Author's Notes: The usual thanks go to Mike Ownby for pointing out small errors that needed tidying (I seem to be getting good at speaking American).
An early chapter for the season of giving. Happy Holidays! I've posted an extra-long author's note on my Tumblr if you're so inclined to read author ramblings.
Quinn breathes a sigh of relief when the bell goes, signaling the end of the school day. Now it's time for Glee, where – fingers crossed – she'll have a break from the rest of her life.
She walks into a buzzing choir room. Artie is deep in discussion about something or other with Tina and – shockingly – Finn, Mercedes and Santana are trading either insults or compliments or both at the same time, Mike and Brittany appear to be practicing dance moves. Lauren, her partner-in-crime still in juvie, has nevertheless managed to busy herself by making fun of Rachel and Kurt's Broadway discussion.
Sam is the only one uninvolved in the insanity, waving Quinn over to the empty seat he's saved for her. "Is it always like this?" he asks, sounding somewhat bemused.
"Like what?"
"Like… batshit insane."
She decides to indulge his genuine concern. Quinn glances around the room. Lauren, clearly bored by obscure and technical Broadway facts, has inserted herself into Artie's huddle. Mike and Brittany have somehow segued into a dance-off. As Quinn watches, the gravity of the dance-off gradually overpowers the other smaller groups and the Gleeks gather to watch, occasionally cheering and catcalling (mostly Santana).
Quinn shrugs. "It's a little quieter than usual today," she remarks, already pulling her book from her bag.
One of the most annoying things about living in the Berry household isn't living with Hiram or Leroy or even Rachel; it's living with Finn and Rachel's relationship.
Quinn has no lingering feelings for him, that much she is certain of. But something irks her about the way he hangs around her with his soppy besotted smile, the way he's always at the Berry household or following her around in school, their ridiculous PDA in Glee.
"Can't you muzzle him or something?" she remarks acidly to Rachel one evening as they're doing the dishes.
Rachel looks up from the sink in surprise. "I was under the impression that you and Finn were on friendly terms."
And Quinn is stuck. If she stops to think about it, she genuinely has no malice for Finn, nor does she begrudge his relationship with Rachel (the whole juggling of two girls at one time notwithstanding, but Quinn's already forgiven him for it). But thinking about Finn now, with his ham hands all over Rachel, arm draped over her shoulders like she's a coat rack, staring at her like she hung the moon…
"You're doing that angry Quinn kill you with my stare thing again," observes Rachel.
"I am not doing – whatever you just said," Quinn splutters, outraged. "Also – what?"
"You have this intense expression like you're trying to kill something with your eyes when you're angry." Rachel finishes rinsing and hands a plate to Quinn to dry. "I would know, I've been on the receiving end a number of times."
Quinn shuffles awkwardly. "... Is it that bad?"
"As I am not the intended recipient this time, I would say it's not as bad as you seem to think it is. There's nothing wrong with intensity, it implies focus and determination in a person, both highly attractive traits."
Quinn, who has never heard the words focus and determination being described as attractive before, arches an eyebrow. "And in normal people-speak, that means?"
Rachel huffs in mock annoyance. "It doesn't faze me. I like to think that you're much more complex and interesting than the shallow and stereotypical bully who was obsessed with Prom and dominating the high school hierarchy I believed you were."
She decides not to mention Sam's role in her newly-formed plans for sweeping the Prom King and Queen titles at the end of the year. "Uh, thanks?"
Rachel laughs at her. "You needn't worry, Quinn. Over the course of our cohabitation – "
" – Jesus, Rachel, make it weird, why don't you?"
" – I have been privileged to discover that you are a much better person than I had initially believed," continues Rachel without batting an eyelid at Quinn's interjection. "You are intelligent, and caring, and an incredibly good friend despite your insistence on being occasionally abrasive."
"Thank you," says Quinn, alarmed to find herself blushing.
"You're very welcome."
"You're, uh, pretty cool yourself, Rach."
Rachel pouts, before sighing. "I suppose that's the best I could hope for from you, Miss SAT Vocabulary," she says, shaking her head in mock disappointment.
"Hey, where I come from, we don't do daily affirmations." She tries for levity and ends up sounding incredibly wistful.
