Author's Note: Reviews, my lovelies. Low levels of feedback leave me rather unmotivated to write...

Quinn Fabray doesn't need another reason to be kicked out again. She's known all along that she can't afford to be friends with Rachel Berry if she wants to continue to toe the line at home, and that's why she keeps the secret close, like the contentment that's just barely beginning to take seed inside of her.

It's not just her mother that Quinn worries about. She treads lightly around her house because her dad's presence still lingers. He's not even gone for her. Sure, her main concern is her only remaining parent, who may have made progress in acceptance since letting Quinn return, but she knows that Judy Fabray feels her husband's unseen presence too. Every room vibrates with twenty-five years' worth of him, a connection and a symbiosis that Judy Fabray won't be able to shake even though she disowned him. She was married to him for two and a half decades. She still holds on to the things he believes: Christianity, elitism, racism, homophobia, and skepticism of their youngest daughter. Quinn often wonders if her mother took her back in purely to salvage the family's reputation.

What family?

So she's not naïve enough to think that her dad's completely gone, or that she can get away with anything now. She'll never be able to get away with any mistakes or any honesty as long as she lives in this house, and she's known it all along. That's why Rachel Berry is kept a secret. A Jewish friend raised by two gay parents is bad enough, is corrupt enough. A friend who could cause what she's in danger of causing in Quinn is much worse.

If anyone had told Quinn two months ago that she was in serious danger of developing feelings for Rachel Berry, Quinn would have laughed in that person's face. For one thing, Quinn Fabray is the model of teenage heterosexuality, and the idea of her having feelings for a member of the same sex is laughable. To the public, at least. But besides, this was Rachel Berry here. Quinn never allowed herself enough slack or self-acceptance to sit down long enough to figure out what her type is, but if she had to pick something she never would have thought to pick anyone like Rachel. She still wouldn't. Rachel's one of those girls who's so out there that no one ever really sees past her argyle, Mary Janes, or obsessive perfectionism far enough to notice that there's anything else - until it's too late.

Quinn supposes that's what the problem is.

She's still adamant that she has not and will not fall for Rachel, but she's sharp enough to know that it's a very real problem. Having never let herself open up to another human being like this before - though she still considers herself, emotionally, practically autistic - Quinn knows that her feelings could get intense and mixed up. She supposes that's what's to be expected when you're starved for love like she is: a turbulent attachment to anyone who shows that they care.

If that's what could end up being the case, Quinn figures that at least it's just another matter of her just being fucked up. She's preparing herself to battle any feelings she might have under that pretense, but god forbid she should realize that an attraction to Rachel could happen just as easily if Quinn were, well-adjusted. That would mean these feelings would be real, would be legitimate, and that scares her more than anything. She might be gay, but once she actually falls for a girl there's no going back.

So good thing it's not going to happen.

"You know, we've been friends for one-and-four-fifths months now and I still haven't seen your bedroom, much less your house."

It's in between sixth and seventh periods and Quinn and Rachel are walking together to Spanish. Quinn hugs her books to her chest and looks up at Rachel, who is quite serious (as always) but still not without fondly glinting eyes.

"Yeah?" Quinn fires back, barely able to suppress the faint smile that tugs at her lips. "Well same to you, then, on both counts. I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't set foot inside the Berry household yet either." If nothing, Quinn Fabray is a master of deflection.

It works like a charm. "Come over, then," Rachel replies brightly, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. "Tomorrow night, if you want."

They come to a halt in front of Mr. Schuester's classroom and Quinn taps her chin thoughtfully. "Oh gosh, Rachel, I don't know," she sighs mock-skeptically. Instead of begging animatedly, like Quinn is expecting, Rachel just bites her lip hopefully, so Quinn gives in. She can't bring herself to toy with Rachel when the other girl is so vulnerable. Quinn knows that Rachel probably hasn't had a friend over since kindergarten, if ever, so asking must not be easy.

"Of course," she exhales, grinning ruefully and touching Rachel's arm. "I'd love to come over."

"Great!" Rachel exclaims, breaking into a wide smile again and causing Quinn to hate herself a little bit for melting a little bit. "I suppose I have quite a bit of planning to do in the meantime, then."

Quinn rolls her eyes as she reaches for the doorknob and pulls the door open. "All you have to do is pick out the movie. I've got takeout covered, so that ought to cut your planning time by at least an hour."

She holds the door for Rachel and the brunette ducks under Quinn's arm, remaining silent. The small smile curling up the corners of Rachel's lips doesn't go unnoticed.

Quinn finds she has too much time on her hands these days to keep from thinking. It wasn't something she had a problem with last year, when she was up to her chin in activities and facades. And that was good. Thinking was something she rarely did, nor wanted to do, when she was in her extreme-repression-and-conversion-tactics stage, last year when she was so dedicated she would refuse to even smile at Rachel Berry. She thought it was the best way to fix herself, to swear off thinking altogether, but look where that got her. Knocked up and no better off heterosexually than before.

In fact, she was drunk enough when Puck was climbing on top of her to close her eyes and let his hands belong to her counselor from cheer camp last summer.

Now that she's changed, Quinn does more thinking. Reluctantly. Unintentionally. It's not something she wants, this added reflection time where she rehashes that teenage nightmare - losing her home again - or worse, thoughts about Rachel. She knows you're not supposed to think about your friends so much, but she can't help it, as much as she wishes she could. Rachel just makes her so damn happy. Quinn never realized just how desperately lonely she'd been for so long, surrounded by so many superficial "friends" who would just as soon stab her in the back for a higher spot on the pyramid, until she started actually talking to someone real.

No matter what they talk about, though, it never goes too far or too deep. They're not ready. Or rather, Quinn's not ready, not ready to talk Finn or Beth or insecurity or parents or being gay. But she knows Rachel's ready to listen, always will be ready and willing to listen, and even though Quinn may never be ready to talk about any of those things, least of all the last one, it means a lot to know she can.

She's never going to come out to Rachel, though. She just can't. She can't come out to anyone - physically can't - and she's known it all along. She's known it all along, and that's why she keeps it close, like the hateful and terrified goosebumps that caress her body when she ever even thinks about anyone knowing. Even Rachel. Especially Rachel.

Why does she worry the most about Rachel finding out when Quinn knows for a fact that Rachel - with her gay dads and nonjudgmental eyes - would be the most supportive?