DELICATE BEGINNINGS

[FALL 2007/SUMMER 2008]

"Fingers do dig in, the moon pulls the waves.

My heart paints castles with your hands.

While the foaming shore we brave."

(October)

Dear Journal,

The best liars in the world are probably the loneliest of people.

- Q

She makes the preliminary squad. As do Santana and Brittany…there are only six members of the original thirty who originally came to try outs. It's only the third week, and Quinn's already lost ten pounds…all muscle tone. She'd already lost the Lucy baby fat the year before, taken gymnastics…but Sue Sylvester…is not human – she can't be. It's stressful, having to work so hard for something so shallow. But Quinn can feel the power radiating out of her pores with every successful practice completed – with every mile that she's finished in the lead. Santana almost hates her purely on principle – but Quinn's learned that Brittany has the brunette on a rather tight leash, whether the blue eyed blonde realizes it or not.

J. Edgar Hoover Middle School is much like Quinn's old school, hell any middle school in the center of Middle America. The people are vindictive, the social outcasts, lepers. And with every passing afternoon, when the final bell rings – Quinn Fabray breathes just a little bit easier. Another day, another battle won. It's hard for her – holding out for something so far away. It's only October, and the summer season doesn't begin until late June at best. 244 days.

She's counting.

- {||||||||} -

"Do you miss it?" Rachel asks just before crunching her feet on a large pile of crackled leaves, nestled just beneath the black cherry tree in her backyard.

"Miss what?" Quinn peers up from the grass, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. Rachel's feet stop crunching abruptly and she sits down at Quinn's side, hands folded softly within her lap.

"…Everything." She breathes. Quinn closes her eyes and smiles somberly. Her hair billows out around her crown in a halo of golden silk.

"All the time."

- {||||||||} -

If Francesca Fabray is nothing else, she is loyal. She is meticulous in her secrecy, covering up late arrivals home with study groups and late Cheerio practices at the High School. She poses as Judy Fabray over the telephone too many times to count…she smiles sadly at the world that she lives in – at the fact that her parents are bigots.

But she drives the car. Twice a week… 5 minutes, 3 miles. She drives the car to pick up her little sister from her best friend's house in secrecy twice a week.

She can't help it. She loves her.

And on Thursday when she finds herself waving goodbye to the little brunette at the door of the Berry family's simple, yet welcoming home – she can't help but feel that sometimes people are wrong. Sometimes little brunettes with big hearts and equally big voices, and two same sex parents are even more worthy of respect than the people who judge them. Because Lucy is loved here…and she's happy.

So Franny drives. And she keeps her mouth shut.

If only for a little redemption, and a lot of peace.

- {||||||||} -

"What are you looking at?" Quinn inquires from behind Matt Highmore and Jodie Signet – Monday morning, second period U.S. History. The lights are dimmed and Mr. Yeager is lecturing on the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire of 1911. The projector is bright and illuminating in the small classroom. Matt turns around quickly, searching out the voice that echoed from behind him before his eyes settle on inquiring hazel. He clears his throat and smiles broadly – Quinn Fabray has never spoken to him before. He relishes in the moment, trying to deepen his voice like his older brother taught him.

"Uh…(clears throat), h-hey Q-Quinn."

Jodie Signet is unimpressed. She rolls her eyes and turns around, meeting Quinn's gaze. The two girls know one another, both having tried out for Sylvester's Cheerio squad – Jodie didn't make the cut, but she still harbors a defining rank in the school's hierarchy, if only just barely.

"It's nothing, Fabray."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Matt smiles smugly and sneaks his cell phone underneath the desk, passing it to Quinn Fabray with a smirk on his lips. Jodie scoffs and turns back around in her seat, she taps her pencil against her desk with unmasked irritation. Matthew Highmore is on the school basketball team. Quinn knows this because she sees them practice after school on her way through the back lot. She also knows that Matt and his friends are the local pyros who've been making a name for themselves by setting fire to abandoned houses around Lima. Santana let it slip once before practice, and Quinn never really cared – but the information has always loomed just in the background of her mind. Santana also let it slip that Matt and his friends hide some of their flares and lighters at school. The brunette having found out after dating Lloyd Baker for a long two weeks back in September, Matt is one of the tame ones in comparison – but Quinn's seen him twiddle a pocket knife under his desk more than once during second period. And really, it's none of Quinn's business, but the information has been burning in the back of her mind for some time now. Perhaps waiting for the perfect moment to unleash itself. She smiles grimly at Matt and grabs the cell phone from his hands to look down at the screen. It's a picture. She squints her eyes and scrolls down curiously.

