Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or its characters.
Spoilers: None
Rating: T
Reply to reviews: (chapter 20)
chloe2007: Thank you for the review! :) The relationship comes out in the next chapter. They are not half-sisters, but you are close!
Boris Yeltsin: Thank you! I really enjoyed writing Sue and Finn, also.
GLEE111: Thanks for the review! Noah will definitely show up more soon and will be very protective of Quinn. There is quite a bit of interaction between the two in this chapter.
Lauriverfanboy1: Thank you. :) And I will neither confirm nor deny that. ;) It will be revealed in the next chapter, though!
Gwennie49: part 1: Thank you for the review! I would have loved to see something like that happen in the show – either Sue calling off the slushies or San or Q doing it. David and Azimio were definitely affected by it. And I will have them, and some of the other football players be stupid enough to try it again, but that will quickly be thwarted.
Part 2: Quinn is going to have some trust issues with them now. You actually inspired the last part of this chapter with it. She finds out and it will be several days before her perception of who will/will not hurt Rachel is back on track.
Thank you to the others who reviewed! And welcome to my new followers DarrellJackson22, MillaHalliwell, and CrumpyFan. And to my new favoriters soccersk8ergirl21, Lord Jeremy Silver, and hiddenmeaningoflife. Also, shoutout to Lord Jeremy Silver who is giving this story a read and reviewing despite not having watched Glee. :)
Notes: This chapter is set during the last one. While Rachel, Santana, and Brittany were at school, Quinn and Noah were at home. This is THEIR side of things.
Notes 2: So, in light of Quinn not speaking, and only using sign language once, I have decided that she and Rachel are going to communicate through Morse code. It is something simple and easy, and I love the idea of them having their own "secret code" language.
That said, whenever I say something like "Quinn uses her index and middle finger to tap out a message", it means she is using Morse code, and the message she will be tapping out is going to be in (parentheses and italics). Rachel will usually respond using words.
Chapter dedication: GLEE111.
I'm trying something new here. This is going to be in the second-person point of view. Let me know what you think about it.
Enjoy! :)
*Berry Residence – set after Rachel, San, & Britt leave for school*
You watch her leave through the living room windows. Jacob is driving her, Santana, and Brittany to school, while their parents meet with a police officer and Principal Figgins.
Even knowing this, that voice in the back of your mind is not quietened.
Your anxiety levels are through the roof, and you try to put your trust in her words I'll be fine. I will be home before you know it, I promise.
Your heart hasn't slowed down it seems like since showing up here on Friday. You cannot even begin to explain the pure dread you feel when she so much as steps out of the room.
She has been a trooper. Not once has she brushed off your fears, or told you to stop worrying, or that it's stupid – that nothing is going to happen if she steps out of your sight.
You honestly don't know how she could be so patient… so tolerant. You don't deserve her forgiveness. The kindness she is showing you, how gentle she is. And you certainly don't know how she can be this way after how you and S and Britt have treated her for the last four years.
It feels like nothing has changed.
If you take away the 11-week pregnant belly you have, the marks on your back, your split lip, and your bruises, and the other… unseen… consequences of Friday night's events…
If you take away all of that, you can almost pretend that you are just a normal 15-year-old, trying to survive high school with your four best friends.
As it is, you're not. You have so many things to worry about, and honestly, you feel yourself breaking a little more every day. Between your anxiety of Rachel leaving, being out of your sight, and… being pregnant, being abused, keeping secrets, those secrets coming out…
…it's a wonder you are still functioning as well as you are.
Not to mention that the baby is not even your boyfriend's, no, because you're not only a teen mom but also one who cheated on your boyfriend with this best friend…
That same best friend who used to be your best friend. The same best friend who is currently walking towards you.
"Q…" He is speaking quietly because he can read you. He can read you like she can. He knows you are not entirely with him right now, that your mind is preoccupied with worrying about Rachel.
How you are not with her. How you feel like you can't fucking breathe, because of the pure fear that fills your mind when you cannot find her with your eyes. How your mind will not shut up about someone hurting her.
You look away from the window. Into his eyes. And you wonder if the fear and panic that won't leave you alone is as clear in your eyes as it is coursing throughout your body.
His face mirrors your thoughts, his own showing how worried he is, how confused because, yes, he was told everything, but, like her, there are still things that he just… does not understand.
