Twelve

Quinn Fabray was a monochromatically schemed beauty queen. Naturally gorgeous and dressed in her cheer uniform sometimes more than fifteen hours a day, the head cheerleader lived, breathed and looked death in the eye everyday in McKinley white, black and red.

By death, she meant her clinically insane cheerleading coach that may or may not have posed for Penthouse before moving to Lima, Ohio with a wide variety of tracksuits in hand. Sue Sylvester was the equivalent to Lizzie Borden having an illegitimate love child and offering it to Benito Mussolini to raise. For her, it was all about power and winning—at the end of the day there was nothing Sue wouldn't do for a trophy.

And that included calling practices at five in the morning on a Monday, still fully expecting the precision and expertise of a team of world-class gymnasts. That coupled with Sue's fondness for believing that blame and torture were of the same meaning was the reason Quinn wasn't in Math.

Being pregnant didn't help either.

Morning sickness was a bitch at the best of times but not being able to feel her legs made it that much more torturous. When the squad didn't perform—some even daring to show up to practice late—it was on Quinn. Sue ruled with an iron fist, drawing inspiration from her—alleged—days fighting in Vietnam. Her girls were a single entity—they dressed the same, acted the same, thought the same—when somebody screwed up, Sue Sylvester cut off the head and let the pain trickle down the ranks.

Quinn was Head Cheerio—as Sue liked to call them because she thought the word 'cheerleader' was trying too hard—and had been punished with laps long after the rest of the squad were gone. The blonde had already been seeing multiples and was pretty much seconds away from collapsing on top of the finish line, when the track-suited iron maiden herself appeared megaphone and scathing remark in hand.

Quinn had never been so glad to see three Sue Sylvester's in all her life and she'd been standing shakily in the showers ever since, concentrating in on her desperation to not fall down.

The water from the shower cascaded down her lithe body, caressing her pale skin before pelting the startlingly white tile underneath her feet. She closed her eyes, placing her hands on the cool tile and leaning her body forwards so her arms took the brunt of her weight. The shift in stance aimed the spray against her forehead, the warm liquid now running down her face in streams leaving her skin tinted red in its wake.

Quinn didn't think she could take anymore. Practice was getting harder, sleep was pretty much non-existent and Berry was still tailing her like a disgruntled Chihuahua yapping at her heels.

It followed her—to her locker, to classes, in the lunch line, to Cheerio practice, to the parking lot, sometimes home if Manhands wasn't wasting away money on lessons for something dramatically inclined—always rambling on about the benefits of this meeting on Friday it had made up in its head.

Because there was no way Quinn would ever step into a house lived in by a freak show like Berry. Manhands was five pounds of crazy in a ten-pound bag and about as tall as said bag resting on a footstool. She pranced around being annoyingly ostentatious and ear splittingly loud, boasting about being destined for Broadway. Quinn wanted to punch her in the face—aiming directly for the nose—almost every time Berry blipped her radar.

There was absolutely no way she's ever entertain the thought, except for maybe begrudgingly—very begrudgingly—conceding that Stubbles' dedication was somewhat admirable.

Shaking her head, Quinn reached out to turn the water off, it having long gone cold during her musings of how much her life sucked. Lavender wafted through the air, body spray left over earlier from a Cheerio no doubt, its smell becoming more pronounced by the steam drifting all around her. Wrapped in a towel, Quinn padded out of the shower—stealthily avoiding any reflective surfaces—and stopping at her locker, quick to began going through the motions.

She donned her uniform like battle armor—feeling the surge of confidence the imported polyester instantly jolted her with—and brushed her wavy blonde curls back in a meticulous ponytail, not a hair out of place.

Her patented ice queen scowl instantly found its spot on her face and she opened the locker room door just as the bell rang to end the period. Strutting down the hall—one hand firmly on her hip, cool mask of indifference tacked firmly in place—people cleared a path instantly, leaving her free to walk as they tracked her every move, all except one person.

Berry.

She was at the end of the hall, staring at her with unconcealed determination. The irony of an epic standoff—the kind with tumbleweed blowing in the wind—was not lost on her. It was Thursday and Manhands had one day left to do the impossible. When that didn't happen—reasons why were cited above—the gender confused elf would obviously realize that she wasn't going to give in, thus dropping this insane quest where it stands. With that in mind, Quinn looked away, heading to her locker like complementary matched argyle had not just scorched her retinas.

Treasure Trail was still zeroing in on her position anyway. She could hear her stomping down the hall because the loser even stomped to a tune. Quinn opened her locker and started pulling out her books, mentally going through her catalogue of Berry-appropriate insults to prepare for the inevitable arrival.

Those hideous—yet meticulously polished—Mary Janes stopped on the other side of her locker door, Quinn could see them gleaming against the overly dirty floor. Sighing, the blonde slammed the metal door shut, looking down at Berry with a roll of her eyes.

"Manhands, I see you hit the Salvation Army last night to further uglify your wardrobe."

