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From that point on, Mondays got a whole lot worse.

A particular highlight was the Monday when the football team met her on her way to last-period calculus. "Met" wasn't the right word; it was a frontal twelve-Slushie assault that left corn syrup congealing in her hair and ice melting through to her underwear. They'd all high-fived each other, barreling down the hall and laughing while Quinn stood alone, clutching her ruined books and hiccupping between sobs.

The boys skidded to a stop at the end of the hall. The running-back raised his hands above his head.

"Yo, guys," he hollered, "Anybody else here slept with her?"

They all laughed. Sticky rainbow rivers of Slushie rolled off her blue dress, pooling on the floor beneath her. She closed her eyes, willing the football players to vanish and to take her shame with them.

"You hear me, whore? You slept with anyone else on this fine football team?"

There was a part of her that wanted to veer into the bathroom then and there, but she knew that it was hopeless.

All the Tide-to-Go in the world couldn't mend a broken heart.

---

Then there was the Monday when Mr. Schuester had found her in the halls, tapped her on the shoulder, asked her quietly if she would mind stepping into his classroom for a moment. He'd clearly been crying, and he nearly started bawling again as he explained to her that he was leaving his wife, and that he'd been completely unaware of any adoption plans.

He said he was sorry.

He shoved a box of Kleenex across the desk, watched as her face turn red and crumple under stress and tears, watched her sob into the thin tissue.

He said that he hoped it would work out for her, and that she probably still had time to find another adoptive parent. She'd realized that night, lying awake on the couch in Brittany's basement, that she really was all alone in the world.

The father of her baby had been uniformly expelled from McKinley following the attack. She'd heard it through the grapevine that he was living in Canada, working as a car mechanic, or a drug pusher, or maybe even some combination of both.

She rested a hand over her rounded stomach, whispering to her baby that it would eventually be all right. She wanted it to be true.

---

She didn't see Kurt until again until a Tuesday in February. He'd been away for about a month and a half, taking some time to recuperate. Quinn had tried to convince herself that things were easier without him around – that his absence only postponed and nullified the emotional avalanche that would occur when she did see him again.

But in February, he came back to school. She'd been gathering up her sewing supplies for Home Ec. and clumsily dropped her sewing kit. The bag's contents rolled all over the crowded hallway, and she was down on her knees looking for her missing thimble when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned her head, only to see her missing thimble rolling back and forth between the fingers of an unmistakably well-manicured hand.

---

Maybe it was a peace offering, the silver thimble he held in his hand. That's what he wanted it to be, anyway.

She took it from him, dropped it in her bag, and stood up slowly, clutching her stomach as she did. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and a grey cotton t-shirt was stretched over her baby bump.

This was not the Quinn Fabray he knew. The Quinn Fabray he knew wore dresses in bright colours, sat in the front row for physics and chemistry and calculus. This Quinn Fabray, the one in front of him, looked every inch the teenage mother – tired and worn-out, with dark circles under her eyes.

He couldn't bring himself to smile. "Hi."

She brought her eyes up, meeting his gaze. She opened her mouth, probably to say hello, but she gasped instead, and buckled over.

"Quinn, what's wrong? Did I…"

"No, it's nothing. It's not you," Quinn answered, sucking in a breath through her gritted teeth. "Feel."

Quinn grabbed his hands and tugged him forward. He stumbled forward a bit. All his confusion cleared away when she placed his hands on her rounded abdomen, when he felt the first faint tremor, the soft "thud" of the baby's kick. His eyes lit up with glee; his mouth formed a surprised "o."

"Is that her kicking?" Kurt whispered. He smiled. "Wow. That's… that's wonderful."

"She's kicking, all right," Quinn said. He could feel the baby moving underneath her skin, peppering the surface with her soft little kicks. He gasped, astonished. His hands slid off her stomach and he threw out his arms to the side, opening himself up for a hug.

