Author's Note: This chapter wouldn't have been possible without Mike Ownby's Americanization and general beta checking. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
You can find detailed meta, story and author notes, and thoughts on the writing process at my Tumblr, yumi-michiyo.
Ashley seems more than happy to let Quinn take the paperwork and the baby home, and she and Leroy set up an appointment in which Quinn has to make a decision. While they're doing that, Quinn steps away from the group to make a call.
"Hello, Mercedes?"
"Hey, Q! What's up?"
Quinn clutches her phone. "It's kind of a long story, and I'll be headed over soon to explain, but the short version is that I'll be staying with Berry for a week."
There's a pause. "Okay, yeah, that sounds like a long story. Do you want me to pack your things?"
"I… don't know." She twists her shirt between her fingers; a bad habit she's somehow picked up after she got pregnant.
"Hey, chill. Come over first, then we'll talk, alright? I'll let my mom know. She'll fix you that lemon cake you love."
Quinn chuckles wetly. "Thanks, 'Cedes."
"Anytime, girl."
She's about to hang up when she notices Rachel looking at her. "Oh, hang on a sec; I forgot to mention that Berry and her dads are coming with me."
"... Right," replies Mercedes. "I'll let Mom know. I'd ask, but I guess this is part of that long story?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. Text when you're on your way here."
For now, though; it's time to go – home, for lack of a better word. Even though it feels weird to be calling someplace that she'll only be staying in for a week home, but she's had four different homes since she found out she was pregnant, and Quinn's a real trooper at this point.
Ashley fixes them up with a loaner baby car seat that fits in the middle seat of the Berry SUV and – much to Quinn's relief – serves as a buffer zone between her and Rachel. She sits, mute, in the backseat, pressed as close to the car window as she can possibly get.
"Where to, Quinn?" asks Leroy.
"The Joneses, please."
Rachel straightens in the backseat. "Yes, you're right; we'll need to fetch your things for your stay with us. But this would be an excellent opportunity to ask Mercedes if she'll be interested to sing a duet with me while Glee still exists." She looks at Quinn, who tries to shrink into her seat and disappear. "Come to think of it, you and I haven't yet gotten an opportunity to sing together."
"And thank goodness for that," growls Quinn quietly.
Leroy must have had bat ears, because he suddenly asks: "What was that, girls?" And Quinn knows by girls he means Quinn.
But Rachel pipes up instead. "Nothing, Dad!"
He laughs. "Rach, honey, I know you're excited to talk to Mercedes, but maybe that can wait until after we've sorted Quinn out?"
"You're right, Dad. I should have been more considerate. I apologize, Quinn."
"Yeah, it's whatever," mutters Quinn.
So Quinn still hates Leroy, but maybe not as much as she did. And she knows he knows, from the look he shoots her in the rearview mirror (the wink is a little too much, but she lets it go).
The rest of the ride is spent in silence until they're pulling up outside the Joneses' house, where Mercedes is waiting impatiently outside. "Quinn!"
Quinn beams. She lets herself get wrapped up in a massive hug. "Hey, 'Cedes."
"Hello, Mercedes," says Rachel.
"Hey, Rachel. Hi, Mr and Mr Berry. And hello, you!" Mercedes says without missing a beat, her voice going syrupy and exaggerated for the baby. "Come on in, my mom will be pleased to see all of you."
Aurelia Jones greets everyone with a warm smile and lemon cake. Quinn tries not to inhale hers; she's missed this.
"Thank you for bringing them home, Leroy, Hiram, Rachel," says Aurelia. Quinn feels her face go hot; she bends over her lemon cake.
"We should be thanking you and your family for taking care of Quinn," replies Hiram.
"Nonsense, we did what any decent folk should be expected to do."
From the way Hiram's eyes light up at the unspoken jab, Quinn can tell they are going to get along like a house on fire. But then Aurelia is turning to her and saying: "Mercedes was saying you have quite the story for us, dear."
"Yes, ma'am. Uh, so… I have a week to decide if I'm going to keep the baby. The Berrys have invited me to stay with them while I figure things out." Quinn pauses, looking down at her hands, unsure of what to say next.
"I've made arrangements to babysit while the girls are at school," adds Hiram smoothly. "Of course, this would be a temporary arrangement, but I'm confident we'll be able to come up with a permanent solution after Quinn's made her decision."
"Well, I have no objections to that. Though we've told you a thousand times, Quinn, we'll be happy to take the both of you in if you choose to keep her, or just yourself."
"I know, ma'am," says Quinn around the lump in her throat. "You've been so nice to me, but I…" She swallows hard, even as heat fills her cheeks. She hasn't done anything to deserve so many nice things, and yet she has two homes open to her.
Leroy clears his throat. "Quinn, I believe you still need to pack your things."
"Yes, that's right. Rachel, Mercedes, why don't the two of you go on up with Quinn to her room? I think she could use your help packing," says Aurelia. "Leave this lil' cutie here with us. Go on, git."
Quinn nods thickly, grateful for the reprieve. She heads upstairs, taking advantage of her back being turned on everyone to wipe her eyes.
