A Little Unbroken

by trifectaimperfecta

The story of how the misunderstood dreamer, the attention seeker with a secret, and the outcast-turned-social butterfly became what was known as the Unholy Trinity. It begins when Brittany and Santana are twelve and follows the journey all the way to senior year. Pairings: principally Brittana and Faberry.

6. A House Divided

AN: The lyrics that appear in this chapter are from The Freshmen by The Verve Pipe.

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"I really don't know what's gotten into her."

Santana turned to Brittany for agreement but saw that her friend was still watching Quinn walk down the hall. She nudged her lightly in the ribs. Brittany's eyes took a moment to look Santana's way and focus on her face. When they did, there was a brief hint of sorrow behind them. Then Brittany blinked and it was gone.

"Hmm?"

"I said I don't know what Quinn's deal is lately," Santana repeated. "Last year, she practically ran screaming from her own shadow. Now, she's parting the crowd with a wave of her hand. It's more than just being captain; it's something about her personality. She's distant and gets super defensive all the time for no good reason. It's really weird."

Brittany nodded and adjusted her ponytail.

"If I didn't know that she's one miracle away from a canonized saint, I'd say she has a guilty conscience about something," Santana remarked. "She's so cagey and shifty anymore. It makes no sense to me."

Again, she looked expectantly at Brittany.

"Thoughts?"

"Maybe she's just going through something," Brittany replied vaguely.

"Then why wouldn't she tell us? We're her best friends."

"Something private?" Brittany suggested.

"I don't know," Santana sighed. "But whatever it is, this holier-than-thou crap she's been pulling better end real soon. Being president of the Crossed-Legs Club is one thing, but talking about it in public is another matter entirely."

Brittany shuffled her feet.

"So long as it makes her happy…"

"It's embarrassing," Santana complained. "She had us all hold hands to pray at lunch yesterday! Who does that?"

The bell rang and Brittany linked their arms to walk to the next period. She traced patterns over the other girl's skin with her thumb until Santana's scowl subsided. Just before they walked into the classroom, Santana shrugged and mumbled hopefully.

"Maybe it's just a phase."

… … …

"You'll never guess what I found."

Quinn looked up from tying her shoelaces to find Crystal, a sophomore Cheerio, sitting beside her. She, Santana, and a few of the others were relaxing on the bleachers and watching the boys run laps before their own practice began.

"You guys know how I've been using MySpace to check out Trent's music, right?" Crystal continued.

Everyone nodded and a few rolled their eyes. They had all heard more than they cared to about her boyfriend's life as a struggling recording artist. Crystal sat up a little taller when she saw how many people were paying attention to her story and leaned in conspiratorially.

"Well, I got bored yesterday so I sort of started looking around, and guess what? There's some new girl here who actually thinks she's gonna be on Broadway."

"Seriously?" Santana asked interestedly.

"Yeah," Crystal nodded. "How delusional is that? We live in Lima, Ohio, for Christ's sake. Oh. Sorry, Quinn."

Quinn waved the expression away impatiently.

"I mean, nobody from here ever makes it to the big time. At least Trent's dreams are more realistic. He just wants to be a successful indie musician. You can do that anywhere. But Broadway? And the real joke is that she records these videos of herself singing right at the camera. It's so awkward and uncomfortable to watch. Like, seriously, find something better to do with your time."

Crystal opened her duffel and pulled out her laptop.

"Here, I'll show you."

She opened the page and pressed play. While the girl was singing, Crystal sent a quick message: Give it up. No one's ever going to hire you.

The laptop was passed around from one Cheerio to the next as they added their own opinions to the mix. They laughed at the singer's intensity and unwavering gaze while paying little attention to the song itself. Santana was next in line and looked – really looked – at how the girl was performing. She chewed on her lip and shook her head before typing: Lima is like Ohio's version of the Bermuda Triangle. Anybody that's in it is never getting out.

After that, it was Quinn's turn to come up with her own response. She took the laptop and watched the video for a moment. As soon as her gaze fell on the teen's face, she barely suppressed a gasp. It was the girl from the summer, the one she had met when she was running: Rachel.

"C'mon, Quinn," Crystal goaded. "You're the one who's awesome at English. I bet you can come up with something good."

Her gut twisted with guilt but Quinn pushed that aside. She scanned the information on the page to find something she could latch onto, anything that didn't insult the girl's voice, because she actually sounded really good. Then Quinn remembered how Rachel had mentioned her dads back in July and an idea popped into her head. She smirked at the others before turning her attention to the keys.

If I were your parents, I would sell you back.

The Cheerios laughed appreciatively before the computer was passed to the next girl. Eventually, Crystal took the laptop back and stopped the video. Quinn turned to Santana, still forcing a laugh, and saw that her smile looked just as fake. Their masks faltered a moment when their familiarity with each other revealed the truth, but then they focused on their squad mates instead and blended themselves into the crowd.

… … …

Quinn was growing frantic. Nearly two weeks had gone by since the night with Puck and she still hadn't found a way to cover her tracks. Silently, she rued every time she had turned Finn away because it would only make it more difficult to lure him into bed now without raising red flags.

To make matters worse, it turned out that Finn had a system now to control his urges. They were alone and horizontal on the Hudsons' sofa one evening when Quinn thought she might have finally found her window of opportunity. She subtly grazed her pelvis against his jeans and bit her lip before arching her back to bring her chest to the boy's eye level.

Finn's eyes shut tightly and he pressed his mouth into a thin line. Quinn frowned and bent down to kiss the soft skin just beside his ear. He started panting and fidgeting until she heard a single, muffled word tumble from his lips.

"What did you say?" Quinn asked with a furrowed brow.

"I—uh—," Finn stammered awkwardly.

"It's okay. You can tell me," Quinn assured.

"I said 'mailman.'"

Quinn's eyebrows rose.

"'Mailman?'"

"Yeah," Finn mumbled guiltily.

"What is that, like a safe word?" she queried.

"No. Well, not exactly," Finn replied helplessly.

Quinn waited patiently and he sighed.

"It's just that, a while back, my mom was helping me practice driving to get my permit. Then, um, on my first day out on the road, I a-a-accidentally hit a mailman."

"Finn, that's terrible! Was he all right?"

"They had to wrap his ribcage," Finn explained. "But otherwise he was okay."

Quinn paused a moment and tilted her head confusedly.

"But what does that have to do with right now?"

"It's the kill switch," Finn responded simply.

He received the same quizzical expression.

"The mood killer. T-The thing that keeps me from, uh, you know…"

He made an exploding gesture with his hands.

Quinn wrinkled her nose.

"Sorry," Finn mumbled. "Nothing else works."

She nodded and patted his arm lightly.

"I didn't wanna draw attention to it," Finn admitted. "I know how important purity is to you and I was trying to get better at sticking to the boundaries. I am doing okay now, though, aren't I?"

He looked up at his girlfriend hopefully.

Quinn sighed and leaned against his chest. She turned her head to the side and rested it just beneath his chin.

"Yes," she confirmed quietly. "You've been a perfect gentleman."

… … …

"No way."

"Oh, come on, Puck!" Santana urged while she leaned across him to grab the lighter off the nightstand.

"No freaking way."

"Finn's joining."

"That's his funeral."

"What happened to you guys being bros for life?" Santana demanded as she lit a joint and took a drag.

"Hey, when it comes to that Leave Room for Jesus crap, it's every man for himself," Puck argued and blew out a spiral of smoke.

"It won't even be a big deal," Santana asserted. "It's just the Cheerios and some football guys. If they're all in it with you, nobody's going to give you shit for being at the meeting."

"But I'm not getting anything out of it," Puck countered.

Santana turned onto her side and scowled.

"Is that how you're going to make all your decisions, huh? 'What's in it for me?'"

"Basically," Puck replied with a shrug. "It's worked pretty damn well for the past fifteen years."

Santana flicked his ear spitefully and readjusted the pillows. Puck rubbed the spot with a grimace and rolled his eyes.

"Look, the only way I could even tolerate being 'celibate' through that preachy hour of hell is if I'd just had sex right beforehand."

Santana exhaled slowly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Maybe that could be arranged."

… … …

Brittany found a corner table and, in the absence of chairs, climbed on top of it to sit. Somehow, she'd been talked into yet another party with the football team and Cheerios – this time at a guy named Matt's house – and it was playing out just like all the ones before it. Quinn had declined the invitation saying she had too much homework, and Santana was so wrapped up in Puck that she might as well not even be there.

She had been sulking for about half an hour when a shouting voice in her ear shook Brittany from her thoughts. A smiling girl with black clothes and bluish purple eye shadow that matched the streak in her hair had popped onto the table to join her. Brittany could not readily identify her face and assumed she was a freshman. The alcohol had evidently already started to take effect and was making the teen unusually giggly.

"Hi," she called to Brittany over the deafening music. "Is this your first high school party, too?"

"No," Brittany shook her head. "I've kinda lost count what number it is. Are you having fun?"

"Yeah!" the girl threw her arms wide and chuckled when she nearly fell over. "Best four years of our lives, right?"

"That's what some people say," Brittany answered. "How come you're not dancing?"

"Nobody to dance with," the girl replied and pretended to pull her mouth down into a frown with her fingertips. "Why don't you dance with me?"

Brittany chewed on her lip a moment and finally shrugged.

"Sure," she consented and slid down to the floor.

"Yay!" the other girl clapped and clumsily followed suit. Brittany caught her arm before she ran into a muscular linebacker.

"Careful," Brittany cautioned. "You sure you're steady on your feet?"

"T-totally," the girl slurred with a wave of her hand. "Just hold onto me and I'll be fine."

Brittany wrapped both arms around the other teen's waist and watched her worriedly. The girl held onto her hips in return and began to sway with the music. In spite of her concerns, Brittany had to admit that this stranger moved pretty well.

"Do you like dancing?" Brittany inquired and tried to match her steps as closely as she could.

"I love it!" the girl shouted. "I'm gonna dance when I get out of school. They won't be able to stop me until my feet fall off!"

Brittany smiled politely while her dance partner snorted and cackled uncontrollably.

"You're really pretty," the girl commented with a scrutinizing squint. "Your eyes are like, majorly blue. I wish I had blue eyes."