It's a picture of Rachel.

"What is this?" She whispers…it's mostly an admonition to herself, but Matt hears her and smiles again. "Rachel Berry. Ring a bell? Maybe not…" He whispers. "She's batshit, and her parents are faggots…literally. She goes to the YMCA sometimes on the weekends. And yesterday me and some of the guys from the basketball team were there hanging out and we decided to say hi…pay our respects." Quinn looks down at the picture once again. There's Rachel Berry huddled on a bench with her legs cradled up to her chin, and her head buried between her knees. At least a dozen stink bomb wrappers are littered around her feet, one of them is stuck in her hair. Two boys can be seen in the frame…Quinn recognizes them instantly. But they aren't the only ones…just the only ones stupid enough to be caught on camera.

"You did this?" Matt smirks and shrugs his shoulders proudly.

"I mean I took the picture." Quinn's eyes blaze, and her voice thickens from within her throat. She can feel a steady hum shaking her from within. She has to fight to keep her voice level, but all she sees are shades of red, and white…. embers sparkling beneath a growing flame.

"Are you actually upset?" Jodie turns around and sneers. "Berry's a loser. She was a loser when she went to Granville Elementary with us a few years ago, and she's still a loser over at Harrison. Nothing's changed. Get over it Quinn."

There's a rage burning from within the blonde's chest, it's something that Lucy never would have been able to conjure – she was weak, simple. But Quinn is none of those things. She balls her hands into tight fists over her thighs before raising her hand during Mr. Yeager's slide show presentation. The bespectacled man stutters for a moment before addressing Ms. Fabray with curious brown eyes.

"Do you have a question, Quinn?"

"Sorry to interrupt Mr. Yeager." Quinn pouts her lips and furrows her eyebrows before pointing to Matt Highmore with an accusatory finger. Matt shakes his head in confusion as he looks between Quinn and Mr. Yeager with an eerie trepidation. Quinn smirks almost unnoticeably before continuing. "Matt has a pocket knife hidden in his backpack, he also has a lighter, two packs of cigarettes, and a can of mace in his gym locker." Matt's eyes widen as he stands up, fire pouring from his lips.

"She's LYING! What the HELL!"

"Quinn, you can't just falsely accuse your classmates blindl -"

"Mr. Yeager…check his backpack. I'm not lying."

Jodie's mouth is agape, she stares in horror as Mr. Yeager confiscates Matt's backpack, dumping the contents out on top of the boys desk. A few notebooks fall out, along with a school planner, and some old chewing gum wrappers. The last thing to hit the desk is a wooden 2 and a quarter inch polished pocket knife. The entire classroom looks on with quiet eyes as the slides continue to play on the PowerPoint timer. In the background, illuminated by the projector, is a photo of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory up in flames…

Somehow, it's oddly telling.

Matt Highmore is escorted to the Principles office – by the end of the day his locker is searched by school officials...they find one can of mace, two lighters, a sparkler, and a flare. Matt Highmore, is expediently expelled.

Jodie Signet, has never been more terrified of Quinn Fabray than she is now.

And somehow, Quinn feels even worse than she did before sending Matt to the chopping block, she feels monstrous – so unlike Lucy Quinn.

So unlike Lucy Quinn.

But Rachel Berry…is worth it.

Quinn walks home with her head held high on her shoulders, and her fingers meticulously tensed around the straps of her book bag…her eyes blazon, and her lips willed into a straight, even, monstrous line.

- {||||||||} -

"I did something that I'm not proud of this morning."

