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.

7. Together We Stand

AN: The lyrics that appear in this chapter are from The End by Ellie Goulding.

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Brittany picked up a hacky sack off the window ledge and hefted it in her palm. She bounced it a few times before tossing it in the direction of the brooding girl sprawled across the picnic table.

"Think fast," Brittany teased just before it struck Santana's chest.

Santana spared the object only a fleeting glance before she went back to staring at the changing leaves on the oak tree a short distance away.

"What's up?" Brittany asked with her head tilted to one side. "You've barely said a word since we got home from school."

"I'm thinking."

Brittany rose from her lawn chair and settled onto the bench beside Santana. She rested her arms on the other girl's midriff.

"About what?"

"Revenge," Santana stated simply.

Brittany's brow furrowed. She scooted to the right to get a better look at Santana's eyes.

"That sounds serious," Brittany remarked.

"It is. I've got a bone to pick with our so-called bestie," Santana grumbled. "There's gonna be a reckoning."

"Quinn?" Brittany deduced. "Why are you mad at her?"

"Puck got her pregnant."

Brittany's eyes filled with sympathy.

"Oh. He told you."

Santana sat up abruptly.

"You knew?"

"I'm the one who got Quinn her pregnancy test," Brittany admitted sheepishly. "She didn't want her parents to find out, so I said I'd help."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to, Santana, more than anything, but she made me promise."

Santana crossed her arms and glared at her own kneecaps.

"Well, looks like they were right after all. The one getting cheated on is always the last to know."

"But you and Puck –," Brittany began to protest until a sideways glance from Santana silenced her.

They both sighed heavily.

"So, what are you going to do?" Brittany asked tentatively.

"I don't know yet," Santana said. "I need to give it some thought. I wanted to just beat the crap out of her, but she's got a mini-Mohawk gestating in there and I don't want anything to happen to it. It's not that kid's fault its mom's a tramp."

"Three people wouldn't make her a tramp," Brittany countered without thinking.

Santana's eyes narrowed.

"Three?" she repeated testily.

"Yeah." Brittany shrugged. "Fooling around with a couple and sleeping with one is way less than most of the girls on the squad have done."

Santana waved that thought aside and pursed her lips.

"It's not the nature of the contact I'm hung up on here, Britts. It's the number."

Her dark irises locked on Brittany's face until the other girl squirmed. Santana held her fingers aloft to tick off the count.

"Finn makes one, although I highly doubt anything they got up to constituted 'fooling around.' Puck is two and, as he made abundantly clear this afternoon, he scored a homerun. So who's the third?"

Brittany lowered her gaze and stared at her hands.

"Britt-Britt?" Santana's voice came out feeble and fragile.

"Me," Brittany answered quietly.

Santana swung her legs in the opposite direction and stomped across the yard. She kicked a plastic bucket in the grass and it flew through the air, bouncing off the Pierces' fence.

"GODDAMN IT!"

Brittany hung her head and scuffed her feet against the ground.

"What the hell does Quinn have, a magnetic fucking vagina?!" Santana fumed. "My boyfriend and my best friend! Why doesn't everyone just join the party? Take a number at the door, because all of western Ohio's parading through Quinn Fabray's bedroom!"

"It wasn't like that," Brittany said, still scarcely daring to look up. "After we dropped you off from that party, we had some drinks and made out on her couch for a while. It could have gone further, but I stopped it."

"Why?"

Brittany blinked slowly and her mouth turned down in a wounded frown.

"For you."

"Well, I'm glad you gave me that slight consideration while your tongue was already halfway down her throat," Santana drawled. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

"I don't get it."

"Get what? Why the world's gone collectively crazy? Neither do I! If you figure out an answer, by all means, be sure to share," Santana snapped.

"No, not that," Brittany shook her head.

She walked to where Santana had begun pacing and stood in front of her.

"Why is it okay for you to do stuff with Puck all the time but not for me to make out with Quinn once?"

Santana's mouth opened and closed indignantly before she finally formulated a response.

"Because he's my boyfriend! Or he was. You and Quinn are friends. That's just weird and fucked up."

"But you and I do stuff and it's not weird."

"I – You can't compare – That's totally different!" Santana threw her hands in the air and whirled away, avoiding Brittany's eyes.

"How?" Brittany demanded with her feet planted firmly on the ground and her hands on her hips. "How is it different?"

Santana grabbed her backpack and swung it onto her shoulders.

"It just is, okay?" she replied without looking back. "I'm going to my house. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

Then Santana passed under the lattice arch and strode toward the driveway. The rev of an engine a few moments later announced the girl's departure and her friend was left alone. Brittany rubbed the back of her hand under her nose and flopped down on the picnic bench again. Her shoulders sagged and a small whimper escaped her before she fell completely silent and stared blankly at the ground beneath her feet.

… … …

Quinn fell onto the linoleum with both knees. There was no time to steady herself, barely a moment to gather her hair in her hand, before she retched into the basin of one of the filthy school toilets. It had almost become a routine over the past week or so, this rush to the girls' bathroom and the race against the bile rising in her throat.

She groaned and snatched blindly for toilet paper to dab at her lips. Now that the need to empty her stomach had passed, at least for the moment, her vision gradually stopped spinning and she was able to rise shakily from the floor. Quinn flushed the toilet with her wrist, left the stall, and stumbled toward a sink. Cool soap and warm water ran over her skin and helped to calm her nerves.

Then someone spoke from the corner of the room.

"Feeling a little under the weather, princess?" Santana asked with mock concern.

"Y-yeah, a little," Quinn replied while shoving her disheveled hair back away from her face.

"You rushed out mid-song on us, there." Santana sauntered along the line of sinks until she reached the other girl's side. "Rachel would never approve of such behavior from her understudy."

"Well, Rachel's not here," Quinn snarled irritably with one palm pressed against her pounding forehead. "And I'm not her understudy. I'm her replacement."

"Mmm, and soon she'll be yours," Santana nodded.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say a certain quarterback won't want your goods once he knows who damaged them."

The first flicker of fear appeared in Quinn's eyes and Santana smirked in satisfaction.

"You've still got some time before he figures out the truth," Santana said. "Don't worry. He has a few other things to riddle first out that should take him a while– tying his shoes, chewing with his mouth closed, how to form a facial expression that doesn't look either confused or constipated or both at the same time…"

"Santana—" Quinn warned dangerously.

"Ah, ah, ah." Santana waggled her index finger. "Not finished. See, when the time comes, he and Beaky will be off making beautiful music while you and your sex shark sperm donor are scrambling to find two pennies to rub together."

She put a hand on Quinn's shoulder.

"And to think I was trying to come up with a lesson of my own to teach you when, let's face it, the path you're already on will be punishment enough."

Tears rimmed Quinn's eyes and she searched Santana's face desperately.

"What am I going to do?"

"That's for you to figure out," Santana shrugged indifferently. "See, thanks to a little thing called a condom, it's not my problem. The best I can tell you is not to wait on your baby daddy – the real deal or the faux one – to bail you out of this mess. They're both crap in a crisis."

She turned away and strode back toward the door.

"You're on your own now, cupcake," Santana called back over her shoulder. "Sink or swim, it's up to you."

… … …

Mr. Schuester had officially lost his mind.

This was the only logical conclusion Brittany could reach after he brought in a bubbly, alcoholic, old schoolmate of his to join their Glee Club.

It was bad enough when one of their members had been calling the shots but, now that Rachel had left to be part of a production of Cabaret, their teacher's solution was to bring in another song-stealer? Brittany could almost feel the collective dip in the club's spirits when they realized that, once again, their light would be outshone by the person Will had placed in the spotlight.

Mr. Schue must have sensed their disapproval, or April herself reached the conclusion that she was unwelcome, because she spent the subsequent week trying to win over each of the kids in some way or other.

"She kinda came to see us in the locker rooms this afternoon," Mike confided reluctantly on Wednesday.

He skimmed over the details of the encounter and stammered more than anything. However, Brittany could guess by the way he was embarrassedly rubbing the back of his neck just what sort of visit it had been. From what she could pick out of the boy's fumbling story, April had favored Puck most of all – no surprise.

Brittany said nothing of what she had learned. Still, one look at how Santana glared daggers at the older woman during the afternoon meeting made it clear she'd heard a similar report. Perhaps that was why April made no attempt to seek out the Cheerios and strike up a rapport; even she could spot a lost cause when she saw one.

Even with April Rhodes crashing on their club like a tidal wave, no one had become distracted enough to forget about Quinn's mysterious illness. Their curiosity was only piqued further by the fact that, each morning during classes, she had to make repeated requests to be excused to the bathroom.

"I hate to burst her little bubble," Santana remarked to Brittany in an undertone after Quinn had slipped out of the room for the third time that class period. "But this secret's gonna come out a whole hell of a lot faster than she wants it to if she can't figure out a way to stop tossing her cookies on the regular."

Brittany said nothing as she stared at the door that had closed behind her friend. Instead, she crossed her fingers at her sides for luck that – at this point – it seemed only divine intervention could provide.

That Thursday, while waiting for Mr. Schuester to arrive and bring them all to order, the Glee Club convened around the piano to swap their theories. Brittany and Santana kept their distance, feigning ignorance of the truth behind their friend's distress. Though she said very little - and had, in fact, been uncharacteristically quiet all week – Santana allowed Brittany to massage her shoulders and toy with her hair while they listened in on what the others had to say.

Brittany heard them theorize everything from mono to lactose intolerance to simply being antisocial before Puck finally rose from where he had been strumming his guitar in the corner and interrupted.

"Are you all that stupid?"

The room fell silent and all eyes focused on him. Hungry as they were for answers, no one anticipated what he said next.

"Maybe Quinn's got one in the oven."

Even Santana couldn't keep her jaw from dropping. He had actually put forth the suggestion that Quinn might be pregnant. She held up a hand to still Brittany's movement. They both turned toward the boy expectantly, waiting to see just how much he would choose to divulge.

As Puck walked to the center of the room, Brittany found herself holding her breath. Here it was; he held in his hands the chance to either agree to Quinn's lie or tear the ruse to shreds. Then Mercedes asked the fateful question.

"Who's the baby's daddy?"

"Who do you think?" Puck fired back.

Brittany's fingers fiddled nervously with Santana's ponytail, waiting.

"Finn!" Puck supplied when no one filled in the silence for him.

Everyone's face lit up, clearly savoring this fresh gossip. Meanwhile, the tension gradually left Santana's and Brittany's bodies.

At that exact moment, Rachel breezed through the open doorway of the choir room.

"Yes, you heard right, I am returning to Glee Club!" she announced, completing a conversation that no one had been having.

Nonplussed by her exuberance, everyone carried on whispering as if she weren't there at all. Puck observed the scene and shook his head before leaving the room in disgust, although with the New Directions or himself, Brittany couldn't tell.

Mercedes and Kurt filled Rachel in on what Puck had just told everyone. The moment she heard that Quinn was expecting and Finn was the father, all the light drained from the girl's expression. Without another sound, Rachel turned on her heel and stormed out into the hall.

"And so it begins," Santana muttered darkly.

Brittany found that her throat was too dry to respond, so she merely nodded her head in agreement.

