Quinn is intimately familiar with the feeling of being uncomfortable. She feels uncomfortable a majority of her day on any given day. But even someone with such consistent feelings of disagreeable-ness in her own skin, this is beyond anything she can remember.

Her turbulent hazel eyes seek out her once source of relief. The one thing that melts that agonizing discomfort away from her shoulders. Santana. She looks every bit as uncomfortable as Quinn feels, though with a healthy dose of fury.

Quinn would give anything right now to just drag Santana into the nearest closet space and get lost in each other. Or maybe just hide away in their bedroom and cocoon themselves into a fluffy blanket burrito with playstation controllers in hand — she laughing at Santana's unreasonable irritation at the monotony of loot farming. T-

"Miss Fabray?"

How unfortunate it is that one must always come back into the real world kicking and screaming.

She turns her gaze away from Santana's, having softened at the thoughts she can read from Quinn's expression, and faces her District Attorney Joseph Kavanaugh. He stands only a few feet away, and if her eyes were to stray but a few inches to his left, she would make eye contact with her father for the first time in two months. Though they've been at this for the past three hours — Santana and Benicio taking the stand before Quinn — she has very consciously avoided looking in her father's direction the entire time. What she's gleamed from the corners of her eyes was already too much. She can just make out the blurry shape of his orange-clad body. If she were to let her eyes make the short journey to her father's form, she would see the yellow/purple swelling marring his face. She would see the garish metal wiring his broken jaw shut. She would see the loathing in his eyes as he looks up at her on the stand.

She knows that is what she'd see — and so she doesn't look.

"What was the question?"

Kavanaugh repeats,

"That night - after you left miss Lopez's house, what happened?"

Quinn swallows, the lump going down her dry throat with difficulty.

"I walked back home. We lived two doors down, so it was a short walk. I wanted to just sneak upstairs, go to bed. I tried to be quiet as I came in. But it didn't matter in the end. They were waiting for me."

Mr. Kavanaugh paces slowly from the stand over towards the center of the room. He nods in the direction of the defense.

"By they, you mean…?"

"My parents. Russel and Judy Fabray."

"Why were they waiting for you?"

Quinn feels the urge to scratch her arm nervously, but that would be a tell. And whether she liked it or not, she was still a Fabray through and through. She doesn't tell.

So instead she hardens herself, reciting the facts with the dispassion of a mortician.

They had prepared her for what had to happen. The very nature of this whole preceding meant that she'd be outing herself. Not only as a lesbian, but also as pregnant. There was no keeping things to themselves anymore.

Fuck, she hated her father in this moment. Not only had he hurt her, not only had he thrown her out onto the streets. Not only had he destroyed their family. Now he was forcing her to bare herself to a room full of perfect strangers.

And she had no illusions about any of this staying within the confines of these four walls. No matter what rules there might be, this courtroom was full of Lima natives. Hell, Quinn recognizes Melissa Faraday's mom on the jury. Her Cheerios will all know about what happened by tomorrow morning. Melissa, that gossipy slut.

"He had found a bottle of mifepristone in my mother's purse. And considering she can no longer have children… he came to the conclusion that they were for me."

"Mifepristone being a pill for home abortions."

"Yes."

Mr. Kavanaugh walks back over toward the stand and leans against it as he looks down at Quinn.

"Were they yours?"

Quinn inhales slowly through her nose - a calming breath.

"They were for me, yes. But I didn't ask her for them. I believe she was going to try and make me take them without my knowledge."

"Why would she do that?"

Quinn looks over into the crowd of onlookers to find her mother watching her. Quinn clenches her jaw.

"Because she knew I wanted to keep my child."

"She wanted you to abort?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

Quinn looks away from her mother back to the District Attorney.

"Because she was afraid of how my father would react were he to find out about the pregnancy."

"And do you feel like that fear was justified?"

Her father's attorney interjects there,

"Objection! Leading the witness."

Judge Reinholdt waves a hand as he speaks,

"Sustained."

Kavanaugh smiles tightly.

"Allow me to rephrase; How did he react?"

Quinn's eyes flit away from Kavanaugh, into space. She can still smell the scent of whiskey. She can still see just how red his face became. She can still feel his fingers wrapped around her throat.

And finally, Quinn looks at her father. The hate in his eyes fuels her resolve. And with a voice, cold as ice, she tells them everything.

"You okay, Q?"

Santana guides her out of the courthouse, them having finished for the day.

Quinn scoffs, hating the way it sounds when her throat is so thick.

"Am I okay? That asshole called you a freak, he told everyone about you. Everyone in town is going to know, Santana. I should be asking you if you're okay."

She's not wrong. Russel's prick lawyer went to town on both she and her father.

Santana shrugs. Of course it's stressing her out,the very idea of it all. She's so not looking forward to school next week. But Quinn is upset. That's all that matters to her right now.

"They were going to find out anyway. You know I'll cut a bitch. But my dad's not a huge dickwad."

Quinn shrugs her off.

"I'm fine."

Santana hums, not believing her for a second.

"Sure thing, sweet pea. Come on, let's go."

She steers her towards her car, pulling out and making a right turn.

"The house is the other way."

"Yeah, we're not going to the house."

Quinn raises a brow and turns to her.

"Where are we going, then?"

"Does it matter?"

Quinn looks to her girlfriend, seeing the mischief in her eyes and lets go of those feelings her father, his lawyer, all of fucking Lima have piled atop her.

She gets this feeling of anticipation for nothing. For nowhere. For riding off in a direction and seeing where it takes them. She yearns for carelessness. At least for one day.

And then she feels the tiny velvet box in her pocket, and she smiles.

"I guess it doesn't.