscule space between the two of them, and they never stood a chance. There's no doubt in Quinn's mind what the two cheerleaders are thinking about the two of them.
Her next actions are purely reflexive.
She only intends to push Rachel away from her but does it a little too hard. The impact sends the girl stumbling back through the door and she ends up on her backside. Of course, this all happens to the endless amusement of the cheerleaders, who break into peals of raucous laughter at the expense of the humiliated brunette at Quinn's feet.
Horrified, Quinn rushes forward and tries to help her up but Rachel is already getting up.
She doesn't miss the flash of tears in Rachel's eyes as she turns and runs away.
The next time they meet, Quinn is in the choir room.
The reasons why she's there are perfectly formed in her mind. If anyone bothers to ask, she has a note for Brad from 'Mr Schuester'. She even wrote the note herself to fool anyone nosy enough to ask for more information (although she might be a little stuck if either man comes in). It's lunch, though. Only one person – two, if she includes herself that day - hangs out in this room.
And okay, maybe the whole reason she's here is because she felt guilty doing that to Rachel in front of the Cheerios, even by accident. It was entirely her fault, after all, and she knows how hurtful those laughs can be so Quinn wants to apologise. Mainly so she'd stop feeling bad every time she passed Rachel and the girl would give her those large, hurt brown eyes that made her feel worse than the time she accidentally spilled paint all over Brittany's stuffed duck in a third grade art class.
However, the reason she found her in the first place is definitely not because she followed Rachel at lunch, the same day of that cheerleading practice. At the time she'd been sitting at the Cheerios table, looking around to distract herself from downing every item of food around. She had a new diet to stick to following her first weighing.
Her eyes had immediately locked on Rachel, who'd been eating with enough speed that Quinn was surprised she hadn't choked yet, washing down a sandwich with several gulps from a thermos. She was completely alone at her table, and her attention was solely on her food and eating as quickly as possible.
When that was accomplished she'd jumped to her feet and left the room speedily. Quinn found herself automatically following and having to hastily mumble something about using the bathroom when the others gave her strange looks.
When she'd tracked Rachel's destination to the choir room, Quinn found she'd locked the door. Thus, she couldn't follow Rachel in – not that she was following her, obviously. But she did need to apologise, and so she'd devised her plan to sneak in the next day: knock and tell Rachel she needed Brad, and when he wasn't there she'd insist Rachel help her look for him since they were obviously better acquainted. If he was there, then she'd just have to run away.
A flawless plan, no doubt.
To her delight, though, when Quinn arrives the next day she finds the door wide open and waiting, the melodic sounds of piano playing floating through the doorway. This is the reason why Quinn finds herself hovering at the threshold and watching Rachel Berry at the piano, head bent over pages of sheet music balanced in her lap, the other hand resting on the keys. Her foot taps to a silent rhythm in her head. Rachel's too busy scribbling away to notice Quinn's presence.
After some time, Rachel lifts her other hand to the piano keys. She begins to play a simple chord sequence, with hesitant and slow moving hands. However, despite her obvious inexperience, the notes resound strongly nonetheless.
'That sounds pretty,' says Quinn before she can stop herself. She forgets Rachel doesn't know she's there, and Rachel jumps, scattering papers and knocking the book to the floor with a loud clatter. The other girl darts around in panic and when she sees who it is, she doesn't seem any calmer - in fact, her face tightens even more.
Quinn quickly holds her hands up in a gesture of peace. 'Sorry!' says Quinn as apologetically as she can muster. 'I think I'm making causing you to drop your stuff into a habit.'
Rachel practically growls at her, as though Quinn had intruded on a wild animal's space. 'What are you doing here?' she snaps.
It's not the greeting she would've liked. Slightly put out, Quinn indicates the fake note in her hand. 'I was looking for Brad. The music assistant?'
'He's not here,' replies Rachel curtly.
'I can see that. Unless you're secretly a grown man with glasses and a moustache,' she says jokingly. Rachel doesn't look at all amused. Quinn's smile fades and she shifts uncomfortably.
'That was supposed to be funny...'
Rachel rolls her eyes. She turns away and starts playing again, acting as though she was never interrupted. This time, however, her playing is even worse since her sheet music is still on the floor. The notes alternate being far too quiet and coming out too powerfully. She's clearly distracted.
