Author's Notes: With thanks to Mike Ownby for speeding through the general beta work, clarifying Americana points (which I've chosen to ignore), and picking through grammar and dialogue and phrasing i.e. things I care nothing for. Enjoy your new year present, everyone.

She has so many feelings right now; ironically, so much so Quinn doesn't know how to feel about it.

Because on one hand, she has Sam. Nice, safe Sam, who was so sure of them, Quinn-and-Sam, that he tried to give her a fu– a ring. Sam, who seemed to like Quinn for who he thought she was until she was honest with him.

… The more Quinn thinks about it, the more she believes she might have had Sam.

But when she thinks about touching Rachel, being touched by Rachel, Quinn feels… alive, for lack of a better word. Giddy, almost; filled with breathless anticipation matched only by an aching emptiness when Rachel's not around.

In short, all the things she's been told she would feel for boys.

Which is another headache Quinn doesn't want or need. It's already bad enough that she's a homeless single teenage mom; she doesn't need to also be a homeless single teenage mom who –

– who may have inappropriate feelings for her very annoying and thoroughly unattractive female friend.

Her female friend, whom Quinn lives with, who is currently sitting across the kitchen table from her, marking Quinn's calculus worksheet with a frown on her face. Now and again, the tip of Rachel's tongue peeks through her lips as she ponders a particularly inscrutable hieroglyph Quinn's trying to pass off as her problem workings.

Quinn ducks her head and tries to focus on plugging the correct variables into the equations.

Rachel eventually sighs and caps her glitter pen. "Here," she says, returning the worksheet.

Quinn sighs, just as gusty and despondent. "... At least I passed?"

"I don't understand." Rachel plonks both elbows on the table, forgetting her normally impeccable manners, propping her head on both hands. "You're a literal genius in all your other classes, including your AP ones – don't look at me like that, I do keep track of student performance to ensure that my academic performance is on track – but you simply – "

"– suck at calculus," says Quinn flatly.

"– appear to require more time than is normally allocated in the school semester to master this concept," finishes Rachel.

"You didn't need to sugarcoat it."

Rachel smiles thinly at her. "I am not sugarcoating anything, Quinn; I am commenting on the deplorable state of the American education system."

"Right." From previous experience, Quinn knows that Rachel can and will segue into one of her rants if she isn't distracted. "So what's the verdict, Professor Berry? Will I be able to pass next Thursday's quiz?"

Rachel's smile turns pinched. "Maybe after solving a few more problems? Or worksheets?"

Quinn groans softly, letting her head fall on her exercise book with a soft thunk.

Rachel clears her throat. "Quinn…?"

"Yes, Rachel."

"I was hoping we could talk."

Quinn lifts her head to squint at Rachel. "About?"

"I know this is a sensitive topic, but –"

"– I don't want to talk about Sam," says Quinn flatly.

"We need to, for Sectionals' sake."

"Rachel, I'm not really in the mood for this," says Quinn without opening her eyes.

"I… am aware of that, yes." A pause. "I understand this is personal, and that I am grossly overstepping."

Quinn cracks open one eye. "Rachel, the last time you said that, you asked me to keep Beth and move in with you."

"... I'd almost forgotten that, thank you for the reminder."

"You're welcome."

She can hear Rachel sighing noisily, like a deflating balloon. The scraping and creak of the kitchen chair on her immediate left tells her that Rachel has moved closer. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I do mean it: I'm sorry for repeatedly invading your personal boundaries."

"It's really okay, I've gotten used to it," replies Quinn, only half-joking.

"May I tell you something?"

That grabs Quinn's attention immediately: it's usually Rachel asking her something, not telling. She sits up, focusing on Rachel. "What is it?"

Rachel's teeth flash white, briefly, as they worry her lower lip. "I haven't been completely forthcoming with the reason Finn and I fought."

"I know," shrugs Quinn.

"You do?"

"I mean, I guessed that you didn't want to talk about it, and that's fine. You're entitled to your privacy."

"I appreciate it."

"Basic social interaction 101," quips Quinn.

"Thank you for sharing," says Rachel wryly, rolling her eyes. "As I was trying to tell you… Finn and I fought because he'd slept with Santana."

"That's pretty shitty."

Rachel gesticulates wildly. "Yes! Thank you!"

"I meant sleeping with Santana," Quinn clarifies, wrinkling her nose.

Rachel looks at her reproachfully and jabs her arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Sometimes, I don't understand why you and Santana have to be so antagonistic all the time. Would it kill either of you to admit that you're actually friends?"

