A/N: It's taken me a while to update, and I'm sorry that I haven't. Screwy internet/working on my new faberry fanfic Just A Kiss have taken up some time. Thanks to skarzgurlz, ms-rappy-sleeper, Stessa,

diamondplatypus: Joshua is a real person, though he's got a much different name and the 'real' Joshua can't sing at all. He's a memorial to a friend that I haven't seen or talked to in YEARS.,

nickd93, fussyviolet, SoFlaComet, sugarspiceandnotsonice, Cassicio,

kingcyrus: My friends get a kick out of listening to me because I approach every single little thing sarcastically. But yes, Leroy is based upon my father, though Hiram's kindness is much like my father's as well.,

Musicmakesmehigh, pumpkin513, thatdamnyank, sillysah, and

RandomOtakuFromTumblr: Hello! I'll answer your questions to the best of my ability :) 1.) I believe it was the Quinn scribbling in her notebook scene that made me realize that there was something up (I remember going wide-eyed at the hearts), so I went back and watched the other episodes and I was like '…such subtext.' Thus was born my support for Faberry. 2.) I like Britanna, Puckleberry (I can't help it, Puck on the show is so kind), and TinaxMike along with Klaine. 3.) How old am I…? It's just say, I'm less than 30 :) 4.) I'm gonna leave this one blank. 5.) Yes, I do listen to music while writing. I'm a musician, so music is central in my life. I listen to Billy Joel, Jazz (my absolute first love, I'm a Jazz kid at heart, and I play Jazz music in bands), and musicals (Spring Awakening, Legally Blonde, Hairspray, etc.). I love Glee's music as well… I guess you could say I am VERY old fashioned. 6.) No, I don't have a tumblr, although I'm beginning to think I should get one. :) 7.) My favorite scene has to be I Feel Pretty/Unpretty and the slap scene. Such depth. 8.) I'm going to leave my name blank as well, because I have a very… long, distinct name. 9.) I found out about Glee from a friend. They told me I had to watch this new show because it was hilarious. After that episode (I believe it was 'Throwdown') I never stopped watching. 10.) I don't think RM will allow it. There's a possibility, but I don't think so. He's a bit obsessed with making Glee girls fall for the same guy, and I think Santana's the only character that will be struggling with her sexuality this season. OH, send me a link if you ever DO make some fanart! I can't draw at ALL (I got the musical genes in my family, not the art genes), so I'd love to see some of the scenes down in picture :), since I'm unable to do it myself *frown* Thank YOU for reading. for their comments. Review if you'd like to read more :) Enjoy

Chapter 10: Conversation

You're a bit embarrassed about how you broke down in the doctor's office.

It's not in you to cry so much. To feel so much. Because the Fabray family prides itself on its ability to emotionally suppress every single little thing. To hide the imperfections of their Holy family.

Because Russell Fabray is supposed to be the perfect Catholic family-man, not a drunk, verbally abusive brute who loves his tonic and gin a little too much. Judy Fabray is supposed to be a beautiful, doting Stepford wife, not a melancholy and broken woman that drinks away her sorrows with a bottle of Jack Daniels a day.

And Quinn Fabray is supposed to be the beautiful, popular teenage daughter. The apple of her father's eye, the pride of the family, and the perfect younger sister to the enchanting Frannie Fabray. Not some pregnant, homeless sixteen year old statistic with more than platonic feelings for her once enemy.

But the shame you feel about crying is so minimal, it's practically nonexistent. Rachel makes you feel like it's okay to cry. Okay to feel.

With Rachel, you're free to just exist. You can be Quinn around her, and you don't have to worry about disappointing anyone. You don't need to worry about expectations, gossiping, or anything else.

Rachel isn't judgmental, isn't one of the faceless parishioners that sit in the endless pews of your church condemning you with their stern eyes.

She holds your hand through the rest of the appointment, sitting there with that wonderful smile on her face, wiping away the tears with the callused surface of her scarred digits.

When Dr. Younes gives you numerous instructions about the things you can and can't do, she produces a notepad from the inside pocket of her plaid shirt, writing this and that down in quick script, nodding intently.

And when it's time for the two of you to leave, Rachel's the one to shake Dr. Younes hand as you throw a tentative 'thank-you' and a smile to the smirking Doctor.

That look unsettles you slightly, because you know that smile well. It's a knowing, bitchy smile that you or Santana throw at people when you know their dirty little secrets. You feel so uncomfortable about it, because it means the good Doctor knows something, and you have fair reason to believe that you know exactly what she's smiling about.

