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.

8. Play the Part

The dull, steady clack-clack-clack of the clock matched the deadened thumps of Quinn's heavy heart as she sat on her sister's couch. She clasped her sweaty palms together and pushed the pads of her fingers against the backs of her hands, occasionally breaking the hold to rub the perspiration off on her pants. Glaring sunlight was spilling through the window onto the back of her neck, burning her skin like the scathing glance of a disapproving eye.

"I poured us some fresh iced tea," Frannie announced as she reentered the room. "You looked like you could use it. You're sweating bullets."

Quinn accepted the proffered glass and nodded her head in thanks. She set the drink down on the coffee table.

"So what's going on?" Frannie asked. "It has to be something pretty serious if you can't talk about it over the phone. The baby's okay, isn't she?"

Frannie leaned forward and worried wrinkles formed on her forehead as she studied Quinn's face.

"The baby's fine," Quinn assured her. "The problem is me."

"You?" Frannie repeated and sat back a little. "How so?"

"The secret's out," Quinn stated simply. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying.

"Dad knows?"

Quinn nodded.

Frannie placed her drink aside on a coaster and slumped in her seat.

"How?"

"Finn," Quinn replied miserably. "I think he thought it would make things better. He has a great mom, so of course he expects parents to be supportive. I couldn't make him understand."

"Still, he had no right," Frannie grumbled. "So what happened?"

Quinn's shoulders shook violently with silent sobs. She clutched the bottom of her shirt in her fists and tried to gulp down enough air to form an audible response.

"He threw me out."

Frannie sat lost in numb disbelief.

"He wouldn't touch me or come near me, not even to hug me goodbye," Quinn blubbered dejectedly. "It was like I'd become something disgusting, not even human and definitely not family. I've never seen him look that way."

"I have," Frannie murmured.

Quinn lifted her head abruptly.

"When?"

The color rose briefly in Frannie's face and she waved her hand dismissively.

"Long story," she responded vaguely. "The point is that I know how he gets when he looks that way. There's no going back. He's made his call and he won't let anyone change his mind."

Frannie scooted aside on the loveseat where she sat and beckoned for Quinn to join her on the other cushion. She wrapped her arms around her sister and rested her cheek on Quinn's shoulder.

"So where did you go after it happened?"

"Finn's house," Quinn answered. "His mom said I can stay there. It's actually closer to my school, so at least I'll save on gas."

She tried to smile but her mouth was too weak and it only made her lips tremble.

"Do they want you to pay rent?" Frannie asked. "I'll cover any of that. I can pay for the cost of food and utilities, whatever you need."

Quinn shook her head.

"You can't keep giving me all this money," she protested. "What about you and Thomas?"

"We're fine," Frannie countered. "We have no reason to worry. You, on the other hand, seem to have more worries every time I see you."

"Life has been exceptionally sucky," Quinn agreed.

They laughed and hugged each other more tightly.

"Well, if there is anything you need that the Hudsons aren't able to provide," Frannie said as she kissed her sister's forehead. "I've got your back, Jack."

Quinn smiled softly. The Glee kids had just sung Lean on Me for her and Finn that same afternoon. Even though it had felt great to have her friends at her side, somehow this reassurance meant even more. She looked at her sister with quiet amazement.

"I wish we could have been like this before," Quinn confessed. "Back when I was in middle school. We used to be, when I was little, but then it just sort of stopped. What happened?"

Frannie licked her lips and tension showed visibly in the set of her shoulders.

"That wasn't really my call, kiddo. I pissed our parents off pretty royally back then. They made it fairly clear I'd better curb my influence over you. It was a really stupid move, letting that cut me off from the only person in the house who still loved me unconditionally, but I sort of closed off for a really long time."

"Compared to what I've done, I can't imagine how you could have landed in that much trouble," Quinn said. "What did you do?"