You try to speak. Try to get your mind to connect to your mouth long enough to string together a few coherent words into a sentence.
It's not working, so you settle for just burrowing into his side, pressing your face into his shirt, and breathing in his calming scent. You feel your bottom lip trembling, and the tears fall, regardless of your attempts to stop them.
"I don't know how to make this better," He whispers, and you wish you had an answer for him.
You feel like you can't breathe, and you know, you know, this stress is not good for the baby, but you honestly cannot bring yourself to calm down. Noah understands. He must understand, because the next thing you know, he is pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
He wraps one arm around you, but not his left, because that arm would block your view of the window. No, your best friend, – the boy whose life has been turned upside down, as well, – wraps his right arm around you, so that you can still watch out of the window for Rachel to magically show back up.
He presses a number on his phone, speed dialing someone. Your attention is only peaked when he greets this person as 'JB'.
Rachel.
"Just talk to her," He is saying, and your eyes turn towards him, meeting his. You swallow the panic and reach a shaky hand out for the phone. You bring it to your ear but don't – can't – saying anything.
She senses it anyway.
"Hi, Angel," She greets and you marvel at how she can still seem so calm, so understanding with you even though she left probably not even a full 10 minutes ago. After dealing with you and your stupid panic attack.
After dealing with you all weekend, being clingy, being panicked, being stupid and scared.
She soothes you with, "I'm ok," and then adds, "We're stopping at Sonic to get Britt some French fries, then we are going straight to school. We will talk to your coach, and then we will speak with Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury. We'll get our assignments for the next few days and be on our way home. Just four hours, okay, Angel?"
Her words calm you; they ease the panic, but not enough, not nearly enough.
Not the enough that her being here would do.
You don't respond. You'd like to, but you just cannot. You make eye contact with Noah. Rachel continues speaking when you do not say anything, "I'm so sorry, Angel. I didn't want to leave, okay? But I had to. We have to do this now. To get it over with. Just four hours, baby, I promise. Four hours."
A pause and then, "I know you probably have not eaten anything, so I want you to drink a smoothie, okay? Please. You need to have something on your stomach, for yourself and for the baby."
"Can you talk to me, LuLu?" You don't deserve her softness, and you hate how stressed she sounds, how worried she is.
It's stupid, you think. You've gone four years without a pleasant word from or to her, and now your entire body is stiff and on alert and you can't fucking breathe without seeing her.
You never should have left her the note and roses in August. You should have just ignored her letter. Sure you would still be slushying her and calling her names right now, but at least she wouldn't be in danger.
"Lucy," She stresses your name. "Talk to me."
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Helplessly, you look up at Noah, and he gestures for the phone, but panic flashes in your eyes, so he just leans forward and speaks loud enough for her to hear, "Just keep talking."
"We have arrived at the Sonic… I think we've decided we are all going to order a drink and get the craziest flavor." There is a pause and you hear chatter in the background for the next couple of minutes. "I played it safe and went with vanilla coke. Santana ordered a cherry coke and Jake got grape water… I feel these are not near as crazy as we originally planned."
There's chatter again, it sounds like Britt, and then she says, "Oh, and B ordered grape in her Dr. Pepper. She definitely wins the prize."
She speaks for a few more minutes before there are several voices all at once.
"Oh, shit!"
"Would you be careful? The last thing I need is for my car to smell like you dumped an entire bottle of cough syrup in here!"
"An entire bottle? More like an entire warehouse. Dios mío, how can you two drink that stuff? I can smell it from here!"
"It's tastes really good, Sanny."
You can practically hear the scowl on San's face. Britt is probably trying to get her to take a sip, and knowing how whipped she is, even if she despises grape-flavored anything, she is going to end up drinking some.
Rachel comes back on to the phone a moment later. "Sorry about that, LuLu." She's saying, with laughter lingering in her voice. "We are now on our way to school now."
She talks to you until they arrive at school. You hang up, this having been an entirely one-sided conversation.
"Come on, Q," Noah guides you away from the window and to the kitchen. You are both home alone until Jacob arrives back here.
You follow him to the counter, where the fruits and vegetables still are. "Alright, babe. I will make you any smoothie you and the munchkin want. So… pick your poison."
You pick bananas, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapples. Noah makes a face at that last addition, and you can't help the smile. He washes the fruit, blends them together, and within five minutes, you have a purple-yellow-ish smoothie to drink.