Because, as you walk out the door, Dr. Younes whispers 'don't let her get away' into your ear and pats you on the shoulder.

You freeze in the middle of the waiting room, wide-eyed, looking back at the closing door. A series of chuckles sends unpleasant shivers down your spine. You're almost positive that they belong to her.

Rachel's already pulled to car around to the curb by the time you make it outside. You study the brunette with a smile on your face, observing the way she mouths the lyrics to the song, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

You want to seal this moment in your mind, so you study the singer from afar. You memorize the way her hair falls so perfectly across her eyes, every crease and fold in her clothing, right down to the contented expression splayed across her features.

Because come Monday, this Rachel won't be around. She'll disappear behind the veil of Rachel Berry, obnoxious, boisterous argyle slinging, Broadway diva. You'll need to remember this Rachel to get yourself through the day.

Because while Rachel 'Gold Star' Berry is supportive of every little breathing thing in McKinley High, she doesn't show special attention to anyone in Glee Club (except for those two times she helped you in the past).

You breathe in heavily, closing your eyes, clenching your fists. You need to remember what it was like to feel this free, this carefree. You need to live in this moment.

Because you know, you can feel something coming around the corner. Nothing ever stays this calm for long. Nothing is ever as perfect as today for an extended period of time.

But you can't stand here forever. You need to go home. You relish the feel of the word in your mind. Home. You have a home now.

You step forward, opening up the car door and taking a seat as Rachel turns to face you with a somewhat annoyed scowl on her face.

"Where've you been?" she asks sourly. "I've been waiting here for at least ten minutes."

"Ten minutes isn't that much time, Rachel," you dimly recall Joshua's quip about Rachel's intense road rage. "I'm a pregnant woman… I should get at least ten minutes more than the average teenager to get outside."

"Pregnancy isn't an excuse for your tardiness, Quinn Fabray!" Rachel scowls, shifting the car into drive. "And pregnancy? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You're hardly showing at all!"

"You try getting out to the car when your ankles feel swollen," you mutter childishly, crossing your arms. And it's true. The latest unpleasant change in your body? The swelling in your ankles that makes you want to be off your feet 24/7.

It doesn't bother you that much, since you're akin to extreme amounts of pain because of Cheerios practice (you've fallen so many times, and you've run so many suicides in your short 16 years of life, Coach Sylvester could be sued for child abuse). But it's enough to make you feel irritated. And irritation plus the dangerous amount of hormones in your blood equals intense frustration.

Rachel's eyes soften, and she looks at you briefly. "I'm sorry… I was being a bit immature… let me tell you what, how about I make it up to you?"

You sniffle a bit, looking at her interestedly. "And how are you going to do that, Rachel Berry?"

"I'll take you for some Italian," she turns the car around a corner, before flipping a u-turn in the direction opposite from the Berry household. "Unless you're in the mood for something else?"

"No… no, Italian's good." Breadstix, no matter how crappy you think it is, sounds pretty good right about now. Which bewilders you, because you've never had a fondness for its overcooked spaghetti and flavorless sauces before.

But when Rachel parks the car, you're not at Breadstix. You're in front of a tiny little hole in the wall, simple lettering declaring 'Caravaggio's' in dark bold letters.

It looks clean and well-kept, despite the fact that it's next door to a gun shop of all things, but you're still a bit hesitant, because this part of Lima isn't known for being particularly safe.

But Rachel doesn't seem alarmed, because she's already out the car's door and pulling yours open, her eyebrow quirked in amusement at your alarmed features.

"This isn't…"

"Breadstix?" Rachel supplies with a grin on across her lips. "Breadstix is a joke in comparison to this place. The family that owns it is from Northern Italy, and they make their pasta fresh each morning."

The diva pulls you up from your seat, a bolt of heat flashing across your fingers as she drags you toward the entrance.

The inside of the restaurant is painted light beige, with wooden chairs and tables arranged neatly across the marble floor.

"Giuseppe!" Rachel calls out into the back of the restaurant. "Giuseppe, where are you?"

From the kitchen door, an old man, clad in a pair of nice black slacks and a checkered shirt, bursts forth with his arms extended and a smile across his wizen face.

"Is that little Rachel Berry?" the old man booms with a heavy tenor. You watch in surprise as he seizes Rachel in his arms, giving her a hug that renders the girl breathless.

"G-Giuseppe," Rachel gasps, slowly throwing her arms around his broad shoulders. "I-I'm happy to see you t-too… but you n-need to let me down. I-I brought a f-friend to eat."

Instantaneously, the Italian man releases Rachel from his grasp, eyes turning to study you in that same, unnerving way that many of Rachel's companions do. Green eyes stare intently into your hazels.