… … …

The weekend arrived and, with it, the night of the New Directions' very first invitational. All of the club members were full of nervous, buzzing energy despite the fact that they would only be singing backup to April's vocals.

Now the only concern was whether their leading lady would be able to arrive sober enough to actually perform.

The moment she walked into the room, Quinn smelled the all-too-familiar stench on her. It hung in the air around the older woman like a fog. April greeted each of the kids in turn and, when she reached Puck, asked him something about practicing moves.

As April sloppily kissed him, Quinn felt her stomach turn. Santana, however, began to smirk with a bloodthirsty glint in her eye. Quinn suspected that her friend believed this inappropriate behavior would mean April's expulsion from the group.

If that had been Santana's hope, she was sorely disappointed. Will reprimanded April mildly but still allowed her to lead the way out onto the stage with the Glee kids in tow.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," Principal Figgins' voice announced from the other side of the curtain. "Please welcome McKinley High School's New Directions!"

The curtains lifted and Quinn could feel her heart hammering behind her ribcage when the audience greeted them with a warm round of applause.

Their first number went off without a hitch. April was a little unsteady at times, but her singing was unaffected. The kids allowed themselves to tentatively ease into the joy of performing and forget about their worries for a little while. When they left the glow of the lights, however, Will followed April on her way to the bathroom. He did not look happy.

Quinn and the others returned to the green room to change clothes and fix their makeup and hair. Kurt offered to do the touchups and even allowed Santana to climb onto the stool in front of him. Brittany hovered nearby under the pretense of enjoying the shared conversation. Quinn alone recognized the quiet 'be nice' warning in the other blonde's eyes each time Santana came perilously close to saying something offensive.

Finn was nearby hopping clumsily as he crammed one foot into a shoe. Then he began struggling with his tie but his fingers tangled up in the fabric. Quinn chuckled affectionately and helped him.

"Thanks," he murmured gratefully. "It always comes out crooked when I try."

"No problem," Quinn replied. "I've helped my dad hundreds of times. He's hopeless unless Mom or I put it right."

Will returned to the room looking considerably more worn and dejected than he had when Quinn spotted him right after their first number. April was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Schuester eased into the bad news, but it threw the group into a dead quiet when he uttered the words. They had lost their lead. The rest of the invitational would have to be cancelled.

Quinn took in the disappointed faces around the room, her two friends and boyfriend included, and was surprised to find that even she was sad to hear that they wouldn't be returning to the stage. Her gaze eventually returned to the doorway in which Mr. Schue stood, only to have her attention caught by someone lingering in the shadows.

"Excuse me," Rachel said softly. "I think I might have a solution. In show business, when a star can't perform, her understudy steps in. I'd be happy to go on for April, if you'd let me."

Though this was a decidedly more humble Rachel Berry than the one that had left them a short while ago, her return left everyone's emotions torn – to rejoice over the continuation of their performance or begrudge her return to stardom?

"I know all the words to the song," Rachel offered timidly to the less-than-impressed faces staring back at her.

"You don't know the choreography," Quinn countered.

"Then we're gonna have to give her a lot of help out there," Finn determined. He graced the petite girl with an encouraging smile.

Quinn deflated and made no further protest. Reluctantly, everyone agreed to guide Rachel along as necessary in order to salvage the night and the show. They tucked their ironed blue shirts into their black slacks and adjusted their ties before making their way back into the view of the waiting audience.

Rachel truly did help save the day, regardless of how reluctant everyone was to admit it. The applause was double what they'd gotten with April and, scattered throughout the house, the Glee kids' parents who were in attendance gave them a standing ovation. Quinn found herself grinning despite her own parents' absence and gladly took her bows with the other singers.

When everyone had returned to their usual daywear, Will asked Quinn and Rachel to carry the boxes of cowboy hats back to the drama club's costume room. Quinn hefted the cardboard in her arms and walked in that direction, but not before Rachel closed the distance between them and adopted her pace.

"How did I do?" Rachel asked.

"You were great. Just like always." Quinn rolled her eyes.

"You really think so?" Rachel beamed.

Quinn looked at her and saw the excited glow that lit up her features.

"Yes," she confessed reluctantly. "The audience totally loved it. It was… It was better than having to dance around April and all her staggering."

A tiny smile appeared on Rachel's face and she nodded.

"Inviting that woman to be a part of the Glee Club may have been a slight lapse in judgment on Mr. Schuester's part," Rachel remarked.

Quinn snorted.

"Yeah, a slight one."

"So… How did it feel?"

"How did what feel?" Quinn demanded. She held the door open for Rachel to enter the costume room.

"Being out on the stage," Rachel elaborated and reached for the box in Quinn's hand after setting her own on the floor. "This was your first big performance in front of an audience, right? What did you think?"

Quinn wrapped her arms around her middle and averted her gaze from Rachel's. The other girl deliberately stepped into her line of sight and nudged her in the ribs.

"Well?" Rachel queried.

Quinn smiled in spite of herself.

"I loved it."

… … …

"C'mon, Lord Tubbington. You need variety in your diet," Brittany pleaded and scooted the bowl toward the cat with her foot. "You can't keep eating everything smothered in gravy. You'll have a heart attack."

Lord Tubbington sniffed the dry cat food and turned up his nose.

"Still not having it, is he?" Santana guessed through the phone.

"Nope. He looks like he's planning mutiny," Brittany fretted.

"Be careful putting on your slippers this week. He may leave an expression of his gratitude in them."

Brittany sighed and left Lord Tubbington alone to continue glaring at his dinner.

"How are things at your house tonight?"

"Boring as hell, same as ever," Santana groused. "At least Matyas is over at his friend's house, so I'm getting a little peace and quiet."

"What are you gonna do tomorrow?" Brittany asked as she ascended the stairs to her room.

"I was actually thinking of swinging by Mike's house," Santana replied casually.

Brittany choked and sputtered.

"Wait, what?"

"Mike's house," Santana repeated. "He's shooting hoops with that guy Matt tomorrow and I thought I'd swing by and say hello."

"Your dance partner when we sang Last Name with the Glee Club," Brittany recalled. She closed her eyes and flopped back onto her mattress.

"Yeah, him," Santana confirmed brightly. "We kinda hit it off and I want to see him again."

Brittany rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in the covers.

"That's nice," she responded in a muffled voice.

"Exactly," Santana enthused. "Matt is a nice guy. Maybe that's just what I need, a change of pace. I mean, Mike's a nice guy and you guys get along really well."

"Yeah, he is," Brittany agreed reluctantly. "I mean, you didn't always think so…"

"I did give him kind of a hard time, didn't I?"

"Kind of."

"Well, I'm mending fences now," Santana determined. "Besides, I've gotta get your arm candy to talk me up to his buddy, so Mikey and I will be extra chummy until I get some results."

"He's not—," Brittany started to argue but then she just shook her head. "I'm glad you guys are going to be able to talk now. I always thought you'd like him, if you gave him a chance."

"I'll be sure to tell you how it goes when I get back," Santana said excitedly. "Listen, though. I'm gonna get off the line now and make myself a late dinner before I head to bed. I'll need to get up bright and early if my jog is going to take me past the Changs' house on time."

"You're jogging there?"

"Yeah," Santana answered casually. "I've already got the black sports bra and blue shorts set out on my dresser. I figured it wouldn't hurt to showcase the benefits of agreeing to my offer."

Brittany knew Santana had shot her a wink through the phone but she ignored the girl's playful tone and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingertips.

"Good luck."

"Thanks, Britt. Goodnight!"

Brittany pressed the red button on her cell phone and tossed it aside. A disgruntled meow announced the presence of someone else on the bed that she hadn't noticed.

"Oh, sorry, Lord Tubbington," Brittany apologized. "I didn't notice you there."

The cat turned away sullenly and Brittany frowned. She tugged him into a tight embrace and cuddled her pet close to her heart. Lord Tubbington closed his eyes tolerantly while Brittany pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"It's okay, boy," Brittany whispered, although the crack in her voice suggested otherwise. "You have me all to yourself for the rest of the weekend."

… … …

Quinn peered through the curtains and waited until her parents' car was safely out of sight before she pressed the fifth number on her speed dial and held the cell phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Frannie, it's me," Quinn said quietly.

She heard her older sister sigh with relief on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Goose," Frannie greeted. "I'm glad you found a chance to call. I've been worrying about you. How's the money holding up?"

"Pretty well, considering I haven't used any of it," Quinn admitted reluctantly.

"What? Sweetie, it's meant to help you. Seriously, put it toward whatever you can. Don't worry about paying it back. It's a gift."

"I just have to be really careful," Quinn explained. She folded her legs beneath herself and settled on the floor beside the couch. "These bills are so much more expensive than I expected. Then there are the maternity clothes I'll need…"

"Do you want me to send you more?" Frannie offered.

"No! No," Quinn insisted. "You've already done too much. I've got to find some other way."

"Are you sure there's nothing else I can do to help? Honey, you shouldn't have to go through this alone."

"It won't be alone," Quinn asserted feebly. "I'll have Finn."

"Will he be able to give you any kind of financial assistance with any of this?" Frannie asked. "Does he even have a job?"

"No," Quinn said. "But he could get one. I'm sure he'll do anything and everything to look out for me. He loves me."

"I'm glad to hear that," Frannie replied. "You're going to need each other more and more as this goes on. How is the real father behaving?"

"He's kept his distance, just like I asked him to," Quinn told her. "Thank Heaven for small blessings, I guess."

Frannie chuckled.

"That sounds like a Judy-ism."

"Yeah, Mom does say that a lot. Especially after Dad's… episodes."

Quinn's sister was silent a moment.

"He's still drinking, then?" Frannie asked at last.

"It's not every night or anything," Quinn hastened to explain. "Just, you know, every now and then. Last time, he broke Mom's favorite vase. She was really sad but insisted it was her fault for putting it on a ledge where it might get knocked over."

"Always some other excuse; Russell can never be to blame," Frannie grumbled. "I remember."

"How are you and Thomas?" Quinn inquired, eager to change the subject.

"Our same ol' boring, married selves," Frannie responded sardonically. "The seasons change more often than life in this house."

"Did you talk to him about… about me?"

"No," Frannie replied. "He doesn't really need to know. At least not right now. If you're in over your head, you will tell me, won't you?"

"Y-yeah, of course," Quinn agreed.

"Promise?"

"Sure."

Frannie was quiet again. Quinn could almost envision her sister pursing her lips, debating whether or not to call her out on her lukewarm response.

"Keep me posted then, okay? I love you."

Quinn hugged her thighs to her chest and forced some cheer into her voice.

"I will. I love you, too."

… … …

"Screwed. They are completely screwed," Santana laughed as she and Brittany left the choir room on Monday afternoon.

"It doesn't help that we got Rachel," Brittany added. "Everybody knows how much she likes to win."

Mr. Schuester had split the club into two groups, boys versus girls, to put together their own mash-ups and compete against one another to determine the song they'd use for sectionals.

"Yeah, she does, but she's got another think coming if she's sheltering under the delusion that we're going to let her put this whole thing together," Santana asserted.