"You do?" Brittany remarked. "I actually think brown eyes are really beautiful."

"That's great!" the freshman enthused with a broad grin. "I have brown eyes. See?"

She widened them exaggeratedly and stood on tiptoe to give Brittany a better view.

"Very nice," Brittany complimented and leaned back.

"Have you ever kissed somebody?" the teen asked abruptly.

Brittany flushed a little and glanced around the crowd.

"Um… Yeah."

"Me, too," the girl nodded. "But it was kinda gross. Is kissing guys always gross?"

"No," Brittany replied honestly. "Sometimes it's fun, if they know what they're doing."

"Well, the guy I kissed didn't," the freshman declared loudly. "It was a disaster! What about kissing girls?"

Brittany coughed and sputtered.

"What about it?"

"Is it gross?" the teen inquired and went briefly cross-eyed as her vision blurred.

"Not to everyone. Why are you asking me?"

"Well, I wouldn't know," the girl replied as if that should be obvious. "Maybe I'd like it better than kissing boys."

She bent both arms at the elbows in a shrug.

"You don't know until you try," the girl grinned lazily.

"I guess not," Brittany conceded while purposely avoiding direct eye contact.

The teen grabbed both sides of Brittany's face and gazed blearily up at her.

"Here, hold still for just a sec," she instructed and sloppily pressed her lips against Brittany's.

Brittany held both hands away from the girl's body and pulled lightly out of her grip. The teen reluctantly relinquished her hold and patted hard on Brittany's shoulder with one hand.

"Not bad," she beamed. "A little squirmy, but soft."

She tottered dangerously from side to side, never making it more than a few steps without stumbling. Brittany shook her head at the freshman in dismay. The girl waggled her fingers and laughed again before wandering off into the crowd.

"What's your name?" Brittany called after her, still rubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand.

The girl glanced over her shoulder and shouted back.

"Tina!"

… … …

Santana fell in line behind Quinn the minute she spotted her and subtly elbowed Crystal aside to flank her friend on the left. If there was one thing that was useful about her companion's new-found authority, it was the ability to pass through the sea of students without fear of injury or delay. Quietly, Santana savored being able to look down her nose at the same people who had made every school year before that so miserable and watch them quake with fear.

Quinn noticed the shift in the ranks and glanced briefly to the right before returning her attention to Santana.

"Where's Brittany?" she asked.

"She's been hanging out with the newspaper staff a lot," Santana explained with something that bordered on annoyance. "You gave her the club joining bug and she decided to venture out. Now, what with Cheerios practice, dance class, celibacy club gatherings, motocross meets, and writing articles, Britt's keeping her eyes open just long enough to fill in the lines on her homework before she crashes for the night."

"Is she doing okay?" Quinn queried worriedly.

"Well enough to get by," Santana shrugged. "She's always been able to stay on the move better than the Energizer Bunny hopped up on a Monster drink, so I guess the multitasking is mostly just a time suck."

They neared Quinn's locker and the other Cheerios slowed down out of habit to let her swap out her books. One of them, however – a junior named Veronica – zeroed in on the girl whose locker was a few spaces down and meandered over to her.

"Your name is Rachel, right?" Veronica verified in a dangerous lilt.

Rachel looked up in surprise and nodded slightly.

"I saw your latest video," Veronica continued. "Interesting song choice. And the way you look right into the lens to connect with your audience that's… It's really special."

The Cheerios could hear the underlying venom in her voice, but Rachel brightened at the unexpected compliments.

"Thank you. I always find that, particularly with such an emotional selection, it's best to—"

"Who are they?" Veronica cut her off, pointing to the photo booth pictures held in place on the locker door with magnets.

"My dads," Rachel explained with an affectionate smile. "We took those the month after we moved here."

Quinn heard this last part of the conversation and shut her locker with an echoing bang. Veronica didn't hear the signal to move on and kept up the chat with her unsuspecting victim.

"Do you think that's what made you so fond of musical theatre? Being raised by two gay men?"

"Well, I do share their appreciation for the arts, but it doesn't really have anything to do with…"

She trailed off as Quinn walked up behind Veronica and tapped her impatiently.

"C'mon, Roni. You're going to make us late."

"That flamboyance, too," Veronica pressed on, ignoring her. "It must come in handy when you need to add just an extra touch of pizzazz."

"They did teach me a lot about the craft behind being a performer," Rachel conceded, though it was clear from the way her eyes were widening and her lip was protruding that she had begun to understand this was not a genuinely kind exchange.

"Seriously," Quinn interrupted again. "It will be hard enough to find seats."

Veronica's eyes sized Rachel up with a withering gaze.

"Pity they weren't able to pass on their fashion sense."

"Enough," Quinn snapped irritably. "You've had your fun; let's go."

Rachel tried to communicate her thanks with a look, but Quinn purposely avoided her gaze.

"What's the big deal?" Veronica asked defensively as they continued along the hallway. "Isn't that the point of that club you made us join? You're, like, Captain for Christ. Aren't you supposed to hate all the homosexuals anyway?"

"A good Christian doesn't hate anyone," Quinn replied simply and distanced herself from the others as soon as they entered the classroom.

Santana tossed her head with superiority and smugly filled the one empty chair next to her friend. She glanced across the room at where the other Cheerios had settled and smirked in satisfaction.

"I don't know what you're on to transform you into such an HBIC but, whatever it is, I want some," Santana told her in an undertone.

"I'm not any different than I've ever been," Quinn insisted and shifted a little.

"Bullshit," Santana countered. "You just rendered an upperclassman speechless. Do you not see her face?"

Quinn refused to turn her head in that direction.

"Do you really not have a problem with gay people?" Santana asked. "I know they say stuff at Abuela's church all the time, especially when an election's coming up."

"They speak about it at my church sometimes, too," Quinn replied as she opened her notebook and carefully wrote the date at the top. "But, one time, when I was younger, I talked to a friend of my sister's named Alisha after I got back from Sunday School and she put things in a different perspective."

"What'd she say?" Santana persisted.

Quinn shrugged self-consciously and tried to summarize before the teacher was due to arrive in the room.

"She just kinda reminded me of the Ten Commandments, how all of them had something to do with an act that would hurt somebody – God, your neighbor, or yourself. Then she asked me, 'Why on Earth should anyone be punished for an act of love?'"

Quinn fell silent as soon as the lesson began and neatly divided her notes with headings and numbers printed tidily in the margins. Santana watched her for a moment, still processing what the other girl had said, before she shrugged a little and opened her own notebook to write the same.

… … …

Finn slid into the hot water with closed eyes and sighed. It frothed and bubbled around his arms as he leaned his head against the side of the hot tub. Quinn folded her cover-up neatly on the ledge before allowing her body to slip below the surface.

"Do you like it?" she asked her boyfriend after a few minutes.

"Yeah," Finn replied and stretched out his legs contentedly. "Your dad totally made the right call buying this thing. I'd get in here every day, if I had one."

"It is pretty nice," Quinn agreed. "But I was actually talking about my new suit."

Finn opened his eyes to look but Quinn's body was concealed beneath the water. She stood again briefly to let him see her recent purchase and a slow smile turned up one corner of his lips.

"A bikini," Finn noted while his eyes took their time traveling back up to hers. "No more one-piece?"

Quinn shook her head and grinned as she slipped back into the water and swam over to him.

"So, is it a good change?" she purred near his ear.

Finn nodded emphatically.

"A very good change," he confirmed before pressing his lips to hers.

Quinn smiled and scooted closer. With the privacy screen that obscured the hot tub from view on three sides, she was free to advance as far as she pleased without fear of parental interruption. Finn seemed to have realized this, too, and hummed his relief. Their breathing overlapped as the kisses became longer and more passionate. Quinn's heart hammered, daring for just a moment to hope.

Then Finn's mouth broke away suddenly and she heard him gasp. As Quinn opened her eyes, she saw Finn shaking with a strange expression on his face. Experience made it unnecessary to look down; she knew exactly what was wrong.

"Think of the mail," she ordered hastily, dismayed that his body was nowhere near hers as this moment arrived. "Think of the mail!"

But it was too late. Quinn grimaced as she felt a change in the water and didn't bother to hide her displeasure.

"Sorry," Finn sputtered when he surveyed what he had done. "Quinn, I'm so sorry."

"That's all right," she dismissed through gritted teeth and reached for her towel. "But we're probably going to want to get out of this mess."

… … …

"Open your eyes."

Santana groaned and tilted her sunglasses back down onto the bridge of her nose.

"But I don't see anything," she protested as she stretched out on her stomach in the grass.

"Have you tried the in-between spaces?" Brittany suggested.

Santana peeped out at her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Like our teacher was explaining in art class," Brittany elaborated while she situated herself beside her friend. "Y'know, positive and negative space? If you don't see shapes in the clouds, do you see something between them?"

"Yeah, a whole lot of blue."

Brittany nudged her and laughed.

"Smart aleck."

"What can I say? It's a skill," Santana shrugged and rested her chin on her arms.

The back of her top was untied to enable the girl to get an even tan. Brittany looked down at Santana's bronzed skin and observed the way the flowers growing around them cast shadows on her flesh.

"Why don't you just tell me what you see?" Santana mumbled drowsily.

Brittany licked her lips and traced the dark daisies on the girl's back with one fingertip.

"Birds," she answered at last. "Sad birds."

Santana's brow furrowed but she didn't open her eyes.

"How can you tell they're sad?"

"Because they can't move. Well, they can, but not without letting go."

"Of what?"

"The ground," Brittany continued and ran her finger over the shadows of the stems and the grass. "They've got vines in their mouths that are holding them back. It's like they want to have both at the same time: the earth where they land and the sky where they fly. Only they can't bring them together. There's all this space in between."

"Which do you think they should choose?"

"Sky," Brittany determined and sliced the top off a daisy with one short fingernail before placing it in the other girl's hair. "They'll be happier if they're free."

"You got all that out of some vague shapes out here?" Santana asked incredulously and rolled over.

"I just said what popped into my head," Brittany shrugged noncommittally. "I don't always get where it comes from."

"That's because you're an artist," Santana praised and waved one hand exaggeratedly through the air. "A visionary of the age."

Brittany rolled her eyes and laid her head on the other girl's outstretched arm.