But just as soon as he studies you, you're suddenly in the same crushing embrace that Rachel received only moments ago, watching the diva chuckle amusedly over Giuseppe's shoulder.

"Easy, Giuseppe," the singer taps the old man on the back, "you don't want to crush Quinn's baby to death."

"A baby?" the Italian man looks even more jovial than before. He places his hands over your swollen abdomen and bends to his knees. "Do you know the sex yet?"

"It's a little girl," Rachel provides.

And the shine in Giuseppe's bright orbs intensifies ever more as he caresses the little abdomen, cooing all sorts of things in Italian.

You look over pleadingly at Rachel, who mouths 'humor him' to you. You hold still, looking up at the ceiling, sighing.

You suppose you'll have to get used to this sort of treatment. You'll be showing more soon, and the natural action for most people is to aim straight for the baby bump. You can bet that the Glee club will be all over the baby girl the second your clothes start to fail you.

Eventually, Giuseppe gets to his feet, dragging Rachel over to a table by the kitchen, kissing her cheeks, and diving back into the kitchen with a faint mutter of 'cooking something healthy for baby and mother.'

"Sorry about that," Rachel pulls your chair out for you, smiling apologetically. "He loves children and he's known me since I was a little girl. He treats everyone who knows me like family."

"It's alright." And it is. "It's… kind of nice. I've never had anyone be so enthusiastic about the baby yet. I'm used to looking at it in a negative light."

"A baby is never a negative," Rachel takes a seat across from you. "The timing is bad, but the baby itself? Never a problem."

You've never thought of it that way before. And you know that Rachel's right, she always is.

"Speaking of babies," the singer places a napkin across her lap with a flourish. "Have you thought about what you're going to do with her?"

You chew your tongue, eyes looking down at the starch white tablecloth. You've thought about it a lot. Every day since you listened to Rachel sing on MySpace. And though you've deliberated on it endlessly, you've always come to the same conclusion. "I… I'm going to put her up for adoption."

You can feel the tears build up in your eyes, and again, Rachel is leaning across the table, pulling your chin up to meet her understanding chocolate eyes.

"Hey," she whispers softly, brushing a tear off your cheek. "It's hard, I know… But I think you've got your heart in the right place. You just want her to have the best, right?"

You nod.

"Then what's bothering you?" you lean into her touch as she looks at you intently. "You know you can tell me."

You draw in a shuddering breath. Shaking as you lick your lips. You close your eyes, and you speak your mind.

"I'm afraid that she'll hate me for it."

You feel Rachel's fingers stiffen momentarily before continuing their soothing patterns across your cheeks. Your hazel orbs flicker open, and you see a sort of melancholy in Rachel's eyes. An understanding sort of melancholy.

"Quinn, I never knew my mother," Rachel says softly, drawing the tips of her fingers away and setting them on the table.

Your eyes widen as you watch Rachel draw shapes against the table, a sad smile fresh on her lips.

Rachel suddenly looks far more vulnerable than ever before. You've never seen her with such sadness tinting her features. Such openness. Rachel is always confident about everything she does, no matter how difficult the situation, nor which facet of her true self she is exposing.

But you can see that by exposing her own secrets, she's trying to make you feel better. So you listen intently as the singer opens her mouth to speak.

"My Fathers struck a contract with her… money in return for me," Rachel bites her lip, looking down at the floor. "She signed over her parental rights to my Daddy, Leroy. And then she left Lima."

"My Dads have been wonderful to me," Rachel continues, shakily fighting back the tears forming in those reddish eyes. "They've given me everything I've ever wanted. Loved me more than anything else in the world… but I still wish I knew my mother."

"Rachel…" you whisper.

"I don't hate her," she looks up at you. "Because I think, that even though she gave me up for money… I think she still loved me in her own way, because she gave me to the best possible parents in the world."

"The fact that she conceived for good men… I know she loved me," the singer sniffles, before reaching across the table and pulling your hands into her own. "And I know that you're going to be sure to give your little girl the best. I saw the way you looked at her today. She'll miss you, but she's going to love you. She's going to know you loved her."

Rachel's words warm you considerably. Rachel knows what it's like to live without her mother. Rachel knows what it'll be like for your daughter after you give her away. It makes you want to burst out in more tears, tears of relief. But you're in the middle of a goddamn restaurant, so you can't exactly do that right now.

So you settle for holding Rachel's hands and whispering 'thank you' over and over again. It takes you a few moments to compose yourselves, before Rachel gives a watery laugh, drawing her hands away from you as Giuseppe pounds out from the kitchen.