"It's a little complicated," Frannie told her. She had begun to behave very oddly, fidgeting in her seat and wringing her hands. "It wasn't so much what I did as the fact that—"

"Frannie, I'm home!" Thomas's voice called from the entrance hall, cutting off his wife's monologue.

Frannie's eyes fluttered closed and her nervous ticks vanished.

"In the living room!" she called in response.

Thomas took his time following her voice, briefly swerving to the right to place his briefcase on the dining room table.

"I got the most unexpected call at work today," he said as he loosened his tie. "From your father, as a matter of fact. He just called me out of the blue early this morning and you'll never guess what he said. It's terrible news, actually. You might want to sit down."

Quinn held onto Frannie's hand as Thomas's voice drew nearer.

"He tells me that there was some sort of family disagreement and now Quinn –"

Thomas's sentence dissipated into nothing the moment he saw that the subject of his story was seated beside his wife. Then his hazel eyes widened and he put on his most welcoming smile.

"Oh, hello," he greeted. "I didn't know we had a guest."

His hands crammed into the pockets of his gray slacks and he perched on the couch Quinn had only recently vacated. Thomas looked from his wife to Quinn and back again before brushing back a few strands that had disobeyed the direction of the hairspray and settled onto his forehead.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, politely avoiding any obvious notice of the blotchy skin on both their faces.

"Go ahead and finish your story, Thomas," Frannie said in a voice that held the faintest hint of a challenge. "What did our father say?"

"I, well, he was just saying that…," Thomas fumbled and shot Quinn a brief, apologetic look. "That your sister is no longer living with the family."

He cleared his throat and suddenly became keenly interested in the tassels atop his loafers.

"Did he happen to tell you why?" Frannie queried.

"No." Thomas adjusted his gray overcoat uncomfortably. "Other people were coming into his office and I think he was concerned about being overheard."

"Quinn's pregnant."

The man's face went pale and his dark eyebrows lifted.

"She is?"

Quinn nodded and felt a fresh wave of shame.

"That was what the disagreement was about? That's why you're… Why you're not on Dudley Road anymore?"

Again, Quinn nodded and felt fresh tears begin to rim her eyelids.

"I see," Thomas remarked feebly. His thumb and forefinger traced over the faint signs of stubble on his upper lip and chin. "Have you found someplace to go?"

"With Finn," Quinn said. "The boy I'm dating."

"The father," Thomas concluded without looking to either of them for confirmation. "Well, that's good at least - you all being together, I mean. Everything can still turn out all right. You'll have a family."

"But she belongs with our family," Frannie interjected heatedly. "She's too young to be starting one of her own."

"Sometimes life plays out of order," Thomas shrugged helplessly. "It can still have a happy ending."

"So you don't see anything wrong with my father kicking out a sixteen-year-old girl with no money and no one to guide her decisions?" Frannie demanded incredulously.

"I know how closely Mr. Fabray adheres to his definition of right and wrong," Thomas replied. "Even in his work, he doesn't allow much room to act outside the box."

"And that gives him the right to disown my sister?"

"What can I do, Frannie?" Thomas inquired despairingly with another lift of his shoulders. "He's my father-in-law and my father's business partner. Either way I approach this, he's calling the shots."

"I'm your wife!" Frannie retorted and rose to her feet. "But, I forgot, that still doesn't give me a say in the matter, does it? I can't play that card any more than you can play 'I'm your husband.' It just won't hold up when the choice wasn't even ours."

Thomas's jaw clenched and he turned his head aside. His expression was one of half frustration and half embarrassment that Quinn was privy to the argument.

"I can't tell him what he can do in his own house," he said.

"Fine," Frannie retorted as her features hardened. "But she's not in his house anymore and neither of you is going to stop me from looking out for her in whatever way I can. All right?"

"Of course," Thomas answered. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt as though the room had become stiflingly hot. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. "I won't give Mr. Fabray any cause to be suspicious. I can keep a secret."

The perspiration on his forehead belied the casual tone of his voice, and the mercy returned to Frannie's face.