He suggests going down to the basement. You want to protest, but you also want to trust her. You want to trust Brittany and Santana to keep her safe.
So, you push through the panicky feeling, and the two of you go downstairs. You pick out a movie, something simple, childish, and fun. Maybe it will help ease your mind.
The movie you pick is a Scooby-Doo one. About as childish as Rachel's collection gets.
:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/
You make it all the way through, just over an hour. He says he'll change it to Titanic, and you go upstairs to use the bathroom.
Once you are finished, you take a moment to just… stand there, in her room, the place that is just so… her.
The walls are yellow, and she has a bookshelf, her dresser, and her desk along with her bed. Above her desk is a corkboard. It has pictures, tickets to movies, and notes scattered across it.
The pictures are of her, growing up, with her dads, her cousin, Jacob, her grandparents. Then there are the older ones. With you and her, you two with Noah, you and her and Santana and Britt.
The five of you together. Sleepovers, birthday parties, in the summer, in the winter.
But one picture captures your attention. The most recent one – the sonogram photo from your appointment yesterday.
You are now 11 weeks or 3 months along. Three more weeks and you will officially be in your second trimester.
The baby looks… somewhat like an actual baby now. He or she has ten fingers and toes and will begin kicking soon. In a few weeks, you will be able to find out if the baby is a girl or boy.
The baby…
The. Baby.
It hits you like a truck.
This small little photograph is showing the inside of your belly. The baby that you are currently pregnant with.
What are you doing? You're 15. You can't–… you cannot give this baby the life he or she needs. The life they deserve.
You slide down against the wall, the cuts on your back getting agitated, but you ignore the pain in favor of pulling your knees up and pressing your face into them.
You two are kids. You cannot raise this baby when you are both still children yourselves. When you are only fucking sophomores in high school. When you are currently living with the best friend you've tortured for 4 years because your own parents are abusive assholes.
You haven't spoken in nearly 4 weeks, save for a few times over the weekend. Rachel can't go out of your sight for more than a few seconds because your head is convinced she will be hurt.
Noah has only known everything for two days. He has no job; at least, not one that will pay enough for the fucking doctor visits, or the vitamins you should be taking, or even diapers and formula once the baby is here.
You are a complete disaster. No, that is too polite. You are an absolute train wreck.
If you are this screwed up at only 11 weeks into your pregnancy, how are you going to raise this baby for the next 18 years? How are you and he going to get past all of the fucking shit that's happened and be "grown-up" enough to take care of a baby?
He finds you in here 10 minutes later. He was worried, though you don't know that because you are not really registering anything until he actually touches your arm.
Instead of flinching away, you lean towards him, collapsing into his arms. He tries to hug you while also not touching your back, and this time, you do register him asking what happened.
You try to answer, but your stupid mind and mouth will not connect long enough, well enough, to actually form words.
He sighs… "I love you."
You blink, definitely not having expected that.
"I know it is probably a little too early to say that. I mean, technically you and Finn are still together. I think… I–… I don't know."
You wonder about that yourself. Knowing Rachel, though, she went to school and broke up with him for you.
"Anyway… I realize that… that we are just kids, ok? I get that, but… I meant what I said the other day. I would… I would step up, Quinn. I would, ok? I would be a good dad, I would get a job, and help out, do whatever you needed me to."
"This is your decision, though. Whatever… Whatever you decide to decide – adoption, keeping it, whatever, – I'd support you with it. It might not be what I want, but I get that you are going through a lot right now. I get that worrying about how you – we – are going take of a baby is not something you need to have to deal with right now. And I–…"
He sighs and trails off there.
You know he probably thinks it helps but really… it being all your decision? It doesn't help.
Because you want to give in. God, how you wish you could just… know. Just skip to nine months from now, in that hospital room, with a tiny pink or blue-bundled baby in your arms and your mind…
…already made up.
You stay quiet though. Not giving him an answer. You hope he realizes that you are… unable to and not that you don't want to give him an answer or even just a simple response.
*Later*
They're late.
Nearly 30 minutes so.
It's all you can think of as the clock ticks to 12 o'clock, then 12:05, 12:10… until it gets to 12:30 and you cannot just… sit around anymore.