"You got that right," Mercedes piped up from behind them. "She had that crazy-ass gleam in her eye but I ain't having it. We're gonna decide on the songs for the mash-up before we even get to that meeting she wants us to have tomorrow. This group's a democracy now and, if it's already been put to a vote, she's just gonna have to cope."

"Damn straight," Santana concurred and gave Mercedes an approving high five before she and Brittany rounded the corner.

Brittany studied Santana curiously, eyebrows lifted so high they nearly touched her hair.

"What?" Santana demanded defensively. "I'm making friends. Aren't you the one who's always after me to play nicely with the other children?"

She gave her friend a teasing smile. Brittany laughed and shook her head.

"I guess. I'm glad you're actually doing it, though."

"Of course I am. I value your opinion most of all." Santana smiled and nudged Brittany with her elbow. "Just a sec. I'm going to use the restroom before we hit the road."

Brittany nodded and leaned against the wall while she waited. She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes.

"Hey, Brittany?"

She squinted out from beneath her eyelids and saw Quinn standing beside her.

"Can I ask you to do me a favor?"

Brittany stood upright again and opened her eyes the rest of the way.

"Sure. What do you need?"

"I'm going to try looking for a job tomorrow afternoon," Quinn confided. "Not for me, but for Finn. I know he's not qualified to do much yet since he hasn't even graduated high school, but we need the money for the baby."

She pressed a palm protectively over her stomach and sighed.

"I've got enough for some of the costs that will be coming up, but it won't take care of everything. The problem is that I'm going to have to miss that meeting. Can you cover for me with Rachel and the others?"

Brittany nodded readily. Quinn gave her a grateful look and hugged her tightly.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'd seriously be lost if I didn't have you and my sister looking out for me. You're the best."

"No problem," Brittany replied with a shrug.

"I've gotta go," Quinn said. "Mom's expecting me to come straight home so we can go shoe shopping together. For the chastity ball. I'll see you tomorrow."

Brittany waved before Quinn turned away and exited the school out one of the side doors.

"What did she want?" Santana asked as she reemerged from the bathroom.

"Nothing, really." Brittany looped her arm through the other girl's with a determinedly bright smile. "Let's get out of here."

… … …

Another day, another morning stuck in a red box, Quinn thought sullenly.

The sickness had been particularly violent during first period. Now, on her fourth visit to the same bathroom before lunchtime, Quinn had determined it was best to simply remain in the stall until the next wave came, as it inevitably would.

She perched on the toilet seat with her head tilted back, staring at the ceiling while she felt the minutes tick by. Her phone vibrated and Quinn reached for it without looking down. One arm lifted to hold the screen in front of her face.

You okay? the message from Brittany read.

Yeah. I'll meet up with you guys for lunch, if a whiff of whatever they're making doesn't send me back here again,Quinn replied.

I'll save you a spot.

Quinn smiled at the words. After a moment's pause, she switched contacts and fired off another message, this time to Finn.

I'm really queasy today. Would you mind getting my lunch for me when you get your tray? Then I won't have to get too close to the food smells.

I can't. I'm not gonna be at lunch today, Finn answered. Rachel's practicing for the mash-up in the auditorium. I want to listen in to find out what we're up against.

Quinn glared venomously and sent a few words in response.

Never mind, then. Forget it.

She checked her watch. There were fifteen minutes left before the bell. It seemed pointless to return for the tail end of the lesson. Instead, Quinn rummaged around in her purse and stumbled upon a scarcely used black permanent marker.

Her eyes fell on the stall wall to her left. Whether it was the boredom or her still-woozy head urging her on, Quinn wasn't sure, but she removed the cap of the marker and made a single dot on the pure expanse of red paint.

She smiled slowly, reveling in this rare instance of rule breaking. Her hand moved again, without so much thought this time, and she found herself drawing the outline of a face. Once the hair was added, Quinn realized the doodle bore a resemblance to someone she knew.

Rachel.

Quinn's lip curled. Even without the girl being physically present, she couldn't seem to get away from her. The strokes of her marker formed Rachel's prominent nose. How could Finn be attracted to that face? Wide, overeager brown eyes and a lower lip that protruded at the first sign of anything that might spell bad news for her – she was like a spoiled child.

Her jealousy roiled in her gut and nearly made Quinn nauseous again. She had to lean her head against the wall until it passed. During that moment of reprieve, her hand moved once more and attempted to capture Rachel's face as it appeared when she was singing, with her eyes shut tightly and her mouth forming a perfect 'O.'

Center stage, right where Rachel felt she belonged - getting all the songs, all of the glory and, with Quinn so often out of commission due to her pregnancy, now she was getting all the attention from Finn. Quinn scowled and continued drawing. Damn Rachel and her damn love affair with the damn spotlight.

The marker was still moving, faster now, mapping out every deficiency that Quinn's envy was currently casting in such garish light. No clothes for this likeness. Instead, narrow shoulders and too-large hands, small breasts and bony legs completed the portrait of her enemy. The figure was seated on the edge of the hastily-sketched stage. Its legs were spread wide and the head was tilted back, as though in ecstasy at the touch of the lines of light coming down from above.

There are no small parts, only small actors, she captioned the drawing.

"There," Quinn said aloud.

As her eyes took in the likeness she had created, Quinn's stomach did an unpleasant somersault. The girl's sneakers kicked her purse and notebooks aside before she dropped to her knees. Then Quinn clung to the sides of the toilet bowl for dear life and heaved until she was left completely empty.

… … …

"Well, looks like the plan to wing it has gone out the window." Santana turned to Mercedes as the Glee girls filtered out of the choir room. "What's the new plan?"

"We step up our A-game," Mercedes replied. "Almost all the guys in the boys' group are athletes. Something has officially gone horribly wrong with the universe if a bunch of divas like us with pipes like ours can't wipe the floor with them."

"But h-how are we going t-to be that energetic?" Tina asked. "They didn't just s-sing; they d-danced and kept moving the whole time."

"Fortunately for us, I have enough past experience in choreography to assemble something that requires a similar level of stamina during our mash-up," Rachel said confidently as she caught up with the others.

The group rolled their eyes.

"And you're so sure that whatever you can think up will blow the number they just did out of the water?" Santana challenged.

"Of course," Rachel answered unblinkingly. "Failure is not an option. Leave it to me. We'll discuss the matter further at our next meeting. Clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon, ladies. Don't be late."

"Crap," Santana grumbled as the other girl walked briskly away from them. "By the time she lets us out of that meeting, Quinn's baby will be graduating from this school."

… … …

"I'm not taking it."

"Why not? It's just some vitamin thing. The boys all had it. That's how they were so pumped yesterday. Mrs. Schuester wouldn't have given it to them if it was bad, right? She must know what she's doing if they made her the new school nurse," Santana said. "Kurt figures this evens the odds again so the girls have a chance to win."

"I don't want any. I can keep up on my own," Brittany insisted as she fastened her seatbelt. "I don't like medicine."

"He didn't say anything about it tasting bad or anything. They're just a couple of blue pills to swallow." Santana shrugged and turned the key in the ignition.

"It sounds scary," Brittany said. "It'd make me act a way I don't feel."

"Only temporarily."

Brittany shook her head adamantly.

"My aunt takes pills," she explained. "She starts acting really weird if she doesn't have any."

Santana nodded. Brittany had told her some stories about her mother's sister before.

"Okay, if you're sure," Santana conceded. "If anybody's got a chance of doing it on their own steam, it's you. You're the champion dancer after all."

Her friend beamed at the compliment.

"Rachel says she's won some trophies, too," Brittany recalled.

"Pfft! When she was, like, three," Santana scoffed. "Now the only time she even gets around to dancing is for that ballet elective she takes. If you were in that class, she wouldn't be so quick to brag. Why didn't you take that, by the way?"

"Their pace is kinda slow," Brittany shrugged. "I haven't really been feeling like doing much ballet this year, anyway. I want to focus more on my contemporary."

"Is Mike still studying with you?"

To Brittany's surprise, there seemed to be little to no jealousy in Santana's voice.

"Sometimes. He's been really into jazz, but we have a piece we've been paired off to work on for the winter recital."

"Can't wait to see it," Santana said brightly.

"How are things with Matt?" Brittany asked archly.

"Amazing," Santana gushed. "He actually texts me things that have nothing to do with sex. He remembers what I tell him. Puck could stand to take some lessons from Matt on how a boyfriend's actually supposed to behave."

"Puck?" Brittany repeated worriedly. "Santana, you're not with both of them are you?"

"Of course not," Santana laughed lightly. "I'm only dating Matt. Puck is just for… moonlighting."

Brittany shook her head sadly.

"Don't worry, Britt-Britt," Santana assured her with a kiss on the nose when they reached the first stoplight. "I've got everything under control. No love triangle drama for me. That's Quinn's area of expertise."

… … …

"Just take a look at them, okay?" Quinn urged gently. "I know they're nothing to get excited about, but we've got to take whatever we can find."

She fanned printed job descriptions out in front of Finn on the Hudsons' kitchen table. His mother was out grocery shopping, so this was a rare opportunity in which they could speak freely to one another about the problems they were facing.

"I don't know. A lot of this sounds like secretary stuff," Finn grimaced.

"A few of the positions do involve typing, yes," Quinn conceded. "But you use your laptop. This isn't that different."

Finn lifted the sheets of paper in his hands and shuffled through them.

"I tried to find another way. I spoke to the woman I told you about," Quinn explained vaguely, grateful that Finn never pressed her for a name. "She still wants to be the adoptive mother."

This news was met with a nervous nod.

"Is that what you want?" Finn verified. "To give it up?"

"I don't want to think of it as giving up," Quinn said. "I want to think of it as choosing the best road, for us and the baby."

"What else did the lady say?" Finn asked. "Can she help us out?"

"She won't pay for anything." Quinn shook her head, recalling bitterly how Mrs. Schuester had immediately shot down the suggestion without so much as batting an eyelash. "Since she'll be raising the child, she thinks we should handle all the pre-birth costs."

Finn folded his arms and rested his forehead on them.

"So now what happens?"

"Now you look at the jobs I found for you," Quinn answered impatiently. "I tried to make it as easy as I could, Finn. I know how stressed you've been, so I did the footwork. All you have to do is choose and apply."

Finn looked at the names of the businesses she had typed out for him and forced a smile onto his face.

"Okay. I'll look them over."

Quinn beamed with relief. Finn leaned sideways in his chair and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "It's a good thing at least one of us knows what to do."

"I don't know," Quinn mumbled as she rubbed her thumb over his fingers. "Maybe I'm just better at improvising."

… … …

Santana shut her eyes and stretched out carefully along a bench. A folded towel was draped over her eyes while another was wrapped tightly around the skin that was still dripping from her turn in the locker room showers. Her arms and legs ached from practice, and all she really wanted to do was sleep, but the voice of her friend was currently keeping her very much awake.

"Quite honestly, I think they deserve it," Quinn was saying while she re-tied her shoelaces.

"Spare us the saintly judgments just this once, would you please?" Santana groaned. "Don't try to pretend even for a second that you wouldn't have taken that vitamin thing, too, if you weren't incubating. The choice was made for you by Mrs. Schuester, so you can't claim you took the high road on this one, sunshine."