Her room – technically Mercedes' older brother's old room – looks perfectly impersonal; her father didn't give her enough time to pack more than the essentials. Mercedes' parents have offered to take her shopping, but Quinn declined each time, not wanting to be indebted to them more than she already is.
Two large duffle bags in Cheerio red-and-white sit on the floor beside the bed. "I've taken your bags out of the attic," says Mercedes. Quinn nods.
"Thanks."
"I'm well aware that I'm only here so that our parents can speak frankly without us," says Rachel, "so if you don't want me to help – or even be here, for that matter – I fully understand."
"It's fine. Not like there's much to pack, anyway." It's depressingly apparent to Quinn that packing things to last her for a week doesn't leave much else in the room, and that she might as well pack all her belongings. "I don't need any help."
Mercedes shrugs. "We're right here if you need anything," she says. Rachel nods.
She hates how they're treating her like she's made of glass; Quinn even wishes Rachel would say something annoying, so she could snap at her. But instead she's left to gather up her belongings while Mercedes and Rachel carry on an amiable conversation in the background, pretending not to notice Quinn.
She can't delay her departure any longer. Quinn hates how Mercedes and Rachel insist on taking a bag each – and she lets them.
Aurelia is waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. She catches Quinn in a gentle yet firm hug. "Don't be a stranger, Quinn," says Aurelia gently. "You'll always have a home here with us."
Quinn nods, her eyes already welling up; she buries her face in Aurelia's shoulder. She hates that she's teared up so many times in front of all these people.
"See you tomorrow, you guys."
She notices Rachel glance at her, before she says: "Goodbye, Mercedes," for the both of them.
After she's said her goodbyes to Mercedes and Aurelia, Quinn gets into the car. She knows exactly where the Berry house is; the school jocks (and some of the Cheerios) have played plenty of pranks on the house of the only gay couple in Lima. While she's never taken part in those pranks, she didn't exactly try to stop them, either.
To her credit, Rachel's newfound tactful silence towards Quinn lasts for the duration of the car ride. She directs her chatter at her fathers when she's not singing along to whatever's playing on the car radio, or cooing at the baby.
Quinn's just glad that her kid's got enough of her genes not to entertain Rachel's ridiculousness; the baby sleeps the entire way back.
"Here we are." Leroy pulls into the driveway of a neat little two-story house. "Rachel, could you show Quinn and the baby up to their room? It's been a long day, and I'm sure they could use a nap. I know I could."
"Of course, Dad," she chirps, opening the car door and hopping out. She undoes the buckles holding the baby and – waits.
"Jesus, Berry," snaps Quinn. "What are you waiting for?"
"She's your baby, Quinn," returns Rachel, uncharacteristically soft. "You should hold her."
"... No."
"You're supposed to be taking care of her for a week. And, hopefully, for a while after that."
"I don't like what you're insinuating," bites out Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.
Rachel puts her hands on her hips. "Well, I couldn't care less what you like, Quinn. You agreed to think this over for a week, and that means giving yourself a chance to make a fully-formed decision, not being deliberately spiteful to me."
Quinn could swear she hears one of the Berry men whisper, "Oh, snap" to the other. She grits her teeth. She sneaks a glance at Leroy over Rachel's shoulder and sees him give her a significant look. "Fine," says Quinn. She scoops the baby into her arms – gently, otherwise Rachel would nag her to death and leave her maybe-not child motherless – and walks up the drive towards the front door.
"Be careful of her head and neck," says Rachel, following closely on Quinn's heels.
"Does it look like I just slung her over my shoulder like a cavewoman? I know how to hold babies, damnit."
"I never said you didn't. I was merely reminding you to be careful. And perhaps mind your language around Baby Fabray."
"She doesn't actually understand human speech yet. Just like you."
Rachel lets out a small huff, but doesn't respond to the insult otherwise. She speeds up so she can reach the front door before Quinn, and unlocks it, standing in the doorway to hold it open. "My dads will bring your things upstairs," she says, not actually looking at Quinn. "The kitchen is on the left, living room on the right. Your room is upstairs; if you'll follow me, I'll show you where it is."
"You don't have to give me the grand tour, I can figure it out. Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do, like burning your argyle sweaters."
"Honestly, Quinn, sometimes I wonder if the reason why you keep using the same unoriginal insults is because that was the way you were programmed." Rachel reaches the top of the stairs and points down the hall. "That's my fathers' room, this is mine, and this is the guest room. Which is now yours."
Quinn eyes the huge gold star affixed to Rachel's room door with distaste. "Is it too much to hope that my room looks nothing like yours?"
Rachel rolls her eyes. "Ha ha. I'm sure you thought that was incredibly amusing." She opens the door to reveal a normal-looking queen-sized bed. Quinn steps in to survey the place; normal-looking dresser, desk, bedside table – and surprisingly, a crib.
"My fathers and I have ensuite bathrooms," says Rachel, "but there's another bathroom down the hall, first door on your left. We use it occasionally, like when someone fails to adhere to the bathroom schedule, and there's a bit of overlap."
"I don't know why you thought I would care about that."
Rachel ignores her. "Daddy says he'll take the baby to work with him while we're at school for the week."