The man looks between the two of you suspiciously, before placing water before the two of you, along with a basket of steaming bread.

"What'll you be having today, girls?" he asks, hands behind his back.

"Pomodoro for me andddd…" Rachel looks at you for a moment before snapping her fingers in enlightenment. "Spaghetti amatriciana for my friend."

"Amatriciana?" you ask, brow furrowing in confusion as Giuseppe steps back into the kitchen with a hearty clanging following his arrival.

"Think of it as sauce with little bits of Italian bacon in it," Rachel grins. "I know how much you love your bacon. Especially with the near fatal amount you consumed at breakfast yesterday. I shudder to think how much fat went to your heart."

"Hey, hey," you snap. "It's criminal to not like bacon! I can't see how you can't eat any meat, it must be torture."

"Can't miss what you don't like," Rachel says cheerfully, biting down on a piece of bread. "I always thought that strips of sizzling, burnt epithelial tissue tasted too much like grease to be appetizing."

Your jaw drops. "You, Rachel Berry, are a sinner."

"A sinner that will live years longer than you," the singer chirrups for good measure with that shit-eating grin on her face. "Being a vegan has numerous health benefits."

"Such as?"

"The fact that while you are old and in a wheelchair, being a grouchy old salty woman," the diva leans back in her chair, stretching, "I will still be as fit as a fiddle, with all the stamina of a twenty year old."

"What fun is life if you don't indulge a little?" you say, grabbing a roll from the basket, moaning at the near sinful taste of it in your mouth. By God, it is better than Breadstix by a huge margin.

"Oh, I indulge," sure, what was life without bacon, though? "I indulge in buying myself new sheet music and notation software. That's my idea of indulgence."

"I've said it once, I'll say it again," you take another hearty bite. "You're a nerd, Rach. A damn nerd."

"And what's wrong with being a nerd?" Rachel scowls. "Everyone loves a nerd. Nerds always get the girl in the end."

You nearly sputter on the water you're drinking, rapping yourself on the chest as Rachel looks at you concernedly.

"What?" Rachel shrugs. "It's true."

"It's not that," you cough. You look around the restaurant tentatively, making sure that there's no sign of Giuseppe emerging from the kitchen. "Nerds always get the girl?"

Rachel's eyes widen. "Ohhhhh. That. Does it bother you?"

You frown. "Rachel, I'm living with you. In a house. With your two gay Dads and I'm fine. But… I just didn't think that you were… gay."

"Oh, I'm not," Rachel replies rather absentmindedly, reaching for her water glass.

WHAT? "Well, if you're not gay, then what are you?

Rachel blinks at you, looking at you as though the answer's rather obvious. She waits a few moments before sighing and shaking her head. "Quinn Fabray, I thought you were smarter than that, where's that honor roll education?"

"Well, what else could you be?" you ask. Because, in your shocked mind, there's only two possible answers.

"Well, if I'm not gay and I'm not straight, then what am I?" It sounds like a trick question, and when you don't answer, Rachel 'tsks,' rolling her eyes. "Good God, you are stupid… If I'm not either, I'm bisexual, Quinn."

"…I've never actually met someone bisexual," you murmur, scratching your cheek. And you haven't. You're so sheltered, it scares you.

"Well everything isn't black and white," the singer gesticulates. "Jeez, I thought you would be a little more clever than that. Aren't you supposed to be our valedictorian?"

"Valedictorian doesn't mean I know everything," you point toward the crucifix about your neck. "And when you're the daughter of a devout… often overly extreme Catholic, I don't think you know much about alternate lifestyles. Especially when you're as homophobic as my parents are."

"Oh, tough upbringing?" Rachel comments casually.

"Speak one word about gays in my house and you'll get strapped down to a chair and forced to have an exorcism," you recall the day your Father screamed at you for mentioning Rachel's name. "I… wasn't allowed to participate in a lot of things because of it."

"So I've heard," Rachel muses.

You lift a brow. "Heard?"

"Let's just say that my family knows your family a lot more than you think," Rachel replies. You glare at her suspiciously before Rachel adds on. "Your Dad wasn't too keen on working in the same law office as Daddy when we first moved here."

"What'd he do?" you can feel the rage starting to burn afresh in your veins.

"He made some very derogatory comments about my Fathers," Rachel says.

"Like?" you press. You need to know what sort of man your father is, although you can already suspect what Rachel's going to say, and it's not going to be what you've always thought of your pious, wonderful, saint of a father.

Rachel bites her lip. "Well, just… I'd rather not say them here in public."