"Even so," Quinn acknowledged through a clenched jaw. "Now that Mrs. Schuester has been let go for supplying those pills, and Coach Sylvester is co-director of the New Directions, we know everything will be by the book from here on out."

"Yeah, with a particular focus on dismantling the club altogether," Santana snapped as she held onto her towel with one hand and sat upright. "The only thing this means now is that the war is coming to a head. Any sign of a no man's land is gone now that Sue and Schue will be going toe to toe. The best we can hope is not to get caught in the crossfire."

"At least she hasn't done anything unorthodox yet," Quinn offered with a shrug.

"I have a bad feeling," Brittany murmured while she brushed her hair.

The other two girls turned to her.

"Mr. Schuester was asking for new song ideas but he didn't really listen to any," Brittany elaborated.

"Yeah, that was complete crap," Santana acknowledged. "As if anything that Her Majesty, Queen of the Shire requests won't get precedence over whatever the rest of us ask to do. We're just extras, and Mr. Schue pretending otherwise isn't fooling anyone."

"Why does that make you worried, Brittany?" Quinn asked curiously.

"Well, it's just that, if we're not all working together –"

"Hello, ladies," Sue greeted from the doorway.

The three teens jumped and their eyes widened.

"Sorry to intrude but I had a suspicion you might have forgotten our scheduled meeting," she continued. "Judging from your lack of proper attire, I think it's clear I was right. I'll expect you in my office, uniforms and high ponies back in place, in ten minutes."

"We only just got to finally take them off," Santana grumbled once their coach was out of earshot.

"I think it's to remind us where our allegiance should lie," Quinn surmised.

Brittany zipped her top and frowned pensively.

"Or to remind us who's in control."

… … …

Quinn's phone rang before she'd even had time to turn the deadbolt on the door. Her nerves were already rattled as she prepared to sneak through the front foyer and up the stairs; the sudden music nearly caused her to shout aloud.

"Hi, Frannie," she panted with relief after checking the caller I.D. and answering. "Give me just a sec, okay? I have to get up to my room."

Her sister waited patiently until Quinn was safely out of range to be overheard by anyone else in the house.

"So how was the ultrasound?"

"Good, good," Quinn murmured. "The baby's developing at the rate it's supposed to and it's healthy."

"Did Finn take you there? I'm so sorry I couldn't get off work to drive you guys myself," Frannie apologized.

"It's okay. Mr. Schuester took us to the appointment and dropped us off after it was finished."

"Who is that?"

"Mr. Schue? He's the Spanish teacher at my school. He's also the director of the Glee Club," Quinn explained.

"How did he get pulled into all of this?" Frannie marveled.

"I think Finn asked him. They talk a lot. It helps Finn cope. And… his wife is also the one who offered to take my baby."

There was a whoosh of air from the other end of the line as Frannie puffed up her cheeks and exhaled.

"I don't know about this, Goose. It sounds like you've got yourself neck-deep in about five hundred layers of 'it's complicated,' but so long as you can keep track of it all…"

"I'm fine," Quinn insisted. "After all, it wouldn't be high school without lots of drama."

"Don't I know it," Frannie seconded. "Although I think you've got even me beat in that department."

"Hey, Frannie?" Quinn hazarded.

"Yeah?"

"Did… Did you and Thomas ever want children?"

"Hell no," Frannie blurted out before clearing her throat. "I mean, that probably wouldn't work out for us. I just don't see Thomas as the fathering type."

"How come?"

"Much as that man's worrying manages to stress me out on a daily basis, it'd annoy the crap out of our kids. They'd never have any kind of fun, ever."

"But you and he get along all right, don't you?" Quinn pressed on as her brow began to furrow.

"We have an understanding," Frannie replied flippantly. "It'd help if he didn't idolize Dad so much, but what can you do? That's what happens when you marry the son of your father's business partner. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Quinn lied. "Just being nosy, I guess."

"Sweetie, were you going to ask if we could take the baby?"

"I—I don't know. Yes. Maybe. I have no idea. I'm grasping at straws right now," Quinn confessed before burying her face in her hands.

They both fell silent for a few minutes.

"It's a girl."

"That makes it all more real, doesn't it? Knowing the gender," Frannie surmised.

"Yeah. It's scary."

"Very," Frannie agreed. "Just know that I'm going to do whatever I can to support you, okay? No matter what you choose to do."

"Thanks," Quinn replied. "Maybe you should have a bucket of water ready for when Dad sets me on fire once I tell him."

"I'll hide all the matches."

"Well, at least we've got a plan," Quinn joked through the tears rimming her eyelids.

"Yep," Frannie agreed softly. "Hang in there. No matter the outcome, it will all be over eventually. Nine months, and you've already survived the first few. You're strong. I know you can do this."

Quinn reached for Isaac the Lamb, who was leaning against her extra pillow, and squeezed him with her free arm.

"At least one of us thinks so."

… … …

"Why are you sad?"

Santana lifted her head to find that Brittany's little sister, Katy, was studying her intently.

"Hey there, shortstop," Santana greeted warmly. "I haven't gotten a hug from you yet."

Katy joined her on the armchair. She climbed onto the older girl's lap and wrapped both arms tightly around her middle.

"Did the teacher yell at your class?" Katy guessed. "I get sad when my teacher yells."

"No, sweetie, it's nothing like that," Santana replied while rubbing the child's back.

"Our club is getting broken up," Brittany explained from where she was resting on the couch.

"No more club?" Katy asked with a sympathetic pout.

"Well, it'll still exist but half of us are in one room and the other half has to work someplace else," Santana explained. "So we don't get to sing all together anymore."

"Why?"

"Our coach decided she wanted to work with some kids so they could get a turn," Brittany said. "Only she left some other kids behind because they don't have anything on the outside that makes them different."

"That doesn't sound nice," Katy remarked. "Are you and Santana in the same group?"

"No."

"Then that's not good at all," Brittany's little sister determined. "Nothing's any fun if you can't do it with your best friend."

Santana exchanged smiles with Brittany before returning her attention to the younger Pierce daughter.

"Do you have a best friend, Katy?"

"Uh huh," Katy confirmed enthusiastically. "His name is Wes."

"A boy!" Santana raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure he's just a friend?"

Katy wrinkled her nose.

"I don't like him like that. I don't want him to touch me and give me germs."

Santana laughed and nodded sagely.

"That's a good policy, squirt. Stay away from yucky boy germs. Life is complicated enough without 'em."

"Are you guys gonna quit the club since it's not fun anymore?" Katy asked.

"Nah, we've gotta stick with it," Santana sighed.

"We have people depending on us," Brittany seconded.

Katy nodded thoughtfully.

"My soccer coach tells us not to give up, either," she said. "'Cause, 'if you miss a goal six times, maybe the seventh one will go through.'"

"You're getting to be a really smart cookie, Katy, you know that?" Santana grinned broadly. "Just like your sister."

She caught Brittany's eye and winked. Brittany smiled gratefully before crossing the room to scoop Katy up in her arms.

"It's because we hang out all the time, right kiddo?"

"Yeah," Katy agreed. She held out her index finger and drew the first letter of their surname on Brittany's chest and then on her own. They both giggled and Brittany tapped Katy's nose.

"Two Ps in a pod."

… … …

The student traffic in the hallway was so thick when the final class of the day dismissed that it was almost impossible for Quinn to reach Finn's side. He saw her coming and shut his eyes tightly almost as if he were hoping, when he opened them again, she wouldn't really be there. Quinn did her best to ignore this and instead cut straight to the matter she most wanted to discuss.

"Did you look at the options?" she asked. "What have you decided?"

"I don't really know yet," Finn responded evasively. "Maybe I need more time to think."

"We don't have more time, Finn!" Quinn cried. "You need to choose."

"None of those jobs really sound like me, you know?" Finn continued. "I don't want to be stuck doing something that's not interesting."

"You can start whatever career you want, one day," Quinn said. "But right now I need you to bite the bullet and find some way to help pay for the bills. It's only temporary. You can quit once the baby is born."

Finn returned his books to his locker and his shoulders stiffened.

"I'll figure something out, okay? Just don't nag so much. I've got enough pressure as it is," he complained.

The muscles in Quinn's face twitched with fury. Finn steeled himself for the explosion, but it didn't come. Instead, Quinn whirled around and stormed off without another word, parting the crowd with only the blaze in her eyes.

Finn blinked in surprise before shrugging and reaching for his backpack.

"That was easier than I expected."

… … …

"Hey, how come you're not at school today?" Brittany asked Santana over the phone once she had settled at a table with her lunch tray.

The noise level in the cafeteria was steadily rising so that she had to plug her other ear against the din, but she really wanted to hear her friend's voice.

"I've got some kind of twenty-four hour bug," Santana explained miserably. "I haven't even been around anybody who's sick! It must've been through a carrier. I kissed Matt yesterday afternoon and then the symptoms showed up last night. He's got some apologizing to do for his contaminated lil' self."

"Maybe it wasn't Matt, though," Brittany countered. "It's probably from the moonshining."

"Moonlighting," Santana corrected mildly. "Yeah, probably. He's been screwing everyone over lately, in one way or another."

"I'll come visit you when classes are over," Brittany assured her. "Get lots of rest, okay?"

"Will do, Doc," Santana answered dutifully.

"Okay. See you after school,"Brittany responded hastily as she saw Quinn approaching the table. Her thumb ended the conversation with a quick push of a button.

"How's Santana?" Quinn asked without having to confirm the recipient of Brittany's call.

"Pretty sick, but awake enough to answer," Brittany shrugged. She twiddled her straw between her thumb and forefinger.

"Hey, I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier," Quinn apologized. "In Spanish class, I mean. I should've helped explain the work to you but I was just so mad at Finn. I didn't mean what I said."

"It's okay," Brittany said kindly. "I know it was an open book test and all, but it's hard to find everything in just one class period. I kinda panicked, especially without Santana there to help me. She always checks to make sure I'm getting it right."

"I know." Quinn nodded. "And, now that Mr. Schuester is refusing to give out free passes to the Cheerios, we've got to be extra careful about our grades since you, Santana, and I are the only ones left."

"What was Finn saying to you?" Brittany inquired. "During the test. He said something about rain?"

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Drizzle. He wants to name the baby Drizzle."

"But you're not keeping the baby. Won't the mom and dad who adopt her give her a name?"

"Exactly!" Quinn concurred. "That's what I've been trying to explain to him, but he can't get it through his head. We can't keep her."

A tear slid down Quinn's face, but Brittany's fingers brushed the drop away.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mumbled thickly. "It's the hormones. I'm not sad, really. I cried over a dropped French fry yesterday."

"But a baby's not a French fry," Brittany said. "It's okay if it makes you sad to lose her."

"I have no choice, Britt," Quinn whimpered and looked down at her palms. Brittany held Quinn's hands in her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"There's always a choice."

… … …

Just as she had predicted, Santana's illness only lasted a day and she was back at McKinley the following morning. All the same, Brittany kept a close watch on her during their classes and checked her forehead periodically with the back of her hand. Santana laughed but didn't seem to mind the extra attention.

"I'm fine now, really," Santana insisted when Brittany returned from the lunch line with a bowl of soup. "My own mother didn't bring me this. You're going to spoil me."

