Ten

Rachel jumped off the door when she heard movement from behind it, crossing her fingers in hopes that Quinn would finally stop hiding. Except a dull thud followed and the undeniable sound of rubber skidding across tile. White running shoes became visible through the gap between the door and the floor and the tiny brunette's heart clenched in sympathy for what she knew came next.

She was also wholly unprepared. Not a water bottle or pack of gum in sight, thanks to Noah Puckerman. After Rachel had told Noah about the baby, her friend had taken off and she'd made it to the parking lot just in time to see him drive away. She could've followed him—since Rachel knew exactly where he was going—but she really didn't want to.

He had the tendency to work through things in a way that had literally given her nightmares—being privy to just how flexible Santana Lopez actually was, well it was probably the most horrifying moment of her life—and more than that she was just extremely angry with him.

So instead Rachel stalked back into the school, too distracted by her own anger to remember to stop at her locker—the location of the mentioned water and gum—and straight towards the washroom. Quinn had marched by earlier while she'd been waiting for Noah in an empty classroom and Rachel felt like it was only prudent to use the time Noah was off defiling Santana for something constructive.

She was also a little worried and for good reason it seemed. Rachel didn't need to ask if Quinn was doing well, it was abundantly clear the blonde wasn't long before today. Still something had kept the girl locked up in a bathroom stall, when Quinn normally would've been yelling insults at her by now.

It was that departure from the norm that had Rachel struggling with what to say, even now when Quinn didn't seem to be sick anymore. Rachel knew it couldn't be comfortable in there—especially after the cheerleader had spent the majority of her time throwing up—but Quinn was showing no signs of leaving—or speaking—anytime soon.

"Quinn," Rachel sighed, pausing in the hopes that the blonde would take the time to reply. No such luck unfortunately. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm not going to judge you."

Still no response. It seemed Rachel was going to have to get a little underhanded—for the blonde's own good of course.

"Alright, I suppose it is pointless for me to stay any longer. I had hoped to offer some type of support, since I'd imagine you've yet to receive very much, but I see my attempts have been in vain. I also apologize for not being as dutifully prepared as our last encounter."

Then Rachel walked to the door, pausing only to reach for the handle, pulling it open and then shutting it a little harder than necessary. With a small smile, Rachel watched as Quinn reacted almost instantly, tearing open the door, her Cheerio skirt whirling around her in her haste to get to the sink. Standing silently, the brunette waited until the girl was done rinsing her mouth before she spun into action.

"Excellent, you finally came to the conclusion that hiding was frivolous way to spend your time. I was just—"

"Berry!" Quinn spun around, looking a little crazy and Rachel imagined that a murderous glare wasn't exactly a good thing in regards to her overall life expectancy. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when the blonde threw her hands up in the air and shaking her head being frustrated crazy not well, crazy crazy. She'd been able to tell because Noah mimed out the different faces of crazy (female edition)—or so he liked to call it—back when she was training extensively to be a contestant on Survivor. A month later, she realized how detrimental such an endeavor would be on her voice and scraped the idea permanently.

"Well the answer is quite simple, Quinn." Rachel walked further into the room, stopping just short of being in the blonde's reach and looked up with a small—hopefully placating—smile. "I can't."

"Well you're going to, RuPaul. I don't want you near me, got it?" When Rachel just continued looking at her, Quinn grew more frustrated. "No more water or Vitamin drinks. No more granola bars and stalking me in the halls. I don't want your help!"

"Unfortunately, I cannot promise you such a thing. Maybe before when I thought you were just eating unhealthy but now it is an impossibility."

Quinn laughed loudly—her eyes were going a bit manic—and Rachel stiffened slightly when the blonde stepped a little closer. "Oh you'll do it, Stubbles because if you don't I'll make your life hell."

Rachel smiled slightly at the threat but didn't say anything at all until Quinn stepped forward again, her hazel eyes just about black. "As opposed to what you've done already? There's nothing you can possibly do that would make it worse and by the off chance that you do find something, I can assure you that it won't matter. I have—"

"Why the hell not?" Quinn yelled, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

Rachel looked at the blonde momentarily—taking in how unhinged the usually composed girl was and the brunette felt a little guilty for driving her there when Quinn's life was already hard enough—before remembering why she'd come in there in the first place.

"Noah's my best friend, Quinn."

She might care for Quinn in someway—feelings born within her attraction and yearning for the blonde—but that didn't mean Rachel liked her. Quinn Fabray treated her like a stray dog on a street corner—like she was superior to her just because of her status, her name and her talent for standing statuesque on top of a human pyramid—and there was no way Rachel could ever enjoy that. And, it certainly came nowhere close to Noah. Rachel might be angry with him for being so careless, caring more about getting in Quinn's pants than being responsible, but that didn't mean she was going to just walk away.

"The…it isn't his so just…just go alright," Quinn murmured, instantly looking away and Rachel tried her best not to smile. It would only set the blonde off.

"We both know that isn't true, Quinn and I think it would be beneficial for you two to talk this situation through. I know such circumstances can't be—"

"No, Manhands," Quinn growled, low enough to be on the bad side of dangerous and Rachel was wondering where the Quinn that caused residual smiles went off to so quickly. "Just keep your giant nose out of my business, alright?"

Rachel tried her best to calculate the risks involved in continuing to push but being under Quinn's intense (and angry) scrutiny—a stare down if you will—was making it extremely hard to concentrate. Rachel was pretty sure it was foolish to stick to her convictions—at least while still in front of Quinn—but somewhere along the way that memo was lost in translation.

"One hour," she said instead, straightening up to her full height—that admittedly wasn't very intimidating at all—and returning the gesture of staring back. "We can hold the meeting at my house, since I suspect you'd rather not have Mrs. Puckerman or your parents finding out. I think it would—"

"No, that wouldn't be practical. I'd have to burn my uniform in a loser freak cleanse if I ever set foot in your house and you're just not worth the effort."

The blonde rolled her eyes, scoffing as they rolled and Rachel just managed to get out of the way before the cheerleader walked directly into her shoulder. The tiny brunette turned to watch her go with a small shake of her head—Quinn certainly wasn't any less volatile with baby. The blonde stormed out in true Quinn Fabray fashion—all intimidating glares with an icy posture—and when the door slammed shut, Rachel sighed.

It seemed that she'd just have to get more proactive. Some envelope pushing was clearly in order, maybe a box too. Rachel had no doubt that she'd come out victorious because this Quinn Fabray—as opposed to the…well not pregnant kind—wanted help.

It was just a matter of pushing her until she admitted it.