"Yes," says Quinn, just to see the look on Rachel's face.

Rachel rolls her eyes again, rather spectacularly this time. "In any case. He didn't seem to understand that I wasn't angry about his sexual history; Finn had every opportunity to be truthful with me about that but chose not to. I don't care about what he did and with whom; I care that he felt the need to lie about it. I think I am well within my rights to be upset that he chose not to inform me that such a milestone event had happened, and that he lied before when I asked him about it."

"Wait, are you saying that you straight up asked him if he'd slept with Santana?"

"Not like that!" protests Rachel. "I merely asked him if he had – you know – prior sexual experience."

Quinn arches an eyebrow before deciding she's not going to get any better answers out of Rachel. "Oh-kay. And you're mad at him because he lied about sleeping with Santana?"

"Yes, and he lied about it the first time I asked. He's mad at me because he thinks I'm overreacting."

"I don't think you're overreacting," says Quinn. "It was shitty of him to lie."

"Thank you!" exclaims Rachel, nodding at her. "Exactly my point!"

Quinn laughs. "Only because I have plenty of personal experience with lying until it all crashes down around me."

"And that's all in the past. What's important is who you are now; it's impossible to focus on the future if you're preoccupied with the past."

Quinn nods. "So what you're telling me is that past Rachel would have shared personal information to coax me into returning the favor with personal information of my own that may or may not be vital to Sectionals?" she asks, tone light and teasing.

Rachel pouts at her. "She would, yes."

"So the Rachel that you are now is focusing on the future, and therefore isn't expecting me to open up."

"... You are an awful person, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn bursts out laughing, unable to control herself any longer. "I'm kidding. God, your face."

"Yes, yes, I'm thrilled to be a bountiful source of amusement for you," mutters Rachel, rolling her eyes. It's the third time in so many minutes, and Quinn is partially convinced her eyes are going to pop out of their sockets. She doesn't say that to Rachel, knowing fully well that it would only appeal to Rachel's sense of drama.

"Speaking of amusement, if only I found your grasp of definite integrals just as amusing."

Instantly, Quinn's face changes, and she groans. "Low blow, Berry."

"You know I'm right." Rachel pushes another worksheet in front of Quinn.

The next day after school, Quinn finds herself presented with an unexpected opportunity when she finds Finn hanging around outside his locker and Rachel nowhere in sight. "What's your problem?"

Finn stares at her, confused. "Huh?"

"Why are you mad at Rachel when it's your fault you lied?"

Slowly, the expression on Finn's face morphs into understanding, and then guilt. "I thought it was weird, okay? Like, how weird is it to be talking with your current girlfriend about the stuff you did with your ex-girlfriend?"

"You and Santana never dated," she points out, "we did, and thank god we never slept together."

Finn scowls at her. "Yeah, Puck was so much better for you."

Quinn's expression hardens. "Hudson, I've let you lord that over me last year, but this is the very last time you say that to my face."

Finn's expression doesn't change. "Whatever. Why are you hounding me about me and Rachel? It's none of your business." He frowns. "Did Rachel put you up to it?"

Quinn crosses her arms over her chest. "Rachel didn't put me up to anything. I'm here because she doesn't deserve that kind of bullshit from you. What's important is that you had a chance to come clean and you didn't. You took the easy way out, and it came back to bite you in the ass." Quinn's aware that she's probably projecting, but she doesn't care. "That's what lying gets you, Finn. I know that you didn't intend to hurt her, but by lying, you ended up hurting her even more. Trust me, I'm familiar with that."

Finn shuffles his feet. "It's different for us," he argues.

"Would you like to tell me how, exactly, was it different for us?"

"You lied to me about sleeping with Puck."

Quinn dips her head. "And look how well that turned out for me. I got punished plenty for that."

"I guess," he says uncertainly, and Quinn feels a tiny fleeting spark of fondness for him. "... But I can't get pregnant."

"Are you being serious right now?" Quinn exclaims, frustrated. "It's not about the sex, Hudson; it's about trust."

"And you know all about trust," he shoots back.

Quinn takes a few deep breaths to steady herself. She wants to eviscerate him, even though her rational mind knows it won't do them any good. "Okay. Listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once: I don't give a fuck about your pride or whatever. The only reason I'm talking to you right now is because you're basically a good guy – even if you're not acting like it right now – and I know that somewhere in that pea brain of yours, you'll eventually figure out the right thing to do. You hurt Rachel pretty badly, and if you had any decency, you'd fix it. Rachel's a good person and she doesn't deserve to be jerked around like this."

Finn frowns. "Why do you care so much about Rachel anyway? I thought you two hated each other."