Rachel turns to her, her expression soft and concerned. "I know," she says, wiping one damp hand on her apron before patting Quinn's arm. "Luckily for you, I am not only an incredibly good friend myself, but also well-versed in Quinn-speak, so I will gladly accept your affirmations as they are."
She is about to make one of her (toned-down just for Rachel) acidic remarks but the touch of Rachel's hand gives her pause. Her hand is cool, after having been submerged in cold water for the past ten minutes, but her touch is searing Quinn's skin. It's taking all of her willpower not to snatch her hand away.
Rachel, still smiling, withdraws her hand. The mania dies away, leaving Quinn feeling foolish.
Just what exactly happened?
The next time she runs into Finn in the house, Quinn chooses to ignore him. Things are too weird, and she already has enough on her plate without thinking about whatever it was that did not happen with Rachel.
"Do you have a minute, Quinn?"
"If it's another Scrabble rematch, I've got too much homework tonight."
Rachel scowls. "No, I don't think my ego has recovered sufficiently for that yet. I wanted to discuss Sectionals with you."
"Sectionals?"
"Yes, Sectionals," says Rachel crisply. To Quinn's horror, Rachel is holding a notepad, plastic file, and pen, all the same shade of glittery sunshine-yellow. "I wanted to discuss your training for your impending duet."
"Training?" Quinn manages.
"Yes, training," repeats Rachel.
"Do I have to?"
"Absolutely! While I think you have a wonderful voice, some extra practice and coaching wouldn't go amiss," says Rachel. "I'm thinking you could sing in Glee next week. I've already shortlisted some songs for your consideration." She hands the sparkly folder to Quinn, who takes it automatically.
"... shortlisted some songs…?"
"Yes, Quinn. I don't understand why you're doing your best impersonation of a parrot, I know you're above juvenile humor."
Quinn browses through the sheet music. "The Bangles?"
"It suits your voice wonderfully," replies Rachel, undeterred by Quinn's lack of enthusiasm.
"It's a little… cheesy. This is the kind of song drunk people sing in karaoke."
"I assure you, you would bring more artistry to the song than any intoxicated person would." Rachel straightens up. "You are going to be the star of Sectionals, Quinn. And who better to know about being a star than moi?"
"Rachel."
"Quinn," parrots Rachel.
Quinn makes a face. "I'm not actually singing a solo, in case you've forgotten. Sam and I are the warm-up act."
"Warm-up act?" exclaims Rachel, sounding deeply scandalized. "You and Sam are performing a duet with solo sections. No matter how brief it may be, you are both stars, and your chemistry will sell the performance to the judges." She flips open her notepad and scribbles something. "Luckily, you and Sam are already an item, so there is no need for a showmance."
Quinn thinks about all those people watching her and Sam and begins to feel a little ill. "... I'm kinda wishing you didn't say that now."
"Quinn, look at me."
Quinn does.
"I have complete confidence in you. Not only have you been trained by the finest aspiring Broadway star in Lima, you possess the grace, elegance, and talent to take the stage."
She sighs. "But why do I have to sing in Glee? Shouldn't rehearsing with Sam be enough?"
Rachel's eyes widen. "Quinn Fabray, I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
"I don't understand you at all," mumbles Quinn.
"You don't need to," replies Rachel, thoroughly unruffled. "Do as I say, and your stardom – as well as our Sectionals victory – is assured."
"If I do as you say, will you stop harassing me?"
Rachel splutters indignantly. "I do not harass. But very well. I will somehow refrain from giving you the professional support and development that you require to maximize your natural talent."
Quinn grins at her, entertained by the way Rachel is sputtering like a broken fire hydrant.
Much to her surprise, Sam's picked up her habit of bringing reading material into Glee – with a twist.
"I could never get into books," he says sheepishly, flipping the pages of his Amazing Spider-Man. "Comics are way easier to read, y'know?"
Quinn does not agree, and tells him so.
Sam just laughs at her. "Try reading one," he says, offering her his Spider-Man book.
"I will not. I already watched your space movies, that's enough nerd for a lifetime."
Much to her surprise, Sam just laughs again. "Yeah, fair enough. Compromise and all's important in a relationship," he says, leaning in to peck her cheek before going back to Spider-Man.