"Or maybe I'm just crazy," she murmured and curled up against her.

"Nuh uh," Santana dismissed immediately. "I called dibs on that personality trait a long time ago. Get your own."

Brittany nuzzled her cheek.

"I'm glad you think I'm average," she said softly. "Sometimes it feels like you're one of the only ones. You, Quinn, and my family."

"I think you're more than average, Britt," Santana protested. "You're my best friend. The fact that you've put up with my shit storm of a life makes you the strongest and most special person I know."

"Really?" Brittany asked with a fleeting smile.

"Yeah," Santana replied uneasily, suddenly conscious of how much she had gushed.

Brittany removed Santana's sunglasses and balanced them on her own nose.

"Well, you're not too bad yourself," Brittany teased in a voice that reminded her friend of a starlet out of old Hollywood.

Santana snorted and snatched her eyewear back.

"Goober."

"Yeah, I am. You are, too. That's why we're such a good match," Brittany joked and lightly poked her companion's stomach.

Santana slid her sunglasses back on and sighed quietly.

"Yeah, I suppose it must be."

… … …

Quinn sat on the low garden wall and crossed her arms when Finn pulled into her driveway.

"Where have you been?" she demanded and did her best to ignore Puck as he climbed out of the passenger side.

"Just hanging out with the guys," Finn explained and kissed her cheek. "Sorry I'm a little late."

"What happened to your car?" Quinn continued with her interrogation, unfazed by his touch. "It looks like something barfed on it."

"Oh… That's egg," Finn told her and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Egg?" she repeated with an arched brow.

"Two dozen, to be exact," Puck bragged before he slid across the hood. "Finny Boy and I played Easter Bunny with some new kids."

"What does that mean?" Quinn inquired, keeping her eyes trained on Finn and avoiding any unnecessary acknowledgement of Puck's presence.

"We tossed 'em," Finn shrugged almost guiltily. "Out the open windows."

"You threw them at people?"

"We threw them at losers," Puck corrected. "Man, you should've seen it! We nailed this one chick in an animal sweater, square in her flat chest, and you'd have thought somebody just shot a puppy in front of her. She had this epic meltdown right there on the sidewalk."

Quinn's expression hardened and she got to her feet.

"Do you have any idea what you did to them?" she growled, and now Quinn's attention was zeroed in on Puck with the full extent of her rage blazing in her irises. "Those poor people are going to be looking over their shoulders every time they step outside their front doors! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you purposely this pathetic or does it run in your genes?"

She planted her hands on her hips and glowered at them both until they hung their heads in shame.

"You guys are the stars of the football team! People look up to you. Just what kind of example do you think you're setting? If this is the kind of men you're growing up to be, God help whoever shares their life with you!"

She angrily blinked back the disappointed tears rimming her eyelids.

"Strut around all you want but you didn't even do the job properly," Quinn snarled with disgust. "You drove around to egg losers and yet here two stand before me completely yolk-free."

Quinn turned on her heel and stormed toward her front door.

"Wait!" Finn called after her. "We were supposed to go somewhere together!"

"Well, looks like your schedule's wide open!" Quinn snapped.

And, with that, she shut the door with such force that the twig wreath on the outside nearly fell off its hook.

"What's wrong with her?" Finn asked in bewilderment.

Puck lifted and dropped his shoulders.

"Damned if I know."

… … …

"Glee Club?" Brittany repeated curiously as she thumped Santana on the back. The latter had snorted so hard that her drink came out of her nose and was currently hacking into a napkin.

"I know, right?" Quinn complained. "Evidently, Finn got in some kind of trouble and he has to join that club to get out of it. He's already freaking out because he swears the guys will call him 'Twinkle Toes' and he'll never hear the end of it. It's going to be terrible for him as quarterback with everyone thinking he plays for the other team."

Brittany's brow furrowed confusedly but Santana set her napkin aside and looked at Quinn levelly.

"Still stand by what you say about gays?" she demanded. "Now that the whole school's going to think you're dating one?"

"Then we'll just have to make it clear how wrong they are," Quinn insisted, ignoring the question. "If they see us together at all times outside of the hour he's in that choir room, they'll have to know the truth."

"Yes, all that grade school style hand holding and those bird pecks you call kisses will leave them in no doubt which side he's on," Santana concurred sarcastically.

She added Brittany's tray to her own and prepared to take them up to be cleaned.

"Sorry about your luck, Polly Pocket, but I really hope you like your men scruffy," Santana teased and looped her arm through Brittany's.

Quinn's face scrunched as she wrinkled her nose.

"Why?"

"Because it looks like your Prince Charming's going to be sporting a beard from here on out."

… … …

The space beneath the bed was dark and cold, allowing little sunlight and even less room to maneuver. Brittany squinted into the shadows until she spotted Charity, the more timid of their two cats, and tried to beckon with a crook of her finger.

"Come on, Charity," she pleaded in a sweet voice. "I'm sure Katy didn't mean to scare you like that. She thought you'd enjoy a ride in her toy car. At least now she knows it's too fast and you get motion sickness…"

The black and white tabby crammed itself deeper into the corner and crouched to make its body smaller.

"Will you at least come out to eat?" Brittany begged. "Look, it's the good stuff this time with the gravy on it. You know how much you love that."

She squeezed a small bowl into the space and waved it temptingly. Charity remained expressionless. Brittany sighed heavily.

"All right, I'll just leave it nearby in case you change your mind," she offered.

As Brittany set the food down and perched lightly on her mother's bed, her cell phone went off and blared loudly through the silent room.

"Hello?" Brittany answered, although the ringtone had already told her who was on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Britt," Santana replied. "How's it going?"

"Not so good," Brittany told her and flopped back against the mattress. "My sister got Charity out of her usual hiding place under the bed and took her outside for a drive in her little battery-operated car. It crashed into the oak tree and now she refuses to see the light of day."

"Your sister or the cat?"

Brittany chuckled.

"Charity, although, now that you mention it, Katy's lucky she got out of that without any scratches."

"I'd imagine so," Santana remarked. "Hey, did you hear about what happened to Finn?"

"No," Brittany said and turned over onto her side. "What's going on?"

"Well, I just spent the better part of the last hour with Quinn talking my ear off about how, apparently, Finn staggered out to the parking lot when she was leaving from practice today. He was covered in paint splatters. Puck and some of the guys brought in paintball guns and surrounded him to convince him to quit that club."

"That's awful," Brittany sympathized. "Did it leave bruises or anything? Paintballs hit really hard."

"I don't know," Santana responded disinterestedly. "The crazy thing is that he still won't quit."

"Yeah, but isn't it to keep himself out of trouble? It's not like he's in there by choice. Why can't they just leave him alone?"

"That's what Quinn said," Santana chortled. "I think what happened pissed her off even more than it did Finn. She said every bad thing about those guys that religious kick of hers would allow and shouted enough to wake the dead."

"I hope she didn't get too worked up," Brittany fretted.

"Why? Afraid she's gonna have an aneurism? Not gonna lie, the thought crossed my mind a few times while I was talking to her."

"No, it's not that," Brittany murmured and chewed on her fingernail. "Never mind."

She held her breath and waited to see if Santana would push the issue further.

"So, you'll never guess what the little rat bastard had done when I got home from school today…"

Brittany's shoulders relaxed and she contentedly settled against the covers to listen to Santana's complaint about her younger brother. Quinn's condition was still unknown, at least for now. The question was: for how long?

… … …

"They need me, Quinn," Finn explained for the fiftieth time.

"Well, I need my boyfriend to be able to escape the school grounds unscathed," Quinn returned. "Isn't there any way you could discuss the matter with Mr. Schuester and get him to come up with some other punishment?"

"All they've got for guys is me, a gay kid, and a dude in a wheelchair. If I bail out now, they're screwed."

"And that is exactly whatyou'll be if you don't get out of there now," Quinn pointed out with a huff. "The bullying, the criticisms… They're not going to just go away, Finn. Trust me. This can't go on."

"They're not all bad," Finn continued to defend as his gaze drifted beyond her shoulder.

Quinn followed his line of sight and spotted Rachel approaching the lockers.

"That girl's in there with you?" Quinn verified incredulously before muttering to herself. "Of course she is, she's a singer…"

She shook her head impatiently and pressed one fingertip to Finn's chest.

"Look, I'm not saying they're bad people; I'm only saying that associating with them is going to get you beaten up on a daily basis and it will annihilate your reputation."

Rachel reached her locker and began working on the combination. She spotted Finn first and waggled her fingers before her eyes found Quinn's and Rachel immediately turned her focus to her books. Quinn saw the way her boyfriend's expression had brightened and she glowered.

"Did you even speak to Mr. Schue about the possibility of getting your punishment changed?" she demanded sharply.

"Huh? I – uh – W-well, once I saw how small their club is, I kinda figured he wasn't gonna let anybody quit since they need every member they can get," Finn stammered.

"Unbelievable," Quinn fumed and immediately turned to walk away.

"What did I do now?" Finn cried miserably.

"I don't have time to explain it to you but, you know, I bet if you put that pea-sized brain of yours to work, you might just figure it out!" Quinn snarled.

As she departed, Quinn noticed that Rachel appeared ready to swoop in and smooth the worried crease between Finn's eyebrows. She purposely crossed the shorter girl's path before she could reach him and, before Rachel could take another step, Quinn stopped her in her tracks with a look that could have turned any soul to stone.

… … …

"If the wind changes, your face will stay like that," Santana teased and kicked Quinn lightly in the shin.

Her comment was ignored in favor of continuing to glare icily across the cafeteria.

"Wouldn't want all that expensive plastic surgery to go to waste," Santana added in an undertone and squeezed her friend's cheeks to alter her expression.

Quinn pulled away irritably and stabbed at her salad.

"This is completely ridiculous," she groused moodily. "I know it probably sounds conceited, but I'm a good girlfriend for Finn. He shouldn't have any reason to want out of this relationship and, even if he did, he shouldn't be sneaking around in plain sight like this! It's insulting to my intelligence."

"Maybe it isn't the way it looked," Brittany offered optimistically and nudged her cupcake in her companion's direction. "They might just be friends."

"Yeah, but how many friends does Finn have who are girls?" Quinn countered.

"Well, none, but there's a first for everything," Brittany shrugged.