"Newsflash, Finn. We live together because my parents kicked me out. We've learned to coexist." She sighs, ignoring the spike of a migraine building. "Rachel's my friend, and apparently her feelings are more important to me than to her so-called boyfriend."

"Whatever." He shoves his hands in his pockets angrily and stomps away. She watches him go, a deep frown on her face.

Motherhood has always been something of a distant concept to Quinn. Caring for a child, which means feeding them and making sure they have clothes and a place to stay, and not much else. Being a mother means being around, physically at least.

But to her, it means something completely different. And it doesn't hit her until the Berry Movie Night, when she's sprawled on the couch with baby Beth in her lap, Rachel munching popcorn on her left. Leroy and Hiram occupy the other sofa. Despite Beth being too young to appreciate movies, they've put on a Disney movie ("Baby Mozart proved that babies retain information subconsciously, Quinn; you'll thank me in five years' time," says Rachel darkly). The Lion King plays, and all the Berrys are engrossed in the movie.

The Berry men howl at the screen, outraged, whenever Scar is onscreen. Rachel mouths along to all the songs, shooting glances at Beth, occasionally shushing her fathers when they get too caught up with shouting criticism of the characters. It occurs to Quinn, then, that she's not only learned the meaning of motherhood, but also of family.

Things get ridiculous when Mufasa dies. Rachel, her own eyes shimmering suspiciously, reaches over to cover Beth's eyes with her hands, and Quinn hasn't the heart to push her away.

"I'm exhausted."

Rachel laughs. "I'm not surprised. You were up at four because of Beth."

"We were up at four," Quinn corrects her. "You didn't have to, but you were up with her."

"She seems to like my voice, Quinn. Who am I to deny my first and greatest fan?"

Quinn shakes her head. "You're crazy, Berry." It sounds far too fond to be believable.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it… one day, years from now, Beth will want to major in musical theater, and she'll talk endlessly about her dreams of starring on Broadway, and that's when you'll know the Rachel Berry Indoctrination Program has borne fruit." She waggles her eyebrows salaciously at Quinn.

Quinn bursts out laughing, shoving at Rachel. "Oh my god, Berry, you freak."

"That's future Tony award-winning freak Miss Rachel Berry to you!"

"Well done, Quinn," her teacher says approvingly as she lays Quinn's pop quiz face down on her desk. She sneaks a peek and is flabbergasted to see the A- written in red pen. It's much better than she was hoping for, so Quinn's in a good mood when Rachel sidles over in Glee.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Sam hasn't attended Glee, or any of our Sectionals rehearsals for a while."

"Yeah?" Quinn's getting a sinking feeling.

"Sectionals is three weeks away."

"Yeah."

Rachel takes a deep breath before saying: "We'll have to rehearse your duet even if Sam isn't here, so I was hoping you and I could do it."

"You're shorter than me," is the first thing Quinn blurts.

"Yes, I'm aware of that," replies Rachel wryly. "I'm sure if we ever needed to partner up for, let's say, a swing dancing competition, I would be happy to let you play the male role. However, this is a temporary solution until we can convince Sam to return."

"And what if he doesn't return in time for Sectionals?"

"Finn will have to replace him."

Quinn wrinkles her nose. "Finn?"

"He's the best male lead we have for this role."

She sighs.

"In the meantime, we should still rehearse."

"Must we?"

Rachel crosses her arms and fixes Quinn with her best glare. "Yes, we must," she says.

So, she's got a little money saved up from her job. Quinn thinks it's only fair that she spends it on Rachel, since Rachel's at least partially responsible for most aspects of her life these days. Except that she has no idea how to ask without making it seem like… a date.

But Quinn thinks it'll be fine. Rachel knows that two girls can't go on a date. More importantly, Rachel knows Quinn doesn't like her that way, and vice versa. Rachel has Finn (even if they're fighting at the moment) and Quinn has Sam (even if they haven't spoken in weeks and she isn't sure if they're still a couple).

No, Quinn just had funny feelings about Rachel that will never see the light of day.

She'd decided to ask Rachel at school, because having Beth around would majorly cramp her style. So it's when they're waiting around for Hiram to pick them up when Quinn clears her throat, works up the nerve, and asks.

"So, Rachel. Are you free Friday night?"

Rachel frowns. "I believe so," she says slowly, before brightening. "Are you planning to talk to Sam?"

"What? No. I meant…" Quinn scrambles to recover. "I'm not going out with Sam."

"Oh."

"I was thinking you and I could go out for dinner," blurts out Quinn before she loses the nerve.