A relationship? Quinn tries not to stare at him. Surely a handful of dates doesn't count as a relationship, or even mean they're dating. Because they're not. They're just – friends who go out on dates. Dating. Quinn lets out the breath she's been holding very slowly.
She likes Sam, that's for certain. She likes spending time with him. But being in a relationship – which they aren't, she thinks vehemently – is another kettle of fish altogether.
"Anyone want to sing next?"
Rachel prods her shoulder. Quinn sighs and raises her hand, prompting a very surprised-looking Mr Schue to call on her.
Butterflies erupt in her stomach when Quinn stands in front of the club. Rachel gives her a double thumbs up, mouthing you got this at her.
Close your eyes
Give me your hand
Do you feel my heart beating?
Do you understand?
Do you feel the same?
Am I only dreaming?
Or is this burning
An eternal flame
Sam sways from side to side, a huge grin on his face. But she hardly spares a look at him, because Rachel is watching her like a hawk. Quinn tells herself it's because Rachel is certifiably insane, and Rachel will hound her if she doesn't perform as directed. It has nothing to do with the fact that Rachel looks like she's about to burst from sheer happiness and pride, and that she can't help but to want to keep that look on Rachel's face.
When she finishes singing, the room is filled with applause. "That was amazing, Quinn!" enthuses Mr Schue.
"Thanks," she mumbles.
She returns to her seat, where Sam puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes. "That was really good, Quinn," he says.
"Thanks, Sam," she says. He kisses her cheek before letting Rachel shoo him to the front of the room for his own performance.
"This is for you, Quinn," he says, and launches into Justin Bieber's Baby.
She tries to enjoy the performance, to smile at him whenever he catches her eye. But all she can think about is how she's not being in a relationship with him, and that it's sophomore year all over again.
Rachel claps enthusiastically when he's done and turns shining eyes on Santana, who flinches theatrically. "Santana, I think now would be an excellent opportunity for you to sing."
"Midge, first of all, what have I told you about addressing me directly? Second of all, I already told you what I think of your little hobbit boot camp."
"I presume your new nickname for me derives from midget," says Rachel.
"Yes, and it's also a small, annoying, noisy insect. Which you are."
Rachel ignores it. "This is your first Glee club solo, Santana. If I were you, I would be taking every opportunity to establish my stage presence."
"No."
"Quinn's agreed to let me help her, and she's benefited tremendously."
Santana turns her incredulous stare on Quinn. Quinn stares back, lifting her chin. "Just do as she says, Lopez, or we'll be here until Christmas," she snaps.
Whipped, Santana mouths. Quinn frowns at her.
She sighs miserably, wondering exactly when she will be able to catch a break. Quinn can't remember the last time she's enjoyed being herself.
And now, to add insult to injury, she's struggling with math, of all things. Quinn considers herself competent enough in math, but she just can't wrap her head around this new topic, no matter how hard she tries.
In a petulant self-indulgent tantrum, Quinn tosses her pen against the far wall, followed by her textbook, and immediately feels a little better. Beth gurgles supportively from her crib.
Quinn sighs. Surely a single mother should be the most mature one in this room. She goes to retrieve the pen and book, tossing it on the desk as she returns to the wretched math.
Rachel pokes her head through Quinn's ajar bedroom door. "The sound of distress was impossible to ignore. Do you need help?"
"Depends," says Quinn sardonically, too irritated by her homework to be annoyed by the interruption. "Are you any good at AP Calculus?"
"That would depend on the topic."
"Integration by parts."
Rachel hums. "As I got an A for our last quiz, I believe that my understanding of the topic is fairly adequate."
"You got an – wait a minute." Quinn narrows her eyes at Rachel. "You're good at math?"
"I resent the implication that a performer cannot also excel academically," says Rachel crisply. "While I'm certainly nowhere near achieving valedictorian, some degree of academic achievement is required for college. And while I would consider my math ability passable, it so happens I am particularly skilled at calculus."
Quinn can no longer find it in herself to be surprised by Rachel's random skills. "Would you mind helping me with my homework, please?"
"As long as it doesn't involve me doing the homework for you."
"What? No!"
