Author's Notes: All thanks go to Mike Ownby for his very important work in Americanizing this chapter (including the important background details that make it believable and realistic). The story title comes from the late great Leonard Cohen's Bird on the Wire.

Detailed story notes, meta, background trivia, and more can be found on my Tumblr, yumi-michiyo.

Quinn stares up at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

She'd been stupid to think that all her problems would go away when the baby was out of her belly and in a crib. Because now what? What happens next? Quinn's fingers clench the stiff white hospital blanket as panic settles in, the question spinning in her brain.

Keep the baby? Laughable. She has no home of her own; Mercedes and her family had only opened their home to one pregnant teenager, not a teenage single mom and her baby. Not to mention food, bills, school for her – if she could even go back to school, now that she's got a tiny soul that's completely dependent on her.

Fuck this shit. She's screwed.

In the middle of her mental breakdown, footsteps warn Quinn there's someone outside. She ignores it; it's probably a nurse or doctor walking past, because no one is going to visit her. She hasn't had any visitors since she was admitted to the hospital – and the Glee club don't count, since they delivered (her lip twists at the unintentional pun) her there.

"Quinn?"

Wait – she knows that voice. Quinn is so surprised, she says: "Yeah?"

Rachel walks into the ward, looking contrite around a large bouquet of flowers. Quinn groans inwardly, regretting answering her; Rachel Berry is the very last person on Earth that she wants to see now. She wasn't thinking right, she should've pretended she was asleep. "Berry," Quinn greets her flatly.

"Hi, Quinn," she starts hesitantly, "I hope you're feeling better today. I apologise I did not accompany you to the hospital yesterday as someone had to remain at Regionals to ensure we weren't disqualified for having the entire team leave – "

"Spare me the lecture, Berry, and say what you came here to say," interrupts Quinn tiredly. She barely tolerates Rachel's verbosity normally; now, exhausted after performing onstage, giving birth, and now struggling with her personal crisis, Quinn just wants her to be gone.

Rachel's mouth closes, then opens again. "Never mind. I see that you're still rather tired, and undoubtedly cranky as a result. I merely came to offer my congratulations on delivering a healthy baby, and inquire about your health."

"Well, I'm still alive and talking to you, aren't I?" Quinn retorts.

"That's true." Much to her surprise, Rachel offers her a small smile. "I took the liberty of stopping by the nursery on my way to see you. Your daughter is beautiful."

"Don't call her that." Quinn pushes down the wave of nausea that she thought she'd left behind in the morning sickness phase.

"Your daughter?"

Quinn scowls. "She's not my daughter. That's just the real-life consequence of me making the biggest mistake of my life, and I don't just mean getting pregnant. Sleeping with Noah Puckerman would be the highlight of the shame reel." Calling the baby anything but the baby, in Quinn's logic, would mean acknowledging the attachment, and that could have disastrous results.

She's not a mother. The baby isn't her daughter.

Rachel frowns. Quinn turns her face away and ignores her. Even though she's not exactly on speaking terms with God at the moment, Quinn prays for the strength to stay put in her hospital bed. It's too tempting to choke the life out of Rachel if she were to open her huge mouth to say something utterly maddening; but luckily, Rachel says nothing.

"I think you should leave," says Quinn after a pause.

"... Yes. If you want."

"I definitely want."

"But at the very least," Rachel continues, "you should see her once, regardless of whether you choose to keep her or not. I like to think that was what my mo – Shelby did before she walked out of my life."

And she's gone before Quinn can throw her stupid flowers back into her stupid face. She makes a frustrated noise and stares back up at the ceiling again. Of course Rachel had to mention the Mom of the Year lifetime achievement award winner, Shelby Corcoran. And now it's impossible for her not to think about Shelby and see the horrible possible parallels between her and – the baby – twenty years from now.

But Rachel, annoyingly enough, does have a point. Giving away a baby clearly unhinged Shelby Corcoran, and possibly Rachel too. Quinn tries not to picture an older version of herself facing a sixteen-year-old clone and fails miserably.

Damn Rachel Berry.

Quinn sits up gingerly. Perhaps she should do this. One look, so she can rid herself of any residual guilt. She can do this, she was Head Cheerio under Sue Sylvester; she's capable of surviving for a week in the wilderness alone, armed with only a penknife. Getting out of bed to see the baby she just pushed out of her body should be child's play.