There is a pause in which Quinn silently mouths her words, realizes she's made a fatal mistake, and starts spluttering like a backfiring car. Rachel's eyes have grown to approximately the size of saucers the entire time Quinn's been processing.

"I meant as friends! Since you're essentially the reason I have a place to stay and a job and Beth and even a passing grade in calculus. I have a little saved up, so I thought that I could buy you dinner as thanks. Don't read too much into that, Berry," Quinn snaps. "It's not like it's a date or anything, we're both girls."

"And?"

"What do you mean, and? It's obvious I didn't mean it as a date. I'm not gay and neither are you."

She's said the wrong thing. Rachel's eyes harden, and she tips her chin up. "And what, may I ask, is your problem with being gay?"

"I don't have a problem with being gay! Ugh, you're getting the wrong idea." Quinn runs a hand through her hair in frustration. "I just wanted to do something nice for you for once, but you just had to make it sound like I'm homophobic or something. I'm not gay. That's all."

"While I appreciate the gesture and the clarification, I would have appreciated it more if the act of asking wasn't so physically painful for you," replies Rachel frostily.

"Is that a yes or no?"

"What do you think?"

Quinn grits her teeth. "I think I shouldn't have bothered."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Hiram pulls up, his timing impeccable. "Hi, girls. I hope I'm not too late."

She's definitely blown it.

Quinn's initial reaction was to apologize, but the more she stews, the more angry and resentful she gets. It's not her fault that she's a mess, right? She's a teen mom dealing with more than her fair share, and Rachel is making her go through all these difficult things freshman Quinn would never have done. She's doing her friggin' best, and it's on Rachel if she keeps preaching forgiveness but doesn't recognize that Quinn's doing her best.

(Now, all she has to do is keep telling herself that and eventually she'll start to believe it.)

Quinn stomps through her chores with a scowl, and cooks dinner resentfully. It's worse because it's Rachel's day to do food prep while Quinn cooks, and the kitchen could've frozen over with all the icy looks they shoot at each other. The Berrymen spend dinner like they're watching a tennis match, gaze bouncing back and forth between the two girls.

Beth, the only family member unaffected by the drama, gurgles happily.

Rachel pushes away her plate. "I'm not hungry. May I be excused?"

"Okay," says Hiram. The word is barely out of his mouth when Rachel disappears upstairs, her foul mood evident with every stomp of her feet on the stairs.

Quinn, jaw firm, steadily works through her spaghetti, avoiding the looks both Berrymen are shooting at her. She finishes her meal, mumbles an "Excuse me" and goes upstairs, bringing Beth with her.

She buries her face in her pillow and screams silently. She hates Rachel so much; she doesn't understand why that girl has to be so difficult and dramatic; it's just dinner, not a marriage proposal.

There's a knock at the door. "Come in," says Quinn.

Leroy peeps around the door. "Is it safe to come in, though?"

She chuckles weakly. "Yeah, of course. It's not you who's being a spoilt, delusional diva." Quinn flushes scarlet, remembering she's talking to one of the said diva's fathers. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he says, seating himself on the edge of Quinn's bed. "Hiram and I have weathered our fair share of diva storm-outs."

"She does that to you, too?"

He chuckles. "She's passionate."

Quinn nods.

"You wanna tell me what happened between you two?"

She mulls it over. He's seen her at her absolute worst, and he hasn't kicked her out when it was well within his rights, so… "I have a little money saved up," says Quinn. "I thought I'd buy Rachel dinner someplace nice with it, because she's been so helpful babysitting Beth, and… for everything, I guess. She didn't have to insist on taking me in, because I've been so horrible to her, but she did it anyway."

"That sounds pretty straightforward," says Leroy, nodding. "Did something else happen?"

"... I might have said that it wasn't a date because I don't like her that way. Which is okay, right, except she thought I was being anti-gay or whatever."

"Ah," he says, knowingly.

Quinn flushes. "I'm sorry, sir. I know I shouldn't have, but she looked so surprised, and I couldn't help it."

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me, young lady," Leroy says severely. "I'm not taking her side because I'm her father, but I do think what you said was out of line."

She hangs her head. Tears prick at her eyes, and Quinn wipes at her face as discreetly as she can manage, hoping Leroy won't notice.

"But," he adds in a softer voice, "based on what Rachel has told us about your parents, I think it's very admirable of you to tell me everything that happened. Especially considering the last time you had a disagreement with my daughter, you refused to say anything."

Quinn flushes pink.

"More so that you regret what you said." Leroy puts a hand on Quinn's shoulder and squeezes. "I'm proud of you, Quinn."