"Drink it," was the only gentle but insistent response she received.

By the time they reached the end of the school day, Brittany was relatively convinced of her best friend's return to health. However, she still guided Santana's head to rest on her shoulder while they waited for the rest of the Glee Club to walk into the choir room.

The other members wandered in by twos and threes until everyone had settled into a seat - everyone except for Finn, who had chosen the stool behind the drum kit. Artie was the last to arrive and, as he came through the door, he could be heard humming softly to himself. Puck's expression lit up as he recognized the tune and began to strum on his guitar. Finn followed suit by drumming out a steady beat. Everyone else caught on then and joined in the fun.

"Ay! Oh! Ay! Oh! Where they at? Where they at? Where they at? Where they at?" they chorused merrily and rose to their feet.

The two girls grinned at one another and danced to the familiar beginning of Ride Wit Me. Santana's spirits had lifted so much that no one would have guessed she was bedridden the previous afternoon. She even draped her arms around Matt's shoulders and swayed with him, and Brittany was enjoying herself so much that she scarcely felt the sting.

Unfortunately, with the majority of the students leaving to participate in Sue's Kids, the portion of the club Coach Sylvester had siphoned off for her own purposes, and the remaining few staying behind with Mr. Schuester, their time spent in each other's company was far too short. Soon everyone was hugging and saying their temporary goodbyes before going their separate ways.

Santana went to the back row and walked toward Brittany's outstretched arms.

"I love you," she said without considering the import of what had passed her lips.

Brittany's arms wrapped safely around her and, for a moment, Santana held her breath. But no remark was made. She nearly dared to hope that her friend hadn't heard the statement at all until she felt the way Brittany's cheek pressed tenderly against her face for just a fraction of a second.

Santana left the choir room with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Even though she was fairly certain they had both silently agreed to pretend it never happened, the three words echoed around inside her head and made her face burn with shame. Then she recalled the way Brittany had taken the whole thing in stride and simply hugged her that much harder, and Santana's insides began to twist with unmistakable guilt.

… … …

The stakes had risen more than anyone realized.

Sue's efforts to demolish the Glee Club were officially becoming both desperate and painfully transparent. Completely baffled as to the reason, Brittany found herself being called into the coach's office with Puck, of all people.

When the two took their seats, Ms. Sylvester started in on some deranged tirade about how they were minorities just like her Sue's Kids and deserved better treatment. She pointed out the fact that Puck was Jewish – which, to Brittany's mind, meant Rachel ought to be there, too, since she practiced that faith as well – and Brittany was of Dutch descent. Brittany was only dimly aware of that fact herself and couldn't understand how it had anything to do with discrimination, but she decided not to voice that qualm out loud.

All in all, Sue's explanation came out more ill-informed and vaguely insulting than the supposed well-meaning offer she meant for it to be.

Still, switching sides would mean a chance to spend more time with Santana again. So, against her better judgment, Brittany agreed.

"What am I going to do now?" Quinn moaned when Brittany told her the news after school. "Now it's just going to be me and Finn with Rachel mentally ravaging him right in front of me like I'm not even there."

"I'm sorry," Brittany apologized. "Did you try talking to Finn about it?"

"Not lately," Quinn said. "He just blocks out everything I say. I decided to try a different approach and went straight to the source."

"You talked to Rachel? How did that go?" Brittany asked.

"Not well," Quinn admitted. "I meant to start out with a thank you for her stopping Jacob Ben Israel from running the pregnancy story, but the minute I saw her I totally forgot. I just got so angry and I wound up slamming her locker and kind of chasing her up the stairs while we argued."

"What did Rachel do?"

"She didn't back down. I mean, she did apologize, but I don't see that stopping her. Then she said she knew about me being the mole for Coach Sylvester and was trying to make it sound like I should be loyal to the Glee Club instead of the Cheerios."

Quinn curled her lip derisively as she and Brittany rounded the corner into the locker rooms.

"As if I owe that club anything. This squad is where my real friends are. She just wants to make sure there are enough people for them to compete at sectionals."

Brittany nodded absently but her eyes were elsewhere. The minute they had entered the room, several clusters of girls stopped talking abruptly. What little conversation still carried on was done in whispers. The cheerleaders' gazes were following Quinn, who was too busy grumbling to herself to take much notice.

Though she loathed having to admit it, Brittany had to acknowledge that, just this once, Rachel might very well have a point.

… … …

"Everything is ruined," Quinn said to the empty air.

Coach Sylvester knew she was pregnant.

She announced it in front of the entire Glee Club the day she finally stepped down as co-director and allowed them to reunite as one group. This only made the moment that much worse when all eleven pairs of eyes were present to bore into her skin and await her reaction to being exposed.

All the oxygen left Quinn's lungs. She couldn't respond, couldn't move. Everything she had worked so hard to build for herself, her new life at a new school, was crumbling apart before her very eyes.

The hovering dread of being officially kicked off the squad swooped low over her head like a circling vulture. Quinn was unable to think or feel much of anything else for the rest of the week.

In a surprise gesture of kindness, the Glee Club organized a number for Friday to show their support. As everyone moved in unison and sang their rendition of Keep Holding On, Quinn found that the one person who seemed to always keep her in sight was Rachel.

For the first time since the summer when they met, Quinn actually felt like the other girl was on her side. Much as she wanted to spurn the sincerity behind Rachel's gaze, she couldn't quite look away. She was grateful when they all finally faced outward for the end of the song and she was no longer required to make eye contact.

The number concluded and the group gradually dispersed. Quinn felt a few of them nudge her or brush her shoulder as they passed, but she was too numb to give them even the weakest of smiles.

"It was my idea, you know," a small voice said, shaking her from her thoughts.

Rachel stepped forward, the last remaining member of the club still on the stage. The auditorium had emptied while Quinn was lost in her worries.

"What was?"

"The performance," Rachel answered. "You looked so small and scared yesterday. I wanted you to know that there are people who still care."

"You mean like you?"

"Yes," Rachel replied. "Rival or not, I don't want to see you suffer like this. I know how much being a cheerleader meant to you."

"How much it means to me," Quinn corrected stubbornly. "I'm not off the Cheerios yet."

"Right," Rachel acknowledged. "Even so, you seemed like maybe you could use a friend."

"I have friends."

"So you've said." Rachel nodded. "Regardless, a surplus of friends never hurt anybody, and… I'm here, if you need me."

She shrugged lamely, for once unable to think of anything else to say.

Quinn ran her tongue over her teeth and prepared to issue the most scathing remark she could summon to mind, but she was cut off as Rachel rushed forward and enveloped her in an extremely awkward hug.

"I'll see you on Monday, Quinn," she murmured.

Then she darted off into the darkness and left Quinn standing dumbfounded and bewildered center stage.

… … …

"The world has gone completely batshit," Santana concluded succinctly as she pulled into the driveway of the Pierces' residence.

"Everybody knowing about Quinn's baby has changed everything," Brittany murmured sadly. "I still can't believe Karofsky slushied Finn in the face."

"That was bound to happen eventually," Santana shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if they get the baby mama herself, before this is all over."

"Maybe she should get a rain jacket, too," Brittany said thoughtfully. "That's how the other Glee kids protect themselves."

"She won't do it, though." Santana exited the car and circled around to open Brittany's door. "You know she won't. That'd be like admitting she's one of them, which is the last thing in the world she wants right now."

"Yeah, I guess," Brittany sighed. "She really hates them, huh?"

"She's definitely not the club's biggest fan," Santana replied. "Neither am I. You're the one who's good at talking to them."

"They're just people," Brittany shrugged. "The same as anyone else."

"You're too good for this world, Britt." Santana smiled and hugged her with one arm.

Brittany ducked her head and smiled.

"We're the only car in the driveway," Santana noted before they entered the house. "Where did everybody else disappear to today?"

"Dad's got work and Mom had to run errands before she picks Katy up from school," Brittany explained.

They ascended the stairs to Brittany's room and deposited their backpacks by the door.

"It's just us, then. Party time," Santana joked with a wink.

Brittany giggled.

"Does it still count as a party if there are only two people?"

"When those two people are you and me? Hell yes!" Santana responded with a nod.

"Okay, then." Brittany grinned.

She sprawled on her bed and traced a fingertip over the crisscrossing flowers on her comforter. Santana joined her and studied her face for a moment.

"Britt, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Am I losing my touch?" Santana fretted.

Brittany tilted her head to the side.

"Huh?"

"It's just Matt," Santana sulked. "I've been sending him all these vibes and hanging all over him and he still hasn't… parked the car in the garage."

"Oh," Brittany said quietly. "Is that why you kind of touched your crotch in front of him during Glee today?"

"Yeah, it was. I mean, fuck's sake, the only way I could be more obvious is if I just straddled him at random," Santana complained. "What's the hold up?"

"Maybe he just wants to take things slow," Brittany shrugged.

"What straight boy says no to sex when it's offered?" Santana ranted.

"One who doesn't see you as just a body?" Brittany suggested.

Santana blinked and pondered this for a moment. She sighed and rolled over onto her back.

"Maybe you're right. I guess I've just gotten so used to Puck being all handsy that I don't know how to react when a guy treats me like a person."

She laughed a little but, when Santana turned to Brittany, she saw that her face was serious.

"Maybe so," Brittany seconded sadly.

"I should've let you talk me out of that one from the start, huh?" Santana said as she met the girl's gaze. "After all, you're the one who has my best interests at heart."

Brittany rested their foreheads together and closed her eyes.

"Yeah, I do."

Santana' pulse quickened. She pressed her lips together and tried to calm it, but the drumming only pounded harder behind her ribcage until she thought she might explode. Her mouth grazed the underside of Brittany's chin.

"Sorry I'm not a good listener," she apologized.

"It's okay," Brittany replied. "Maybe it's my fault for not making sure I had your attention."

She kissed her softly but insistently and Santana had to admit that Brittany had her attention now.

"So I'm not getting fat or something then?" Santana asked, trying desperately to circle back to their earlier topic. "It's just Matt being a gentleman?"

Brittany met her gaze and leaned in until they touched noses.

"It's definitely not you."

"Oh, well, that's good," Santana brightened.

Then Brittany's lips were on hers again and all the words in Santana's mind disappeared completely.

… … …

So much for sunglasses restoring our social status…

Ms. Pillsbury's idea of how to be seen as cool again could not have backfired more if they tried. Quinn could feel the drink stinging the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair, and clinging heavily to her uniform. Also, there was an unfortunate bit of slush that had made it past her collar and was currently oozing its way down her back, no doubt leaving a faint purple trail in its wake. She fought down the urge to cry as the jocks walked smugly in the opposite direction. She and Finn were left standing in the middle of the hall to face the shame.

Her boyfriend guided her firmly by the shoulder, eager to get clean before their next class. Quinn followed him numbly. She scarcely noticed the change in her surroundings as her mind tried its hardest to riddle out how they had fallen so low so quickly. It was all because of that stupid Glee Club.

Then- speak of the devil- they rounded the corner and nearly walked directly into Rachel.

"Finn!" the girl exclaimed. "Quinn! What happened?"

"The team surrounded us and decided to teach us a lesson," Finn summarized bitterly.