Quinn purses her mouth. Here is a legitimate concern that has nothing to do with how much she loathes the situation. "Is that even professional?"
"Daddy owns his own law firm, so he's allowed to do what he wants," says Rachel frostily. "If you're concerned about whether he can adequately care for the baby and juggle work at the same time, he does have employees who are more than willing to babysit such as Gladys, the receptionist at his office, who is a lovely lady."
"And you would know this, how?"
"Gladys has babysat me occasionally ever since I was an infant," replies Rachel curtly.
"Berry, you were an infant approximately a century ago." It's a weak, overly-contrived insult, and Quinn knows Rachel knows it too. She tries to keep the flush from her cheeks and fails miserably.
Rachel simply frowns at her. "If you would like to voice any other unfounded concerns about my fathers' long-time family friends caring for Baby Fabray, I'll remind you that someone was happy to give her away to strangers, permanently."
Quinn decides it's better for her sanity if she doesn't interrupt Rachel anymore.
"All of our personal schedules are on the fridge, as well as the carpool schedule and dinner timetable, but I'll email a copy of those to you later. I'm assuming you would want to rejoin the Cheerios and Glee as soon as possible, as well as the – Celibacy Club," Rachel clears her throat, and hurries on with her monologue before Quinn can open her mouth, "but if you have any other extracurricular activities or commitments that would require you to stay after school next week, please inform either my fathers or myself so we may accommodate them on the carpool schedule."
"I… what." Her head is spinning from the barrage of information, to the point that she completely tuned out the second half in favour of waiting for Rachel to run out of breath. "Could you repeat that, but like, in human speech."
Rachel huffs in irritation. "My fathers will be driving us to and from school. Unless you inform them otherwise, they will assume that you and I will have identical travelling schedules. The rest of the information is superfluous and I will send you a PowerPoint encapsulating the key points later."
Quinn bites her lower lip, focusing her thoughts on her situation. "Oh. Uhm – I don't think that's an issue. Coach won't let me back on the team just like that, and I think Celibacy Club is pretty much a joke now."
"Can I expect you to be joining us in Glee for the week?"
"Yeah, I guess." Quinn walks over to the crib to place the baby in her arms inside. "I, uh, wasn't expecting this to be here."
"It was mine," says Rachel. Quinn glances at her, surprised. "My fathers kept all of my baby things in anticipation of their future grandchildren. Daddy and I set it up just before we went to pick Dad up and go to the hospital. The bedding is brand-new, of course, and clean; we made sure to use hypoallergenic detergent."
"Of course. Your old things have been in storage for, what? At least a century? Are they argyle?" The insults roll off her tongue with ease; they're something she's familiar with in this unfamiliar situation. They're all she has control over at the moment.
Rachel rolls her eyes. "Hilarious, Quinn. One might almost think that you spend every waking moment thinking up insults for me."
"I don't have to. You make it so easy."
There's a knock on the (open) door, and Leroy walks in. "Glad to see you girls are settling in just fine," he says, shooting Quinn a pointed look. Quinn half-expects Rachel to complain about her, but Rachel just clasps her hands together and says: "I've informed Quinn about the carpooling, Dad."
"Thank you, sweetheart." He kisses the top of her head. "Here's your bags, Quinn." Leroy shrugs off the bags like they weigh nothing.
"Thank you, Mr Berry." She thinks she might resemble a lump of Swiss cheese, with all the penetrating glances Leroy Berry's been shooting at her.
"No problem. Now, it's been a long day; why don't you freshen up and take a nap, and we'll see you downstairs for dinner later? That is, if you're feeling up to it." To Rachel, he says: "Rachel, I think your Daddy could use your help in the kitchen, and the hydrangeas out front are looking less than stage-worthy."
Rachel beams her 'I'm-a-perfect-little-star' smile at him. "Of course, Dad."
When she's gone, Quinn turns to Leroy. "This is your idea of repayment? Forcing me to stay in the guest room of your house for a week?" She doesn't mention in Rachel's company, but that's kind of a moot point.
"The dungeon in the basement is currently under renovation," he says dryly.
And again, Quinn's taken aback. Sarcasm is something she expects from Sue Sylvester, and Santana Lopez to a lesser degree; not from a grown man. "You can't talk to me like that."
"Oh, yes I can. It seems to me that a big reason for your behaviour towards Rachel is because everyone's treated you like the sweet, butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth princess whom you appear to be." He folds his arms across his chest, his expression stony. "Consider it part of the repayment process."
"Doesn't repayment normally involve money?" she fires back.
"While being a law enforcement officer isn't exactly lucrative, my husband owns his own legal practice. We have worked very hard to provide Rachel with everything she needs. But, as I'm sure you know, money can't buy everything." Leroy looks at the baby, peacefully asleep in her crib, and back at Quinn. "We want to help you, Quinn. Even Rachel. But you would never accept charity if you thought it was done out of pity, correct?"
She doesn't say anything, mostly because she hates him, and partially because he's right.
"Speaking as an adoptive father, one of our greatest fears for the first year of Rachel's life was that Shelby would change her mind and come after us. In a small town like this, who do you think the court is likely to award custody to? A gay couple who filled out all the legal paperwork, or the biological mother?"