Rachel relaxes visibly. "Excellent. I've heard too much whining from Finn and the other boys attempting to bribe me to allow them to copy my homework. Though I must say, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
The back of Quinn's neck feels a little hot. "Someday, I'm gonna figure out what is it about me that makes you put me on some pedestal. I'm not that perfect Head Cheerio anymore, Rachel. I'm just the girl who got knocked up by the school idiot and whose parents dumped her for it."
Rachel's back suddenly goes very stiff and straight. "Is that truly how you see yourself?"
"Did you want me to lie? I can, if you want to hear something nicer."
"There's no need to lie. You're raising Beth and attending high school full-time. You have plans to earn a scholarship so you won't have to use the college fund my dads set up for you." Rachel smiles suddenly. "Aren't those things worthy of recognition?"
"Yeah? Maybe. But right now, I'm just so tired and sick of all this." She flings a hand out.
Rachel watches her closely. "May I make a suggestion?"
"May I say no?"
Rachel laughs at her. "Let's skip homework and watch a movie."
"Rachel Berry, skipping homework? The horror – unless the movie in question is The Life and Times of The Great Barbra Streisand?"
"I regret to inform you that no such movie exists, though in the off-chance I can be persuaded to make the career transition from stage to big screen, I would certainly campaign for it to be filmed with yours truly as Barbra, of course."
"Of course," echoes Quinn.
"No, I propose watching The Breakfast Club."
Quinn frowns. "Isn't that the movie with Molly Ringwald?"
"The very same," beams Rachel, clearly pleased that Quinn knows something of the movie.
"I didn't know you were into non-musicals," comments Quinn.
The face Rachel makes is studied innocence. "I make exceptions for culturally significant movies. We can bring Beth and consider it part of her cultural education. "
Quinn snorts. Rachel grins at her.
"Education?"
"It's never too early to expose children to the arts, Quinn."
"Never use that word when talking about my child," says Quinn, shuddering. "But don't think I don't know you've been playing Broadway soundtracks to Beth when I'm out."
Rachel pouts. "Mozart for babies, and music in general, is scientifically proven to be beneficial for brain development. Broadway classics are also classics, and in twenty years you and Beth will be thanking me."
Quinn tries not to react to the implication that she and Rachel will still be friends in twenty years. She glances at her homework, at Rachel's hopeful expression, at Beth's crib, and back at her homework. "I suppose a break would be okay," she says slowly. "I can always come back to math when I'm less likely to set the textbook on fire."
Rachel claps her hands together. "Splendid. I'll set up the DVD player."
Quinn, back from running errands, notices Finn's car in the driveway and mentally steels herself. She usually hides in her room when Finn's around, but she has to put away the groceries first, and the thought of walking in on Finn and Rachel kissing makes her skin crawl.
But before she can open the front door, Finn suddenly storms out past her, his expression black. It doesn't take a genius to guess what's happened.
Quinn sighs. She shoves the entire brown bag into the cupboard (there's nothing perishable, she can get to it later) and goes to look for Rachel.
She eventually finds Rachel sitting in the empty basement, staring at the wall. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"Yes," says Rachel, smiling at her.
Quinn sniffs, unconvinced. She knows what putting on a brave face looks like. "No, you're not." She extends a hand. "C'mon. We're taking Beth on a walk."
"We?"
"Yeah, we, because she likes you better than me. She's a horrible baby."
Rachel laughs despite herself. "She can't like me more than you, Quinn, don't be silly. You're her mom."
"I don't sing her lullabies or make her watch musicals, so she couldn't care less about me right now. Don't keep us waiting, Berry, or I'll make sure her first word is slushie."
Rachel gasps. "I can't believe you're using your child to manipulate me. What kind of mother are you, Quinn Fabray?"
"The best kind." Quinn kicks lightly at Rachel's ankle. "Up."
"Ow."
"C'mon, let's go."
"You're being unbelievably pushy and manipulative today." Rachel narrows her eyes. "That is usually my job."
Quinn shrugs. "Part of my natural charm." She kicks Rachel's ankle again.
Rachel yelps. "Alright, alright! I'm getting up!" Rachel says, aggrieved. "I'm certain I've never been this annoying."
"Whatever you say," replies Quinn. "I'll get Beth ready and we'll meet you at the door."
"I suppose I'm not allowed to decline?"