"There's a first time for cheating, too," Quinn grumbled and chomped the icing off the cupcake before looking at the bite mark she'd left behind with obvious self-loathing. "Meanwhile, I'm stuffing myself like a fat cow and she's still prancing around with those short skirts and that ludicrous pull-along pink backpack."

"Quinn, so help me, if I have to hear one more time about Rachel Berry the Boyfriend Stealer," Santana threatened and pressed her palm to her forehead to channel her anger. "I swear to God, if someone didn't know better, they'd think she was the one you wanted instead of Finn, with as much as you talk about her."

Quinn's face flushed scarlet and she stabbed at her meal with more ferocity, but she stopped her tirade against her rival… at least for now.

"Anyway, the good news is that we're about to get to the bottom of this," Quinn said when her skin had returned to its usual color.

"How?" Brittany asked curiously as she sucked down the last of her chocolate milk.

"Coach Sylvester wants us to check in on them this afternoon," Quinn confided in a low voice. "There's a place where we'll be able to watch the club without them catching us, and then I'll see how Finn behaves when he thinks no one else can see."

"I've got dance today," Brittany told her apologetically. "Maybe you can call me later to tell me what happened?"

"Sure," Quinn nodded. "How about you, Santana? Can you make it?"

Santana considered her options a moment and swirled her food around with a spoon before she finally set the silverware aside.

"What the hell," she chuckled and shrugged. "Count me in."

… … …

Quinn honestly hadn't seen the slushies coming. She'd been in the middle of trying to chase Rachel off after yet another time the girl had butted into a conversation that didn't involve her when things took an unexpected turn. Rachel started standing up for herself and almost didn't seem intimidated at all by her enemy's tactics. Unaccustomed to disobedience of the social hierarchy, Quinn had found it difficult to come up with a ready reply.

Then Rachel had spun away from their argument with a triumphant smile – only to be hit directly in the face with a rush of blue ice and juice.

Quinn's first reaction was shock, not only because it was an unanticipated attack but also because Puck was one of the two jocks holding a cup. It was one thing to hear him boast about his oafish treatment of other students but another thing entirely to see it firsthand. Quinn tried to force a laugh but it wouldn't quite come out, and her eyes followed the boy's progress down the hall, wondering how he could do such a thing without so much as looking back.

Rachel looked down at her ruined outfit and sopping hair as her lip began to protrude. Her gaze traveled to where Quinn was still standing. Rachel's expression clearly indicated how dejected the girl was that her speech had been erased from her competition's memory now that she was coated in dye. For a fraction of a second, Quinn felt her gut squirm guiltily and checked her pockets for tissues – only to remember that her uniform skirt didn't have any – before Rachel let out a muffled sob and darted toward the bathroom.

… … …

Brittany was surrounded by books and notepaper, elbow-deep in a mountain of homework that appeared more overwhelming each time she looked at it.

"Don't worry," Santana said reassuringly as she crossed the room. "I'm going to work on mine, too. If we get stuck, we can help each other. Budge over, Fatso, I need my space."

This last remark was directed at Lord Tubbington, the increasingly large feline who considered the Pierces' house to be his undisputed domain. He shot Santana a single, resentful glare before doing as she had commanded. The girl nodded curtly to him in thanks and even scratched behind his ears while she unzipped her backpack with the other hand.

Brittany gave the first few assignments her best effort but, after forty-five minutes of almost complete silence, her head began to droop and she had to keep propping her chin on her hands.

"You okay?" Santana checked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Brittany answered and rubbed at her eyelids with the heels of her hands. "It's just that the words keep blurring and I can't focus."

"You're tired," Santana concluded and walked over to her. "Why don't you take a break for a little nap? I'll wake you up to finish the rest; I promise."

"I can't," Brittany protested and tried to sit up a little straighter. "If I close my eyes, I won't wanna open them again."

"I'll take care of it, seriously," Santana insisted before teasing. "You're about to break your nose by crashing into the desk with your face. Coach Sylvester would have a fit. It'll just be for a little while. Come on."

When Brittany still didn't move, Santana turned the chair around and gripped the girl's armpits firmly.

"Up you go," she ordered and hoisted her to her feet.

Brittany giggled and tried to fight it but Santana slung her friend's arms over her shoulders. She let the teen lean against her back while she dragged her across the room.

"I feel like a cloak," Brittany commented with a laugh.

"Yeah, only cloaks don't give you any lip or purposely get heavier so you can't move them," Santana remarked and flung the other girl onto the mattress. "Now sleep."

Lord Tubbington splayed his paws out when the bed shook and grumpily hopped down to occupy the chair his owner had just vacated.

"See? Even Tubbers is clearing the way for you. He knows you need your rest."

"If you say so," Brittany agreed reluctantly and held out her arms. "Lay down with me?"

"All right," Santana agreed and set her books and bag on the floor. "But only until I know you're not awake anymore. Can't have both of us passing out or there won't be anyone to wake us up."

She crawled across the covers and enfolded Brittany in her arms, resting her chin on the other girl's shoulder from behind.

"Much better," Brittany mumbled in a voice that was almost inaudible, her lips already having difficulty forming words through the fog settling over her thoughts.

Santana brushed back her friend's hair and then rested against the pillow. The other girl's grip tightened on her arm and pulled her closer.

"I love you," Brittany whispered dreamily just before her limbs relaxed and she appeared to fade from consciousness.

The muscles in Santana's body tensed. She stared at Brittany's closed eyelids while her heart pounded and she held completely still. With a nervous lick of her lips, Santana eased the tension out of her arms and legs to give the impression she had drifted off as well. It wasn't until she heard a quiet whistle coming from Brittany's nostrils that Santana allowed herself to breathe again. After that, the only sounds were Lord Tubbington's purring and the steady clack of the hands on the clock, counting off the minutes that Santana had left alone to think.

… … …

Quinn closed her eyes and pursed her lips as she fought to stave off a headache. As president of the celibacy club, she couldn't afford to zone out but the throbbing near her temples was making it difficult to concentrate.

Rachel had decided to attend this week's meeting.

As if the club hadn't been feeling like enough of a joke already, what with almost no one in it actually being anything remotely resembling celibate, now here was the girl who might well be the one to whom her boyfriend surrendered his innocence. It was taking all of Quinn's effort not to glare a hole through her on the spot, knowing as she did that this was just another ploy to get close to Finn.

She sat a little taller and began the proceedings, which included introducing Rachel to the other members as a matter of formality, all the while trying her level best not to make eye contact. To her extreme annoyance, the first question to pass Rachel's lips was an inquiry as to just where the boys of the club were at that moment. Quinn testily explained that the first half hour would be spent apart before they all convened to share their faith.

Rachel accepted this information with a brief nod and folded her hands in front of her to listen to the weekly testimonies from various members about how belief in God had made a positive change in their lives that week. Not everyone was required to offer an example – mostly to avoid some of the more liberal individuals from saying something potentially offensive – but it was customary for newcomers to share a story in their first meeting.

"Well, I know that I'm not a Christian like the rest of you," Rachel began with a timid smile. "But maybe that's a good thing for the club, because I can bring a different perspective. As for a way my faith made a positive influence in my life this week… I think maybe it was just by giving me strength, you know? The way it always has. Belief in something greater than ourselves can be very comforting when our petty personal problems start to seem overwhelming."

Quinn found herself nodding in agreement but stopped abruptly the moment she became aware of it.

"Okay," she said suddenly and rose to her feet. "Now on to our club's central subject: chastity. Staying pure in today's society can be very difficult but, if we tread the line carefully, we can manage to hold true to our personal beliefs without isolating ourselves from our entire social circle."

Rachel chewed on her lip and appeared tempted to put forth an opinion. However, she saw the way half the girls were eyeing her and, upon receiving a raised eyebrow of warning from Santana, she remained silent.

"Take our clothing, for example," Quinn continued. "These uniforms are a great example of just the right balance. Everything private is kept that way, but there's still enough showing to keep a guy's interest. Santana, can you give us a little demonstration?"

Santana rose and moved to the center of the room. She spun in a tight circle until her Cheerios skirt billowed wide. The built-in red material clung close to her curves and covered only what it had to keep concealed to maintain a modicum of decency. All the other cheerleaders looked on with nods of approval. Brittany bit her lip.

"God bless the perv that invented these," Quinn commented approvingly. "Remember the power motto, girls..."

The other club members joined her in a chorus of giggling shouts:

"'It's all about the teasing and not about the pleasing!'"

While Rachel looked on in dismay, the Cheerios broke into a series of suggestive moves, clearly enjoying the knowledge of the power they had over the boys in the school. The more reserved newcomer tugged her sweater a little closer and wrapped her arms around her middle.

Rachel didn't utter a single word more for the duration of the girls' only portion of the meeting. When the time came for the boys to join them, her eyes went immediately to Finn while Quinn's eyes went straight to Rachel. She gritted her teeth and struggled to suppress her rage at how both of them lit up as they saw the other.

Quinn strode quickly toward the supplies for their first group activity as an excuse to busy her hands and calm her nerves. She picked up one of the white balloons from the desk against the wall and attached it to the nozzle of the helium tank situated there. Her narrowed hazel eyes watched as the gold cross printed on the balloon grew larger and larger.

"Let's pair up for the Immaculate Affection," Quinn announced loudly. "Now, remember, if the balloon pops, the noise makes the angels cry."

She summoned a few Cheerios with a crook of her finger and had them finish blowing up the rest of the balloons before passing them out to everyone. Meanwhile, she moved immediately to Finn and watched with smirking satisfaction as Rachel got stuck with Jacob Ben Israel, a perverted mouth-breather with thick-rimmed glasses who shuddered lustily every time he was within touching distance of a girl. The grimace on Rachel's face made it all-too-clear that she, too, was aware of her partner's unfortunate raging hormones.

A short distance away, Santana had paired off with Puck, naturally. The trouble for her was that, unlike some of his more timid teammates - or perhaps because of their presence - he decided to use this opportunity to show off how terribly out of place he was in a club promoting abstinence.

He ground his pelvis against the balloon as hard as its breakable exterior would allow, making it squeak threateningly as if about to burst. Santana watched him in alarm as he grunted and thrust.