The nurse had left a fluffy pink dressing gown on the chair beside her bed in case she had to leave the room. She pulls it on now, despite the horrific hue and the cloying smell of detergent. Quinn grits her teeth. Every muscle hurts as though she's run a marathon, or survived one of Sue's special Cheerios conditioning sessions. She makes a mental note never to give birth again – no, never to have sex again.

Quinn shuffles outside, keeping a wary eye out for Rachel. It's unlikely that the other girl would be lurking somewhere waiting to ambush her, but Quinn's learned not to underestimate her.

It's relatively easy to make her way to the nursery, but Quinn takes a moment before she approaches the glass panel. She screws up her eyes, breathing in and out, gathering all her courage to look. Damn Rachel Berry a thousand times; if not for her and her stupid bio-mom, Quinn could've spent the rest of her day in private agony instead of public agony. She could've had her mental breakdown in peace.

But once she looks, she just knows.

Quinn doesn't need a tag or whatever to find her – the baby. Her eyes are drawn to the bundle of pink on the left, second from the front. There's a tiny hand poking out, and – oh – five perfectly-formed little fingers.

She made this. After a long list of failures and mistakes, she – Quinn Fabray – made this perfect little human being. Her eyes well up with tears. It's not fair. She didn't get anything she wanted, but this single damned mistake turns out perfect.

Quinn leans her forehead against the cool glass. "Damn you," she murmurs.

"Quinn? Are you alright?"

Quinn closes her eyes. "Do you honestly want me to answer that?" she grits out. She's tired of Rachel showing up and poking her nose where it's not welcome. Especially now, when it's stabbing into what's left of her determination to exit the hospital, finally baby-free; and especially when it's the second time she has to deal with Rachel in less than an hour. "Do I look alright to you?"

Rachel tilts her head to the side, looking like she's seriously pondering the question.

"... That was a rhetorical question, Berry. Stop thinking so hard, you'll burn out that one remaining brain cell of yours," snaps Quinn.

She actually laughs a little at that, much to Quinn's disappointment. "You're right. I should have realized it earlier. Daddy was right; he says I should interact with more people my age and pick up colloquial speech patterns so I can better integrate with my peers."

"Just can it. Oh my God, I don't know what it is about you that thinks people actually want to listen to the sounds coming out of your mouth." The word Daddy hurts her more than she thought possible, and Quinn lashes out like she's accustomed to doing over the past seven months.

Much to Quinn's growing frustration, Rachel seems to take it in her stride. "I should inform you that I'm not holding anything you say against you this week. You've been through a stressful and traumatic time, and I am certain you require moral support. Since all of our fellow Glee clubbers happen to be busy today, I'm here to provide that social interaction you undoubtedly need."

"I don't need moral support or social interaction, least of all yours." Quinn hisses. She tries to channel as much pre-baby Quinn levels of bitchiness as possible; it always seemed to be effective in scaring Rachel away. But sadly, her hideously pink gown and current emotional state doesn't seem to be doing her any favors. "I'm pretty sure you'd rather be somewhere else getting teeth pulled than here. Don't let me keep you."

Rachel says in a milder tone: "I apologize; I think you may have misunderstood me. I'm here because I want to be here. I assure you no one's holding a gun to my head and forcing me to interact with you." She holds out a hand. "Let's make a deal. I'll keep quiet – something that requires a great deal of effort on my part, admittedly, but I'll do it if you want me to – and you'll try to minimize the nasty comments?"

Through the wall of text, Quinn discerns "keep quiet" and is immediately sold. "Yeah, deal," she says, pretending she doesn't see Rachel's hand, turning to gaze through the glass window at the baby in the fuzzy pink blanket. "You know which one she is?"

If Rachel's happy that the baby has been promoted to she, she doesn't show it – or at least, transparently enough for Quinn to catch. Rachel just gives her an exasperated look, and steps forward, looking at Quinn intently, before turning her attention to the bassinets. Too late, Quinn remembers Rachel saying she'd already stopped by before visiting Quinn.

After a beat, she makes the mistake of looking at Rachel to see her reaction, because the other girl melts upon catching sight of the baby. Her mouth forms a little 'o' but – amazingly, given that it's Rachel Berry – she doesn't say anything. Rachel clasps her hands before her, smiling at both Quinn and the baby. Even Quinn can't pretend she doesn't read Rachel's body language clearer than day.

"She's just a baby, Berry," she says, rolling her eyes. "There are like, ten of them in the ward. I'm sure you've seen one before. Calm down."