Unfortunately for Rachel, Quinn does not take the silent treatment well. Gritting her teeth, she slams the door shut and strides over to Rachel, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at the sulky diva. 'You know, I did come here to apologise, but if you're not going to listen... Guess I won't show you any of the music I can play on the piano that is perfect for karaoke, if someone wanted to sing along. Any pop song. Name it.' Rachel snorts. 'Hip hop?' A head shake. 'Rock.' A shrug. 'Uh... Broadway?'
After a moment, Rachel stiffens and Quinn thinks she's hit the right note, so to speak.
She rolls her eyes when Rachel ignores her even more. W ell, if she's going to be a child about it...
Quinn swings her legs over the piano bench and, using her hip, nudges the girl further up the piano bench in order to sit beside her. Rachel nearly falls off the other side but Quinn catches her and hauls her upright.
'You were ignoring me,' says Quinn, shrugging, in answer to Rachel's indignant expression.
'I wasn't aware I was obligated to speak to you!'
'Man, are you always so immature about these things?' she says in exasperation. Rachel scowls, muttering, 'You're immature' before turning back to her keys - and it's then that Quinn notices.
She is actually pouting. Pouting! She hasn't seen someone do that during a tantrum since she was ten and it was annoying even then. On the other hand, on this stubborn brunette – it's almost a little... cute. Her bottom lip is in full view, red and fleshy while sticking straight out. Five minutes pass while Quinn's gaze swaps between that lip and Rachel's face, which slowly relaxes from her severe frown.
'Hey, you're not frowning at me anymore,' Quinn points out when she notices.
'I don't want to get frown lines.'
When Rachel says nothing else for another two minutes, Quinn sighs heavily, throwing her hands up. Although she hates to apologise, she did come here for that explicit purpose. She might as well get on with it.
'Okay, Rachel. You win. I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have pushed you. I didn't mean to, I swear – it was an instinctive thing.'
'Instinctive? Why?' Rachel has stopped playing and now her full attention is on Quinn. Although she doesn't look angry now, her expression is still rather cold.
'Because...' She takes a breath, trailing her finger along a piano key. 'Rachel, you were so close to me, and I could see what was going through their minds. You don't know what those girls are like. They would've torn us both to shreds if there were the slightest chance of us being – being -'
'Lesbians?' supplies Rachel coolly. The ice in her voice makes Quinn wince. 'I had no idea the very idea offended you so much.'
'Hey. It doesn't offend me.' It's not quite a lie. Although the word lesbian doesn't really gross her out, it does conjure up a strange twisting sensation in her stomach that makes her highly uncomfortable. Still, she's not going to admit to that. 'I know how high school works, that's all. I know that being gay in high school is not easy.'
'Really?' Rachel mocks surprise. Quinn had no idea the girl could be so sarcastic. 'That never occurred to me. After all, I've never seen Kurt Hummel being chucked into the dumpster or heard some truly horrific stories from my dads and their friends about how they were treated back then. Don't you think you're just adding to the homophobia by acting like it's something repulsive to you?'
'But I'm not gay,' says Quinn in frustration. Again with that twist in her stomach. 'And I told you, it's not… repulsive, to me.'
Rachel's eyebrow arches. 'I didn't say you were.' She eyes Quinn for a few moments, then responds bluntly, 'Straight or not... I still think that you are adding to the negativity surrounding being gay by being so defensive. However,' she adds, 'I can see you were startled, and I believe you when you say you're sorry.' She smiles for the first time since Quinn got here. 'Lucky for you, I do not hold grudges.'
'Yeah, because you totally weren't giving me a hard time or anything,' mutters Quinn.
'You think that was me giving you a hard time? You have much to learn, Fabray.' She nudges Quinn with her foot. 'Now, I believe I was promised some karaoke.'
She suddenly remembers where she is: sitting at a piano, something she hasn't done in quite a while. The leather of the piano seat feels hard and unfamiliar next to her own one, but her hands and feet still find their way instinctively to their positions.