Rachel looks up at Quinn with large doe eyes, her hand slows as she finishes a drawing of a strawberry on Quinn's now long healed ankle (which gets wrapped every afternoon ever since Quinn started practicing with Sue's squad). The brunette bites the corner of her bottom lip curiously but says nothing. Quinn stares at the red strawberry held in stark contrast to the pale, bony-ness of her ankle and blinks once, twice, before letting her lips fall into a melancholic frown.

"It must be bad." Rachel muses quietly.

"Why do you say that?" Rachel shakes her head before sitting up and grabbing at her jacket to play with the zipper. "I haven't seen you make a face like this since you had to tell me about your family during Parent's weekend. It's - how do I say this...It was fairly sad. I don't think I like this look on you."

"I have a look?" Quinn raises a conspiratorial eyebrow as Rachel nods.

"Oh absolutely. Remember that one time during camp when Sky came back from having a shaving cream fight down by the river? She was all muddy and gross, and then she borrowed your towel without asking?"

"Yea…oh my gosh that was disgusting. My towel was permanently stained."

"I remember." Rachel pauses for a moment. "But the look of horrified disgust on your face when you realized that she was wiping off all of that mud and grass and shaving cream with your towel…it was unforgettable. You have a very expressive face." Quinn turns to look out of Rachel's bedroom window as she bites her lip. "Which is why I can tell that whatever it is you're about to tell me, is probably going to be something that I won't like." Quinn sighs, her eyes turning a light green in the reflection of the streetlights beyond the paned glass.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, ten being the worst..."

"I got someone expelled today." Rachel's lips part and her eyebrows sag together. She stares at Quinn from beneath disappointed eyes before shaking her head.

"Quinn…" Rachel says her name with an abundance of heaviness, like the name is thick and viscous on her tongue. She swallows, trying to wash away the bitterness, and only manages a sharp wince. The blonde is quick to sit up straighter, eyebrows arched, tongue slick with accusations and excuses for her behavior – because disappointment is an old friend, and Lucy hates all of her long forgotten friends of old.

"I – I didn't mean to, he was a jerk Rachel. He was a mean boy."

"That's no excuse, Quinn. What could he have done to you to deserve that?" Rachel looks a mixture of disappointed and disbelieving, and Quinn's temper is rising.

"Does it matter? He was being cruel -"

"And you weren't?" The words sting, especially coming from Rachel's lips, and Quinn faintly realizes that her throat stings, and her chest feels tight; her vision is foggy, and she's only several blinks away from tear-fall. Quinn looks over at Rachel's desk, and sees the framed photo of Cabin 22 sitting amongst other belongings. She clears her throat quietly before meeting Rachel's gaze.

"He helped them hurt you." Rachel shakes her head, confusion on her face.

"He…took pictures. He watched while all of his friends threw stink bombs and trash at you. So you're not allowed to be angry with me…because you're my best friend Rachel. And why didn't you tell me that the bullying was this bad?" Rachel's eyes widen, she backs away for a second, her thin fingers fall away and she's left to stare at the vibrant red fruit she'd managed to draw on Quinn's skin. It's bold and accusatory as she sinks down to the floor, letting her head flop back onto the bed as she closes her eyes.

"You're…you're practically the most popular girl at school I bet." Rachel muses sadly.

"Those people aren't my friends, and I'm not popular. The reason why I'm not bullied over at Harrison is because those kids are scared of me. And after today, I just - I'm pretty sure I've made it worse for myself. That school hates me, but they tolerate me –"

"—because you're beautiful."

"—because I made squad."

Quinn lifts her head slowly. Her lips part but nothing really comes out. Rachel's brown eyes flit from left to right as she swallows thickly.

"I'm not beautiful. I'm ugly…I was ugly. Did you know that?" Rachel shakes her head slowly. "Yea, I was overweight, and I wore glasses." Quinn points to her eyes and laughs hollowly. "Contacts." Rachel bites her lip. "I used to be someone totally different, and…when we moved, I decided to change everything that everyone used to hate about me. And now I'm Quinn – but lately…" The blonde takes a moment to puff out a long breath of air, letting her diaphragm decompress before continuing. "Quinn seems to be even uglier than Lucy ever was…except when she's at camp…or when she's with you." Rachel nods her aid, she purses her lips and when she looks back up, it's with large sad eyes, and a slight tilt of her head.