She still doesn't say anything, but she starts fidgeting with her dress.
"You are still a child. Don't look at me like that; legally, you are still a minor. But since you have a child of your own, you are an adult now, like it or not, and I'll treat you like one." Leroy rubs his jaw. "Take the week to think it over carefully, now that you aren't in danger of being kicked out."
"Then what happens after I decide? Keep or give her up? You're gonna turn me out?"
"No," he says, surprisingly gentle for how cold his words were earlier. "As long as you need a home, Quinn, you'll always have one here." Leroy pauses. "Whether we'll have one or two people moving in. Aurelia and her husband have said the same, so if you think Rachel is too difficult to live with – " his mouth twitches, "– the Joneses are happy to take you in, whatever you decide."
Quinn's mouth goes dry.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to do my share of the chores, otherwise my husband and daughter will join forces to wreak havoc on me." He sighs dramatically. "I always knew we should have had a boy; I am so outnumbered in this household." Leroy walks to the door, pausing on the threshold. "I'll send Rachel to let you know when dinner's ready, if you're up to it; otherwise, tell her off in that charming way you have, and we'll send up a tray."
"... Thank you, Mr Berry." Quinn tries not to flush with shame, and fails spectacularly.
"I know I've just threatened you, or something that feels like it, so I'll let that go. But it's Leroy, Quinn."
Once he's gone, she flops onto the bed with a weary sigh. "Is this punishment for having sex before marriage or something?" she asks no one in particular.
She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Quinn knows, it's gotten dark outside, and there's an insistent knocking at the door. "Quinn? It's me. May I come in?"
"Yeah."
When she appears, beaming like she's spotted a camera, Quinn regrets everything. "Dinner's ready. Will you be joining us, or would you like me to bring you a tray?"
"I'll go. I'm not an invalid or a prisoner." Quinn stands up. She's still not used to not having to make a big production out of it, but Rachel doesn't comment.
"She's been sleeping the whole time?" asks Rachel instead, nodding at the crib.
"I guess." As long as the baby's not crying, Quinn counts that as a victory.
Rachel purses her lips. "She should be getting hungry soon. Daddy says I was a voracious eater for a month or so after they brought me home."
"And all that milk couldn't make you any taller? What a shame."
"Okay, that is it!" Rachel stamps her foot; Quinn blinks, startled. "I have had it up to here with your rudeness, and your uncooperative attitude. Just what is your problem, Quinn?"
"All of this!" she waves her arms around angrily. "I don't want to be here, with that baby. Is that so hard to understand?"
"We're helping you!"
"I didn't ask for your help!"
If Rachel noticed the emphasis on your, she doesn't say it. "You need help, Quinn. We're able to help you."
Quinn sets her jaw. "I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't need you to come swooping in with your damn savior complex and make this decision any harder than it has to be."
"In case you've forgotten, I had the fullest intention of respecting your rejection of my help. I understand that my dad may have overstepped his authority by helping you without our knowledge, but I trust he had good reasons for doing so."
"How do I know you didn't just stomp your foot and make him do it anyway?" scoffs Quinn. "Your dads spoiled you, Berry; your whole life, you've been showered with every little thing your heart desires. You've never had to do anything you didn't want to, or live up to some impossible standard set for you. Your life is perfect. Mine's not." She takes a deep breath. "So, step off, Berry."
Instead of getting angry, Rachel chews on her lip. "Someday, I believe you'll learn that accepting help isn't a sign of weakness," she says quietly. Quinn hates that she can see pity in her expression.
Summoning the last reserves of her disdain, Quinn looks down her nose at Rachel and says: "I think you should leave."
"Fine." Rachel exits dramatically, as usual.
Before Quinn can catch her breath, the baby starts fidgeting and whimpering in her crib.
"Not you too," says Quinn irritably.
"Do you need a hand?"
Hiram Berry, currently her favorite member of the Berry family (only because he's interacted with her the least) stands in the doorway. He has a bottle in his hand.
"How did you guess?"
He shrugs. "I've had plenty of experience from raising Rachel. She's been sleeping the whole day, it was about time for her bottle. Do you know how to feed her?"
"Can't you just do it?"
Hiram doesn't argue, simply crossing the room to take the fussing baby in his arms. She whines and pushes the bottle away.
Good grief. Even the damn baby was being difficult. "Give her here," says Quinn, annoyed. Hiram hands the baby over, passing Quinn the bottle once the baby is comfortable in her arms.
She sits on the bed to feed her. The baby latches onto the rubber nipple and starts feeding.
"You're a natural."
"I used to babysit for extra money. My parents thought it would be good practice for when I was older. How ironic." Quinn adjusts the baby in the crook of her elbow. "Are you here to yell at me?"
"No? I just came to deliver her bottle. Why would I yell at you?"
Quinn blushes in shame. "For picking a fight with Rachel," she admits, her stomach curling up in discomfort.
To her surprise, Hiram shrugs. "Rachel's perfectly capable of fighting her own battles."
She's reminded of the showdown in the hospital earlier.