His eyes went from the labeled door on the left to his girlfriend standing on the right.

"Hey, Rachel? I hate to ask this but can you help Quinn get the slushy off herself? I'd do it, but I think the other people in there would be pretty ticked if I came into the girls' bathroom. Plus, I've gotta try to get this outta my shirt before Lit. Class."

"Of course," Rachel agreed readily. "Here, come on. We might be able to get rid of most of it if we hurry."

She reached out and guided Quinn by the arm. Finn's girlfriend shot him a look for leaving her so readily in the clutches of the enemy, but he was already tugging on the handle to the opposite door and didn't notice.

"I'll meet you back out here," he called and then disappeared into the boys' restroom.

The two teens entered the girls' restroom and walked across the white linoleum toward the line of sinks opposite the stalls. In her typical fashion, Rachel chatted almost nonstop as she moved.

"Now I can tell already that we won't save that uniform, but I'll go as quickly as I can with the rest. We probably can't get you to class for roll call; still, you should be there in time to get the assignment for the day."

Quinn gave a single nod to indicate that she was listening but didn't venture anything further. If she didn't watch her words, she'd end up saying something bad enough to get her kicked out of Glee Club, and she could not afford to leave Finn alone again with the creature standing before her. Her lip curled slightly at the thought alone.

Then she noticed that Rachel was looking at her expectantly.

"What?" she demanded with annoyance.

"You're going to want to untie your high pony," Rachel pointed out timidly. "We have to try to get the drink out of your hair."

Quinn begrudgingly acquiesced while Rachel fetched a chair from the nook near the entrance. Rachel dragged the seat up to the nearest sink and gestured for Quinn to settle onto it. Quinn glared icily, but she did as she was instructed. Then Rachel carefully scooped up her unbound tresses and lowered them into the basin.

"Just lean your head back," she murmured quietly.

Her hand twisted the nob on the nearest side of the sink and began running warm water through the already dampened locks. Quinn kept her lips pursed the entire time and stared at a speck on the ceiling.

"I'm really sorry you had to go through this, Quinn," Rachel told her while she washed. "We've needed to get more members for Glee Club so badly and this ice bath initiation isn't conducive to our efforts. Please don't let it dissuade you from staying. It will get better, I promise. The first attack is always the worst."

"Well, it may have been the first but it sure as hell had better also be the last. I'm not going through this again."

Rachel nodded. Her hands never stilled while they conversed and her fingers were surprisingly gentle as the nails scraped along Quinn's scalp and worked out the last traces of grape juice.

"Hopefully you won't have to," she agreed. "But, if they do come after you again, one of us will always be here to help. That's what friends are for."

"How many times will it take to drive this home? We are not friends."

"That's a matter of opinion," Rachel countered without missing a beat. "But at the times that count you'll realize who is still around when you really need them. Like I told you last week, I know the club isn't exactly your favorite extracurricular activity but it's a good place to be. You'll see."

"Why are you even doing this for me?" Quinn asked.

"Because Finn asked me to," she responded simply. "And because no one deserves having to face their problems alone. Even if they are a mole."

Quinn thought of all the people that made sure Rachel knew she was an outsider, herself included, and felt a rush of remorse. Was that isolation the sort of thing she could expect now that she was pregnant and part of the most unpopular group at school? Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

"Okay," Rachel said as she turned off the tap and gathered Quinn's wet hair in her hand. "Follow me to the dryer."

They walked toward the small machine attached to the wall. Quinn doubled over and began working out the moisture while Rachel pushed the button each time that the warm air shut off automatically. When she was finished, Quinn went to the mirror to tidy her appearance. A moment later, Rachel appeared beside her with a dampened paper towel in her hand.

"For your face," she explained and offered it to the other girl.

Quinn examined her reflection. Sure enough, some of the syrup had left faint stains along her cheeks. Reluctantly, she accepted the proffered object with a curt nod. After she was clean, she restored her high pony and smoothed the strays.

"There," Quinn concluded when she was satisfied with what she saw. "Now all I need to do is stop by the locker room to switch uniforms and I can finally go to class."

Quinn walked toward the exit but paused before stepping back into the hall.

"Hey, Rachel?" she said softly as she turned around in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for helping me," Quinn uttered in a rush. Quickly, like removing a Band-Aid. "I realize now that I've made you late, too, to wherever it was you were going. Also, it was just a really nice thing for you to do. I know I wouldn't have, given the circumstances. So… thanks."

Then she darted out the door to search for Finn.

"No problem," Rachel replied to the empty room. "Any time."

… … …

The Changs' house had changed a bit since the last time she'd been inside it. Brittany noted the alterations in décor and the different placement of furniture with mild curiosity.

"Have a seat," Mike offered with a small smile. "I almost forgot how long it's been since I had you over."

"Yeah, it's been a while," Brittany acknowledged somewhat self-consciously.

Mike handed her a soft drink before popping the top on one of his own.

"To Glee Club," he toasted and tapped his can against hers.

"I really wish your coach hadn't made you choose between that and football," Brittany remarked. "You didn't pick Glee just because of me did you?"

"Partly that," Mike shrugged. "Also, I love getting to dance at school. It's not something people make fun of there. In Glee, my dancing is cool."

Brittany nodded and smiled.

"Santana seemed pretty happy to see Matt with me when we walked in," Mike commented. "I thought I heard her say 'I love you.' Are they that serious?"

Brittany traced the rim of the can and didn't look up at him.

"I don't think so. She says that to a lot of people when she's happy."

"She knows Matt's a sensitive guy, right?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, she said something like that."

"It's just that he barely talks around most people. Getting noticed by a girl like Santana is a big deal for him," Mike elaborated. "I don't want to see him get hurt if she's just messing him around."

"Neither do I," Brittany agreed. "He seems really nice. I mean, he's your friend so obviously he's pretty great."

She nudged Mike with her elbow and they both grinned.

"So you think she's gonna stick with him then?" Mike queried hopefully. "I mean, she wouldn't say stuff like that to him if he didn't mean anything to her, right?"

Brittany gulped down the remainder of her drink before she gave her reply.

"I really hope not."

… … …

The automatic door slid squeakily out of Santana's way and she entered the brightly lit corner grocery store. She shivered slightly as she adjusted to the air conditioning. One hand zipped her jacket over the tank top she was wearing while the other rose to check her watch.

Six-thirty.

That meant she still had thirty minutes before her show started. There was no time for indecision; she'd just have to grab a T.V. dinner and be on her way. Her feet led her to the correct aisle without any conscious effort - countless nights of preparing her own meals made the steps automatic – and she immediately began scanning the shelves behind the glass.

She was just reaching for a box of parmesan chicken when a familiar voice caught her attention. Familiar, but not welcome.

Rachel Berry.

Santana froze instinctively as if her classmate were a rabbit that would no longer be able to detect her presence if she remained completely still. Fortunately, Rachel was far too busy calling over her shoulder to someone in the adjacent aisle, so she didn't notice the motionless Cheerio. Santana nearly breathed a sigh of relief until Rachel's accompaniment rounded the corner and came into view. Then her insides boiled with rage.

Puck walked toward Rachel with an easy half-smile and linked their arms as they turned the cart in Santana's direction. Eager to avoid being spotted, Santana closed the door in front of her and bolted from sight while they still weren't looking. She rushed toward the refrigerated drinks near the check-outs and snatched a water bottle. Then, as quickly as she could without drawing attention to her haste, she placed the items on the nearest conveyor belt.

It wasn't until after she had done so that Santana realized the woman in front of her appeared to have loaded up her cart with half the products in the store. This was going to take forever. Santana very nearly picked up her supper to pay for it at a different register when she saw Puck and Rachel making their way toward her intended destination.

So much for that idea…

With a heavy sigh, Santana remained where she was and waited her turn with thinly veiled impatience. Thankfully, her peers didn't suffer a similar misfortune; they were the first to reach their check-out. This meant they were finished well before her and already walking hand-in-hand out of the store by the time Santana actually got to the register.

Santana allowed herself to finally relax, paid for her dinner, and departed. As it happened, however, that calm was to be terribly short-lived. When she walked out to the parking lot, she found the now not-so-happy couple having difficulty getting Puck's car to start. The vehicle kept emitting a sputtering rumble and she saw the boy angrily smack his hand against the dashboard.

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Rachel looked through the windshield and spotted Santana. She excitedly shook Puck's arm and gestured in the other girl's direction. He followed her pointing finger and saw his ex-girlfriend curling her lip at the realization that she was stuck. There was no chance for her to get away now. Puck unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door to exit.

"Hey, Santana," he called out unnecessarily. "Do you think you can give us a jump?"

She checked her watch and stomped her foot.

"All right," Santana agreed with annoyance. "Just make it quick."

Puck went to the back of his car and unlocked the trunk. He returned after a few minutes of rummaging through the miscellaneous clutter but both his hands were still empty.

"I must have left the cables at home," he said.

"Well, don't look at me," Santana scoffed. "I can tell you for a fact that I don't have any."

They both heard a muffled knock and turned toward the sound. Rachel mouthed exaggeratedly to Puck once she had his attention.

'What's going on?'

The boy held his index finger aloft to stall for more time and turned back to Santana. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to ask next. Her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for him to voice the question.

"Can you give us a ride?"

"Hell no."

"Oh, come on, Santana," he pleaded. "Don't be like this. I'll find a way to make it up to you."

Santana's eyes flicked over him derisively.

"You don't have anything I want."

"Look, the sooner you stop arguing with me and get us to my house, the sooner you can go back to blowing me off for being poor and pretending that she doesn't exist, okay? Just… please?"

She frowned at his shallow assessment of her. Half to shut him up and half to prove a point about the quality of her character, Santana gave a reluctant nod.

"Fine," she snarled. "But one of you is going to have to sit next to me because my duffel is still on the back seat."

Puck clapped his hands together once and then held them out toward her gratefully.

"Thank you!" he said before turning to relay the news to Rachel.

Santana left them to unload and transfer their groceries while she climbed into the driver's side of her car. A few moments later, she heard the click of the other door opening and lifted her head. As she did so, she saw that Puck had opened it for Rachel and was allowing her to slide carefully into the vacant seat. Santana leaned around Rachel to shoot Puck a poisonous glare. He shrugged as if to say, 'It was the gentlemanly thing to do." Then he circled the car to climb into the back.

"Thanks so much for doing this, Santana," Rachel said as she clicked her buckle into place. "We really appreciate it."

Their driver gave a noncommittal grunt as she pulled out of the parking lot. She activated the turn signal and did her best to ignore the perfume wafting toward her from the unwanted passenger.

"Noah and I are having Musical Night this evening," Rachel explained eagerly. "This will be his first time watching The Phantom of the Opera."

When Santana gave no response, Rachel sang a few lines to jog her memory.

"You know," she prompted. "In sleep he sang to me. In dreams he came-"

"Yeah that's not ringing any bells," Santana cut her off shortly.

Santana flicked her dark eyes up to the rearview mirror and caught Puck's gaze. She lifted her eyebrows and allowed mockery to flicker in her pupils. No audible insults were required; he knew her thoughts well enough to register the slight. Before she could emasculate him further, Puck turned his head away and looked out the window beside him.