Quinn nods, not trusting her voice. She's already so close to losing it, and she's afraid that talking will open the floodgates.

"You know, I'm sure Rachel will forgive you instantly after she's done sulking, if she isn't already coming to apologize herself."

"Why would she be the one apologizing? I'm the one who started this mess."

"We both know our Rachel." She can hear the fondness in his voice, and can't bring herself to correct his use of we. "So how about you clean yourself up so you can both apologize?"

Quinn manages a watery smile. "Yeah."

There's another knock, and Leroy spreads his hands, eyebrows raised in mock amazement. "What did I tell you?"

Once Quinn's composed herself, she goes to answer the door. Sure enough, an awkward-looking Rachel is waiting for her on the other side.

"Hi, Quinn." She does a double-take. "Dad? What are you doing in there?"

"Seeing my second-favorite little munchkin," he says without missing a beat, nodding at Beth. "I'll give you girls some privacy." He pats Quinn's shoulder, and kisses the top of Rachel's head on his way out.

"Hey," Quinn mumbles.

"About earlier… I wanted to apologize for my reprehensible behavior," says Rachel right off the bat. "I overreacted, and it was wrong of me to have done so, given your less-than-accepting upbringing."

"No, Rachel, you were right. I should be apologizing for the things I said to you. You had every right to be offended."

She offers Quinn a small smile. "I'll forgive you if you forgive me."

"Deal."

Rachel's smile widens. "If your offer for dinner on Friday still stands, I'd love nothing more than to go out with you."

"Yeah, of course." Quinn's words stick in her throat. "I'm sorry I didn't handle… all of this, very well."

"I'm sorry too. I'm supposed to be fluent in Quinn-ese," says Rachel, and Quinn wrinkles her nose.

"Way to make this about you, Berry."

Rachel shrugs but smiles bashfully. "May I sit?"

"Sure."

She settles herself on the bed; not primly, as Quinn was expecting, but flopping down like a normal teenager. It sets Quinn off into a fit of giggling; a beat later, Rachel joins in.

It takes a while before the giggle fit dissipates, and they're grinning at each other like idiots for a minute or so until Beth interrupts with a wail.

Quinn sighs. "That's my cue. She'll want to be fed now."

"I'll leave you to it, then." Rachel sees herself out. "Friday, Fabray!" she calls over her shoulder as she's halfway down the landing.

Quinn's reward for being nice to Rachel (apparently) is free babysitting by the Berrymen while they go out for dinner on Friday. She doesn't think it's much of a reward, honestly, because both Hiram and Leroy are absolutely besotted with Beth, and she knows they would have volunteered their services anyway.

"Curfew is eleven, you two!" calls Leroy, Beth tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Have fun!" says Hiram. He waves Beth's tiny hand at them. "Can you say, "bye mommy"?"

Quinn tries to roll her eyes, she really does. Rachel is busy blowing kisses to her fathers and Beth, yelling goodbyes all the way to the car. She does have the good grace to blush when she notices Quinn's expression. "Sorry," she says. "We can be rather dramatic at times."

"At times? More like all the time." Quinn starts the car. "I think I'd have understood you a lot better if I'd met your dads earlier."

"Perhaps. Though younger me wouldn't have let you into my house at all," Rachel quips.

"Smart." A thought strikes her. "They don't act like this with Finn, though."

Rachel makes a face. "They don't like Finn very much."

"Understandable," she says, thinking of her most recent conversation with him.

"Quinn!"

"I'm stating a fact."

Rachel's attention is already on the radio. "May I?"

Quinn shrugs. "Sure. It's only a twenty-minute drive anyway. Just don't mess up my programmed stations."

She turns on the radio; the sound of distorted electric guitar fills the space between them. Much to Quinn's surprise, Rachel doesn't screech or change the channel; she merely listens for a minute or so before changing the station.

"I'm surprised you didn't immediately throw holy water on my radio," jokes Quinn.

Rachel huffs. "And I'm surprised that you didn't know that my appreciation of music extends to all its myriad forms. In greater degrees for some than others, naturally."

"Naturally," Quinn echoes. She doesn't comment further when Rachel's radio station exploration ends when she finds a Top 40 hits station, mouthing the words to Katy Perry's California Gurls.

The restaurant is a little way out of Lima; Rachel smiles when they park close by. "How did you know I love Thai food?"

"Every Wednesday on Chinese takeout day, you talk about how much you love Thai food, and maybe we should consider adding it to the schedule," says Quinn without missing a beat.