He glances sideways at her. "Do you want me to yell at you?"
Quinn looks away from him. "I would really prefer that you didn't," she says quietly.
"We're in agreement, then." Hiram nods at the baby. "She's finished, you should burp her. Here…" He hands her a dish towel.
"Uhm…" Her hands are full. Hiram reads her hesitation.
"Do you need help?"
"... Yes, please."
He drapes the towel over her shoulder. Quinn rests the baby over her towel-covered shoulder and pats her back, gratified when the baby lets out a few burps obligingly.
"She's an easy baby," says Hiram approvingly. "Rachel used to be such a holy terror. We had to sing to her for hours, otherwise she absolutely refused to go down for her afternoon naps; and heaven forbid we should omit Sondheim from our repertoire. You're a good girl, aren't you?" he coos at the baby.
"Ga," says the baby. She grabs a fistful of Quinn's hair and pulls. Quinn yelps.
"Looks like I spoke too soon," he chuckles.
"Yeah," agrees Quinn. She takes the tiny fist in her hand, prying the fingers off. "Hey, ease off, okay?"
"Nagooloo," she complains. The baby latches onto Quinn's finger instead and promptly calms down, presumably contented with her new acquisition.
Hiram clasps his hands together. "She is so precious, I could eat her up."
But Quinn doesn't really hear him. Her attention is focused on the warm, cooing bundle she's holding, and the grip on her finger. The baby's vivid blue eyes seem to stare right through her.
She feels exposed.
"Quinn?"
"Huh?"
Hiram chuckles. "I said, I think I'll leave you two to get better acquainted." He takes the now-empty bottle. "I'll be right back with your dinner. I'm guessing you wouldn't want the vegan option?"
Quinn actually, visibly shudders. "God, no. Uh, thanks, Mr Berry."
"If you can call my husband Leroy, you should get used to calling me Hiram, Quinn."
Okay, the last bit about Hiram Berry being the Berry she likes the most? She might have to rethink that, because all of them have the same annoying compulsion to get the last word in before making a dramatic exit.
She's jolted from horrible dreams by crying. Quinn's glad; it's a recurring nightmare she's been having where she keeps getting kicked out of people's houses on an endless loop. But, then again, her reality – living in the Berry household with a crying baby in the middle of the night – might be worse. "Oh, no," says Quinn, shuffling over to the crib, "please stop that."
The baby, being a baby, pays absolutely no heed to Quinn's desperation and continues wailing. She kicks her little arms and legs in displeasure. Unfortunately for Quinn, the crib isn't one of those rockable ones that'll let her stop the noise without actually having to touch the baby again. She hovers for a good five minutes before she reaches out and scoops up the baby. "You can't be hungry again, can you? You don't get to do this to me," she tells her, jiggling her a little because it seems like the right thing to do, "you're not mine, and I don't have to be nice to you."
The baby seems to agree with her last sentiment in particular, because she lets out an almighty wail and cries harder. Quinn goes back to awkward 'shhh's and pacing the room, too afraid to garner further protests. Her sleep schedule is in danger.
There's a knock at the door. Presumably, the baby was crying too loudly for Quinn to hear it, because Rachel barges into the room. "Hand her over," says Rachel.
Quinn clutches the baby tighter. Pending adoption or no, those were not the words any new mother wanted to hear in the wee hours of the morning from someone who had just entered without permission. "I beg your pardon?"
"Hand her over," repeats Rachel. She looks tired. "I think I can calm her down."
Quinn's desperate. It's the only explanation for the serious lapse of judgment that occurs when she hands the baby to Rachel, who starts crooning Not While I'm Around to her. Much to Quinn's consternation, it seems to work; the baby's wails get less piercing, and she jams her thumb into her mouth.
Rachel starts to pace the room, continuing to sing softly (and act out the lyrics with her hand occasionally, when not rubbing the baby's back). Quinn drops onto the bed to continue staring.
Gradually, cries turn to grumbles which turn to snuffles. Rachel smiles triumphantly, and puts the baby back into her crib. Turning to Quinn, she starts: "My dads always – "
" – sang Sondheim to you. Yes, I know," interrupted Quinn quickly. "Interesting choice for a lullaby, though." She rolls on her back to stare up at the ceiling.
"What can I say? Baby Fabray has good taste." Annoyingly, instead of leaving, Rachel sits on the bed beside Quinn. "She quieted relatively quickly. She's such a good baby."
"Yeah." Silence has never felt so good. Quinn closes her eyes and savors it. "... Thanks, Berry."
"Don't mention it, Quinn," says Rachel brightly. "I'm happy to help. In fact, if you'd like me to sing you to sleep…" And she gets this manic look in her eyes like she'll burst into song any moment, like a malfunctioning jukebox.
"Hard pass," says Quinn, not opening her eyes.
Rachel sighs. "If that's what you want," she says, and then gets up. "You know where to find me should you require any further assistance, or my singing talent. Good night, Quinn. Good night, baby." Rachel shuffles out, blowing a kiss at the crib, shutting the door on her way out.
Quinn's next nightmare is about Rachel. Specifically, Rachel stroking her hair and singing her a lullaby.