"Nope," says Quinn, popping the 'p' with relish.
The weather outside is pleasant for this time of year. Quinn can't help smiling when a gentle breeze ruffles her hair.
They walk on in silence for a few blocks.
"Where are we going?"
Quinn shrugs. "Nowhere."
"Nowhere?"
"It's just a walk, Berry. Definitely not going to make our way to Columbus and back."
Rachel's eyes widen. "I see." But instead of a follow-up remark like she's come to expect, Rachel turns her attention to her shoes.
Seeing Rachel so uncharacteristically mute and miserable unsettles Quinn. Rarely has she seen Rachel like this, and it's something that she hopes she doesn't get used to.
"So, uh…" begins Quinn.
"Quinn, I understand what you're trying to do, and I truly appreciate it – "
"– shut up, Berry."
Rachel immediately closes her mouth so quickly Quinn swears she can hear a snap. Much to her surprise, Rachel doesn't look offended, merely curious.
"You've been there for me a lot. Even when I wasn't exactly… the most appreciative or gracious. So this is me trying to do the same for you, which means you don't have to ramble on and make excuses for being you."
"I do not make excuses for being myself," says Rachel unhappily. Quinn just arches an eyebrow and stares until Rachel subsides.
"I do, don't I?"
And Rachel's voice is so small and miserable that Quinn can't help but feel bad for her. "It's not your fault people are dumb," says Quinn. "You're you, and you shouldn't have to apologize for that."
"I could say the same about you, Quinn."
Quinn glares at her. "No, don't try and make this about me, Rachel."
"I wasn't going to. I was merely pointing out a fact that applies to the both of us."
"And today's about you, not us," says Quinn sharply. "So are you gonna tell me what happened?"
A slow blush starts up Rachel's neck, so slow that only weeks of living in close proximity have sensitized Quinn to noticing such things. "Maybe," mutters Rachel.
"You should," says Quinn, surprising herself. "I'm the only other person who's dated Finn that you can talk to, I have plenty of horror stories."
"Don't you think this is a little weird? We used to compete for Finn. You warned me off him, and you joined Glee to make sure I'd keep my hands off him."
Quinn shrugs, completely unruffled. "And now I have a kid and we're living in the same house. What's your point?"
"Fair enough." Rachel sighs, casting her eyes on the pavement. "When you and Finn were – together – did you ever have problems with his… jealousy issues?"
Quinn scoffs so loudly that Rachel jerks, startled. "All the time. It was ridiculous the way he would get irritated and huffy over me talking to other boys, like I… it's hard to believe that he's actually a pretty decent guy, because he can be such a raging jealous asshole sometimes."
Rachel is nodding slowly as Quinn talks. "Yes, and when he sulks he can carry it on for hours. Such a child."
"Right? One time he actually crossed his arms and pouted. It was ridiculous." Quinn purses her lips into her best imitation of Finn's pout. Rachel lets out an unladylike snort and has to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Quinn, her hands full with pushing Beth's stroller, suppresses her own snort with years of practice.
"Finn gets jealous if you breathe in another guy's direction, we've established that. What set him off this time?"
"Nothing much," says Rachel quickly. "Just Finn being Finn."
"Are you guys broken up?"
"No! Certainly not." Rachel skips over a large crack in the pavement. "He just needs time to sulk and get it out of his system. He'll probably go play video games with Noah tonight and forget about it tomorrow. "
"Sounds like classic Finn." Quinn suspects Rachel isn't being entirely forthcoming with her – which is a shockingly un-Rachel-like thing – but she decides not to push.
After the drama-packed week she's had, Quinn is not looking forward to therapy.
However, Lydia seems content to sit back and listen. Her notepad sits to one side, closed. "How are you?"
"Fine," says Quinn blithely. It's her standard response to Lydia's standard opening question, and it's become a ritual of sorts. Quinn is always fine, and Lydia is always unconvinced by Quinn's answer.
Lydia just smiles. "How's Beth?"
"She's fine too." Quinn decides she can afford to open up a little. "She's started sleeping through the night. And I think she recognizes me now."
"That's wonderful."
Quinn sighs. The entire point of being here, spending forty-five minutes every week in this room, is to talk about the problems that she carries around. Problems that Quinn would give her right hand to be rid of. It's funny, really, how stubborn she is.