Rachel shakes her head minutely, glancing back between Quinn and her baby, as though to say: But she's your baby, Quinn, and that makes all the difference.

Quinn can't imagine what's worse; that she's able to hear Rachel's thoughts, or that she's tearing up because of them. She dabs her eyes on the sleeve of her hideous gown. Damned hormones. So much for thinking they'd stop wreaking havoc on her body once she was no longer pregnant.

They stand, side by side, focused on the baby. Rachel keeps her hands to herself – something Quinn is infinitely grateful for.

A nurse notices them and bustles out. "Which one's yours?"

Rachel points. Mostly, it's because Quinn is rooted to the spot, mind whirling with excuses how she's going to get out of this mess.

"Do you wanna hold her?"

Quinn is horrified. Rachel is – whatever the opposite of horrified is. But she's nodding at the nurse, and still not saying anything. Quinn wants to tear her apart with her bare hands for being so utterly infuriating.

By the time she's regained some self-control, Rachel's holding a bundle of fuzzy pink baby blanket, beaming as though she's just been presented with the Tony award she's always talking about.

And Quinn stays rooted to the spot. She watches as Rachel's entire face is transformed; she coos at the baby, whispering things she can't hear, a finger poised over the opening of the blanket.

She thinks she might lose it when Rachel's finger parts the blanket to show the baby's face; round and soft, with the bluest eyes.

Then the baby yawns.

Quinn bursts into tears. "I can't," she mumbles over and over again.

So apparently, after that little breakdown she had, she's not allowed at the maternity ward without supervision, and said supervision happens to be either the on-duty nurse or Rachel Berry. Quinn doesn't blame the maternity nurse. She wouldn't allow herself to be with the baby unsupervised either.

But the entire situation has her kicking herself; between a jagged, flesh-rending steel trap, and Rachel Berry, she'd pick the trap any day. The trap just tears off flesh, and flesh grows back eventually. Rachel tears her walls down, brick by brick, and leaves her vulnerable.

Rachel insists on walking her back to her bed. Quinn doesn't have the energy to fight her, so she just trudges along, Rachel trailing behind her.

At this point, Quinn's somewhat aware that all this hatred isn't healthy. But she has enough to be dealing with right now, and so she mentally files it away for later.

"You're upset."

"I thought," says Quinn tightly, "someone agreed to shut up."

"I'm quite aware of that, Quinn, but this is important." Rachel darts in front of Quinn, blocking her path. "Are you sure?"

"Sure of what?" She sidesteps Rachel – only to scowl when Rachel neatly stands in front of her again. "Out of my way, Berry."

"You can't give her up!"

Quinn glares at her. "Yes, I can. It's my decision."

"Noah – "

"– Puckerman is the idiot who knocked me up. He doesn't get a say in this. He'll agree with me; there's no way two dumb kids are gonna be able to look after a baby." Quinn takes a deep breath. "He's not the baby's father. I'm not the baby's mother. That's that." She steps to the right this time. "Now move."

Rachel blocks her path again. "You won't have to do this alone. I'll help."

"Yeah? In case you haven't noticed, Berry, because you talk like a thesaurus and dress like a granny, you're a kid too."

"Hear me out, Quinn; my dads are more than happy to help. Between the four of us, I'm sure we can work something out."

Quinn halts. Eyes deadly, she hisses: "Berry. Listen up, and listen good." In her anger, she takes a step forward, and Rachel retreats. "The baby is not your family pet project. She is a human being, not some – poster child, for the joys of adoption and gay parenting. You don't have to pity me just because I'm that walking high school cautionary tale. We don't need anyone, so thank you for the offer, so you can take it back and shove it up your – " she cuts herself off when she notices how terrified Rachel looks. Quinn exhales through her nose slowly; for some reason, being a bitch to Rachel doesn't make her feel as good as she thought it would. "... Whatever. We're done here."

This time, when she strides back to her room, Rachel doesn't follow her.

She's dreading being discharged. Besides the relatively small matter (and it is small relative to a small planet) of paying the bill, she has tons of other things on her mind. Once she's out of the hospital, she'll have things like a place to stay and food to worry about.

The next time the nurse comes in to check on her, she ventures the question timidly: "Um… how much will I have to pay?"

The nurse frowns. "Your parents will take care of that; you're a little too young to be worrying about that kind of thing, aren'tcha?"