"... Okay, fair enough."

Quinn laughs. "It just so happens I've been wanting to try Thai food too, and this place seems to be the only one that has vegan options."

"You picked this place because it has vegan options?"

"Of course, Rachel. I'm taking you out to dinner; why wouldn't I pick something that caters to you? You're the one with way more dietary restrictions than me." Quinn shrugs, trying to make it look casual, and she tells the host they have a reservation for two under Fabray.

When they're seated, Quinn feels a little uncomfortable – and very pleased – when she sees the look on Rachel's face.

"Thank you, Quinn," she says breathlessly, eyes shining. "I'm touched by the amount of concern and care you show."

"Right." Quinn disappears behind her menu. "I baked you vegan cookies, for god's sake. Being a decent human being shouldn't warrant this much praise."

"Of course, but I'm basing my judgement off the Quinn I used to know early in freshman year."

"Cut me some slack, why don't you," mutters Quinn.

Rachel picks up her menu. "Judging from Santana's frequent complaints, I was led to believe Cheerios squad members had more dietary restrictions than I do."

Quinn grimaces. "We weren't allowed to eat practically everything. She would've had us all on a diet of fresh air and sunshine if that didn't violate the Geneva Convention. I definitely don't miss that about Cheerios."

Rachel giggles. "Are you telling me the Spartan workouts and death marches were acceptable?"

"I'm not saying they were, but they were survivable."

The next thing out of Rachel's mouth is unexpected. "I was relieved when you didn't rejoin Cheerios this year."

"Why?"

"I… it's a rather silly reason, you'll make fun of me, and goodness knows I already have a number of traits you mock on a regular basis –"

"– Berry."

Rachel pouts. "Fabray."

"Tell me. Why are you hoping I wouldn't rejoin the Cheerios?" Quinn already has a sneaking suspicion why, but she's learned not to underestimate Rachel.

Rachel toys with her napkin. "You know I would have understood if you rejoined. You need that scholarship, and despite Coach Sylvester's ethically and morally dubious methods, being a Cheerio would practically guarantee a full college ride."

"I've been living with you for months, Berry, did you think I wouldn't be able to notice you trying to change the subject?"

"Fine." Rachel meets Quinn's eyes. "... Well, you used to be cruel to not only myself, but our fellow Gleeks when you were Head Cheerio, Quinn."

"... And when I was pregnant and no longer a Cheerio, none of you got slushied," Quinn finishes for her. "Just say it, Rachel. You think that if I become a Cheerio, I'll go back to my wicked ways and the slushie shower dispenser reign of terror will return."

"It's not just that," admits Rachel. Quinn blinks in surprise. "I was afraid we wouldn't be friends anymore."

"You can't be serious. We live in the same house. Why wouldn't I stay friends with you? Are you saying the past few months don't mean anything to you?"

"You're beautiful, smart, and popular. Your pregnancy only temporarily diminished your popularity. As for myself, we are both aware my social status as the school loser is unfortunately permanent."

A waiter drifts over. "Good evening, ladies; are you ready – "

"No," says Quinn flatly without even looking at him.

Once he's disappeared, Quinn clears her throat. "Rachel…"

"We should leave," she mumbles. "I fear I am not in a conducive frame of mind to enjoy my meal."

"No, I think we need to talk about this."

Rachel stares at her. "I can't believe those words just came out of your mouth."

"Yeah, well, this is important." Quinn looks at Rachel. "Talk to me. You're good at that, right? Tell me why you think I'm such a horrible person that I would turn my back on you and your dads to chase after popularity. That I could go back to the person I used to be before Beth."

"That was before everything that's happened," says Rachel quietly. "We've come so far since then – not just you, but myself as well. I count your friendship as one of the best things that's happened to me."

Quinn makes a face. "Why are you so patient with me, Rachel? Why couldn't you have just cowered and run away like the rest of the school?"

"It's different with you," says Rachel quietly. She disappears behind the menu before Quinn can ask another question. "Now, we probably should order before we starve."

"Yes, but – "

"Excuse me!" Rachel flags down a waiter, the same guy Quinn chased away; he approaches them warily. "We would like to order, please. I'll have your vegan pad thai, and the vegan spring rolls to start."

Quinn randomly picks a dish, her attention still focused on Rachel. "Now can we talk?" she asks once the waiter leaves.

"What is there to talk about?"

And Quinn's stuck. There's something different happening, something underlying their interactions which Quinn can't put her finger on. But she doesn't want to probe further, so it's her turn to change the subject. "I'm the reason Sam hasn't been coming to Glee."