For a fleeting moment, she thinks she wouldn't hate it. But just as quickly, the thought is gone. "That's just creepy," she mumbles to herself, smacking her own cheeks lightly. "Get a grip, Fabray." She's distracted the entire time as she goes through her morning routine. The shower doesn't help, and she decides she maybe coffee will do the trick –
Her first instinct, upon seeing two men in the kitchen, is to scream. The second is to remember that this isn't her house, and neither of them are her dad. The third is to pinch herself to remember this is her life now.
"Good morning, Quinn," says Hiram, mercifully ignoring her mental breakdown. "Would you like some coffee?"
She nods dumbly, then remembers her manners. "Please," she croaks. "Thank you." Quinn seats herself at the table, taking the vacant seat closer to him.
"Lee, pour Quinn some coffee, will you? You're closer to the pot."
"Lazy bum."
"You love this bum."
Chuckling, Leroy brings the mug of coffee over; Quinn hastily averts her eyes so he won't catch her staring. "How do you like your coffee?"
"Um, one teaspoon of sugar and lots of milk."
He fetches the sugar and milk, adding them to the mug in Quinn's preferred quantities. "What would you like for breakfast? We have the usual breakfast foods, or you could have some of Rachel's bird food."
"I heard that, Dad!" Rachel interjects as she enters the kitchen. "Good morning, Dad, Daddy. Quinn." Greetings done, she whirls on Leroy, hands on her hips. "My vegan diet is both nutritionally-balanced, cruelty-free, and optimized for my busy lifestyle of being a Broadway star-in-the-making. It is not bird food."
"Of course, sweetie," he replies, bending at the waist to accept a kiss on the cheek from his daughter. Quinn realizes belatedly that he's wearing a frilly pink apron that says Kiss the Cook on the front. It's frankly disconcerting, since he has his officer's uniform under that. "So, Quinn. What'll it be? Hiram will be having toast and scrambled eggs, Rachel her bird food…"
"Dad!"
"... and bacon and eggs for me," he finishes. Quinn's stomach growls loudly at the mention of bacon, and she blushes.
"I'd like the same as you, please, Leroy. If it's not too much trouble."
He grins. "Certainly not! Finally, I'm not alone in this house of herbivores." And Leroy returns to the stove.
Much to Quinn's displeasure, Rachel sits beside her. "I hope you managed to get some rest," she says, "we have a long day today, and I would greatly appreciate it if you were able to keep up in Glee."
Quinn clenches her jaw. For the sake of her bacon, she'll be nice and civil. "I'll try not to collapse of exhaustion and mess up your plans."
Unfortunately for her, Rachel isn't familiar with sarcasm. She claps her hands together, beaming. "Thank you, Quinn! That's all I could ask for. I truly appreciate it."
The smell of sizzling bacon makes Quinn's mouth water – a good reason to keep quiet – and Rachel frown. "I fail to understand how you can bear to eat that, Dad. Think of the poor pigs that were murdered for your consumption." She glances at Quinn. "I recognize the fact that we have a guest means that I shall have to be more tolerant of your dietary preferences, but that doesn't change the reality of the animal cruelty that goes on, unchecked."
"Rachel, sweetie," says Hiram, not looking up from his newspaper, "we've talked about this."
"No lecturing Dad about veganism at mealtimes," recites Rachel grumpily.
"And I appreciate it, Rachel," says Leroy placidly. He flips the bacon in the pan.
"You know who would appreciate it more?" She pauses for effect. "The pig. If you hadn't already eaten it. They are intelligent creatures with feelings, not unlike us – "
"Rachel."
Quinn's eyes widen in surprise; it's Hiram who's spoken, and not Leroy. His voice is cold and authoritative, and it sounds incongruous coming from the smaller, nerdy-looking man.
She subsides, but clearly reluctantly. Rachel continues to mumbles incoherently under her breath, glaring at the frying pan as though it has personally wronged her.
Hiram smiles, and it's like the clouds have passed. "She's like this most mornings," he sighs, with a fond smile in Rachel's direction. "Our little Ray-Ray of sunshine."
"Daddy!"
Quinn keeps her attention on her coffee. Really, all she wants to do is cry. Her parents were never like this – so openly affectionate to her and each other – and seeing all this parental affection being lavished on Rachel and each other is stirring her insides up.
It's no wonder Rachel is unironically cheery and sunshine-y; she grew up with parents like these, who have showered her with unconditional love and support her entire life. All the Quinns and Santanas and slushies in the world could never bring down someone like this.
"It's in our job description as your fathers to embarrass you, sweetheart." Leroy sets a plate in front of her, bending to kiss the top of her head. The tofu scramble has salad leaves and cherry tomatoes on top of it, arranged into a smiley face.
Rachel sighs. "Thank you, Dad. It looks yummy." Under her breath, she adds: "At least not in front of Quinn."
Quinn pretends not to hear.
"And here's your breakfast, Miss Quinn," says the tall black man jovially. Her plate is also artfully arranged, with two fried-egg eyes, a generous helping of bacon as a wobbly smile, and buttered toast forming a pointed hat. Quinn doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Uh – thank you, sir. It's very cute."