"How's school?"
"Terrible."
Lydia smiles. "When is it not?"
"Never. School sucks. Boys are dumb."
Lydia nods and continues smiling that infuriating smile. "Speaking from personal experience, boys don't stop being dumb even when they're grown men."
Quinn makes a disgusted face. "I have so much to look forward to."
"Anything else happening recently?"
"Not really," replies Quinn, not wanting to divulge any more information than the bare minimum she already has.
"No one special in your life?"
She glances sharply at Lydia. "What do you mean by that?"
"What did you think I meant?"
"Don't do that," says Quinn.
"Do what?"
"That – shrink thing."
Lydia looks amused. "That shrink thing is my job, Quinn."
"Whatever."
Lydia leans back in her chair, still looking far too amused for Quinn's liking.
Quinn sighs. If she's going to provide one-word answers to Lydia's questions for the next – forty minutes – it's going to be the longest forty minutes of her life. "I'm sort of seeing someone," she relents.
"What's their name?"
Quinn scoffs. "Sam. He's a guy, obviously."
"Why would you say that, Quinn?"
Immediately, Quinn regrets talking. "Because it's obvious. Basic biology 101. I'm a girl, therefore I would only be dating a guy."
"Why can't you date a girl?"
"Because it's weird." There's that strange sensation again. "The Bible says that it's unnatural for two men or two women to be together."
Lydia nods. "Do you adhere to all of the rules set in the Bible, or just some of them?"
"I don't like what you're insinuating," says Quinn, prickly with anger.
"I'm not insinuating anything," replies Lydia patiently. "I'm curious to know what you think."
"I don't follow everything that's in the Bible blindly. I just do what I think is right."
Lydia nods. "Okay."
Quinn, somehow, feels like she's let slip more than she'd intended. "The Bible was written ages ago, but some of the things are still valid. Like love being the basis of everything. Killing and stealing is bad and all. The ten commandments are there to make life easier for people by having a set of rules to follow."
"I see." The notepad at Lydia's elbow stays closed. "Does that mean you believe some things are right and some are wrong?"
"Yes."
"Noted."
Quinn doesn't like the way Lydia accepts her answers so easily. "Is there a problem with that?"
"No. Why would I have a problem with that?" Lydia asks, sitting up straight.
"I don't know," says Quinn, "you're always asking me these open-ended questions, and what I meant. Sometimes there isn't a deeper meaning to things, you know."
"Is there a reason you feel this way?"
Quinn feels like her head is spinning. "Don't turn this around on me."
"I'm not. I'm sorry that I've made you feel that way."
They're both silent for a few minutes. Quinn picks at the hem of her dress uncomfortably.
"How are things with Rachel?"
"What things?" Quinn asks, immediately on the defensive.
"Your friendship," says Lydia. "As I recall, you and Rachel weren't exactly friends before you moved into the Berry household."
Quinn chews on her lower lip, wary of Lydia's questions. "Can I not answer that?"
"That's your prerogative, Quinn."
"... we're fine." Quinn thinks of the events of last week, and struggles for words to encapsulate them. "Rachel and I aren't the best of friends, but we get along."
"That's good," says Lydia reassuringly.
"Even though it's kinda hard for me." The words slip out before Quinn can stop them; she is completely still, stricken by her tongue's betrayal.
"What do you mean?"
Quinn sighs. Defeated by her own words; that has to be an all-time low, even for her. "I feel guilty when I talk to her."
"Why do you feel guilty, Quinn?"
"I don't know, okay? I just do."
Lydia nods slowly. "And that's perfectly fine. Your feelings are valid."
"How is it valid for me to be guilty all the time?" snaps Quinn.
"Do you feel like you've done anything wrong?"
"All the fucking time. Everything bad I've done, it gets thrown in my face whether Rachel meant to or not, and it seems like I can't apologize enough to make up for it." Quinn pauses, suppressing the anger that threatens to consume her. "The worst part is, she's being genuinely nice about it, but it happened, and I can't go back in time to change any of it."
Lydia nods. "I understand."
"Do you really?" asks Quinn.
"Logically, I certainly understand why you feel this way," says Lydia, still endlessly patient. Her tone reminds Quinn of Rachel, which simultaneously infuriates and soothes her. "May I ask you a question?"