"Yes, I can tell."

"Yeah, 'cause things have been awkward because I told him about Beth, and living with you and your dads."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Quinn drops her gaze to her hands, twisted together in her lap. "So he's avoiding me, and we're probably not even dating anymore, but I'm sorry I ruined Sectionals."

"Don't be, it's not your fault."

Quinn stares incredulously at her. "Uh, were you not listening to me at all? I told Sam the truth, and scared him away so now he probably won't be performing at Sectionals despite being the fricking male lead of our opening number, thereby majorly tanking our chances of winning Sectionals, Regionals, and Nationals, and in turn college scholarships and our futures?"

"... Did you get that from me?" asks Rachel, frowning. "Am I usually that dramatic?"

"Focus, Rach."

"Yes, sorry, you're absolutely right." Rachel clears her throat. "As important as Sectionals are, and despite you being completely correct as to how dire things may potentially become, our friendship has taught me many things. Like there are things that are more important than Glee. I care about Sectionals of course, but more importantly, I care about you."

Before Quinn can get too choked up, Rachel ruins it slightly by adding: "Because you're the equally important female lead of our opening number, and I've already made preparations to have Finn take over right from the start."

"You got a replacement for me too?" asks Quinn, already knowing the answer.

"Who better than yours truly?" says Rachel with her characteristically confident manner. Instead of finding it grating as she normally does, Quinn is amused. "As a matter of fact, I think I might even be able to perform the song on my own, touch wood."

"Only Rachel Berry," says Quinn, shaking her head.

"We're friends, so that statement coming from you is a compliment, and you really do like me." Rachel says confidently.

Quinn is saved from having to respond by the arrival of the spring rolls; she resolves to leave the poor waiter a generous tip.

"No, no. Step, step, then twirl; not step, twirl, step. Quinn, focus."

"You say that as though I've been skipping rope for the past hour," grouses Quinn.

"That's not a bad idea," Rachel muses aloud. "It will certainly improve your stamina. We should see about adding it to your training plan."

Quinn scowls. "Now who needs to focus?"

"We're taking five. You clearly need it." Rachel puts her hands on her hips and addresses the rest of the club. "I think we've almost got it. Maybe we could go over the choreography for Santana's solo while Quinn catches her breath?"

"Berry, we've done that song like five fucking times today. If I have to fucking ask Valerie to come on over one more time today, I will strangle her with my fucking bare hands." She points a finger at Rachel. "And you're next."

Quinn glares at her. "Back off, Lopez. Do you want to win this or not?"

Santana gestures at Quinn. "Look at her. Preggo's so done she can't even come up with an insulting nickname."

"Screw you."

"Cueball, shut up before you pop a brain cell. You're just proving my point."

Rachel sighs. "Fine. Tomorrow then, after school. That goes for everybody! We're doing a full dress rehearsal!"

To Quinn, it seems that Rachel's level of hysteria escalates the closer they get to Sectionals. In this instance, she can't blame her; Sam is still a no-show, and she's been forced to rehearse with a still-sulking Finn.

The rest of Glee club (especially Santana) have been stretched to breaking point and look ready to murder Rachel. Quinn's been forced to intervene more than once to salvage their one remaining chance of winning Sectionals.

Which leads up to this moment; Quinn standing backstage, stock-still, trying to get her nerves under control while Rachel clucks at the rest of Glee club like a mother hen. Finn tugs incessantly on the lapel of his shirt, deliberately not looking at her while she does the same. Since their heated conversation, they haven't spoken to each other except when absolutely necessary.

Quinn focuses on her feet, and tries to remember what she used to find attractive about Finn, and how to translate that into onstage chemistry.

"Hey."

She knows that voice. "Sam?" she says incredulously.

He looks suitably embarrassed, dressed in their stage costume. Before he can say anything, Rachel descends on him, shrieking like a harpy.

"Sam Evans!"

"Uh, hey?" Sam lifts a hand, smiling sheepishly at her.

"Hey is not going to cut it," seethes Rachel. "You can't just disappear and show up right before our Sectionals performance with nothing more than a "hey"." Her voice has risen into a shriek by the end of her sentence. "I have half a mind to unleash Santana on you."

Sam blanches, but manages a: "I know, I know. I've just had some stuff going on." To Quinn, he says: "I'm sorry it took so long, but… could we can talk afterwards? If you want?"

"Yes. I'd like that."

Rachel pushes her way in between, effectively ruining the moment. "Sam. Do you remember any of the choreography?" she demands.

"I guess?"