"You're very welcome." Leroy squints at the bedazzled poster tacked to the fridge. "Hmm. Looks like it's my day to drive you girls to school. You have Glee this afternoon, don't you?"
"Yes, Dad." Rachel shoots a look at Quinn across the table; Quinn avoids her gaze. She pokes at her bacon (which is crispy around the edges, just the way she likes it). "Don't we, Quinn?"
"Mmhmm," says Quinn noncommittally. Truthfully, she doesn't feel like going to school at all. She's been the talk of the school for the past year because of her pregnancy; she's in no hurry to be back under their scrutiny with her newly-flat belly.
She notices the Berry men exchange looks; they're not being subtle about it at all. "You know, if you wanted to stay home from school today, Quinn…" says Hiram.
There's a clatter as Rachel drops her fork. "Daddy!"
"What?"
"Don't encourage her," says Rachel. She glances at Quinn and says, "Don't skip Glee, please."
"Because you need me to sing backup and sway in the background while you sing?" Quinn asks, temper rising.
"Because I want you there," says Rachel quietly. "Because it wouldn't be the same without you."
Hiram clears his throat. "We know it's been hard with the baby, Quinn; we heard you being up and down with her half the night. Goodness knows that we were falling asleep everywhere when Rachel was a baby herself."
"Daddy! Honestly," she huffs.
"We hear from Rachel that you're an exceptional student. Honor roll, I believe?" Leroy adds.
Quinn is startled into nodding. "I am."
"Rachel could bring your assignments home. I'm sure you could catch up with Glee; it is your last week of school, and I'm certain you wouldn't be missing much now that Regionals is over." Hiram sips his coffee. "If you decide to stay home, let me know, so I can break the news to Gladys," he says with a chuckle.
"I will. Thank you, Mr Berry – Hiram."
Rachel looks like she wants to say something, but catches herself at the last minute. Quinn is infinitely grateful for the reprieve.
Much to Rachel's delight (and Gladys' as well, according to a smiling Hiram), Quinn decides she does want to brave school.
Not because Rachel wants her there. No, Quinn Fabray is not soft, especially not for someone who has a habit of stealing her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Or someone who simply doesn't understand the value of silence, because Rachel won't stop babbling happily from the passenger seat while Leroy drives them to school.
No, Quinn is going to school because she owes Rachel for last night. And the day before. And for most of their freshman and sophomore years, really.
Rachel twists in the passenger seat to smile at her. "I'm really so glad you decided to come, Quinn," she burbles. "I know you're tired, and I certainly wouldn't begrudge you wanting to take a break, but everyone's been so worried about you, and I know they'll welcome you back eagerly. They've been pestering me about you daily."
Quinn doesn't say, if they've missed me so much, why didn't they come see me at the hospital? She just nods, mumbles something, and looks out the window.
"Here we are, ladies." Leroy pulls up in front of McKinley High. "Have a great day, and I will pick you up at… five. Right?"
"Yes, Dad. Thank you! Have a wonderful day! I love you!" Rachel hops out of the car.
Quinn looks at Leroy. "Uh – thank you for driving me to school, Mr Berry – Leroy. And for everything."
"I should be thanking you, Quinn," he says. "I know it's not easy being you right now, but you're doing wonderfully so far."
She doesn't know what to say to that, so Quinn ducks her head, mumbles something that might have been a thank you, and climbs out of the car to where Rachel is waiting.
"May I ask you a question, Quinn?"
"Go ahead."
"Are you averse to being seen entering the school with me?" Rachel asks, sounding surprisingly timid, and Quinn is momentarily taken aback; this Rachel is the Rachel she normally sees in school, not the Rachel she saw at home earlier.
"Berry, I'm not a Cheerio anymore," she says. "I'm living with you, along with the baby. I really don't think my popularity could sink any lower by being seen with you."
Rachel smiles tightly at her. "Excellent. Let's go, then."
It's not the same.
It's not very much different, either.
She was expecting pointing and staring and hushed whispers behind hands, and she does get a little of that, but for the most part, she is completely ignored. Life goes on.
Santana is standing by her locker when they enter. Quinn knows when Santana spots her, because the other girl presses her lips together and marches away from them, stiff and straight-backed. Brittany waves at her, but proceeds to jog after Santana.
Quinn sighs. "Remind me again why I'm here."
Rachel closes her locker. "You're here because I don't think I can face everyone on my own," she confesses softly. "Glee is over. We lost."
"Oh." Heat rushes to her face. "I forgot." She doesn't remember much from Regionals except pain, and screaming.
"I know, and it's fine. You had plenty of other things to be dealing with."
"Tell me about it."
Rachel smiles at her. "I'm certain there will be an opportunity to discuss what you missed in Glee this afternoon. By the way, I'd like to thank you again for agreeing to come. I really appreciate your moral and physical support."
"You don't have to keep thanking me, Berry. Seriously. It's getting a little weird." But Quinn doesn't say it with her usual venom. The smile she receives warms her heart, even if she'll never admit it.
Quinn could pretend nothing had changed the entire day. But she can't keep pretending once she walks into the choir room; the mood in Glee reminds her of a funeral home. She does get the odd smile here and there, and Mercedes' face lights up when she sees Quinn.