Your mouth is still silent. He has tried to get you to talk to him several times but you just… can't do it. You cannot get any words past the endless loop of she's hurt. It's your fault. He told you this would happen. Why weren't you there to protect her?
"Babe," He reaches for you but stops just short of actually touching you. He knows better. Even after all of this time, he understands that you pacing = do not touch.
He offers, "I can call her again," and you look to him, – snap your eyes up, really, – and he falters. "I–… I can call her, ok? I'm sure they got held up by a teacher or something."
He has tried several times already and each time it goes to voicemail, the fear and panic inside of you increases.
As he pulls his phone of his pocket, the front door opens and your shoot out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
It's them.
It's her.
She is barely inside the house before you nearly knock her over in, what could be considered, a hug. You realize a moment too late that if she were hurt, then doing that probably was not a good idea, but she does not react in that way nor could you pull yourself away if needed.
She simply adjusts so she can handle your full weight and then tells you to walk backwards so everyone else can come into the house, as well.
You hear yourself murmur accusingly, "You're late," and she sighs. Behind you, Noah and Santana are getting into it,
"What took you so long?! You promised four hours! Four! Not four and a half – four! Do not remember how much effort it took to even get her to let you all leave this morning?"
"Save it, Puckerman!" Santana seems done with him already.
"No! You may not think this is a big deal, but you are not the one who has had to watch her nearly make herself sick with fucking worry, because whatever-the-fuck that has happened, has made her so fucking terrified of Rachel leaving her fucking sight!"
"You think I don't know about that? You think I don't maldito understand what she feels when Rachel leaves? You think I don't remember the maldito panic attack she had this morning?!"
"Well, you sure as are acting like you don't!"
"We ran into some problems, but we're now, aren't we?" Santana snaps back, murmuring some not-so-nice words in Spanish under her breath that you do not care to try to translate at the moment.
"So just save it. I'm cold, I'm hungry, I am exhausted, and I do not intend to stand here and let you lecture me about something we could not control!"
You hear a door far off slam but have no time to really think about it as Rachel's daddy, Josiah, is stepping up next to you two. He is whispering that he and David are going to their home office, and will give you and everyone a little bit to discuss whatever it is that you all apparently need to talk about.
When he is gone, and the air is silent, you manage to gather yourself enough to pull back from where you were wrapped around her like a freaking koala bear.
Your eyes are immediately looking her over, categorizing every inch, every difference from when she left this morning. The most obvious is what she is wearing…
She went to school dressed similarly to Santana and Brittany – jeans, boots, and a sweatshirt.
Now she is in half of her normal school attire – an animal sweater along with the jeans. It really clashes and is not something even she would choose to wear.
The second thing is her hair. It's been washed. You know this because her hair now smells like strawberries, a scented shampoo only Santana uses – for at school, not at home.
You meet her gaze, which is patient and soft. Her eyes are also red and puffy, and it sounds alarm bells in your head.
"You're late," You manage to choke out of again. "What happened? Why–…,"
It's back. That disconnect between your mind and mouth. Your hands are holding both of her wrists but you let one go so you can reach up and brush your fingertips against her cheek.
You try to swallow down the panic, not wanting to upset her. Not wanting to overstep. She has been so kind and patient the last couple of days and you are sure she is almost at her wits end.
You try to stem the panic, that need to hold her and never let go. You force yourself to step back and… and you almost let go of both of her wrists but she catches you at the last second, her hands grabbing yours, and holding on tight.
Her eyes flit across your face and she seems to detect something because she is suddenly stepping closer, holding onto your hands, and whispering, "LuLu, what's the matter?"
A million thoughts are running through your mind right now…
You're late…
Something happened…
I can't breathe when you are gone…
If you were hurt, then it was my fault…
I should have been there to protect you…
I think you got slushied, because you changed clothes.
You're upset about something. I am afraid it's my fault. I'm afraid you are going to get tired of babying me, of having to constantly comfort me, and reassure me that nothing is going to happen if you go out of the room for more than 3 seconds.
I'm afraid you are going to ask me to leave. I don't think – no I know – I could not handle. Please don't ask me to leave.
All of those thoughts swirl around in your head, fighting for dominance and tripping over each other to be the one that plays on an endless loop.
"–––"
Her lips are moving but you can't hear anything over your own heart thumping in your ears. She lets go of your hands and you feel the panic rise even more but then she is reaching for your face.