"I know you can," she said gently. "Just don't overthink it. He may be a world-class pain in the ass, but he can't read minds. Russell won't give you a hard time if everything seems like it's business as usual. Besides, for you, it will be. I'm the one rebelling against his Decree of Banishment, so you don't have anything to feel guilty about."

Frannie crossed the room and pressed her cool palms against either side of her husband's handsome face.

"Feel better?"

"A little," he admitted. Thomas stood and turned to face Quinn. "I'm sorry your life got so much more complicated. It's… It's a lot to take on, especially at your age."

Quinn and Frannie glanced at each other, knowing how much it cost him to admit even that much, given how highly he esteemed Russell Fabray.

"Thanks, Tommy," Quinn said kindly and kissed his cheek.

Frannie patted her husband's shoulder before reaching for her sister's hand.

"C'mon, sweetie, I'll walk you to the driveway."

… … …

"Psh, they ain't got shit," Santana said derisively.

She and Brittany had settled in the second row of seats that held their fellow club members. The New Directions had convened in the auditorium for an after school scrimmage with the girls of Jane Adams Academy.

"People are full of surprises," Mike remarked from Brittany's other side.

"Plus, they're sexy as hell," Puck piped up, leaning past Mike to address Santana.

"Wowing the masses with clever observations, as always," Santana drawled and narrowed her eyes at him.

She flumped back in her seat and folded her arms.

"The one with the wavy blonde hair is kinda hot," she admitted begrudgingly in a low voice that only carried to Brittany's ear.

Brittany shrugged noncommittally.

"Do you feel threatened by them?" Santana asked her.

"No, but they haven't even started yet."

"Fair enough," Santana conceded and settled back in her chair once more. "This better be good."

As Will Schuester left the stage to allow their rival school's performance to begin, a song played over the sound system that everyone recognized immediately: Beyonce's Bootylicious.

The Jane Adams girls fell into step with one another and whipped their long hair with abandon. Santana shifted and crossed her legs, clearing her throat quietly. Brittany alone heard the sound and gave her a sideways glance.

The choreography of the number was generally simplistic, at least in Brittany's estimation. She moved to point out that their hair was moving more than their feet when she noticed how Santana's fingers were gripping the arms of her chair.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

Santana did not respond. Instead she wrapped her arms around her middle as some of the girls onstage did headstands while the students who were supporting them sang between their open legs.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath and squeezed her thighs together.

Brittany's brow knotted but she refrained from making a comment. She turned back to watch the remainder of the performance and clapped along with everyone else when it concluded. The Jane Adams girls left the auditorium laughing and shouting triumphantly, their perfume wafting over their audience as they passed.

"They're certainly confident," Mike commented feebly, but that was all Brittany heard before Santana grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the side exit of the auditorium.

"Santana, where are we going?"

She received no answer. They went tearing along the hallway with posters and lockers going by in a blur. Santana grasped the handle of the door to the janitor's closet and jerked it open, ushering Brittany inside.

"Why are we in here? Shouldn't we—"

Brittany's questions were cut off as Santana grabbed the sides of her face and pulled her in for a kiss so hard it made her lips sting.

"That door doesn't lock," Brittany fretted distractedly.

"Then we'll have to be quick," Santana panted and snatched Brittany's wrist. She pulled it toward her and placed the other girl's hand over the stitched-in underwear beneath her skirt without preamble.

When Brittany gaped at her and remained motionless, Santana lifted her eyebrows expectantly.

"They won't even miss us," she insisted in a purr. "We can pop right back out again and be there just as they're getting to the choir room, like we never left."

She coaxed Brittany's fingers beneath the fabric and twitched her hips impatiently.

"C'mon," she goaded and nipped the other girl's earlobe before her tone became more desperate. "Please."

Brittany sighed and rested her forehead on Santana's shoulder. She worked her hand with deft and familiar movements, listening with closed eyes to the gasps and hisses issuing from behind her friend's clenched teeth.