"Take it," he said in a low voice. The back of Quinn's neck burned at the sound of his words, but she forced her attention to remain on her friend to see how she would respond. Santana's lip curled and her hold on her boyfriend loosened.

"Stop it," she commanded with a hint of desperation. "Cut it out..."

Santana dug her fingernails into his shoulder and did her best to glare despite her obvious embarrassment.

"I can't take you anywhere," she complained in annoyance. Puck gave her a dirty grin.

By now, Finn had noticed his best friend's actions as well. His eyes traveled to where the balloon was being pushed against Santana's skirt. It pushed aside a little bit of material with each of Puck's thrusts. Somehow, the balloon did not bust even as it angled against her body and slid some of the solid material below away from her skin.

Pop!

Quinn had been expecting the noise all the while. What she hadn't expected was that it was not Puck's and Santana's balloon that had exploded. It was hers.

"Finn!" she shouted in dismay.

Her boyfriend stammered helplessly, blaming it on his zipper, but that did nothing to drive away Quinn's shame. Everyone watched as she fumed and the color rose in her cheeks until a single voice spoke.

"You know what? This is a joke," Rachel declared.

Her back was straightened in defiance and she kept her dark eyes blazing right at her adversary. Quinn was so stunned by the other girl's sudden rebellion that she merely stared in amazement.

"Did you know that most studies have demonstrated that celibacy doesn't work in high schools?" Rachel said rhetorically. "Our hormones are driving us too crazy to abstain The second we tell ourselves that there's no room for compromise, we act out."

Quinn was dedicating every ounce of effort in her being to looking outraged while fighting the burning of guilt in her gut as she stubbornly refused to so much as glance in Puck's direction.

"The only way to deal with teen sexuality is to be prepared," Rachel declared succinctly. "That's what contraception is for."

"Don't you dare use the 'C' word," Quinn interrupted venomously as the words struck a very sensitive nerve like the jab of a lance.

Rachel's liberal-minded fury only seemed to swell indignantly at Quinn's protestation.

"You wanna know a dirty little secret that none of them want you to know?" Rachel asked the room at large.

Jacob Ben Israel nodded fervently. Finn listened expectantly with an unblinking gaze.

"Girls want sex just as much as guys do."

Quinn glared and sighed internally as Rachel stormed out of the room.

She really wished she hadn't said that.

… … …

"But why do we have to join the Glee Club if you hate it so much?" Brittany asked confusedly while she danced Quinn's stuffed animals across the bed. She put Isaac the Lamb on top of Santana's head and giggled when her friend pouted sullenly.

"It's a takeover," Quinn explained with a slightly manic glint in her eye. "We're going to be there to see firsthand just what that damn troll is doing to get Finn's attention, and then we're going to put a stop to it."

"I move to put forth a suggestion to the board," Santana interrupted and raised her hand.

"Granted," Quinn played along begrudgingly.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to dump his sorry ass rather than standing by and watching as he leaves you for Peregrin Took? Why not just beat him to the punch?"

"Says the girl who's dating Noah 'Sex Shark' Puckerman," Quinn shot back spitefully.

"Look, I know Puck's had more contact with vaginas than a pack of tampons, but that's something I've been aware of for a long time," Santana replied. "We're not exclusive. We're never gonna be. Finn fed you the false pretense of you being his one and only while he's eye sexing Baby Barbra."

Brittany frowned but kept her opinions to herself as she turned from Santana to Quinn.

"What's your plan?" she asked helpfully. "How are we going to get in?"

"We audition," Quinn stated simply. "Only we're not gonna drag out some worn out old show tunes with some jazz hands. It's gonna take a little extra something to get Mr. Schuester to accept us without question."

"We're not doing a number like that thing from the assembly, are we?" Brittany asked worriedly. "I don't want to have a balloon sticking out of my pants..."

"No, definitely not," Quinn stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Although being a little sexy probably wouldn't hurt our case."

"I don't know about strutting myself in front of that curly-haired creeper," Santana interjected. "He gives me the uh-oh feeling."

"We'll keep it pretty tame," Quinn assured her. "I don't want it to look like we're pimping ourselves out or something."

"Even though that's exactly what Sue is doing," Santana griped. "Hoping our pretty faces will distract Schue from the plot she's got up her sleeve."

Quinn waved that all away dismissively.

"Never mind all that. We'll keep her humored because, if Coach Sylvester isn't happy, nobody's happy. Still, that doesn't mean we can't have our own motivations."

"So what's the song?" Brittany prompted, mind already starting to generate ideas for choreography.

Quinn crossed the room to her desk and held up a silver disk for her two friends to see. Neatly printed in black permanent marker were the wordsI Say A Little Prayer.

Santana flopped against the pillows and groaned.

"Heaven help us..."

… … …

"Britt?"

Brittany grumbled and buried her face deeper in her arms.

"Britt-Britt, wake up."

Insistent fingers prodded her shoulder.

"We've gotta get to lunch, c'mon."

Reluctantly, Brittany peeped out and saw her best friend standing over her. The lines in Santana's already concerned face deepened when she saw Brittany's skin.

"Jeez, Brittany, you're pale as death," Santana fretted. "Your eyes are all puffed up."

"What happened?" Brittany asked groggily.

"You passed out during the film, I guess," Santana surmised. "You were looking a little off-color before but, shit, you'd think I just dug you out of the ground."

"I haven't been sleeping very well," Brittany confessed as she stood and put her books in her backpack.

"It's having an extra club, isn't it?" Santana guessed. "Damn it, I told you you'd run yourself down if you took on too much! I knew it. I told Quinn to leave us out of her little scheming vendetta and now look! She's turned you into a zombie."

"It's not Glee," Brittany countered, rubbing her eyes after she slid the straps of her pack onto her arms. "Well, it is, but it's not because I'm in it. Look, I know those kids are supposed to be a bunch of losers or whatever, but I don't like lying to them. They're being really friendly and making sure we feel welcome and we're just getting information to give to Coach Sylvester."

"So you're saying you're not getting sleep because you've got a guilty conscience?" Santana clarified as they stepped out into the hall.

"Kinda," Brittany admitted with a self-conscious shrug. "Is that silly?"

"No," Santana replied immediately and threaded her arm through Brittany's. "You're the kindest, truest person I know, so it's not surprising at all. Tell you what: Why don't you skip the whole spy meeting thing today? Go home and take a nap for a while. Seriously, you've earned it."

"You don't think she'll get mad?" Brittany worried.

"Quinn and I will take on Sue and whatever fury of hell she has to rain down upon us today," Santana said. "Getting bitched at by that bat brain is the last thing you need when you're already tired and vulnerable. If she made you cry, I'd have to kill her."

Brittany laughed feebly and gave Santana an appreciative smile.

"Okay. I guess going home early one time wouldn't hurt," Brittany conceded. "I'll just leave my door unlocked before I fall asleep. My sister will wake me up when she comes to talk to me after she's home from school."

"Sounds good," Santana agreed and gave her friend's arm a reassuring squeeze.

Brittany checked over both shoulders before giving Santana a peck on the cheek. Santana instinctively recoiled as if burned but, upon seeing as her friend had that no one else was around, did not protest.

"What was that for?" she asked quietly.

"For taking care of me," Brittany replied with a small smile.

Santana looked at Brittany's drawn face and tired eyes before returning the expression with a slower, sadder smile of her own.

"I try my best."

… … …

Rachel hit her head against the seat in front of her with a soft thump.

"We really suck, don't we?" she asked despondently.

"Yeah," Santana confirmed without preamble. "Lucky for you, I found information about this guy so the sucking will be only temporary."

She, Rachel, Quinn, Brittany, Kurt, and Mercedes had all agreed to meet at Carmel High to observe choreographer Dakota Stanley in action. Thus far, his prowess was evident... but so was their inferiority to his usual pupils.

"How did you find out about Dakota, anyway?" Quinn asked curiously.

"Vocal Adrenaline is like the uncontested best show choir in our region," Santana stated with a shrug. "Singing is great and all, but it's always the showmanship that puts a group over the top. A couple of articles in, one newspaper dropped the name and - voila - here we are."

Everyone except Brittany blinked at her incredulously.

"What?" Santana demanded testily. "Oh, for fuck's sake, I can read."

"How much longer do you think this will go on?" Mercedes asked the group as she checked her watch. "It's already almost time for dinner. Don't they ever take a break?"

"Only for some bubble and squeak," Kurt drawled.

The other five turned to look at him.

"British dish made out of leftovers," Kurt elaborated. "Popular when things were rationed during the second World War? Oh, forget it. Why do I bother?"

Mercedes patted his knee and smiled affectionately. Remembering that she and her fellow spies were supposed to be encouraging this ill-advised infatuation - as part of Sue's recent plan to break up the New Directions by turning McKinley's Glee Clubbers against each other - Quinn gave the girl a subtle nod and a wink. Santana seconded the approval with an incline of her head while Brittany chewed on her lip, a habit she had fallen into so often that tiny flecks of blood marked where her teeth had been. She winced as those spots experienced a fresh twinge of pain.

"Just look at them," Rachel complained quietly, oblivious to the exchanges taking place around her. "They're at an almost Broadway level of professionalism and we're still trying to steer Mr. Schue clear of disco!"

"I don't know about y'all, but I'm one hundred and ten percent done with this pity party," Mercedes interjected as she stood. "I say we ditch this place and get something to eat. There are a couple of restaurants just across the street that we could walk to if we wanted."

"We can't," Kurt responded miserably. "If we leave the building, there'll be no one to let us back in."

"I've lost my appetite," Rachel mumbled before hiding behind her hands.

"Why don't Rachel and I stay here to open the door for you and you can just bring us something back?" Quinn suggested. "Britt, you can text me to let me know when you guys are waiting to be let inside again."

Brittany gave her a thumbs-up before linking her arm with Santana's and heading for the exit. Kurt and Mercedes looked at Rachel uncertainly but, upon receiving a nod to indicate that she was all right being left in her rival's company, they followed suit.

"How come you stayed behind?" Rachel asked once the others had gone. "I could've just as easily been here by myself to let everyone in when the time came."

"I believe in knowing what I'm up against," Quinn responded tersely. "Not taking my eyes off my competition for a second."

"Are we talking about Vocal Adrenaline or me?" Rachel queried.