'I haven't played the piano in ages.' She spreads her fingers over the piano's keys, experimentally playing a quick burst of song. Quinn grins broadly as she successfully plays all the notes, getting a little carried away with the rest of the tune so integral to her childhood.
'What's that?'
'Oh, this?' Her rhythm falters slightly in the middle of playing the Zelda theme. She's never been good at speaking and playing at the same time. Her mind can't keep up. 'Um. Just a song...'
On top of her playing a single key sounds loudly above the rest with a clash of notes that makes her wince. Glancing down the length of the piano reveals Rachel's index finger as the culprit. It does its job in derailing Quinn's thoughts and playing so she lets the keys go and waits for the music to fade.
Her eyes follow the finger still remaining there up Rachel's hands. They probably aren't that long in comparison to hers but they are slim and tanned and seem ridiculously well cared for. When her gaze rises she discovers she's been caught staring. Quinn hastily swivels her eyes back to the front.
'Your hands are pretty,' she mutters. 'They're… really feminine?'
Feminine? What?
Rachel chuckles slightly. 'Thanks. No one has ever complimented my hands before.'
'Is that a good thing?'
The girl smirks and Quinn is sent right back to when they first met, when Rachel insisted on dropping as many flirtatious remarks into their conversation as possible. 'From you, maybe.' Before Quinn can comment back – or blush - Rachel bends down, retrieves her fallen sheet music from the floor and also places what appears to be a journal on the piano.
'Fake leather,' Rachel explains needlessly, smoothing her fingers over the material of the front cover. 'My daddy and I are vegans. W e have been trying to convert my dad, but he hasn't really taken to it.'
'I think I'd get on with your dad...'
Rachel snorts. She begins to flip through her book, only needing to turn a few pages until she finds the one she wants. Quinn's eyes scan the music staves on one page and the lyrics on the other, full of many erased pencil marks and crossing outs.
'Is that what you were you playing when I came in?' she asks.
Rachel sighs. 'Kind of. Written here is just the melody and lyrics. I was messing with chords, trying to find the right combination.'
Quinn takes the book and carefully tries out the melody on the piano. 'It's nice.'
'It's empty. I've been trying to work out an accompaniment for a while now, but nothing flows.'
'How long have you been playing?'
'Not long. In fact, I didn't see the need for more than weekly lessons until it was pointed out to me I need the experience in as many different areas of instrumentation if I am ever to be an EGOT winner.'
'EGOT?'
'Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony award.'
Quinn tries not to laugh. 'Rachel Berry, EGOT winner. Yep, rolls right off the tongue.'
'Doesn't it though?' Rachel beams at her, pleased. 'I'm determined to become a competent piano player. The only problem is that I can hear the music in my head, perfectly formed - but my hands can't keep up.'
'But you can sing it just fine?' At Rachel's nod, Quinn sits up straighter and returns her hands to the piano keys. 'So you sing, and I'll improvise. I'm pretty skilled with my hands, it might help.'
The brunette swallows, a peculiar expression crossing over her face before she regains control
of her mouth. 'You would do that?'
'Yeah, sure.' She suddenly realises Rachel might not have actually wanted her to and now she's intruding on something personal to her. 'I mean, only if you want me to. It's your creation. I would understand if you didn't want to let anyone else near it.'
'No – I mean, you can improvise? I always find that quite difficult.'
'Maybe you worry about technique and 'correct' playing rather than just relaxing into the music,'
suggests Quinn. 'I get that. Here. Let me show you. Play with me.'
Again, that strange look on Rachel's face. Quinn decides to ignore it in the absence of an explanation. She slides her fingers into the spaces between Rachel's right hand and places it on the keys, taking up the chords on the left side.
She can feel her heart picking up at what she's about to do – the piano seeming to pulse along with her. Quinn doesn't know this piano at all; it's not at all like the pristine, glossy black one they have at home which her parents keep in such good nick they almost seem disappointed Quinn has to play it occasionally. This one has chips, scratches in the varnish, even scrawled graffiti around the keyhole. None of that takes away from the sound though, and Quinn can feel the energy bubbling right beneath the surface at her fingertips. This instrument, right here in the choir room, is going to be important to them.
It's there as Rachel starts playing the song that signifies the beginning of their connection through music, the song they'll remember forever -
… Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.