The next you are aware of is… you are sitting down. And she is trying to speak to you. You know this because her lips are moving.
Slowly, the sounds come back to you. Her voice is the first thing you can comprehend and she is whispering breathe, LuLu. In and out over and over again.
She has her forehead pressed against yours and she is repeating the mantra in between whispering its ok, Angel. I'm ok. You are ok. Nothing bad happened. I am safe. I promise.
The next thing you hear is her making a sideways comment to Britt. You have no clue as to what is said because it's… in a different language? Yeah, you must still be oxygen-deprived because you are certain that was neither English nor Spanish.
She shifts and you can't help it…
"I'm just going to sit beside you, I promise." She does exactly that. "Look at me, LuLu… hi there… can you take a deep breath for me, leone coraggioso?"
You don't understand the words except to the extent that they must be a nickname of some sort. You obey her question and take as deep a breath in as you can, and after a few more minutes, you are back to feeling…
Well,… whatever is the "normal" that has settled upon you in the last several days.
Once you are able to take in enough oxygen, and your chest feels a little less tight, you force yourself to pull back, to where you are and her are still in contact, but also enough that you can turn to see where you are.
Somehow, you have ended up in the living room. Brittany and Santana are sitting across from you on the other couch.
"Dovremmo dirle che sei fangoso?" Brittany says... something... and your eyes widen as you realize that… that it actually happened. And you didn't just imagine them speaking in a different language. Your eyes shoot to Santana's and… she is looking at Britt in surprise as well.
"Non lo so. Non voglio far arrabbiare suo padre, ma non voglio mentirle per nulla di ciò che è accaduto a scuola."
Your eyes snap back to Rachel. She looks at you almost the same exact time. "Hi there," Her eyes flit across your face before coming back to your own.
"There are some things we need to talk about, but right now, how about we go and see what we have for lunch? I think all of us could use something to eat, especially you."
You are worried about that first part, but push it down in favor of the second. Now that it's been mentioned, you are hungry, so you take the hand she holds out when she stands up.
The four of you venture into the kitchen where you find Jacob and Puck. You all discuss lunch and after you veto several ideas – no pizza, because the thought of it makes you sick – you finally reach a decision of vegan lasagna.
*1 hour later – 2:15 p.m.*
You are anxious throughout the entire time it takes Jacob to run to the grocery store and buy the needed ingredients for the lasagna.
He comes home and Rachel is the one to prepare it. You stay in the kitchen with her, practically attached to her as she moves around the workspace.
You know something has happened. You know because her body language says so. Her eyes were red when she came in and she is dressed differently, and you can't fight off the panic that stirs in you that she was hurt, even after they promised she would be safe.
The prep time for the lasagna takes about 25 minutes, because most of the ingredients, like the peppers and onions, are left out. It will take just under an hour to cook.
You want to ask. You try to ask. But that disconnect is still there, so you stay silent, and you stay in touch with her, and you wait it out, hoping she will tell you.
Hoping she will not lie to you.
As she shuts the oven, checking the temperature and the timer, you watch her. She just… stands there. Not turning to face you. You can't read her from here, but you also cannot bring yourself to tug on the wrist you are holding, to make her turn around.
A noise to your left makes you jump and you are immediately pressed against her, facing away, towards the doorway.
It's Santana and Brittany.
The sight should ease the panic; it should make you loosen up. But it doesn't. And that… well, it makes you falter.
You narrow your eyes at your two best friends. A gnawing in your stomach sends chills through your body. You try to figure out what that feeling is. What about these two girls is leaving you more… unsettled… than what has been considered normal these past several days.
"Quinn?"
She pulls you out of your thoughts. You blink and find yourself back in the kitchen. She is standing in front of you, with her hands slightly raised but not touching you.
You ignore her, though. You are still looking at the two girls over in the doorway. Something about them has changed. You don't see your two best friends. You see the two persons who were with her today. The only two persons who were supposed to be able to prevent whatever happened, from happening.
"Quinn," She enunciates it with actually touching you now, and you look down at her. She looks concerned, her eyebrows knitting together.
You try to fucking speak. But you cannot. You have never hated your inability to process things like a normal person more than you do at this very moment.
So, instead, you go back to the basics.
You reach for her and she responds by holding her arms out, wrists and palms upwards. You touch her, your hands on her wrists in a way that her hands are on your wrists.