"Both," Quinn admitted.

Rachel nodded.

"I really didn't want us to end up this way, you know," she said after a moment. "When we met this summer, I had this crazy idea that maybe I'd just found my first friend."

"Well, we're teammates now. I guess you could at least consider us allies, for the time being, so long as you stay away from Finn."

"I'm not trying to be a Pied Piper or anything," Rachel protested. "However I can't help it if he comes to me of his own accord..."

"See? There it is!" Quinn cried as the dangerous gleam returned in her eyes. "You're all innocent and doe-eyed about it but you've got your fingers crossed under that pleated skirt, haven't you? Hoping you can just position yourself conveniently close by for whenever he goes looking for whatever it is he's trying to find."

Rachel looked back at her with a strange expression on her face that Quinn couldn't quite name.

"Do you really think I'm so awful?" Quinn continued, hating herself immediately for the emotion she could feel threatening to find its way to her tearducts. "That he needs you on the sidelines waiting with open arms to help him escape? I know everything sucks for you right now and you want something better, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I might need him more than you do?"

"I-I'm not doing anything to hurt you," Rachel stammered. "Finn and I just have a connection, that's all."

"Well break it," Quinn commanded sharply.

She stood, clenched her teeth, and fought to hold back the tears that seemed ever-ready to spill over these days.

"I suppose it's a small consolation that, so long as you're here watching this rehearsal with me, I know you'll be well away from Finn until at least midnight. One day's reprieve until your constant hounding picks up again. I swear, it's like I round every corner and there you are, like some psycho from a horror film. So, please, just find a way to fix your own life that means you'll leave mine alone."

Quinn turned away before her weakness had a chance to show on her face and raced quietly toward the exit to wait for the others. Rachel watched her go before turning back to face the rehearsal, utilizing her spot in the shadows as a safe place to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek.

… … …

"Working at the car wash, oh oooh oh oooh oh ooh oh," Brittany sang under her breath.

The blazing sun overhead warmed her muscles as she and the other Cheerios helped with the car wash fundraiser for the Glee Club to afford buses to their Sectionals competition. Brittany shook her hips to the song in her head and danced around the Range Rover she was cleaning with a happy kick of her high-heeled Chucks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Santana shaking her head at this exuberance during such a tedious task. Brittany simply stuck her tongue out teasingly and continued to dance.

Despite no concrete encouragement from the boy, Mercedes was still mooning over Kurt without any hint of misgivings. Brittany noticed how she trailed around after him and felt a sympathetic pang. Were it not for the fact that she knew Mercedes had no reason to listen to or believe her, Brittany would have tried to caution the other girl against putting her feelings on the line. Even though she wasn't exceptionally close to anyone in the Glee Club outside of the two members she already knew, Brittany didn't like the idea of standing by and watching Mercedes get hurt.

As it turned out, Kurt himself was the one to put an end to the crush - and he did so right there at the car wash. Brittany was only a short distance away dipping her sponge back into the bucket when she heard the slightly raised voices of Mercedes and Kurt over near the car Mr. Hummel had bought the boy for his birthday.

To everyone's dismay, most especially Kurt's, the argument culminated in Mercedes smashing the glass of the boy's windshield with a rock. She then strode off in a huff, leaving Kurt gaping at the hole left in his prized possession.

"Wow," a voice said near Brittany's ear. "What was all that about?"

Brittany turned to find Santana standing beside her, sponge dripping soapy water along her arm.

"I think Kurt finally broke the news to Mercedes," Brittany concluded.

"Well, it had to happen eventually," Santana shrugged. "If that boy was any more off the charts, the arrow on my gaydar would have to go around full circle."

"I hope she isn't totally heartbroken," Brittany said as she looked in the direction Mercedes had walked. "It sucks waiting around for somebody who's never going to come."

"I'm sure Wheezy will get over it," Santana replied and dabbed the sponge against the tip of Brittany's nose. "Cheer up, buttercup."

Brittany's eyes crossed as she looked at the soap that was now tingling on her skin. She tried her best to scowl and planted her hands on her hips.

"What's the matter, sudsy?" Santana giggled.

Brittany took her own sponge and ran it along the underside of the other girl's chin, effectively giving her a bubbly white beard. Santana retaliated by taking advantage of the bikini tops all the Cheerios had been told to wear and lobbed her entire sponge right at Brittany's exposed chest. It stuck there for a moment before falling off into the bucket at her feet. They both surveyed the mess it left behind while Santana clicked her tongue.

"That is unfortunate," she teased with mock regret.

"I thought the point was to wash the cars, not the people," Brittany laughed.

Santana cast a quick glance around before she leaned closer and said, "Maybe it can be both. The car wash is nearly over, and I think there's a shower stall that has our names on it."

Brittany grinned and felt her eyelids flutter closed when Santana pressed the sides of their faces together and whispered in her ear.

"Race you to the locker rooms..."

… … …

The road from Lima to Bellville was a long one - around two hours, give or take a handful of minutes, depending on which route you took - made all the longer by the anxiety that felt as though it were threatening to tear Quinn in two. This was the first time she had made the trip back since they moved, but time had yet to heal any of her wounds. She tried her level best not to overthink it, not to consider how close she was to the place where she had never felt wanted, but the number of miles between her and her destination seemed to be decreasing by the minute.

As familiar roads and landmarks began to pass by her driver's side window, Quinn consulted the piece of paper resting on her center console. She flicked on her turning signal before making a left and slowly eased off the gas as she passed three driveways in succession before reaching the one she sought.

Gravel crunched beneath her wheels as Quinn made her way toward the two-story house set some distance away from the road. Trees bordered the path to her right while a vast stretch of neatly mowed green grass rolled out to her left. It was a quiet, welcoming sort of place with pure white siding and navy blue shutters. However, the residence possessed a measure of melancholy, as though it were far too large a property for the only two people who lived there.

4271 Carnation Drive.

Home of the Collinses.

Frannie's house.

Quinn sat fearfully in her car for a full three minutes, afraid to so much as take her keys from the ignition. She and her sister had been nearly inseparable once, almost too long ago for Quinn to properly remember it anymore. With the distance that had grown between them over the years, could she be sure that her sister was the right one to call on in this time of need? Then again, if not Frannie, who else did she have?

With a heavy sigh, Quinn climbed out and walked along the stone path to the front door. She pressed her finger against the doorbell and released it to wrap her arms tightly around herself, waiting. The little bell could be heard tolling throughout the house, echoing into the emptiness. After a few moments, the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching from the opposite end of the entrance hall.

Then there she was. An inch shorter than Quinn, though eight years older, with short brown hair that framed her face and bright blue eyes that were so like their mother's. Perhaps it was that very similarity that struck Quinn squarely in the chest the moment she saw her sibling. Regardless of what had triggered her response, she found herself crying pitifully on her sister's doorstep and completely unable to ebb the flow of tears.

"Quinn?" Frannie gaped, momentarily too stunned to move.

The younger girl was so overwrought that she could do little more than respond with broken sobs. Frannie opened her screen door and stepped onto the front stoop in her bare feet to wrap her arm around Quinn's shoulders.

"What are you doing all the way back in Bellville?" Frannie marveled as she led the weeping teen into the house. "Did you make the drive all alone?"

Quinn managed a nod while she attempted to clean her face with her sleeve.

"I don't think that's gonna be able to get it all, sweetheart," Frannie remarked. "Why don't I get you some tissues?"

She made sure Quinn was comfortably settled on the comfiest couch right in front of three large windows and then went off to fetch an entire box of Kleenex.

"There you go," Frannie offered before settling into the nearby armchair. "I'm guessing from the mini Niagara streaming out of your tearducts that this isn't just a friendly visit?"

Quinn looked up with a quivering lip and nearly crumbled all over again at the sweet and patient smile her sister was giving her. For now, the only answer she was able to give was a shake of her head.

"Okay," Frannie nodded and clasped her hands together. "Is it a family emergency?"

The horrible wail that emitted from Quinn's mouth made the other woman flinch.

"Nothing to do with Mom and Dad, is it?"

Another shake of the head.

"Well, that's one good thing at least. But... Quinnie... Mom and Dad are the only family you and I have," Frannie said slowly.

Quinn lifted her red-rimmed eyes and clenched the tissues tightly in her fists while her whole body shook. It was only with great determination that she held Frannie's gaze, but that look was all that was required to express her meaning.

"Oh, no," Frannie murmured and moved to crouch in front of her trembling little sister. "Quinn, are you in trouble?"

A nod.

Frannie's narrow shoulders seemed to suddenly sag under a very heavy weight. She rose and settled onto the cushion next to Quinn before tugging the girl into a protective hug.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the start of last month."

"Does anyone else know?" Frannie asked.

"Only one of my best friends, and she agreed not to tell anyone until I was ready."

"So you still haven't broken the news to Mom and Dad," Frannie concluded in a worried tone.

"No, I haven't. I can't, though, Frannie. I just can't. Mom's going to be ashamed of me and Daddy will hate me. They'll disown me; they'll send me to a nunnery."

Frannie laughed before holding Quinn's face in her hands.

"I highly doubt any cloisters will be involved since we are neither Catholic nor the royals of sixteenth century Denmark," she teased gently. "But you are right that they're not going to be happy. Russell loves his morals the way other men love Sunday football."

"What do I do? I don't want my life to be over but I've got to keep it, at least until full term. Then maybe someone would adopt it," Quinn thought aloud. "But how do I keep the pregnancy from our parents once I start to get bigger? They know I'd never let my body go after what happened before we moved."

Frannie stared at a patch of sunlight on the floor for a moment and watched the particles of dust spiral lazily through the air. Without thinking about it, she had reached for Quinn's hand while her sister spoke and was now holding it in both of her own, stroking the skin with her thumb.

"I know this is another drastic change on top of the one you're already about to face but... What if you lived here?"

Quinn's face blanched immediately.

"Move back to Bellville?"

"You're right," Frannie agreed hastily as she saw the flaw in the plan. "That would only make things worse, wouldn't it? It'd be one thing if you were older and could just stay home with me, but you're still a teenager. You'd have to go to the high school here and you'd be right back in with the same bastards who tortured you as a kid. Oh, they'd have a field day with this... Sorry, Quinnie. I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's okay," Quinn protested. "It means a lot that you would do that for me."