The brunette laughs at Quinn's incredulous look.
'Don't judge: this was the first song I learned for piano. Plus, I used to sing this song when I was younger, but I'd say 'gold star' instead so it holds some sentimental value.'
'Really?' asks Quinn, amused. Experimentally, she plays the basic chord sequence that goes with it, fumbling a little when her fingers bump into Rachel's which are at a strange angle. Rachel quickly shifts them away.
'Sorry,' she mumbles, clearing her throat. 'Gold stars are kind of my thing. They're a
metaphor…' They've fallen into a slow but accurate rhythm now. 'And metaphors are important.' Quinn smiles at her approvingly. 'Are you ready to try at your song?'
'I only have the chorus.'
'Doesn't matter. Once we work that out, the rest of the song will probably come easier.'
'Alright,' says Rachel doubtfully. 'What I have is written up there.' She points at the open book.
Quinn nods.
Rachel clears her throat and starts humming that same melody she heard earlier; Quinn closes her eyes, internalising it. Once the brunette feels ready, she starts to sing. Quietly, but with slowly gathering confidence.
'What can you do when your good isn't good enough, when all that you touch tumbles down? 'Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things, just want to fix it somehow. But -' Rachel's voice suddenly falters. 'I don't know what to put on the last line. I have an idea, but I – I don't know.'
'What's your idea?'
She sings again, much more breathy and soft; Quinn shivers a little. 'But how many times will it take… to get it right?
'Perfect.'
'Really?'
'Yeah.' Rachel grins at her broadly. 'A little piano this time?'
This time, when Rachel sings, Quinn tries her best to fill in the chords based on what she sees in front of her and what she's hearing. It's difficult trying to listen and make things up at the same time – and many times, they clash, but by the fifth time Quinn has managed to set up a reasonable accompaniment.
'Quinn!' says Rachel, turning to her and beaming widely. 'That sounds brilliant.'
'I don't know.' Quinn frowns at the staves. 'It sounds strange here.' Without thinking, Quinn begins singing the line herself. 'To get it right… What?' she says, startled to see Rachel staring at her.
'Your voice is really pretty,' she says honestly.
Quinn's taken aback and can't help the blush flooding her cheeks. 'Um, thank you. Coming from you, that's a big compliment…'
'I meant it,' continues Rachel. 'Although you are slightly nasal and just slightly veering off into "sharp" territory.'
'Maybe I spoke too soon about it being a 'big compliment',' she says wryly. Quinn manages to fix the chord so it sounds right; it was almost instinctual in that when she came to that particular part her hands just immediately knew where to go. She sings the chorus again and this time Rachel joins in with a harmony that catches Quinn off guard with how well their voices mesh.
It's probably the music, but in that moment, she feels more connected to Rachel than she has to anyone else before. It's in the slowly fading echoes of the piano's last cadence, hanging in the air between them as Quinn receives the brightest smile she's even seen from the girl.
'Thank you so much, Quinn. You've been so much help today – so much I'll overlook the fact you forged a note for a teacher. You dropped your note for 'Brad',' says Rachel by way of explanation at Quinn's surprised face. 'My eyesight is very good, you know. And you might want to change your handwriting when pretending to be Mr Schuester: I have him for Spanish.'
'I should know better than to try and trick you, obviously,' she deadpans.
'See you remember it,' says Rachel, smirking. She pats Quinn's arm. 'Don't hesitate to come back another day, though. You don't need a note.'
'I'll remember that.'
Rachel smiles at her and reaches for her journal, already starting to scribble down the chord progressions Quinn created.
Quinn continues to play while she does so, highly aware of the tingles that run down her spine every time her arm brushes Rachel.
May 2010
'Break a leg,' says Rachel.
'I love you,' says Finn.
And Rachel says nothing in response.
There's nothing she can say.
'We've got that place in the bag!' exclaims Tina to Rachel.
'Screw that, we are gonna win this!' Rachel growls, squeezing the girl's shoulder. The others
laugh and rush past. In the excitement, no one notices Judy Fabray lurking to the side.
'Qunnie?'
Quinn's face, which was previously lit up with a beaming smile, freezing. She stops dead in the corridor, whirling around.