Santana's sneaker slipped across the floor as her knees began to give way. She dug her short nails into the cinderblock wall behind her, scrambling for purchase. Her lips dragged a few distracted kisses along the other girl's neck, the closest to a thank you she was likely to give Brittany for granting her unspoken request.

Her arm shot out and looped over Brittany's shoulder to lock tightly against her back.

"Fuck!" Santana groaned and exhaled heavily.

Brittany withdrew her hand and wiped it hastily on a grease-stained rag draped over a nearby shelf. They clumsily exited the closet and made their way to the choir room to rejoin the others.

"Sorry," Santana mumbled with a shrug. "I couldn't relax."

She rounded the corner and didn't look back. Brittany followed while mouthing Santana's words to herself, turning them over and over in her head.

She couldn't relax?

Was that what Santana had really needed, just to blow off steam? Was that all she was ever looking for, a release of tension from whomever was around to give it?

Brittany kicked a locker half-heartedly with the side of her shoe and hurried to catch up with her friend. She'd have to save these thoughts for later.

… … …

The parking lot outside the 7/11 had always struck Santana as extremely shady. Puck was too busy making puppy dog eyes at incoming customers, but the sense of possible danger made Santana jumpy. Sirens and barking dogs only set her nerves further on edge. She curled up in the passenger seat of the car and shot a resentful glare at the boy through the open window. When he continued his pitiful act, unaware of her agitation, she exited the car and shuffled over to where he sat on the curb.

"You've been trying for an hour, Puck," Santana complained. "It may be time to wave the white flag here."

"Never!" Puck insisted defiantly. "I'm just a bit rusty, that's all. I've got stuff on my mind. I need to focus."

He smacked the sides of his head and shook himself. Santana recognized this as being remarkably similar to Puck's pregame ritual when he was trying to 'get in the zone.'

"What's eating you up there?" she asked, touching her fingertips to his temple.

"Quinn."

Santana sighed loudly and slid to the ground, using the curb as a headrest.

"Now I'm the one who needs a drink."

"I bought her a book about taking care of babies for really cheap."

"Bought?" Santana challenged with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Damn it, she had the same reaction! Stole, all right?" Puck admitted defensively. "Books are expensive, so I just stowed it under my jacket and left."

"What did she think of it?" Santana asked.

"She always tells me not to take stuff I can't pay for."

"Not the fact that you stole, numb nuts." Santana rolled her eyes. "I don't give two shits for Quinn's moral judgments. The book. Was she into it?"

"Kinda. Maybe. I can never really tell." Puck shrugged. "She didn't make me take it back, so I guess she was at least gonna read it."

"Do you think she's going to 'fess up? Come clean about you being the father?"

He shrugged again.

"Is that what you want?"

Puck didn't speak. His eyes lifted from where they had been studying the weak white light washing over the blacktop and met Santana's with rare sincerity.

"You want to start a family with her," Santana whispered bleakly and lifted her gaze to the unblinking stars. "Was that something you ever wanted with me?"

Puck laughed involuntarily and pressed the back of one hand to his nose to stifle a snort.

Santana turned on her side and scowled. She rose to her feet with a grunt and stomped toward the car.

"What?" Puck called after her, still chortling. "Why are you pissed?"

"Because you're an unmitigated ass," Santana snarled.

She climbed back into her seat and slammed the door.

"Just get us some goddamn beer and let's get this over with."

… … …

Quinn was tossing and turning fitfully. During the course of the night, she had unwittingly knocked half of her pillows to the floor and bunched the covers around her thrashing legs. Every nightmare that played in her subconscious mind seemed to bring a fresh wave of guilt and confusion, each more complicated than the last.

In the first, Terri Schuester and her sister, Kendra Giardi, were on either side of Quinn in a car. They were talking more to each other than to her, one of the only details that remained fairly true-to-life. The two women were speaking almost too rapidly for the girl to catch any of what they said.