"Of course I would, Goose," Frannie replied, slipping and using an old term of endearment from her sibling's youth. "You're my baby sister. I'd do anything to protect you from pain."

Quinn sniffled and squeezed Frannie's hand.

"When did the doctor say you're due?" Frannie inquired.

"I-I haven't been to the doctor. I just took one of the home tests a couple of days after I... we... after everything happened."

A flicker of hope crossed her sister's features.

"Quinn, those tests aren't always accurate, especially if you only used one and it was taken shortly after you'd been with somebody. We're going to need to check with a doctor to be sure this isn't a false alarm."

"You mean I might not be pregnant?" Quinn asked desperately.

"Don't get your hopes up yet, just in case. It is possible, though," Frannie admitted. "Why don't you make an appointment once you get home and, whenever it is, I'll drive you there."

"But, Frannie, that's such a long way. The gas money alone..."

Frannie waved her hand impatiently through the air.

"I am by no means strapped for cash. Besides, you need someone with you, no matter what the outcome. I'm going and no one's gonna stop me."

Quinn looked at her sister for a moment in quiet awe and shook her head slowly. A surge of unexpected affection welled up inside of her and she threw her arms around her sibling's neck.

"Thank you," Quinn whispered gratefully. "I don't even understand why you're doing this for me…"

A few tears slid down Frannie's face as she stroked Quinn's hair and rubbed her back.

"Because you're my favorite," she answered and kissed the top of her head. "Just don't tell the others."

Quinn giggled in spite of herself and felt rather than heard Frannie laugh as well.

"It'll all be okay, sis," Frannie promised determinedly. "It won't be the end of the world."

… … …

Santana skimmed through the pages of her textbook, not really taking anything in no matter how hard she fought to concentrate. An endless series of problems passed before her eyes but she lacked the energy to try to solve them. Her lip curled and she tossed the book aside in disgust.

"I give up. Be glad you're still in Algebra, Britt, because Geometry freaking sucks."

Brittany nodded sympathetically but did not look up. Santana's brow furrowed with curiosity. She crawled across the bed to peer over the lap desk propped against her companion's bent knees.

"What are you working on?"

"Oh, just drawing," Brittany replied vaguely and pushed off the mattress with one foot so she wheeled across the floor.

"What are you drawing?"

A coy smile twitched at the corners of Brittany's lips.

"You."

Santana's cheeks grew hot but she couldn't fight back the smile that spread across her face. She hopped onto the floor and tried to reach the other girl's side quickly enough to sneak a look.

"Really?"

Brittany nodded but held the sketch pad close to her chest. Santana wound her arms around her friend's shoulders to hold her in place so Brittany's wheels wouldn't allow her to escape this time.

"Can I see it? Please?"

The tips of Brittany's ears turned pink as she felt Santana's breath tickle across her skin but she finally complied. Her companion accepted the proffered pad and examined it.

"Wow, that's really good, Britt," Santana praised before clearing her throat. "But... um... Where are my clothes?"

"I ran out of red a while back, so I wouldn't have been able to color in a uniform," Brittany explained while rubbing the back of her neck, as if that gave her a perfectly legitimate excuse to draw her best friend naked. "Now, here, sit down."

She got up and urged Santana back onto the bed with gentle pushes until she was propped against the pillows.

"The subject isn't supposed to move while the artist is working," Brittany told her very seriously. "You have to hold really still."

Santana found herself smiling again but she nodded obediently. Brittany went to her desk and picked up her box of colored pencils. She settled back onto the mattress and peered into the container. After studying her options carefully, she pulled up a single brown pencil and held it up to Santana's face. She rested it against the other girl's cheek and checked to see if it matched her irises. With a dissatisfied sigh, Brittany returned the pencil to its former place and tried another. This one was so dark it was almost black; she nodded her approval after comparing it to her friend's eyes.

Brittany lifted her sketch pad and filled in the corresponding place on the drawing. Her tongue curled around her teeth while she concentrated on controlling the movements of her hand. Santana giggled, but a brief reprimanding look from her artist reminded her that she wasn't allowed to budge. From there, Brittany colored in the lips and the hair, both only after going through several less-than-accurate choices until she settled on the right selection. Then it was time for the skin. She inched a bit closer, working her way through her collection of tan-ish hues one by one. When she found the one she liked, Brittany propped the box of pencils against Santana's knee and set to work. This took her considerably longer than the other portions, since there were so many curves and limbs for her to fill in with this shade.

With that work done, there was one remaining hue that she needed to confirm. Brittany grabbed the box once more and knelt at Santana's side. With a mischievous smile, she reached around the other girl's back and slowly unzipped the top of her uniform. Santana still couldn't believe she was letting her do this, but she made no move to protest. Brittany slid the material down her arms and set it aside on the comforter. Then she hooked one long, slender finger around the middle of her companion's bra and pulled it away from her skin. She peeped over the edge and nodded before returning her attention to the colors in her hand to find the matching pencil.

Santana's face was burning by now but the attention was so flattering that she opted not to point out how ridiculous this whole thing was. Instead, she pushed herself forward to look over Brittany's shoulder and help her find the right choice to finish the piece. She gasped as she looked down.

"Brittany Pierce, you are so full of crap!" Santana exclaimed with a shriek as she snatched the box away. "There are at least five different shades of red in here!"

"But none of them are the right kind," Brittany protested and straddled her to reach for the pack in the other girl's hand.

"Bull," Santana argued and tucked the pencils under her back.

Brittany fished under her friend's body to reach them. She leaned in close as her fingers wriggled toward the stolen item.

"Perv," Santana purred teasingly.

She arched to connect Brittany's mouth with hers and both the pencils and the drawing were forgotten. Brittany held onto Santana's shoulders and kissed her hungrily. Everything else was hastily kicked or shoved off the mattress until only the pillows and covers remained.

"You know," Santana joked as Brittany unzipped the back of her own uniform and shed the top from her torso. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think maybe you planned this little portrait seduction."

"Would that be so bad?" Brittany queried while wriggling free from her skirt.

"No," Santana conceded reluctantly. "But you know that we're just messing around, right? No big deal. I mean, you have Mike and I -"

"Neither of us has anybody right now," Brittany cut her off as her brows knitted together. "Mike tags along when the Cheerios have gotta bring a jock someplace, but we're not together. Plus, you just broke up with Puck the other week, remember? We can do whatever we want."

"Right," Santana agreed with a forced shrug. "And, right now, we're just passing the time. Fooling around between relationships isn't so bad if it's with a friend. It keeps us both in practice and lets us get our kicks instead of suffering through a post-break up dry spell."

Brittany purposely broke eye contact and ran her palms over Santana's thighs.

"Right," she murmured in agreement. "It's just temporary. You know, until we get boyfriends again."

"Exactly," Santana affirmed before kissing the other girl's neck. "Somebody on the team's bound to get their ass in gear and ask us out. Cheerleaders as hot as we are don't stay single for long. Until then, we'll just take matters into our own hands."

"Totally," Brittany concurred and shut her eyes tightly. "This is just for fun."

… … …

"Frannie, I'm scared."

The fragile strength Quinn had been trying to summon inside herself felt even weaker as she heard how childlike her voice sounded in the small room. She was perched on the examination chair as though she were about to bolt out the door. It jarred her nerves even further every time she shifted her weight and the thin, crinkly white paper beneath her rustled noisily.

"You don't have to feel ashamed, you know," Frannie offered kindly after studying her sister's face for a moment. "A lot of emotions are bound to be running through you right now, but don't let all Dad's fire and brimstone make you feel like you're headed to hell in a hand basket, okay?"

"It sure feels like it," Quinn whispered and wrung her hands together fretfully.

"Well, you're not. Listen, Dad's only concerned with his sense of right and wrong when it suits his best interests," Frannie stated matter-of-factly. "You just focus on what's best for you and, if he's got a problem, he can cram it into one of those over-priced cigars and smoke it."

"How am I going to get out of that house in one piece?" Quinn asked shakily. "Between home and high school, I don't feel like I stand a chance."

Frannie's expression darkened and she stared at the painting of the Blackthorn tree on the wall for quite some time.

"I know what you mean," she said at last in a voice that barely carried over the wind howling outside. "I felt the same way before I got out of there. All I can really say is don't look to me for a model of how to survive the last couple of years between you and adulthood."

The door opened with a click of the latch and both Fabray sisters jumped at the sound. Quinn reached for Frannie's hand as a wave of nausea overcame her at the sight of the clipboard in the doctor's hands. Frannie hurried to her sister's side and held onto her tightly.

"Well, congratulations, young lady," the man said without preamble. "Looks like you're going to be a mommy."

A ringing deep within Quinn's ears seemed to drown out everything that came out of the doctor's mouth after that moment. She was dimly aware of Frannie crying and kissing her hair before asking questions about what else would need to be done before they could go home. Through every test and examination, Frannie remained stubbornly close to her sister, even when the doctor implied it might be best for her to wait behind the privacy curtain. Even in spite of the complete numbness that had separated Quinn from the world, she felt a faint stirring of pride at how her older sibling drew herself up to her full height and would not be moved.

Approximately half an hour later, Quinn shuffled out of the building toward her sister's waiting car. Frannie kept close but refrained from touching her younger sibling, in case the girl needed space to process the turn her life had taken. Once they were both safely buckled, a thick and nearly impenetrable silence blanketed the interior of the vehicle.

"This is it, isn't it?" Quinn asked in a hollow voice. "My life is over."

"Not necessarily," Frannie consoled her. "I know I'm not around much anymore but I do know you, Quinn. I know how strong you can be. The only way this is going to break you is if you let it."

"So what do I do?"

"Don't tell Mom and Dad yet," Frannie replied immediately. "It's going to suck having to watch your every move and hide the secret, I know, but you need more time. Dad's all excited about that Chastity Ball thing. The irony will not be lost on him, I'm sure, but it's gonna make him ballistic if he gets so much as an inkling right now. Maybe, by the time that's all over with, you and I will have come up with a way to break it to them."

"You'll come to the house when I do it?" Quinn asked hopefully. "You'll stay with me while I tell them?"

"Scout's honor," Frannie nodded. "Until then, here..."