"They aren't paying," says Quinn flatly. She will take no shit from a patronizing nurse.

"But your mom checked you in, didn't she?"

"And that's about as far as it went." Her mother hasn't been back since she'd had the baby, and Quinn isn't about to impose on someone who let her be kicked out once before. She can take a hint.

The nurse clucks disapprovingly. "You can't be more than sixteen. That's nowhere near old enough to be worrying about this stuff."

"I'm certainly old enough to have a baby and be kicked out of my home," replies Quinn dryly. "So figuring out how I'm gonna pay my hospital bills with no money should be a cinch, right?"

"... right," says the nurse awkwardly. "If that's the case, I'll have someone come talk to you about financing. Alright?"

"Thank you."

An hour later, a lady in a neat suit enters Quinn's ward. "Ashley Cummings," she says, offering her hand to Quinn. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name, Quinn."

Quinn likes this woman instinctively. She doesn't talk down to Quinn, or treat her like she's a child. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Cummings."

"Ashley, please. I hear that since you're old enough to deliver a child on your own, you're certainly old enough to talk business with me." All this is delivered in a crisp, business-like manner.

She didn't think it was possible, but Quinn likes her even more.

"So… it says here that you're due to be discharged this Thursday," says Ashley, flipping through the file she brought with her. "Are you looking forward to going home?"

"I'm eager to leave, yeah," answers Quinn neatly, dodging the question. "About my bills, well… how much are they? 'Cause I don't have any money, and I was sorta kicked out of my parents' house so I don't think they'll pay…"

Ashley blinks at her. "Oh, dear," she says. "I think there must have been some misunderstanding. I'm not here about financing; I'm here because I heard you want to put your baby up for adoption. All your bills have already been paid for in full."

"By who?"

"By… " She flips through the stack of papers. "A Mr Leroy Berry."

When Rachel walks through the door of her ward with another ridiculously oversized bouquet and a grin, Quinn has never felt so simultaneously furious and anxious to see her. "Berry!"

The grin falls off Rachel's face instantly. Luckily, the flowers don't follow suit, and she is quick to set them down on the chair by Quinn's bedside. "Uhm… good afternoon, Quinn?"

"Your dad paid for my hospital bills." It's not a question, but a damning statement of fact.

Rachel reacts in a way she hasn't been expecting. "He… what?"

"This lady from the hospital came to talk to me earlier today," says Quinn tightly. She has never been one to suffer fools, and Rachel is currently the court jester. "She said someone called Leroy Berry paid off all my bills, and – newsflash! There're only three people named Berry in this town, and guess who's one of them?"

"Quinn, I swear, I had no idea," says Rachel shakily. "I didn't tell Dad to do anything."

Judging from her shocked expression, Quinn has an inkling that she's telling the truth; paradoxically, Rachel is an excellent actress but she's terrible at hiding her feelings normally. But Quinn pushes aside her instincts, focusing on her punching bag. "Yeah? Then he decided today was Help a Poor Disowned Ex-Pregnant Teenager Day? Out of the goodness of his heart? Don't play dumb, Berry. I know you think you're a great actress, but this is a new low for you."

"Stop that!"

Quinn pauses, startled. The color is back in Rachel's cheeks, her eyes bright. "You take that back, Quinn Fabray," snaps Rachel. "My fathers are the most generous, caring, loving men I have been privileged to have been raised by. If they've done something as generous as that, even without my knowledge or agreement, I will trust their decisions unconditionally. You may make fun of me, my wardrobe, even my gender as you and your cronies have often done, but I will not stand here and let you insult them." She points at Quinn. "Am I clear?"

And Quinn is too surprised by this show of backbone to manage anything more than a nod, before Rachel spins on her heel and marches back out.

Before Quinn has a chance to process the tirade, Rachel comes back in. Jaw set and tight-lipped, she disposes of the old flowers in the vase, picks up the flowers from the chair, trims them, and sets them in water. And the instant it's done, all without a word to Quinn, she leaves again.

The next day, a tall black man in a policeman's uniform enters the ward, and the first thing Quinn can think to say is: "Uh, am I in some kind of trouble?"

He turns his stern gaze on her – and chuckles, which completely destroys his image. "No, Miss Fabray. I'm Leroy Berry, Rachel's father."

"Oh." Then she remembers. "Oh! Er – good afternoon, sir."

He chuckles again. "Good afternoon. Rachel said you were a very polite young lady."