Finn ignores her. Puck keeps staring at her, willing her not to ignore him. Quinn can't wait to leave; thankfully, it seems that Rachel feels the same way.
No one seems inclined to speak up. The discussion struggles on, valiantly carried by Rachel and Mr Schue. Quinn actually is grateful that everyone seems too preoccupied with Glee to pay her and her newly-flat belly much attention.
Apart from Puck. He spends most of Glee trying to catch her eye; Quinn spends most of Glee pretending not to notice.
With about fifteen minutes left on the clock, Mr Schue just sort of – gives up, and lets them go early. Rachel stands up so fast that her chair screeches, and barrels out the door.
Which leaves Quinn staring after her. Rachel's her ride; she is supposed to be going home with her. Wordlessly, she gathers up Rachel's things and goes after her. It's a testament to the weird mood that no one says anything, and nobody stops her. Puck looks like he might go after her, but a glare shot in his direction makes him sit back down.
She'll have to deal with him later. But now, she needs to find Rachel.
It isn't difficult to find her. She's sitting in the little alcove that Quinn found, all those months ago, when she told Finn the truth about the baby's father.
"Hey." Quinn clears her throat. "You, uh, left your things in the choir room." She holds out Rachel's bag and gold star-encrusted binder to her.
Rachel sniffles and says, "Thank you." She takes her things and drops them on the floor beside her feet. It doesn't look like she's moving anytime soon, so Quinn sits next to her. God, she's so uncomfortable, and she feels guilty for not knowing what to say to Rachel apart from insulting her.
"Your dad won't be here for a while."
"I know. I just didn't want to be in there any longer. We were supposed to be choosing a last song for Mr Schue, and I…" She sniffles again, louder this time. "I'm sorry. I haven't yet mastered clear diction while crying."
"That's okay," says Quinn uncomfortably. God, she wants to be anywhere but here. She wants this day to be over. Scratch that; if she had a choice, she'd be in her own home, sans baby, with the entire year wiped clean from existence. But she's made her mistakes, and surely this is karmic justice for everything she's done.
Still, Quinn isn't completely heartless. She can't forget that it was Rachel who visited her in the hospital, Rachel whose fathers took her in, Rachel who's essentially letting her tormentor into her private life. Rachel, who sang the baby to sleep last night when she didn't have to.
With all this in mind, Quinn reaches out and awkwardly rubs Rachel's back. "I'm sorry," she offers, the words thick and heavy on her tongue.
"Quinn, none of this is your fault."
"I know that. God, Berry, let me finish."
"I apologize. Please continue."
"I'm sorry for everything. The slushies, the names, the… everything. You've been nice to me throughout and I haven't deserved any of it. I know I'm a bitch – "
"– you're not a bitch," interrupts Rachel.
"Berry."
"Sorry."
"As I was saying… I know I'm a bitch. But I'm trying to do better. And I…" she pauses, losing her train of thought, and finding it again. "I'm sorry that Glee is over. I wish things could be different."
"Thank you." Rachel dabs at her eyes. "While I appreciate the apology, and I forgive you, I don't think anyone needs to earn kindness, Quinn."
She chews on her lower lip. "No one's ever been kind to me without wanting anything in return."
"You haven't met many nice people, have you?" The words are delivered without a sting, and with a gentle nudge of Rachel's shoulder against her own; Quinn smiles in spite of herself.
"Nice, no. Dumb, maybe."
Rachel huffs. It sounds so much like her old self that Quinn laughs. "Dumb? I thought you just apologized for calling me names, Quinn Fabray. Honestly."
"I reserve the right to use them when the situation calls for it, Rachel."
She turns pink with pleasure. "You called me Rachel."
"That's your name, isn't it?"
"I – yes, it is – but that's not the point." She beams widely. "I'm really glad you called me by my actual name, Quinn, rather than Manhands or Treasure Trail, or what have you. Especially since my fathers aren't around."
There's that little pang of guilt again. Quinn shrugs it off. "It's the least I can do. I kinda owe you for last night."
"While I hope you know that I don't keep score, I appreciate the spirit in which the gesture was made," says Rachel, still beaming at Quinn. "Does this mean we're friends now?"
Quinn hesitates. She badly wants to say that this isn't grade school, they don't need declarations of friendship and pinkie promises. But she finds it surprisingly hard to be cruel when faced with Rachel's earnest expression. "Yeah. I guess. Don't go singing it off rooftops."
Rachel clasps her hands together excitedly. "You have no idea how happy I am that we're friends now. Honest."
Quinn has no idea how apologizing for her bullying automatically means they're friends now, but she hasn't got the heart to correct Rachel. Besides, Rachel's happiness over a simple thing like Quinn calling her by her first name and Quinn being nice to her makes Quinn feel horrible.
There was no way in hell that Rachel could know about the agreement she had with Leroy; but the fact that she's being nice to Rachel of her own volition, rather than because she's being blackmailed by someone, makes Quinn feel a little better about herself.
So Quinn gives her a small smile. "I have some idea," she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at Rachel.