Glancing away from the two girls at the doorway, you try to remember what she has taught you about doing this.
Holding her wrists with your pinkies, ring fingers, and thumbs, you use your index finger and your middle finger to tap something out.
(What happened?)
Rachel sighs as she watches you. You wonder if she remembers it. The secret code, the one that was for you and her. The one she taught you years ago.
She does not respond right away. In fact, she does not even look at you, and for some reason, it gives you a funny feeling. Your heart sinks and your head becomes busy with whirling thoughts again, except this time, they are darker and more ominous…
Nice going, Quinn! So much for not overwhelming her.
It's happening.
Don't you see? You pushed her over the edge.
Can you blame her?
You really thought she'd forgive you after everything you've put her through? You are lucky she has given you this much time!
You might as well pack up now. One word to her fathers and you will be out on the street.
But hey, if you're lucky, maybe Santana or Brittany will let you stay with them for a few nights…
"LuLu…"
It's the softest she has ever spoken. You think she is trying to lessen the blow because you just know what is about to happen.
You should stay strong because after all, you are the cause of all the turmoil she is feeling right now. If you had better behaved at home, your father would not have had to discipline you.
If you had been a good girl, you would not be pregnant right now. If you had obeyed your father, were stronger, were not so riddled with anxiety your whole life…
She is going to ask you to leave, you just know it, and you should refrain from doing what you are about to do, but…
Your facial expression crumbles, and… you throw your arms around her, burying your face in her neck. She stumbles a little but then quickly regains her composure.
"Oh, Luce," She sighs it more than saying it. You feel her hands on your arms and there is that stupid voice again. The one telling you that she is going to pry your own arms out from around her neck but…
She does not do that, surprisingly. Instead, she just rests them there and addresses her next statement to Santana.
"T? I need you to go tell my dads that they can come out of their office now. And…" She trails off here, and you feel her trailing her fingertips up and down your arms but you stay still and don't do anything in response to it.
She sighs heavily and suddenly, she sounds incredibly exhausted when she says, "We need to eat… just something simple. Sandwiches, maybe? And chips. Not the best or the healthiest meal, but it would be the quickest."
She seems to be speaking to someone and no one at the same time, and that is what you think, until you hear, much closer than before, Santana's voice from beside both of you.
"Britt and I can do the sandwiches. We can have smoothies with them, that should be enough until we are all calmed down and can have an actual meal."
Rachel nods. "Ok. Thank you." She sighs once more before she asks, "LuLu, can you listen for a second?"
Against your better judgment, you nod your head.
"I want you to follow me down to the basement, alright? And–… So we can talk about some things, okay?"
You do exactly that, following her out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and down the stairs to the basement. It's quiet down here as the movie has stopped playing and the VCR player turned off automatically.
She is holding your hand and you are walking as closely as possible without tripping.
"I know you are worried, Lucy," She is saying. "And I want you to know, before I start explaining, that what happened… it was out of our hands. Okay? And I am… as ok as I can be, given the recent circumstances, but right now, LuLu? Right now, I am okay. I was not hurt, not physically."
Her words do nothing to ease the panic inside of you, but you stay quiet, and you listen, hoping that she will get to actually saying what it is that happened.
The two of you go over to the couch and she takes the blanket that you and Puck had used earlier. It's fluffy and faded and you recognize it as one that she has had for years. You remember when it used to be big enough to swallow you both whole but now that you are both grown up, it seems much smaller.
"Lay down for me, Angel," She tells you to which you obey immediately. She covers you up with the blanket and then sits in front of you on the floor. "I need you to listen to me, to all of what I am going to tell you. Okay?"
Those words… they stir something inside of you. You cannot help the worry that consumes you, and it must show on your face because suddenly, she is shaking her and reaching towards your face.
"Oh, LuLu. I know things are really messed up right now but I promise you that this is not–…" She shakes her head but does not continue, at least, not that line of thought. Instead, she switches, and whispers, "My leone coraggioso, what is going on in that head of yours, hm? What has you so scared?"
You reach out for her wrist, taking a moment to think this through before you plunge headfirst into what could be a very bad idea.
Using your index and middle fingers, you tap out a message on her wrist – (Please don't make me leave).
Then… you wait.