"…Alright," you sigh. The girl has a point. The two of you have gone through a bit of an emotional roller coaster today. You really need to move on to a lighter subject. This isn't the time or place to talk about something like this.

"Hey Rach?" you ask after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm?" the girl hums, looking away from the window.

"Out of curiosity," you think of a good way to word the next sentence. "Why don't you act like this at school? Or dress like this or-."

"Are you done asking questions?" Rachel cuts through your string of questioning with a faint smile on her lips.

You shut your jaw with a click.

"Thank you," she chuckles, before leaning back in her chair. "One question at a time, Quinn."

"Why don't I dress like this at school?" Rachel gestures down at her clothing. "I don't have enough money to replace things because of slushy stains. I get slushied daily, and at least I can get argyle for cheap."

"Why don't I act like this?" Rachel sighs. "…The first day of school, I walked into school, and I was ready to be this Rachel. But as soon as I opened the door, I got smacked in the face with a slushy, and that was the end of Rachel Berry as you now know me."

"No matter how many times I tried," Rachel taps her fingers against the table. "No matter what I did, nothing mattered. I'd been cast off into a group and shipped off as a loser before I knew it. Soon I was Rachel Berry, annoying overachiever and Broadway lover extraordinaire."

"People are quick to judge others who are different," the singer shrugged. "It's something I've dealt with my entire life… and it's not liable to change anytime soon."

A smile played across her lips. "At least now I've been able to use my 'other' self to help the Glee Club."

The dots begin to connect. The coy smirks that play across Rachel's face whenever the Glee Club grows frustrated. The improvements because of how determined everyone is to prove 'Rachel Berry' wrong for once, just to get her to shut up. They were all a part of a plan.

Rachel's plan to make them the best they could possibly be.

And suddenly, Rachel Berry seems a lot smarter than you give her credit for. She's selfless to a degree you never imagined. The more you uncover about her, the more guilty you grow with each passing day.

Because Rachel never deserved the names or the slushies. Rachel never deserved the punishments the elite of McKinley passed down upon her.

And it was all your fault, because you'd been the one to order Rachel's first slushy. You'd watched Karofsky toss it into her face, the shock heavy on her features, along with the tears that steadily trekked their way through the colored corn syrup.

You'd meant for it to be a one-time thing. Something to catch the attention of the Captain of the Cheerios so you'd be a shoe in for successor.

And it worked… except Rachel was never supposed to be the object of everyone's torment. It was only supposed to be that single time.

But one day turned to two, two to three, and soon it was the start of sophomore year, and everyone still loved to torment Rachel Berry.

Rachel, as though sensing your apprehension, shakes her head.

"What happened isn't your fault, Quinn," the singer smiles faintly. "And if I could change it all, I wouldn't change a thing… My struggles shaped me as I am. If everything hadn't have happened the way it had, I wouldn't have Dallas or Joshua. I wouldn't be Rachel."

At that precise moment, Giuseppe comes in and places two steaming plates of food before you, singing merrily, before turning back into the kitchen and shutting the door.

"What do you say?" Rachel picks up her fork, breaking the seriousness of the moment. "Let's eat."

You chuckle as you watch the girl dig into her spaghetti with relish, picking up your own fork and taking a bite of your own food.

The flavors spread across your tongue and you nearly groan at the taste. Better than Breadstix indeed.

Rachel Berry sure could ruin serious moments, but at least she had good taste in food.

By the time you get home, you and Rachel are stuffed. She throws the keys on the rack, shuts the door with her foot, and proceeds to tromp up the stairs to her room to take a heavy nap.

Joshua is sprawled across the couch, a bag of vegan potato chips in one arm, and a liter of soda in the other, snoring heavily with 'Jersey Shore' playing on the screen.

You set yourself down and make a cup of mint tea you find in the pantry, and spend the rest of the night thinking of your daughter.

You think of what she'll look… what she'll sound like. What it'd be like to have her in your life.

And you think of her smile…

Of the smiles you'll never see and the moments that you'll never see.

But at least she'll smile at all.

You can accept the fact that what you're doing is right. For you and your daughter. You're still a child yourself, and you want to go to college and make something of yourself. You want your daughter to be happy, and you don't want her to struggle to live, because you have no way to financially support yourself.

You accept it.

Because Rachel told you your heart was in the right place.

And you trust Rachel with your life.

A/N: Thanks for all the support, everyone. If you haven't yet, check out my story Just A Kiss, it's about Rachel and 'Lucy' Quinn Fabray :) Review if you'd like me to write more, I'd love to hear feedback.