Quinn bites her lower lip. She's not quite sure what else Rachel has said about her – not as polite moments. Plus, she's pretty sure she watched something in those procedural cop shows about not incriminating yourself in casual conversations.

Leroy glances at the chair beside the bed. "May I sit?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." He sits, setting his policeman's hat on his knee. "Miss Fabray, my daughter told me you've talked to the hospital administrator regarding your medical bills."

"You paid them," says Quinn.

"I did."

"Why? No offense, but – you don't know me. And frankly speaking, I haven't been the nicest person to Rachel. Um, I'm sorry about that, by the way," Quinn adds, with a nervous glance towards his side holster.

"Don't thank me. It was Help a Poor Disowned Ex-Pregnant Teenager Day," replies Leroy very seriously.

Quinn goggles at him, wondering if she's stepped into some parallel universe without realizing it. But if she has, it sucks majorly as far as parallel universes go; she's still disowned and formerly pregnant, with Rachel Berry's cop father – the one who paid her hospital bills – sitting at her bedside.

Then Leroy starts laughing. "Goodness, girl, I was only joking. You're a serious one, aren't you?"

She manages a weak smile.

His expression goes back to stern. "I may joke, but that doesn't mean I'm ignorant of, or that I've excused your treatment of Rachel over the past two years."

The smile vanishes. Quinn gulps and nods.

"However, that doesn't mean we're going to begrudge you help. We certainly have the means to support two teenagers – and theoretically a baby." Leroy stands, putting on his hat and adjusting it. "Rachel mentioned you've been staying with the Joneses."

"Yes, sir."

"Will you be going back to their home?"

Quinn presses her lips together. Mercedes and her parents had visited her in the morning. They were more than happy to let Quinn stay for as long as she needs, but she doesn't want to be a burden on them, even though she doesn't exactly have a choice. It's this certainty that she doesn't want to cause more trouble for the Joneses than she already has – ironic, given how uncertain everything else is – that makes Quinn say: "I don't know."

Leroy nods. "Rachel has informed me when you'll be discharged. We'll be picking you up and driving you to the Joneses, or to any other place you want. But you're also welcome to stay with us."

"Did Ber – " Quinn clears her throat and corrects herself, "– did Rachel ask you to help me?"

"No. As a matter of fact, she was very adamant that Hiram – my husband – and I not help you in any shape or form when she told us about you. Something about you being very proud and independent, and that you wouldn't accept charity." Leroy grimaces. "Believe me, she gave me quite the earful for paying your bills without her knowledge."

"Then why…?"

"I was your age once, Miss Fabray – Quinn. Believe me, it's not easy being that young and alone in the world. Also, it's not charity." He smiles at her, but there's no amusement in the thin line of his mouth. "I fully expect you to pay off the debt in full once you've been discharged."

"I…"

"We can work out the details of the repayment afterwards," he says placidly, as though Quinn hasn't spoken.

"Repayment?"

He levels a deeply exasperated look at her, and Quinn knows now where Rachel gets that particular expression from. "Yes, repayment. If you won't take charity from us, consider it a loan. Now, I need to get back to the station. Have a good day, Quinn." Leroy nods at her.

"Mr Berry?"

He pauses.

"I don't know why you did it, but… thank you, sir." Quinn fidgets with the sleeves of her cardigan. "I know that you don't have any reason to like me because of how horrible I've been to Rachel, but I really appreciate you doing this."

Leroy turns around, and just looks at her for a long moment. "Please," he says at last, "call me Leroy. But only because it'll be confusing calling my husband and me Mr Berry."

Quinn doesn't know how to respond to that.

Quinn is up early on Thursday. She hasn't got a lot to pack; Mercedes brought only the essentials to the hospital, like her books, and a worn stuffed lamb she keeps tucked under her pillow.

The duffel bag isn't even half-full once she's done. She honestly doesn't mind.

Ashley arrives at nine sharp. "All ready to go, I see," she says, nodding at Quinn.

"Yes, ma'am."

She chuckles. "Good to hear. Now, I need you to come with me down to reception to fill out a few exit forms. The usual protocol for patient discharge…" Ashley flips through her clipboard. "And, uh, adoption papers for your baby."

Quinn feels an unpleasant lump form in the pit of her stomach. "Will it take long?"