"You're already asking me a question now," points out Quinn.
"That's true," says Lydia, smiling. "Quinn, why do you think you need to be forgiven?"
Quinn opens her mouth – and closes it. "I…"
"You don't need to answer. I simply wanted to ask. Quinn, you strike me as a very intelligent and mature young woman. You're dealing with a lot of things that many adults would struggle with, and you are doing a fine job. What you're feeling is completely valid. But I wonder why you're feeling so guilty for things that you can't control."
Quinn drops her gaze to the carpeted floor.
"... I think we've had enough for one week," says Lydia gently. "We can pick this up next week, if you'd like."
Despite her best efforts, Quinn can't get her conversation with Lydia out of her mind. Which is already bad enough if Quinn was a normal teenager, but being a teenage single mother juggling a not-relationship, not-parents, and a not-friend?
Internal turmoil or no, the due date for her math homework is fast approaching, and Quinn is forced to turn to Rachel for help.
"Is everything alright, Quinn?"
"Hmm?" She looks up from the cursed integrals.
"You've been stuck on this problem for the past fifteen minutes."
"Integrals suck."
"You solved this problem in the quiz."
Quinn sighs. "Life's been crazy recently."
"I understand." Rachel pushes Quinn's calculator to one side. "Would you like to talk about it?"
"Would I like a tooth pulled?"
"You have excellent dental hygiene, so that's not necessary," says Rachel without missing a beat. "I'm fairly certain that at this juncture in our friendship, you are familiar with the myriad benefits of talking about your problems."
Quinn shakes her head. Rachel is more persistent than Lydia, and isn't bound by a professional code of ethics. "It's nothing," she says at last, "just thinking about therapy."
Rachel nods sagely. "I see. That's perfectly understandable, then. Therapy is always exhausting, but in the end, it does pay off."
"How do you know that?" asks Quinn suspiciously.
"I've been seeing a therapist since grade school when I was old enough to notice that people weren't exactly tolerant of two gay men raising their daughter together. We live in Lima, after all."
"Oh."
Rachel smiles mirthlessly. "Did you think I am cheerful and undaunted naturally? The first time I was slushied, I went home and cried for two whole hours. Then I booked an emergency appointment with my therapist."
"I didn't know."
"Well, now you do."
An uncomfortable silence fills the room.
"Do you still go to therapy?"
Rachel shakes her head. "I've come to terms with things, more or less. I have no plans to live in Lima permanently, after all, so all I have to do is focus on finishing high school and earning that place in Julliard or NYADA."
"I guess I have that to look forward to," mumbles Quinn. Idly, she starts doodling on the corner of her math worksheet.
Then Rachel says something surprising. "You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but… does your current angst have anything to do with your inability to forgive yourself?"
Quinn's grip on her pen turns white-knuckled. "Excuse me?"
"We've been cohabiting for a while now, Quinn."
Quinn groans.
"I would be a terrible friend and housemate if I didn't notice that at least some of your abrasiveness isn't connected to the negative things you did. I'm not saying that you always have to suffer for what you did, Quinn. But I can't make you forgive yourself. That's up to you."
"You think that's easy?"
"Of course not. When I was eight, I was the only kid in Lima Elementary not invited to Kevin Zeigler's birthday party. He told me it was because having two dads was weird, so naturally, I threw a massive tantrum at my dads and screamed that everybody hated me and it was all their fault."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I'm sorry that happened to you, but I can't say I'm surprised by eight-year-old Rachel Berry's reaction."
Rachel smiles weakly. "Don't be. I did apologize to them eventually, and anyway Santana kicked Kevin in the shin for uninviting me."
"Santana? Our Santana?"
Her surprise must show, because Rachel giggles. "It's a small town. Most of us went to nursery, elementary, and middle school together."
Quinn's head is spinning. "But Puck and Santana and Finn – they've all been horrible to you."
Rachel shrugs. "That's what high school does to people. Everybody starts chasing popularity and eventually go their separate ways, even though nothing's changed on the inside. Why do you think I love The Breakfast Club so much? In the end, no matter how separate they profess to be, everyone can still find something to connect over."
Quinn sighs. That much she can understand.