You don't expect her eyes to snap up to yours so quickly or for anger to flash through them, and you worry that it's directed towards yourself until she is asking, "Who said you had to?"
You don't respond and this prompts her to become more frantic, "Quinn. Answer me."
"No one," You manage to choke out. She is quiet, thinking, and that big brain of hers seems to catch up with everything because the next thing you know, she is collapsing back against the edge of the couch.
You watch her, waiting.
"Lucy, what has happened to make you think you have to leave?"
You are so, so fucking tired of crying, of being weak. You're a Quinn Fabray and Fabrays are not weak.
But…
You are also Lucy. The little girl who loved to dress up and watch princess movies and who cried whenever she got a "boo-boo", before she became Quinn, and learned that crying is weak, and Fabrays are not weak.
You cannot make your mind and mouth connect to formulate the words; so instead, you tap it out on her wrist…
(I am scared).
"What are you scared of, Angel?"
You forego talking about you might having to leave and instead ask the one question that has not left you alone since she arrived back here nearly two hours ago.
(Something happened at school).
She sighs, dropping eye contact with you and for a moment, you fear she is going to brush it off or worse, lie to you about whatever it is that has happened.
Thankfully, she does neither. She just looks at you, her brown eyes flitting across your face for a moment, and then…
"Yes, something did happen."
You swallow past the lump suddenly in your throat and urge yourself not to back out…
(You were slushied).
Your heart drops as she does not answer verbally, instead, taking your own wrist and tapping out (Yes).
Before you can do anything in response to that, Santana is calling out to both you. You are up and facing her before you even know what it is you are doing.
Now you understand that feeling from earlier. It is like a second nature feeling when you are around someone who has done something or, in this case, not done something.
Like, protect her…
"We didn't know what kind of sandwiches you were in the mood for," Santana is saying. "So we went with all kinds. There is turkey and cheese, ham and cheese, plain turkey, plain ham, – you get the idea, – both yours and ours, and also peanut butter separate and then with strawberry and grape jelly."
Brittany cuts in here with, "Don't worry though; we made sure to keep the peanut butter ones on a different plate and away from the others, so Q does not accidentally touch it."
"T …"
"We also did a variety of smoothies – a strawberry one, a banana one, blueberry and raspberry, some are mixed, then one with pineapples and blueberries, which is for B, and a few others."
"'Tana…"
"Jake is going to bring them down in a few minutes. He stopped by on his lunch break and helped Brittany and me with lunch."
"Santana!"
This finally snaps her attention over to the two of you. She takes in both of you, lingering on yourself, and then, she must realize something, because she is suddenly standing straighter, and becomes incredibly serious…
"You told her, didn't you?" And at Rachel's nod, she mutters Mierda under her breath.
You narrow your eyes as Brittany comes closer, holding two plates of what you assume are the peanut butter sandwiches.
There is a stare-off between you and your best friend, and it is only broken by Rachel stepping in between the two of you.
"Let's eat, shall we?" She says, giving you a look that just dares you to argue. You spare one last look to Santana…
But then you nod, and you choose a sandwich, and smile in thanks to Brittany when she hands you a smoothie, which were apparently brought down by Jacob at some point.
You sit close to Rachel, and, sensing it would be best to, Santana simply sits down across from you next to Brittany.
I hope I was able to do justice with this. As you can see, Quinn has mixed feelings on several things, including what she and Noah are going to do about the baby. Also, I played into her insecurities with her thinking Rachel is going to start getting irritated with her (about the fear of her being hurt if she is out of Quinn's sight).
I really hope I was able to show everything correctly, like her insecurities/self-doubt and indecisiveness about the baby. She will have trust issues now with Santana and Britt but that will be resolved (sort of) in a few chapters.
Please review and let me know what you thought! :) Would you like another chapter in Quinn's point of view, and if so, would prefer second or first person? Next update will be Sunday, the story turns 4 months! Then another one on the 26, when my FFnet account turns 5 years old! :)
Translations: Britt/Rach speaking Italian...
Dovremmo dirle che sei fangoso – Translation: Do you think we should tell her about the slushies?
Non lo so. Non voglio far arrabbiare suo padre, ma non voglio mentirle per nulla di ciò che è accaduto a scuola. – Translation: I don't know. I don't want to upset her further, but I also do not want to lie to her about anything that happened at school.
Leone coraggioso – Translation: Brave lion