"The Quinn Fabray that I know is perfect, and she's a good person. And she isn't some ugly girl. She's beautiful, inside and out." Quinn bites her lip and shakes her head, there's a weariness in her eyes that goes far beyond her years, and Rachel rubs at the strawberry on the blonde's ankle, smudging its outlines – calling for the blonde's attention. Quinn looks up sadly, she watches the smudges of ink circle around the one another, collect on the pad of Rachel's thumb.

"The Quinn Fabray that I know is a wonderful friend, and she has the hugest heart. And if only she'd let the rest of the world in, they'd know it as well. She is kind, she is loyal, and she's my very best friend in the whole wide world. She's all I need, more than the anger and the revenge, and the resentment…I don't need any of that – she doesn't need any of that. She's too good to let herself drown for me. So don't let her, okay?" Quinn sniffles once, but no tears fall, she nods her head and fumbles a few fingers through the side bangs in her hair.

"Promise me you won't be mean to other people on my behalf." Rachel whispers. Quinn clenches her eyes shut and nods once, pursing her lips. When she opens them, the color of her irises are an almost golden brown. They burn and swirl, and Rachel knows that somewhere behind all of that color a beautiful mind is set to work, looking for loopholes within her words.

"I can't promise that Rachel. But I will promise that I'll try." Rachel nods reluctantly, that's the best that she can do at a moment like this. She knows that she must be asking for a lot by the way that Quinn coils and shifts uncomfortably on top of her bed.

"Promise me…that you'll let me hang out with you when you're out by yourself? Or at least call me?" And for the first time in the long tense moments that they've shared late this afternoon, Rachel has the will to smile. She winds her hand around Quinn's ankle, palm splayed fully across the smudged red strawberry, and she scratches the tips of her nails along the pale skin, her head nodding.

"Yes. I can do that."

"Thank you."

- {||||||||} -

"You're very mature for fourteen. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Quinn's eyes snap up as she turns around. Her hand rests on the door handle to the refrigerator, and she was just seconds away from scouting out the pitcher of fresh orange juice when she hears the deep familiar voice. It's warm and inviting, and Quinn bites her bottom lip and nods as she closes the refrigerator door.

"I've heard that once or twice."

Leroy Berry smiles from behind his reading glasses, and sets his book down on top of the kitchen counter. He motions to the other bar stool at the end of the counter top, and Quinn walks toward it, taking a seat.

"So…I see you've come to hide out in the kitchen like this old man, everything okay?" Leroy sips leisurely from a cup of something aromatic and steaming, it looks a lot like tea, and Quinn shakes her head. "No, not hiding per se." She smiles softly. "More like…thinking. Rachel fell asleep during Pleasantville and I just…thought I'd grab some orange juice or something."

"Usually, I find that when I come to the kitchen alone…it's because I need some space to sort things out. Life isn't easy, and there are so many things to be happy about. For me, I find that happiness by being here with my family, or reading a new book. Some of us…need a little alone time in order to find that balance." Quinn nods in agreement; she twiddles her fingers in her pockets and shifts her socked feet along the bottom rung of her stool. She catches a glimpse of the smeared strawberry and smiles faintly.

"Mr. Berry…"

"Please, Leroy." He smiles. "Mr. Berry is my father."

"Right, Leroy…um, do you – is it wrong for someone to defend someone that they care about? Like…I mean. If someone you care about is being treated really badly, is it wrong to want to make the people who did it feel how they made your friend feel?" Leroy listens quietly; he sips once at his tea, before blowing out a deep lungful of air.