"Bye, Kurt." She sidestepped him, striding down the hallway as fast as she could. He just looked down at the floor, at the place where she'd been standing a moment ago. He brought his hands down to his sides, sliding them into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked up and saw her, her sad eyes peering at him as she lingered at the end of the hallway.

"I miss you," he said, quietly, praying she could hear him over the crowd. "I miss Mondays with you."

---

She saw him mouth the words, "I miss you."

She missed him, too. She missed him, she missed him, she missed him.

For a moment, she swore she could feel butterflies in her stomach, but then she realized that it was just the baby kicking away.

Again.

Quinn looked down, pressed her sewing kit against her chest, and walked away.

---

A few weeks had gone by when Quinn woke up on a Monday morning, around 1 o'clock. She hadn't been sleeping well for the past few weeks, and she'd gone to sleep on a vicious backache. She cast off her blanket, damp with sweat and heaven-knows-what else, and sat up on Brittany's couch, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. After going to the kitchen for a quick glass of water, she returned to the couch and sat, staring at the walls, for what seemed like hours but was really only a few minutes. She noticed a guitar propped up against the TV stand, and she brought it back to her nest on the couch.

Taking care not to wake Brittany or her parents, she quietly strummed the strings. Puck and Finn had taught her a little bit, and she could play a few chords. Maybe she could play herself a lullaby, get some extra sleep. And she needed something to get her mind off her awful intermittent cramps.

"I'm alone in this life, and these old jeans are too tight…" she sang, and then laughed a little. How fitting.

"I try to laugh, but I cry

My dignity's undignified

Guess I'm really on my own."

Her mind wandered through the events of the past few months. Ever since she'd dropped Glee, she had felt so much more alone. Brittany had been kind enough to provide her with a home, but at school, she didn't even talk to Quinn. And things had gotten even harder when Kurt came back. There were so many things she wanted to share with him, so many things she needed to say, but whenever she was around him she clamped up. They hadn't even spoken since the day she'd dropped her sewing kit. Quinn tried to ignore him, to forget about him, honestly. What confused her most was that Kurt didn't want to ignore her – he seemed to be waiting around every corner with a longing look in his eye. And every time she saw him, the baby practically started tap-dancing.

No fair, baby. No fair.

"Is it too late to call you on the phone?

Too late to tell you I'm alone?

I want to wake you from another lonely night

Too late to wonder where you are,

Too late to hold you in my arms?

'Cause if you're looking for wonderful

I'm wonderful."

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain shot through her entire body. She dropped the guitar and leaned back, gasping for breath. In a panic, she realized that this wasn't backache at all. She struggled to stand despite the pain, and then shuffled, hunchbacked, over to the stairs.

"Brittany!" she screamed. There was no response. Grimacing, Quinn started to take the stairs, slowly, one at a time. She finally reached the top, panting for breath, and made her way down the hallway to where Brittany's parents were sleeping. Another contraction tore through her body, and she crumpled to the floor. She leaned against the door, trying to jimmy open the doorknob. It was locked. She banged on the door as hard as she could, screaming at them to open up. Nothing happened.

She stepped back after a few more attempts. The world around her was a dizzy blur as the contractions blew through her, hard and fast. She hurled herself at Brittany's door, and tried to open it, but to no avail. Everyone in the house was fast asleep behind a locked door.

Quinn dropped down on all fours and crawled back to the stairs. She edged her way down, her belly brushing against each stair. When she reached the bottom, she crawled back to the couch, pulled her cellphone out of her backpack, and dialed 911. She fell back on the floor and stayed there, lying down, to complete the call.

"Police, fire, or ambulance?" the voice asked.

"Ambulance," Quinn groaned, through gritted teeth. Another contraction tore through her, and she shrieked loudly.

"What's the emergency?" the voice asked again. He sounded genuinely concerned this time.