She rummaged in her purse and pressed a thick wad of cash into her sister's palm.

"Holy crap! Frannie, where did you get this?" Quinn gawped as her eyes bulged.

"It's money I've set aside from my catering jobs. Totally independent from any of the funds I share with Thomas, so this is just between you and me."

"I can't take this," Quinn protested.

"Like hell you can't," Frannie countered obstinately. "Last time I checked, teenage boys were not the most resourceful source for a reliable income, and you haven't even talked to the father yet. We can't count on him supporting you, and I want you to have something to fall back on if he doesn't."

"It's just so much," Quinn continued. "What were you saving all of this for anyway? Were you going somewhere?"

A flicker of emotion crossed the older woman's features before she shook her head.

"Never mind that," Frannie said. "It can wait; this can't. Have you thought about what you're going to say to your boyfriend?"

"Yes, but I haven't been able to come up with anything that sounds very convincing," Quinn muttered glumly.

"Well, I know you'll want to word it a little more delicately, but wouldn't it go something along the lines of, 'Hey, remember that time six weeks ago? If not, in about eight more months I'll have something that might refresh your memory.'?"

Quinn smiled ruefully but shook her head.

"How come?" Frannie queried. "I mean, if the two of you have been - ahem -getting more familiar, it can't come as a complete shock, can it? Unless... unless..."

Her voice trailed off when she noted the way Quinn was curling up her body and raking her fingers along her scalp.

"Unless that boy isn't the father."

No answer this time, only an increase in the younger woman's obvious distress.

"Shit," Frannie swore quietly. "I wish I could help you through this one, sweetheart, but I'm afraid I'm out of my depth here."

She reached for Quinn's hand and wove their fingers together.

"It's okay," Quinn insisted in an effort to wipe the concern away from her sister's face. "I'll think of something. Finn will stick by me, I'm sure of it. As for the real father... He was a mistake I shouldn't have made. If things work out as planned, he never has to know."

… … …

So much for planning.

Quinn's week had gone from awful, to horrible, to outright catastrophic with a swiftness that left her reeling. Telling Finn had gone off without a hitch. He had been everything she could have hoped and more. Just as shocked and scared as she was, but a pillar of strength when she needed one the most. Unfortunately, pillars of strength needed confidantes, too, and he had naturally gone to his best friend for an outlet: Puck.

It wasn't long before the other boy tracked Quinn down in the hallway and demanded an explanation. It was a fine line to walk, the edge between rage at the part he'd played and apologetic regret that she had to swear him to secrecy. Quinn made it through with clenched teeth and an aching heart but, at least when she finally ran away, he did not follow.

The rain pouring down relentlessly from the clouds overhead couldn't have picked a more fitting time to fall. The drops soaked icily through her uniform but helped to mask the tears she'd finally allowed to escape once no one else could see. Quinn sought shelter in her car and thought she might finally get a moment's respite to regain her composure.

Only she was not alone.

Sitting in the passenger seat, of all the people in the entire world, had been Mrs. Schuester. Quinn had never seen the woman before in her life. While her head was teeming with a thousand questions - namely how the woman had gotten into her car and how she had obtained all of her information - it was all Quinn could do to take in what Mr. Schuester's wife was saying.

She was offering her an out.

Carry the baby to full term, follow her explicit instructions, and the Schuesters would adopt the child once it was born. It was an unanticipated offer, and one that didn't quite sit well with Quinn in the back of her mind, but the opportunity to have a measure of certainty in this chaotic situation was too good to decline.

She'd accepted before she even had a chance to search her heart on the matter, and Mrs. Schuester was gone from the car just as abruptly as she had made her presence known. Quinn remained alone in the driver's seat and watched the rivulets running down her windshield while goosebumps rose on her arms.

"I can do this," she stated aloud to no one in particular - or, perhaps, to herself.

Everything was as close to taken care of as possible. Finn had agreed to weather the storm without so much as a moment's hesitation; Puck had been told to keep his knowledge to himself; she had a decent amount of money from her sister for any emergencies that arose, and now the baby would have a happy home with people actually old enough to raise a child.

Maybe Frannie will be right after all. It might not be the end of everything, Quinn thought as she doodled shapes on the fogged up glass. All I have to do is keep the secret until the time is right.

… … …

Santana strolled casually through the empty hallways and listened to the soft squeak of her white trainers on the linoleum. She was careful to hurry past the small windows built into the classroom doors, just in case a teacher should look out and take it upon themselves to send her back to her sixth period. She hated sitting through Spanish and was not keen on being forced to return to it. Mr. Schue wasn't teaching her anything she didn't already know. Plus, it was nearly impossible to focus when the day was so close to being over and Brittany's hand was perpetually touching her. There were taps on her wrist to get her attention, whispered questions in her ear, or sometimes a hand gripping hers anxiously under the table on the rare occasion that Brittany was called upon for an answer. It was maddening.

As she rounded the corner, Santana found herself drawing nearer to the auditorium at the opposite end of the hall and faint music began to reach her ears. It was a solitary guitar playing the intro to something that sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite seem to place the tune in her mind. Cautiously, Santana continued walking until she reached the open door and then peered inside. There, seated center stage on a stool, was Puck. He had his guitar propped against one knee and was strumming pensively.

Intrigued, Santana took a few more steps. She pressed her body to the back wall and advanced circuitously, keeping to the shadows so that he wouldn't be aware of her presence. Not tearing her eyes from his oddly tortured features, she felt her way to an empty seat and settled into it. As Santana crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands on her knee, Puck at last began to sing.

"When I was young I knew everything

She a punk who rarely ever took advice

Now I'm guilt-stricken, sobbing

With my head on the floor

Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice, no…"

The lyrics finally rang a familiar bell but she still couldn't riddle out what had possessed Puck to sing this song in the middle of the school day, sitting all alone under the spotlight with that look on his face. A strange, clawing doubt began to scrape at her gut, but Santana pushed it down as she struggled to focus on his performance.

"I can't be held responsible

She was touching her face

I won't be held responsible

She fell in love in the first place…"

Was that a tear sliding down his face? Santana's brow furrowed and her lip curled. What the hell was going on here? He was singing to a goddamned empty theatre and there he was getting all emotional for no apparent reason. She very nearly got up to demand details then and there but something inside held her in place as Puck continued.

"For the life of me

I cannot remember

What made us think that we were wise

And we'd never compromise.

For the life of me

I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins

We were merely freshmen."

By now, confused panic was gripping Santana's chest and she could hardly keep herself silent as he sang the rest of the song. The words made less and less sense as Puck progressed but the regret and pain on his face only intensified. As he reached the final two repetitions of the chorus, Santana rose from her seat and slowly approached the foot of the stage. Puck gave his guitar one last strum and looked up into the light, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Santana clapped as she ascended the small set of steps and Puck visibly jumped when he realized that he was not alone.

"Intense," Santana remarked. "I hadn't pegged you for a performer, at least not on the stage."

"Yeah, I guess not. Still, I mean, music's pretty cool and all, so being up here's not that bad."

"It looks like you think it's more than 'not that bad,'" Santana commented. "You were fucking crying, man."

"How long have you been here?" Puck asked with wide eyes, clearly dismayed to learn that she had seen how deeply the song affected him.

"Never mind that. Why the waterworks, Puckerman?"

"It just kinda got to me, I guess. I heard it on the radio in my car the other day and it hit home. The dudes in the song fucked up royally and so have I."

"How?"

Puck didn't answer her at first. Instead, he got to his feet and walked over to the open case at the edge of the stage. He gently placed his guitar inside and closed the lid before locking it securely. Then he stood upright again and walked back to her. One hand lifted from his side and reached for her arm, as if he was considering holding her hand, but then it dropped back to his thigh. Puck exhaled heavily and cast a quick glance around, struggling for a gentle way to say what couldn't be avoided. Finally, he settled on giving her a simple statement of the truth.

"Quinn's pregnant."

Santana nearly choked. Her eyes bulged and she sputtered a little.

"What? How could you possibly know th—"

"I know because I'm the father."

Santana stared. Her mouth hung agape and her eyes blinked several times as she struggled to process this. Then a frightening spark ignited in her pupils and she rushed at him.

"You asshole!" she shrieked, pounding her fists ineffectively against his chest. "You freaking asshole! How could you?"

Puck cowered but made no move to stop her or escape. He seemed to consider this a fitting punishment for his deeds.

"She's one of my best friends, Puck! That'd be like if I started fooling around with Finn! Oh, God, Finn! Your best friend's girlfriend… Did that not occur to you at all? You couldn't have made this more screwed up if you tried! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?"

Santana's eyes were burning with tears that her anger allowed her to keep from falling, but as Puck's gaze met hers she lost that control. Her lip trembled and several drops slid down to her chin.

"I'm sorry, Santana," Puck said softly. "I know it was a mistake. It was a huge mistake. I've screwed things up for a lot of people. I don't know why I did it; it just happened."

"I take it you haven't told anyone else?"

"No. No one else can know," Puck insisted urgently.

"Well, people around here may be a bit slow, but they're going to know that something's rotten in the state of Denmark considering that Finn's still a fucking virgin!" Santana pointed out sarcastically.

"I know, I know!" the boy exclaimed. His hands hovered over his ears, as if he could block out the harsh facts she was hurling at him until he had some sort of miraculous solution.

"How am I going to face her?" Santana murmured to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you manwhoring around stopped surprising me a long time ago. But Quinn! We were supposed to be friends. We were supposed to trust each other. That backstabbing bitch…"

Puck clearly objected to Santana's assessment of her companion, but he kept that to himself in favor of stepping forward to hug her as she started to cry harder. For a fraction of a second, Santana nearly accepted the embrace, but then she shouldered him off and backed away.

"I won't tell anybody about this," Santana assured him. "I'll keep your secret, but don't expect anything past that. You and me? We're done. Just stay the hell away from me. And as for her? Well, I'll handle that myself."

She turned on her heel and descended the stairs.

"Santana, wait!" Puck called after her. "Don't let Quinn know that you know!"

"Fat chance of that!" Santana retorted derisively without looking back. "I want her to realize just how quickly I could destroy her, if I wanted. The thing is that I won't actually do it because – unlike her – I know better than to screw with a friend!"