"Not really. You'll need to read and sign some forms required by the county and state governments. The standard waivers of your parental rights – that means that you give up any claims to your baby. There are a few forms stating your preference of adoption that need your signature. That means you can opt for an open or closed adoption," she quickly explains for Quinn's benefit.

"Parental rights?" She hadn't thought it would be this simple, and yet so complicated. The baby was hers; she had carried it for nine long months, through four different homes. And Quinn would break that connection by signing her name on the bottom of some generic government form. She would invalidate that tiny person with her jaw, with Noah Puckerman's cheeky smile, who might have the same hazel eyes in the future.

She's not a mother, but that's her baby.

"Take all the time you need to think about it, Quinn," says Ashley, as though sensing Quinn's thoughts. "That's a big decision you're making."

"Yeah. I know. But I'm sure." She shoulders her bag and follows Ashley to the reception counter, where she's handed a packet of forms. It's more than a little overwhelming, and Ashley seems to sense that; the hospital administrator gently takes the packet from Quinn's hands and starts thumbing through them.

"Would you like to sit down? This could take a while."

"No, thank you." The sooner she's done, the sooner she's done. Quinn grits her teeth, desperately holding herself together.

Ashley nods. She pushes a form closer to Quinn. "This waives all legal claim you have to your baby," she says, "and you just need to sign here." Ashley makes an 'x' beside the line at the bottom of the page, and flips to the next form. "This is a declaration that you agree to let a state-appointed social worker handle all adoption proceedings, like vetting potential adopters, etc."

Quinn nods mechanically at each one as she absorbs all the information. There are so many things she'd never imagined, tied to something as simple as getting drunk with Noah Puckerman.

Ashley clears her throat, setting down the pen. "That should be it. All yours, dear."

Quinn nods mechanically and picks up the pen. She tries to sign her name on the first dotted line, but finds that her hand doesn't move.

"Can I… ask you something?" Her own voice startles her, but it seems to startle Ashley more; the older woman blinks rapidly and nods.

"Certainly. Of course, Quinn – I'd be more surprised if you didn't have any questions." She brings her hands together. "Ask away."

"If I… if I chose not to sign these, would I…" Her voice falters. "Would I still… get to keep her?"

The administrator looks at her carefully. Quinn feels like she's a pot of water on the stove, and Ashley's waiting for her to boil.

"Yes, Quinn," says Ashley at length. "You'd still have to fill out the discharge papers…" she points at the relevant forms that are stacked to one side, "... but she'd be your baby, and your legal rights as her mother would still be intact." Ashley's smile softens. "You'd be taking her home."

Now there's a conundrum tougher than all her AP classes combined. Her baby. She's barely an adult herself, practically a baby, raising a baby of her own. Babies needed care and attention and feeding, and babies grew into kids who went to school.

She was still a kid that went to school.

Quinn tamps down the pang of affection that wells whenever she thinks about that baby in the pink blanket. She'd learned, long ago, that being a Fabray meant the things in life she wanted weren't always the things she'd get. Steeling herself, Quinn lowers her pen to paper.

"Quinn!"

Quinn puts down her pen with a growl. "Berry, is there some goddamned reason you always have to barge into my private – oh." She reddens when Leroy comes into view, flanking Rachel, another man in tow. "Hello. Uh, Mr Berry, and Mr Berry."

Rachel doesn't seem to notice the tension in the room. "Please don't give her up," she says urgently. "We can help you."

"Help me what? Raise the baby?" A ludicrous image floats into her mind. "You and me? You'll be Mommy and I'll be Mom, right? Like how your dads raised you?"

Rachel recoils. "Quinn, calm down."

But Leroy steps forward, between Rachel and Quinn. "Don't speak to my daughter like that," he says slowly, and she doesn't miss the menace in his voice. It's an intimidation tactic she's very familiar with, and Quinn backs down even before she realizes it.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Dad!" says Rachel indignantly. "Stop scaring her!"

He lifts his hands and drops them in a 'why me' gesture, glancing at his husband. "Teenagers," he says to no one in particular, "raise them for sixteen years, and suddenly they're old enough to bite the hand that feeds them."

Rachel ignores him and grabs Quinn's hands. She wasn't expecting that, so she looks down at where Rachel's hands cradle hers. They're soft, not man hands at all.

"Quinn, do you want to keep her?" Rachel's voice intrudes into her thoughts.

"I can't."

She shakes her head so her hair bounces. "No, that's not what I… okay. Pretend you don't have to worry about stuff like – housing, and money. Do you want to keep her?"