Quinn was actually quite proud of that one. It was insulting and she'd successfully incorporated a word she felt should be included in the dictionary. If one could beautify, certainly one could ugify—Berry being the prime example of such things.

Unfortunately, Stubbles didn't look affected by the barb at all. In fact it almost seemed to empower the midget because the brunette had straightened up, narrowed her eyes and looked right at her. "Quinn, I'd appreciate if for once you didn't waste valuable time with your petty insults that really have no relevance to the situation at all. I think—"

"I know," Quinn interrupted, ignoring Berry's disgruntled glare that she always gave when cut off, "except every time I'm next to you, I get a fierce desire to be alone so I kind of hoped you'd take the hint and leave if I insulted you enough."

Rachel sighed. "You know I can't do that because as you know, Friday is fast approaching and I'm again wondering if I can mark down your RSVP for the event."

Berry was looking up at her with an inquisitive gaze and Quinn wondered if she thought that would actually work. Apparently, she did.

"And once again I'm going to have to say in hell, Stubbles," she relayed before walking directly into Berry's shoulder, spinning the girl around with a sharp gasp.

"Alright, Quinn," Berry called after her and Quinn forced herself not to stop to feed her curiosity, "I didn't want to advance onto plan orange but unfortunately drastic times call for drastic measures."

Now Quinn did stop. Flashes of the midget standing on her doorstep—with What to Expect When You're Expecting in one hand and a congratulations balloon decorated in baby bottles in the other—whirled through her mind. She clenched her jaw and stocked back to the harmonious torn in her side.

"Stay out of my business, Berry," she growled, jabbing her finger into the girl's shoulder with every word. "I'm warning you."

Manhands looked fearful for half a second before she once again straightened up in another indignant pose.

"And I'm warning you," the midget exclaimed rather spiritedly, "I'm not above doing exactly what I have no doubt you're thinking because that…" Berry trailed off, taking a breath until her voice came out in a whisper, "child is Noah's too and he deserves a chance to be there for it."

"That's my decision and I'd rather not be associated with a Lima Loser for nine months. I'll take my chances with what I have now."

"So you're going to tell Finn then?" Berry inquired while crossing her arms in a pose that clearly challenged her to agree.

Unfortunately, Quinn could not and that realization was coupled with noticing where she was: in the halls of McKinley High, surrounded by her peers.

"Shut it, Manhands," she growled while subtly looking around to see if anybody heard.

People in the hall didn't seem to have heard but they were looking at them curiously, since it wasn't everyday Quinn Fabray talked to Rachel Berry for longer than a customary passing insult. Quinn quickly grabbed the collar of the brunette's hideous sweater and pushed her into the empty Astronomy room a couple feet from her locker.

Berry stumbled momentarily—Quinn was visibly disappointed when the Smurf didn't fall flat on her ginormous nose—and then the fun-sized annoyance was back looking annoyingly confident.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what do you plan on telling him? Because in a couple months that uniform isn't going to fit and people are going to figure it out. Admittedly, Finn isn't the most brightest soul but his mind isn't that ill-fated."

Quinn looked down at her uniform and the confidence it had once gave her started to fade away until the artificial fabric felt like it was squeezing the air right out of her lungs. The blond glanced back up immediately and Berry's eyes caught her own. They looked so warm—like gooey chocolate chip cookies—giving off the illusion that if Quinn just gave in everything would be okay. But, Quinn knew better than that. She'd learned a long time ago that the world didn't work that way, no matter how much it looked like it did.

"I can take care of myself, Berry," she sighed, turning her eyes to look at the large model of Jupiter hanging right behind the brunette's head.

"I'm aware of that, Quinn but everybody needs help sometimes." Quinn didn't look back at the brunette because Jupiter was way more interesting and Berry's eyes were all lies. "It's just an hour and after that, if you still do not want Noah's or my assistance, I'll leave you to your own devices. Of course, if you still refuse such a meeting, I'll be forced to prolong my attempts to convince you of the merits of such an endeavor. The cycle will continue for as long as you allow it to Quinn."

Manhands stopped talking after that and Quinn gritted her teeth at being backed into a corner because the blonde needed something scraped off her more than filled plate. She'd been tired, terrified and followed every second since that pregnancy test and unfortunately only one of those—the completely annoying and delusional one—was able to give.

"One hour," she sighed while unconsciously clenching her fists, "and after that I'll leave and you'll go back cleaning up the chocolate factory, got it?"

The answering smile made her wince because making Berry happy felt so wrong. Quinn looked back at Jupiter to save her eyes from the beaming beckon of happiness currently standing in front of her.

"Yes, of course, Quinn," Rachel relayed with an affirmative nod. Of course, Berry would confirm something she'd said herself, "though I must say that the insinuation that I am an Oompa Loompa is most unwelcome."

Quinn just rolled her eyes and took this opportunity to make her escape, throwing an absent comment—whatever, Berry—over her shoulder just before she hit the hall.

One hour.

Then her miniature stalker would be gone for good.