Rachel plunged her hand into the plastic bag on her lap and pulled out a water bottle of her own.

"I'm gonna take a quick sip of this," she informed their temporary chauffeur while she unscrewed the cap. "Do you mind?"

"Be my guest," Santana grumbled since the lid was already off anyway.

She waited until the other girl had the bottle tilted and pressed to her lips. Then she brought the car to an abrupt halt. The liquid dribbled along Rachel's chin and down her shirt.

"Stoplight," Santana said by way of explanation.

She pointed through the windshield at the yellow light which promptly switched to red as if by command. Her passenger nodded and tried to discretely wring out her dampened top. Santana watched for a moment before she unzipped her jacket and handed it over.

"Here," she offered. "You can use this to wipe yourself off if you need to. I have to wash it anyway, so it doesn't really matter if it gets wet."

Rachel accepted the proffered item with murmured thanks, only to look up and realize that Santana was now wearing just a form-fitting black tank top with a plunging neckline. Rachel's eyes bulged and then flicked back over her shoulder to her boyfriend, fearful that his attention might become… diverted.

As Santana suppressed a wicked smile at the fear she had sparked - not to mention instilling her adversary with a sudden sense of inadequacy - she locked eyes with Puck in the mirror for the second time. Just as she had not needed to voice her criticisms moments before, nor did her ex-boyfriend have to speak his demand for her to read it in the thin line of his mouth and his sternly lowered eyebrows.

Be nice.

Santana complied and behaved herself for the duration of the drive, aside from the occasional eye roll that she hid behind lowered lids. At last, the Puckerman residence came into view and she pulled into the driveway.

"Well, thanks again," Rachel chirped as she unfastened her seatbelt and placed the jacket on the console. "If you need us to pay for gas, I'll be glad to pass you the money in the morning at school."

"It's okay," Santana told her in a strained voice. She was not keen to be seen with the other girl in public any more than was absolutely necessary. "Don't worry about it."

"That is so nice of you!" Rachel enthused.

She gave the other girl a brief, grateful hug. Santana's face looked as if she smelled something foul. Behind her, she heard Puck climb out of his seat and close the door behind him.

"We'll see you tomorrow!" Rachel exclaimed. She exited and made her way toward the Puckermans' front door.

Santana rolled down her window and leaned out to call after them.

"You kids have fun now!" she hollered.

The boy turned back to shoot her a displeased look.

"Hey, Puck!" Santana barked. "Come here for just a sec."

He pulled a face but obeyed her command. Santana checked behind him to make sure that Rachel had already gone inside before she leaned closer and murmured conspiratorially.

"All right, what's the deal?" she asked. "I know desperate times call for desperate measures, but could you not at least pick someone that wouldn't drown in the shallow end of a swimming pool?"

"She's not as bad as you think," he protested. "Besides, what do you care anymore, anyway?"

"I don't," Santana snapped. "In fact, I wish you the best of luck. May you both live musically ever after."

Puck scowled.

"Just tell me one thing," Santana requested. "Are you sure she's really who you want?"

"I'm not taking you back," he growled defiantly.

Santana snorted.

"Don't flatter yourself," she laughed. "I was talking about someone with whom you had a decidedly shorter relationship - or, rather, no relationship at all."

The first flicker of comprehension crossed Puck's features.

"C'mon, you can't honestly tell me you didn't go for the polar opposite just to try to get her out of your head," Santana protested with a click of her tongue. "Trying to replace the Prom Princess with the Glee Club Gremlin is just pitiful. You'd have been better off if you had come crawling back to me."

Puck's expression darkened as it became clear she had been referring to Quinn. His resentment of her keen observation showed clearly in the tension of his hunched shoulders.

"Well, too late for that now," Santana quipped. "You've made your bed and now you have to not get laid in it. Enjoy your movie."

She rolled her window back up and left him standing alone in the driveway. If he allowed her words to sink in, Santana thought, maybe he'd take a second look at this ridiculous new relationship and reconsider. Her lips turned up in a half smile as she made her way home.

I give it a week.

… … …

Sectionals was looming closer with every passing week and, as it neared, the question of transportation for the club arose. Standard buses were available for their use but none that were handicapable for Artie and his wheelchair. Since the type of bus they needed cost around six hundred dollars, Mr. Schuester decided they would raise the necessary funds with a bake sale.

His idea was met with a markedly unenthusiastic response from the members of the Glee Club, but he wouldn't hear any arguments.

Brittany, for her part, offered to help advertise the event since she always managed to botch recipes. She and Tina asked the art teacher for supplies and put together several posters and a teal banner to hang over the table.

"I s-still don't k-know about this," Tina commented while she glued a large, hand-drawn cupcake to one side of the banner. "Are people even that into cupcakes?"

Brittany shrugged. Most of her attention was currently zeroed in on the dollar sign she was drawing with a green marker. Her tongue curled around her teeth as she worked to keep both curves of the symbol clean and even.

"My friend Becky sounded excited when I told her," Brittany answered once the sign was finished and she could focus on the conversation. "Maybe other people will be, too."

"W-wait, Becky Jackson? From math class?" Tina clarified.

"Yeah, that's her," Brittany confirmed brightly.

"H-how do you even talk to her? Isn't she in Special Ed?"

"I think so," Brittany nodded. "But it's not hard to talk to her. She's nice to me."

Tina studied her for a moment before she began drawing the next cupcake, her expression dubious.

"Is your friend Quinn any good at baking?" Tina asked, deciding to simply change the subject.

"Oh yeah," Brittany nodded enthusiastically. "She made a bunch of different cookies for me and Santana last Christmas."

"T-that's good," Tina said gratefully. "I d-don't want Artie's fundraiser to be a bust."

"I think it'll be all right," Brittany told her optimistically. "Especially with our kick-butt posters."

Tina took in her own lopsided dollar signs and the generically drawn cupcakes. She giggled.

"Yeah. These will be s-sure to bring in the big spenders. N-now if we just didn't have to s-sell them sitting in wheelchairs…"

That had been another stipulation of Mr. Schuester's for the week. In order to give them an understanding of what Artie had to go through, they too would have to move about the school in wheelchairs for three hours every school day. Brittany smiled a little as she remembered how loudly and mournfully Santana had complained.

"Maybe it'll make people notice the table more and actually buy something?" Brittany suggested tentatively.

"Or avoid us like we have a d-disease," Tina countered gloomily.

They put the finishing touches on their banner and then stood back to admire their work.

"Well, I think it's ready," Brittany determined brightly. "Ready to go hang them up?"

She and Tina climbed into their wheelchairs and carefully transported the art out of the choir room and into the hall, where they hung posters on corners of the most heavily trafficked hallways. Last was the banner to be put up in the cafeteria itself. This was a little tricky to reach, as it had to be fixed to the ceiling.

"I d-don't think I'm tall enough," Tina said. "Are you?"

Brittany experimentally stood on tiptoe and then jumped a few times in the air.

"Not quite."

They looked around for something to give them a boost.

"They've already put up the tables for the night," Brittany noticed. "The chairs, too. I guess we'll have to—"

"Chairs," Tina repeated. "What about these?"

She gestured to their wheelchairs.

"Maybe if one of us held it in place for the other one, so it wouldn't move at all," Brittany conceded. "It might work."

Brittany stepped aside and offered her chair as the booster. Tina climbed onto it and carefully began fixing one end of the banner to its place on the ceiling.

"Okay," she called down when that was done. "Now the other side."

She held her arms out to balance herself as Brittany guided the chair in a straight line until the banner was stretched taut.

"Almost th-there…" Tina strained to make the corner reach and stay stuck to the wall, but it proved more difficult than she anticipated. Without looking down, she lifted one foot and rested it on thin fabric of the back support. The cloth ripped audibly and fell from the rented chair.

"Oh, crap."

They both stared at the damage with wide eyes.

"N-now what do we do?" Tina panicked.

"I don't know," Brittany murmured, still shocked at the unexpectedly shoddy quality of the seat's design.

"Hide it," Tina said suddenly. "M-Mr. Schue would have a fit if he found out! We'll p-put it in the supply closet."

Brittany had barely stepped out of the other girl's way before Tina sent the chair whizzing through the empty cafeteria, guided it across the adjacent hall, and into the closet that was mercifully unlocked.

"There," Tina stated simply as she dusted off her hands. She pointed and leveled her gaze on Brittany. "And if anybody asks, it got lost."

… … …

Puck crammed the last of his textbooks back into his locker at the end of the day and shut the door tightly, taking only his bag and varsity jacket home with him.

As he turned toward the exit and the football field beyond, he nearly ran headlong into Santana. She was balancing a red cupcake in the palm of each hand and a faint trace of icing lined her upper lip.

"Santana!" he exclaimed irritably. "What the hell? Those cupcakes are for the bake sale. You're eating more than the customers!"

"Cool your jets; I paid for them," Santana snapped. "Besides, what's got you so invested all of the sudden?"

"They're making good money," Puck responded evasively.

"Yeah, about that," Santana said as she lazily licked some of the red off her fingertips. "What the hell did you put in these things? They look exactly like the ones Quinn baked at the start of the week but people can't get enough of them."

"It's a secret recipe," he insisted stoically.

Santana laughed.

"You'd think they were like pot brownies with the way everyone keeps coming back for more."

Puck chuckled half-heartedly and adjusted the strap of his backpack.

"Hold on." Santana's eyes narrowed. "Oh my God! Tell me you have not been feeding the entire school crack cakes for this bake sale."

"I didn't put that much in…"

"Are you insane?" Santana marveled. "Puck! Quinn has been selling these. What if she had eaten one and hurt the baby, dipshit?"

"I have the same shift she does. She hasn't bought any," Puck said defensively. "Besides, these cupcakes are for the baby. She needs the money for the bills!"

"Holy crap, and now you're adding stealing a wheelchair kid's money to your repertoire? Jesus Christ! It is just one screw up after another with you, isn't it?"

"I want to show her that I've got what it takes," he explained. "I can take care of her better than Finn, better than anybody—"

"Yeah, you 'took care of her,' all right," Santana seconded and booped a cupcake against Puck's nose, leaving a circle of red. "That's what got her into this spot in the first place."

Puck hung his head and kicked one of the bottom lockers listlessly. Santana paused to take in his pitiful demeanor. The flash of sympathy she felt was quickly dulled by a bite out of one of the cupcakes and her smile returned. She patted his arm before continuing down the hall with her treats. Without looking back, Santana called one last sentiment over her shoulder.

"You just better hope you don't get caught and land your baby-making ass in the slammer."

… … …

"I think I'm in trouble."

"More?" Frannie despaired on the other end of the line.

"Well, trouble that comes from the trouble I'm already in," Quinn explained miserably. "Finn told his mother about the pregnancy and now I'm so scared she's going to talk to Mom. It's bad enough that I think she might kind of suspect something already but if that suspicion gets confirmed –"

"Woah, woah, woah," Frannie urged gently. "Slow down. You think Mom already figured it out?"

"It was just this look on her face for a second," Quinn explained. "We were talking about why my Chastity Ball dress didn't fit and it was like she could see it in my eyes or something. It scared the crap out of me. What am I gonna do?"