"I'm having a baby. I mean, I'm in labour," she said, between gasps. "And my parents kicked me out so I'm at my friend's house but everyone here is asleep and I can't wake them up…"

"We'll send an ambulance immediately," the man reassured her. "Which address are you staying at?"

A nauseous wave surged through her, and she struggled to spell out the street name. She was shaking all over, in a cold sweat, by the time she hung up the phone.

---

"Quinn Fabray?" the nurse called.

Quinn lifted her head off the pillows that propped her up. "Yes?"

"We just called your parents, and it doesn't look like they're going to come. Would you like us to call the baby's father?"

"No."

"Oh." The nurse looked worried. "Do you have any friends we could call?"

She thought for a moment, and then her eyes filled with tears. Giving birth alone was never part of the plan. "No."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the nurse said, patting Quinn's hand reassuringly. "I have to check you again, honey. Those contractions are coming hard and fast."

"I don't want you to," Quinn whimpered.

"You were seven centimeters dilated last time," the nurse said. "I just need to check to see where you are now."

"This baby isn't even due for three weeks!"

"Your baby is coming right now, Quinn. She's ready to be born. Let's just check..."

"I'm not ready!" Quinn shrieked hysterically. She clamped her legs shut. "I'm not ready! I can't do this! Mommy isn't here. Where's Mommy? I need my mom! I can't do it without her."

"She isn't coming, sweetheart," said the nurse, stroking Quinn's arm. "We need you to be brave and do this by yourself."

"Go away!" Quinn screamed, slapping away the nurse's prying arms. "I'm sixteen! I can't have a baby! I can't be a mother! I can't do this all by myself!"

"Honey, I need you to see where you are. You need to calm down."

"Stop touching me!" Quinn twisted out of the nurse's grip.

"For the last time, I need to see where you are."

"She's right there," called a voice. Quinn's eyes flashed to the door. Her heart stopped beating.

Kurt Hummel stood in the doorway, panting a little, and wearing a fluffy bathrobe over what appeared to be footsie pajamas. And bunny slippers.

"Kurt?" she asked, disbelieving. This had to be a dream, she thought to herself. There was no way that was really him, crossing the floor in bunny slippers that padded softly on the linoleum, kneeling down beside her bed, reaching out for her hand. He laced his fingers between hers, and she thanked God when she felt his soft skin on her hand and realized that she was wide awake after all.

"You're here," she mumbled. "You're wearing bunny slippers."

"Brittany called me a few minutes ago. I drove over here as soon as I could," he laughed conspiratorially. "She told me that she heard sirens and saw flashing lights outside her house. And when she went downstairs to check on you, and she noticed that you were gone and the couch you'd been sleeping on was soaking wet."

He grinned deviously. "She suspected aliens."

She giggled despite herself, and Kurt squeezed her hand again. "How are you doing?"

Quinn shook her head. "I'm really scared."

"You can do this. I know you can. You're so strong, Quinnie."

"It hurts so much," she whispered. "I can't do it."

"We'll do it together, then." Kurt pulled up a chair, sat down, and gripped Quinn's hands in his.

"I'm sorry; who are you?" the nurse asked Kurt.

"He's my friend," Quinn answered. Another contraction wracked her body, and she gasped. Kurt winced; without thinking, she'd squished his hands.

"Sorry," she panted.

"No, don't be sorry. Come on, hold my hands, Quinnie. Squeeze them as hard as it hurts."

"May I check now, Quinn?" the nurse asked.

Quinn nodded. The nurse helped her prop up her legs, and then attended to her nurse-ly business between Quinn's legs.

"Quinn, you are ten centimeters dilated. We're ready to go."

Contractions came, hard and fast. Quinn pushed and pushed, gasping for air each time. She tried not to focus on how much it hurt, on the harsh lights, the blood pooling on the bed underneath her, or the nurse shouting encouragements from the foot of the bed. By degrees, Quinn tuned out the entire universe until all she knew was Kurt, standing by her side and holding her hand and cheering her embarrassing nickname until his voice was hoarse.