"You're asking me if revenge is something justifiable?" Quinn shrugs. Her hazel eyes are bright against the dim kitchen overhead lighting. "Quinn…let me tell you something that Hiram told me many, many years ago. You have to understand that Hiram and Rachel are very much alike…they're strong individuals with big hearts. They're far too easily trusting, and so heartbreakingly sensitive to the world around them. They want to feel at the heart of it all, they want to live vicariously; they are those people that you want to hate because they are so inherently good…that the world shatters when they break. And it took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that they are human. I couldn't always be there to defend him; I won't always be there to defend her…because I too am human. You are human…and so what I've learned…is that we must show them kindness, be kind. Let them see the beauty of human resilience. I'm no fool Quinn - I know what Rachel goes through. I do what I can when I can, but when you have a school district that turns a blind eye, and a daughter too stubborn to leave the public system. You grit your teeth and you curse the world – but you let her do it, and you say…honey, some people out there are cruel, but remember where you come from, and remember that they are the way that they are, because they are either ignorant, troubled, or some combination of the two. Remember that I am here, and that I love you. And so every morning I tell her those words, and somehow…I wish for the best."

"But…"

"And in the evenings after my daughter's gone to bed, I go to the garage and I take my frustrations out on my punching bag and old weightlifting equipment. Sometimes I lose myself down there for hours at a time, and when I emerge I come out sore and defeated. But if not that…it would be something else, and something more after that. And revenge Quinn – should never be a motivator." Quinn looks at Leroy with forlorn eyes, but she nods nonetheless, her head heavy atop her shoulders.

"I take it this is about the events this weekend at the Y?" Quinn nods.

"Like I said Ms. Fabray, I'm no fool. How did you come to find out about it? I'm almost positive Rachel wasn't the one to let word slip."

"A boy. A boy in my class, he was talking pretty loudly about something, and I was curious. I asked him to show me…and he had pictures of Rachel on his phone, covered in trash and stink bomb wrappers, cowering in a corner. He admitted to taking the photo…he called…never mind. I just – I was so mad Mr. Berry. I was so hurt, and I was angry. And you'll probably hate me after I tell you this."

"Quinn, I've probably done worse. You can be honest here, there is no judgment in this household." The blonde swallows nervously before nodding.

"Okay…well…I knew that he was a bad kid. I've heard about him and his friends being pyros and hiding stuff in their lockers. He also plays with a lighter during class most of the time. And I felt sort of stuck, because he was happy about what he'd done – he was boasting…so I ratted him out in front of the entire class about having a lighter and a pocket knife in his backpack…. I also sort of mentioned the flares and stuff in his locker. He was expelled. I told Rachel, and she wasn't happy with me."

Leroy lets out a long tired breath; his eyes suddenly much more weary than before.

"I'm not angry with you Quinn…or disappointed. But I want to ask you something, is that okay?"

"Yes."

"Did any of what you did today make you feel any better?"

"No."

"Did it make Rachel feel better?"

"No."

"Did it cancel out what happened to her this weekend?"

"No."

Leroy smiles sadly, and finishes the last swig of his tea.

"And what do you think that tells you?"

"That maybe…it didn't fix anything that I was hoping that it would fix. It made me feel like a monster too." Leroy nods and grabs his mug before standing up and walking over to the sink. He rinses out his cup and puts it in the dishwasher before grabbing a new glass and retrieving the orange juice from the refrigerator.

"You're very wise Quinn Fabray. From the very first time we had the opportunity of meeting at Pinewood – I knew that Rachel had made a wise choice in befriending you." Quinn swivels around in her stool slowly, her feet tapping methodically against the rungs. Leroy disappears from view for a moment, and when he reappears, tall glass of Orange Juice sits in his left hand.

"OJ, on the rocks." Leroy passes the glass over the counter, and Quinn takes it thankfully, the glass foggy beneath the warmth of her fingertips. Leroy closes the fridge, and tucks his hands into his front pockets, he makes his way back to his book and marks the page with a piece of stock paper. When he looks up, Quinn is still sitting at the counter, sipping on her orange juice. He shakes his head and smiles, motioning for the stairs with a flippant wave of his wrist.

"Now get back to Pleasantville, I'm sure a snoring Rachel is much more entertaining than me…and don't tell her that I said that she snores, I'll never hear the end of it."

And up Quinn goes, a glass halfway lighter, and a step free of the heaviness she carried when she had earlier descended.