"Just take a deep breath, sweetie," Frannie told her. "So far, you're still in the clear. My money covered the cost of that sonogram. Finn's paychecks now that he found that job at the restaurant will foot the other bills. Mrs. Hudson hasn't called and blown your cover and, whether Mom has guessed or not, she hasn't gone running to Russell with it. No Code Red, at least not today."

"I guess you're right," Quinn sighed and rubbed her arm. "Maybe I'm overreacting. It's just that lately it's like the walls are closing in on me, like my time is running out. I walk around so scared every day that, after losing everything that I already have, I'm going to lose my family, too."

"Well, I can promise you one family member at least that you're stuck with for life."

Quinn smiled.

"Thanks. Sometimes it feels like you're the only one I've got."

… … …

Santana's feet kicked idly through the air as she lay on her stomach atop the mattress. Brittany was half-on the bed and half-off, with her legs dangling over the footboard. Her hair was fanned out across the sheets and Santana separated it into three sections to weave into a braid while they talked.

"That was really lucky that you drew my name out of the hat this week," Brittany commented as she picked at a loose thread in her uniform.

That afternoon in the Glee Club meeting, they had been paired off by drawing names from a hat and, by some incredible stroke of luck, Santana had drawn Brittany's name.

"Yeah, it was," Santana agreed. "It definitely beats having to work with any of those losers. Quinn got put with Artie. That's going to be awkward as hell. I don't think she's ever said more than two words to him and now she's supposed to perform a ballad in front of him?"

"Actually, I talked to Artie in the lunch line and he says that she already took her turn," Brittany replied with a hint of worry in her voice. "He told me she arranged a piano version of Behind These Hazel Eyes and started crying. I think it kind of freaked him out."

"Seriously?" Santana raised her eyebrows. "Those mood swings are really putting her through the ringer."

"They really are." Brittany frowned. "I do have some good news, though. I think maybe I found the song I wanna do."

"Really? Let's hear it!"

Santana released her hold on her friend's hair as the other girl rose and went to her computer. Brittany slid the mouse to its destination on her screen and clicked. She turned and bounced on her heels with irrepressible enthusiasm.

"Okay, I just kinda found this on YouTube the other day," she prefaced. "I don't know if it actually counts, because I'm still not really sure what a ballad is. We're supposed to find a song that says what we feel, though, and I think this comes pretty close."

Brittany twisted around to press play and then straddled her chair as the track began. Santana scooted to the edge of the bed to listen. For some reason, her nearness seemed to make her companion nervous. Brittany fidgeted and looked at the floor as she started to sing.

"We've only ever kissed lying down.

We've only ever touched when there's no one else around.

I can be elusive, if you want me to.

I'm not being intrusive; I just wish I knew the truth

As to why I wait for you longer than the average person would

And why I think about you more than I think one should."

Santana felt her face getting warm the minute the first lines passed Brittany's lips and a hot flash blazed across the back of her neck. She sat completely paralyzed, uncertain of how to react. The only movement she managed was to clasp her hands in her lap, digging her short nails into her palms until they stung.

"Our bodies fit together like a make-shift puzzle
And it's clear to see why you puzzle me
When you turn your frame and you whisper my name
As though I am a burden."

Santana sucked on her bottom lip, torn between mortification and guilt as the other girl's words struck her heart. More than anything, she wished the song could be over or that she could leave. However, it was at that moment that Brittany's eyes lifted and locked on hers, and she knew that she would not be able to move as long as they held her in their sight.

"'Cause I'm making up for lost time
And I'm making up for you
And I'm waking up from last night
And I'm waking up with you
So what's new?"

Santana was fairly certain she was going to be ill. She could feel herself breaking out in a cold sweat and goosebumps rose along her arms as she shuddered. Her stomach felt like it was doing back handsprings and she was having intense difficulty breathing. For a few moments, she was mercifully oblivious to the subsequent lyrics as her heartbeat thundered in her eardrums. However, Brittany's voice broke through the clamor just in time for her to catch a verse that nearly made her choke.

"Our hands rest together like pieces of paper
But they're always blank when I hold your hand
And it gave you a fright when I stayed the night
And you gave yourself to me."

Somewhere during the course of the song, Santana had begun biting rather than sucking on her bottom lip, and she suddenly tasted iron as her teeth penetrated the spot. She lowered her head and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt just as an excuse to break eye contact. The sides of her sneakers tapped together audibly as she anxiously awaited the performance's conclusion.

"It's not the end.
It's not the end, so don't let's pretend."

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she thought Brittany's voice got somehow softer then, gentler, almost broken. Santana could practically feel the bright eyes locked on her forehead as she continued to stare at her knees. She could sense that gaze pleading for her to look up, but the unbearable pounding in her chest was making her vision go dark at the edges and she could not find it in herself to comply.

Brittany finished singing the last chorus and closed her laptop with a snap. She tugged her legs up against her body as she continued to perch on the chair. Her hands clasped over her knees and she rested her chin on the backs of her palms.

"So," she asked quietly. "What did you think?"

Santana was on her feet in an instant, making a beeline for her backpack by the door. She slid the straps over her arms as she replied.

"That was fine, Britt."

She turned back and tried to look at the other girl but wound up staring at the legs of the chair instead.

"I'm sure that'll work for this week's assignment. Listen, I'd better get going. I'll see you at school tomorrow," Santana mumbled.

Then she was out of the room and at the top of the stairs, speeding toward the front door and the fresh air that waited beyond.

Standing alone in the center of her room, Brittany listened to the sound of Santana's hurried footsteps down the passage. She shook her head, more at herself than her friend, and walked over to her bed. With a heavy sigh, she flopped backward onto the mattress. Now that the company had gone, Lord Tubbington reemerged from his hiding place. His paws scrambled for purchase as his heavy body nearly slipped back in the direction from whence it came. When he finally got his footing, the cat curled up against her side and shut his eyes.

Brittany scratched behind her pet's ears thoughtfully and stared in silence at the closed door through which Santana had disappeared.

… … …

Almost silence.

That was what had settled over the table on the night that Finn came to the Fabrays' house for dinner. The loudest sound was that of the clinking china and silverware as they all enjoyed the ham that Mrs. Fabray had prepared for the evening.

Well, it could be worse, Quinn told herself. At least quiet is better than shouting.

Then her father tapped the side of his glass importantly and held it high.

"I'd like to propose a toast."

Quinn protested mildly but found herself flushing with pleasure as her father spoke so proudly of his family, herself included. Then he mentioned some of what he considered to be her crowning achievements – Captain of the Cheerios, President of the Celibacy Club. Quinn's nervous butterflies returned, only now they felt far larger and more frantic. Her nostrils flared as she breathed deeply and fluttered her eyelids closed, struggling to maintain an air of calm.

Abruptly, Finn stood and made an announcement to the room at large.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Her parents exchanged baffled looks and Quinn nearly groaned.

"He's just intimidated by you, Daddy," she tried to explain after the boy left the room, but she had a horrible feeling there was far more to it than that.

Little did she know how correct that premonition would be.

Finn returned a few minutes later with her mother's kitchen radio in hand. He plugged it in and set it on the dining room table, and Quinn began to get a sense of just what it was her boyfriend had in mind. Fear rippled beneath her skin and left her hairs standing on end.

"Finn, what's this?" she asked worriedly.

He began to explain to her parents about the ballad assignment in Glee and how it was to express things that were difficult to say with words.

"Oh, God," Quinn said. "Finn, don't. Please, don't."

No amount of pleading on her part would stop him. He was convinced this was the best course of action for the news they needed to break.

Quinn thought she might faint. The whole world felt like it was shifting unstably beneath her feet. This was not the way it was supposed to be. It was too soon. Finn wasn't even supposed to be here when she told. Frannie had said she'd stand with her when the time came. It was all wrong.

The song began and the situation went from unarguably bad to decidedly worse. He was singing Having My Baby. Quinn didn't even dare to look at either of her parents. She purposely avoided their eyes and simply watched Finn, scarcely moving an inch in the chair where she sat.

Finn sang so bravely and happily, as if the news they had to share was something to celebrate. For a moment, Quinn almost thought that was so. Looking into his eyes, she tried to believe it would be all right. Her parents would be supportive; life could carry on as it always had.

Then her father killed the music.

Mr. Fabray gave the boy a look as though he were debating which form of death seemed more suitable, by club or by sword.

"In the den, now," he barked.

They all rose and walked to the room he indicated, dividing into two opposing sides – children and parents.

"There must be some sort of mistake here," Judy said desperately. "Quinnie, we raised you right."

The emotion in her eyes nearly brought tears to Quinn's own. Then her father unexpectedly began to reminisce aloud. It was a story Quinn knew well; she had heard it before. He spoke of how he and other men from his work had gone to a baseball game. They had fathered sons but he was content with his two daughters. Small as she was, Quinn had not held much interest in the game. She fell asleep in her father's arms.

Russell's expression was one of recalled tenderness and devotion. Quinn studied it hungrily, praying it would not fade, but even the most optimistic recesses of her mind knew that could not be.

"Daddy, I'm so sorry," she wept.

"You need to leave," Russell told Finn coldly with a stern point of his finger.

"Wait! Please, Daddy, can we talk about this?" Quinn begged. "Finn is a good guy. He loves me."

"You, too. Get out of my house."

Her father's words landed on Quinn with the force of a crumbling house. She sat stunned while Finn immediately began his supplication to Mrs. Fabray, hoping she would contradict the order.

"Don't bother, Finn," Quinn said wretchedly. "If she wanted to do something, she would have when she found out that I was pregnant."

"You knew?" Russell demanded, rounding on his wife.

"I – No. She didn't tell me anything."

"But you knew!" Quinn accused. "And I needed you! I needed my mom and you were so scared of what he would do, if he found out, that you just pushed it aside like we do every bad feeling in this house. If you don't talk about it, it doesn't exist."

The tears burned on her skin as they rolled freely down her cheeks.

"Now, do not turn this on us!" Russell thundered as he rose to his feet. "You are the disappointment here!"

"Why?" Quinn asked as she turned her gaze to her father. "Because I'm not a little girl anymore? Because I made a mistake?"

Her father's expression shifted from fury to icy indifference.

"Who are you? I don't recognize you at all."

It was worse than mere banishment – she was being disowned. Quinn felt certain her heart would rend in two and never mend again.

She tried to reason with him, reached for whatever tattered fragments of their relationship that still survived, but he was impervious to all her supplications. With one mournful, parting look, Quinn's father left the room and called forcefully for his wife to follow. All Quinn could do was stand and sob as she was left utterly isolated. Finn stood in shame beside her, completely at a loss for words.

Half an hour.

That's all the time she was given to pack and be out of their lives forever. Quinn forced her things into a suitcase through the blur of her tears, conscious of the timer on the microwave downstairs that was ticking off the minutes she had left. She loaded up only what she needed, and a few sentimental extras. Isaac the Lamb did not fit easily, but she made room for the only friend she would be taking from her home.

No doubt her father was already drinking in his study. It would not be safe to linger.

And so Quinn wheeled her suitcase across the empty foyer and into the night, closing the door behind her. She could not even stay to see the last green number flash on the screen of the microwave before it counted down to zero.