'Mom,' whispers Quinn in disbelief.
Puck, Kurt, and Santana file into the room last. Puck holds his finger up to his lips and indicates over his shoulder to the two women outside; as one, the whole group sidles closer to the scene and try to look like they're not eavesdropping.
'What are you doing here?' asks Quinn, a touch of panic in her voice. 'Is dad okay?'
'I came to hear you sing,' says Judy breathlessly, the grin broad on her face. Quinn glances back over her shoulder and sees the stares of the other glee club members who immediately pretend they're not listening. Quinn's eyes take a second longer to leave Rachel's, the brown eyes blinking back at her steadily before turning away as well.
It strikes Rachel then, watching Judy tell Quinn that her husband cheated and she left him, how similar they look outside of the obvious things. It's the way they are stepping around each other so warily, despit e the presence of Judy's achingly wide smile and her obvious happiness. It's the matching tension in their shoulders, carrying themselves so guardedly, as though expecting someone to hurt them at any moment. And with their history together, it's not such a ridiculous conclusion to come to.
By now no one is pretending they're not eavesdropping, although no one looks directly at them except for Rachel. Privacy has given way to concern for a girl most of them never thought they'd care about, let alone be friends with. But no one will deny they all feel protective of her against the family that has already hurt her so much.
Judy steps forward into Quinn's space. She makes like she wants to reach out and touch Quinn but she draws back at the last moment.
Instead she wrings her hands and gazes at her daughter. The hush of the club's members allows Judy's whisper to carry across the room. 'Quinnie. I- I want you to come home with me.'
The room's occupants collectively hold their breath and wait for Quinn to respond.
A few of them expect Quinn to turn her mother out on her ear, reject her the way her father did to her upon hearing about the pregnancy. These are the ones that know her less well and see only the head cheerleader who wouldn't take abuse from anyone. They don't know her any other way, imagining this gentler and more vulnerable Quinn to be the fake one.
The others - the ones who are her friends, have heard Quinn cry at the night or pretended not to in the bathroom - know the opposite, that the HBIC image is just that. An image. Inside, she's just a girl who wants her mom and dad. They see the fear of rejection warring with her need for stability again.
And then there's Brittany and Rachel. One girl can read people; the other just knows Quinn and can see immediately something's wrong, but her own mother doesn't. They both step forward; Kurt and Santana seize their arms to stop them moving any closer, because Quinn still hasn't said a word.
The silence is starting to get to Judy. 'I can turn the guest room into a nursery,' she adds, slightly desperately. Then she pleads, 'Oh, sweetie, say something.'
Quinn takes a shuddering breath. 'My water just broke.'
There is a short moment where everyone in the room gasps, remaining still from shock.
Then it's over. Rachel springs forward out of Kurt's grip and everyone else jerks into action again too. Rachel has Quinn by the arm directing her out, ordering others to fetch the blonde's stuff and organising everyone into groups to travel to the hospital. Even Santana doesn't argue with her for once– probably thanks to the fierce look on her face that warns them not to question her.
At the door, accompanied by Judy with her hand on her daughter's back to steady her, Rachel turns to Quinn. When calling her name doesn't get her attention, she squeezes her hand. She looks pale and frightened and in the confusion.
'Quinn, you're going to be fine. Everything will be fine, I promise.' Rachel says, darting forward and kissing Quinn on the cheek. It doesn't seem to register with Quinn; her eyes are wide and terrified. 'Make sure someone calls me when the baby is born.'
'Are - aren't you coming?'
She smiles sadly. 'You don't need me there. And anyway, someone needs to stay and watch the competition...'
'But...'
Rachel doesn't know what Quinn is about to say, but for a moment she actually looks troubled about the fact Rachel is staying. Then Santana is pushing at Quinn's back, saying, 'Q, we gotta go.'
Judy snatches up Quinn's hand and tugs her away. The others hurry after, throwing Rachel somewhat understanding glances. After all, in their eyes she hates the girl – not surprising, after everything Quinn did to Rachel. They think she doesn't care or want to be with her.
Only Kurt gives her a knowing glance as he leaves, the only one aware of the real reason she's staying.
Of course she cares. It's Quinn.