"In a way, I'm glad you weren't here until high school." Rachel is blushing, for some inscrutable reason. "I can handle them turning on me. But I am so grateful that you and I are friends despite the odds."
It's not the first time she's been left at a loss for words by Rachel's Unprompted Statements That Induce Many Uncomfortable Thoughts – Rachel-isms, she dubs them. But underneath all that discomfort is pride and a flare of happiness. "I'm glad we're friends too," offers Quinn, and watches the smile blossom into a wide beam.
What the hell, thinks Quinn, and extends her arms to offer a hug.
"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel exclaims.
"Don't read too much into it," Quinn warns her. "I'm just grateful that you're helping me with math."
Quinn already senses something is up when Sam is uncharacteristically fidgety when he picks her up for their date. "Hey, so…"
"Yes, Sam?"
"We've been dating for like two months."
Quinn blinks. Has it been that long? She can barely keep track of time anymore. "Oh."
"And, uh, I wanna give you something." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an honest-to-goodness ring.
Quinn's mind goes blank.
"Shit, you're freaking out. This was a bad idea."
"Sam, I…" she croaks.
"Before you freak, hear me out? Please?"
Quinn tamps down her panic and nods.
Sam takes a deep breath. "I've never met anyone like you, Quinn. You're so nice and genuine, and I'd really like it if we could go steady until graduation."
Quinn shakes her head. Nice and genuine, words that no one in their right mind would use to describe her – and it's all her fault. "Sam, I need to tell you something important." She takes out her phone and shows him a photo.
"Hey, cute kid," Sam says, though he still looks puzzled. "Is she your niece or kid sister? She looks like you."
"That's my daughter, Beth." Quinn takes another steadying breath. "Last year, Puck and I made a mistake, and Beth is the result. My parents kicked me out after that, and I've been living with Rachel."
Sam's expression doesn't change. "Um. Wow."
"Yeah."
"That was really important. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Quinn scoffs. "Do you think you'd still have wanted to date a teen mom?"
"Fair point." Sam runs a hand through his hair. "I hope you're not asking me to be her dad, 'cause… I'm too young. Not that you're too young too, because I'm sure you're being a great mom…"
"What? No!" Quinn all but yells, then continues in a calmer voice, "I'm not asking that of you."
"Oh. Good to hear." Sam sighs deeply. "Look, this is a whole lot to think about. I… I'll call you. Promise."
She nods, throat too tight to trust herself to speak.
"Erm. Goodnight."
Quinn nods again, fumbling for the door handle, focusing on getting back in the house before the tears fall.
"Quinn? Is that you?"
"... yeah."
"Do you want to tell me why you're crying?"
Sniff. "No."
"Okay." A pause. "Does this have anything to do with Sam?"
"... No."
Rachel hums. Her footsteps recede.
Just when Quinn is starting to process the fact that she's alone, Rachel returns, along with the scent of chamomile.
"I find hot tea to be soothing when I'm upset," says Rachel. "And when you're feeling better, you know where to find me. Have a pleasant evening, Quinn."
There are some days in which Quinn feels like she's fulfilled her old childhood dream of running away to join the circus. Juggling school, Glee, Beth, her job, and therapy – she will not think about Sam – is a precarious balancing act all the time.
But at least her friendship with Rachel has reached a comfortable understanding. She didn't push Rachel to talk about Finn, and in return, Rachel doesn't push her to talk about Sam.
Sam's stopped coming to Glee, and no one asks her why. Quinn wants to say it's because of her angry Quinn kill you with my stare thing, but she has to admit that it's more likely because Rachel's appointed herself as Quinn's personal bodyguard, chasing away anyone who dares to look at Quinn funny.
"What's with the black face, Fabray? You and your identical twin have a falling out?" Santana's mouth twists. "Catch and release Trouty Mouth back into the lake?"
"Now's not the time for your antics, Santana," cuts in Rachel tersely. "By the way, have you been keeping up with your vocal exercises?"
"Jeez. Muzzle your terrier, Fabray."
"Maybe mind your own business, Lopez," shoots back Quinn.
Maybe later, when she's calmed down a bit, she'll think about how bizarre her situation is. But for now, sitting in Glee with Rachel at her side, Quinn decides to allow herself to relax.