"... I'll take that as a no," mutters Rachel darkly. "We don't have time to do a full run through of the choreography. We will have words later, I assure you," she glares at Sam, who shrinks away from her, "but for now, we'll wing it. We're good at winging it." Rachel rounds on Quinn, who – much to her relief – doesn't flinch. "I'm thinking… walking in from the back of the auditorium. Would that be okay?"

"Yeah."

Rachel turns her frenzied gaze on Sam, who visibly flinches. Quinn would've found it amusing if they didn't have forty minutes to curtain. "Music starts, you walk through the auditorium doors and sing your way onstage. We'll coordinate ourselves with you. Got it?" barks Rachel. "And I know you have a lot of explaining to do to everyone, Sam, but save that for afterwards. Please be professional when performing, that's all I ask. Okay?"

"I can do that," says Sam, nodding.

Rachel hovers, suddenly uncertain, watching Quinn. Quinn knows that look; knows what Rachel is trying to ask without actually asking. "Go, Rach," she says gently. "It'll be fine."

"I know, I've put too much work into this for things to go wrong."

"I'll be fine," Quinn clarifies. "Promise."

Rachel nods tightly and marches off to round up the other Glee clubbers.

The back of the auditorium is deserted. There's a few minutes left before their cue, and Quinn and Sam are left to stare awkwardly at each other.

"You look beautiful."

"Sam…"

He swallows hard, and nods. "I know. We have a lot to talk about, and that's kinda my fault, but Rachel said we have to be professional for this and I know she wasn't joking when she threatened me with bad things, but… I wanted you to know that. Because that hasn't changed at all. You're beautiful, Quinn."

She nods at him, managing a quick smile before the music starts.

Somehow, Rachel pulls off a miracle. Quinn and the rest manage to cover for Sam's shaky knowledge of the choreography, Santana shines in her solo, and Brittany and Mike's dancing has probably secured their spot as a serious contender.

They're stumbling backstage, hollering and cheering, riding off the high only performing gives. Sam's busy hugging all the girls before turning to her; he's already sweeping her off her feet, and she's already hugging him back before they remember.

"Oh," he stumbles over his words, pulling his arms back, "sorry."

"It's fine," says Quinn, her heart pounding in a way it never did onstage.

Rachel notices, and she starts chivvying everyone away. "Shoo!" she yells, swatting at the Glee clubbers like they're an unruly flock of vultures (which isn't that far from the truth). "Green room, stat. It's debrief time." She shoots a significant and completely unsubtle look at Quinn before disappearing.

In normal circumstances, Quinn would've been embarrassed by Rachel. Right now, she's just grateful.

Finally, they're alone.

"So…"

Quinn waits. She's said all she needs to say.

"I'm sorry it took this long." Sam opens his mouth, pauses, and shuts it again. "I had a lot I needed to think about."

Inhale, exhale. Quinn's fingers twist in the hem of her dress, crumpling the fabric.

"I get why you didn't tell me earlier. Like, you're right; I probably would've freaked out or something, which wouldn't be fair, because you're not looking for a stepdad or anything…"

"Definitely not," says Quinn with a shudder.

Sam chuckles. "Cool. Or, not that cool her dad isn't in the picture. But I really like you, Quinn. Having a kid doesn't make you any less beautiful, or cool, or awesome. Plus it's nice to know Rachel actually does have a heart," he adds in a deliberately conspiratorial tone.

She giggles.

"So, uh. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm cool with everything. And I'd be happy to meet your daughter. Beth. If you want."

"You don't have to," says Quinn shakily.

Sam nods. "I know, but she's important to you."

She should be relieved, she thinks, as she lets Sam wrap her in a hug. But all Quinn can feel in this moment is a hollow – and completely inexplicable – sense of disappointment.

Still in a daze, Quinn makes her way to the dressing rooms in search of the rest of the Glee clubbers.

A noise from the darkened side of the corridor makes her jump.

Rachel and Finn spring apart like they've been electrocuted. "Quinn!" says Rachel brightly. "I didn't – Finn had something in his eye, I was merely assisting him to get it out."

"I did?" Finn stiffens suddenly, as though he'd just been kicked in the shins. "Uh – yeah, I did."

Hot, roiling anger surges in Quinn's stomach. "Sure. Just make sure that you avoid hot tubs, mmkay? Because unless Finn's started wearing the exact same shade of Lush vegan lip gloss as you, Berry, I don't think dust in Finn's eye is the biggest issue here." She walks out, deaf to Rachel calling her name.

Her best guess is that they've made up. And Quinn's happy for them, she honestly is. She'll keep telling herself that until she starts to believe it.