A lump rises in her throat. She soldiers on. "That doesn't matter now, Rachel. I can't keep her, I can't look after her like she deserves."

Ashley clears her throat loudly; everyone jumps, having forgotten she was there. "Quinn," she says with forced cheer, "I feel that you need a little time to think over this, so… I'll give you and your family some time to talk?"

"They're not my family," says Quinn just as Leroy says, "Thank you, ma'am," firmly.

When Hiram and Rachel are distracted by the hospital administrator, Quinn whirls on Leroy and hisses, "What the hell?" at him.

"You owe us," he hisses back, and Quinn blinks because, okay, wow. She wasn't expecting that from someone who's supposed to be a parent, especially not a grown man who is the father – one of the fathers, okay – of someone her age.

It's bad enough she had to be a homeless, pending-single mom at sixteen. But this – losing intimidation battles with a grown man?

She won't let herself sink any lower than necessary. Her position as president of the Celibacy Club may be a joke right now, but Quinn still has some self-control. She may be indebted to him, but she will not give him the satisfaction of intimidating her, Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray.

Ashley has already disappeared, taking the papers with her. Quinn takes a deep breath and smooths down her clothes. "Okay," she says to Leroy, "what do you want from me?"

He tips his head to the side, in Rachel's direction. "Not me, honey," he says, "just answer her question."

"I did. This is a waste of time."

"Quinn," says Rachel placatingly.

"It doesn't matter." She folds her arms across her chest. Her arms don't sit right, and after a moment she realises it's because she doesn't need to compensate for a baby belly anymore. Quinn drops her arms to her sides, fingers loosely clenching her clothing. "I'm signing those documents."

Rachel's eyes flash. "Okay, new question." She tilts her chin up, looking at Quinn. "If you go ahead and sign those documents, and give her up for adoption, would you regret it in, uh – sixteen years' time?"

Quinn grimaces. "I don't have to answer that," she says, avoiding Rachel's eyes.

"No, you don't," says Hiram. It's the first time he's spoken since the entire Berry family showed up, and everyone pauses to look at him. "But she has a right to ask, doesn't she?"

And – right. Of course. Rachel got a free pass mentioning her birth mother, so it's Mr Berry's turn to pull the adoption card. Quinn's mouth twists. "Yeah. I guess."

"I'm aware I have no right to say this – "

"You really don't," mutters Quinn.

"– but as someone who's gone through eerily similar circumstances, I cannot in good conscience stand by and let you do this," finishes Rachel. "Quinn. I know that your personal circumstances aren't exactly ideal, but I don't want you rushing into something you might regret later on, when it's too late; and maybe you would be forced into, I don't know, roping Noah into some farfetched scheme of stealing your daughter back from her adoptive parents."

"Alright!" She glares at Rachel; the roiling feeling in her belly was getting too much, and it's not like she can blame it on the baby or its accompanying hormones anymore. "Fine. We're getting nowhere. None of my answers seem to satisfy you, so what do you want from me, Rachel?"

"A week. You and your baby can stay with me and my fathers for a week. We have a spare room I'm certain you'll find amenable to your needs."

"And what about school?"

"Daddy has made temporary arrangements to babysit her while we're attending classes; which works out wonderfully, since we only have two weeks of school left before the summer holidays. Look, Quinn, I know you refuse to accept any charity from us, so once you've sufficiently recovered, Daddy needs a part-time secretary at his practice which could accommodate your school hours." Rachel takes a step forward. "I want you to be absolutely sure of this decision you're making, Quinn. For the baby's sake, and your own."

Quinn wrinkles her nose. As awfully tempting as it all sounds, the bottom line is that she'll be sharing a house with Rachel freaking Berry for an entire week. After months of barely tolerating her presence in school and Glee. "A week is an awfully short time to be making a decision about keeping a baby, Berry."

"As compared to making the decision immediately after being discharged from the hospital?" Rachel fires back, eyebrow raised.

Quinn mirrors her expression. That's her facial tic, and she'll be damned if she lets Rachel Berry have the last word using her facial tic. "You're crazy," she tries.

Rachel doesn't even bat an eyelid. Surprisingly, neither Hiram and Leroy do either; it seems they let Rachel fight her own battles. Quinn gains a tiny bit of grudging respect for them. "I've heard worse."

"Fine. Whatever. A week."

Leroy winks at her when Hiram and Rachel aren't looking. Quinn hates him.