Exasperated, Quinn finally blurted a truth that, until two days ago, she had been too afraid to admit to anyone:

"I want to keep my baby."

Unlike the panicked reaction this announcement had prompted in reality, Dream Terri and Dream Kendra appeared nonplussed. To Quinn's astonishment, after a brief pause and exchange of significant looks, the sisters continued as if she had said nothing at all.

Kendra complained, "This whole thing is taking way too long!"

Terri nodded fervently and addressed Quinn.

"We think it's best if I just take the baby now. Then you won't have to worry about it."

She leaned forward and withdrew a pair of forceps from the glove compartment, snapping them greedily.

"NO!" Quinn cried aloud as she sat upright.

The sheet had somehow wrapped around her wrists now. Quinn flailed desperately until she was certain she had freed herself from both the nightmare and her bedclothes. Still breathing heavily, she whimpered and wrapped her arms around her expanding abdomen. Then Quinn tucked herself back in and tried to drift away again, but the calm did not last long.

During the second dream, Finn had found out he was not the baby's father. He looked hurt and disillusioned, but the first words out of his mouth were ones Quinn had not anticipated even within the comfort of her sleep.

"We can still do this. I can still be a good father even if I'm not the biological dad, can't I?"

Then he held her hands and bent his knees to be on her eye level.

"It's different, but it can work. I know it can, because we work. We're good together. It's supposed to be you and me, right? Forever."

Tears streamed down Quinn's face both in her subconscious and in reality. How could she tell Finn the second truth she had been running from, that she no longer saw him in her future? Furthermore, what would that mean for the remainder of her pregnancy, given that she had been sleeping on the Hudsons' fold-out couch each night?

"Get it together," Quinn growled to herself when she awoke. "You need the sleep, for you and the baby."

She rubbed furiously at her dampened eyes and turned onto her other side.

The third dream was the most bizarre and perplexing of all. Recently, in an attempt to distract Finn so she could explore the potential of a relationship with Puck, Quinn had asked Kurt to give Rachel a makeover drastic enough to turn Finn's head. It had been reasonably successful. The tight, formfitting black dress and shiny pumps he had recommended caught more than just the quarterback's attention. Kurt's skill in the fashion department truly was commendable; Rachel had been completely transformed.

Quinn dreamt that she was alone in the library, studying at one of the large tables and surrounded by textbooks. Suddenly the clack of heels announced the arrival of someone else in the otherwise silent room.

"Is this what you had in mind?" a girl's voice asked.

Surprised, Quinn lifted her eyes to find that Rachel was standing over her. Only it didn't look anything like the Rachel she'd come to know and try her best to ignore. Instead, Rachel was wearing the same outfit Kurt had chosen for the makeover.

"I don't get what you're talking about," Quinn snarled and returned her focus to the stacks in front of her.

"I think you do," Rachel protested.

Quinn's view of the page she had been reading was suddenly blocked as the other girl climbed onto the table and sprawled across the open book.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Rachel confirmed and gestured to her outfit.

"Only the concept, not its execution," Quinn begrudgingly confessed. "You're in my way."

"I know," Rachel replied with a smirk.

"So why don't you just leave?" Quinn demanded rudely.

"Because you haven't seen me."

Quinn let out a single humorless laugh.

"I'm looking right at you, Man Hands."

Rachel sat up and looked into Quinn's eyes.

"Looking and seeing are two different things."

She reached for Quinn's hand and lifted it to one of the two clasps that held her dress aloft. Then Rachel rested their heads together and whispered in her ear.

"Your move."

"What the hell?!" Quinn whispered furiously and shot bolt upright.

She shook herself in disgust and rubbed at her arms as if she felt unclean. With a heavy sigh, Quinn twisted around and pounded her pillows with her fists before flopping down on her stomach.

The dream still stuck to the edges of her consciousness, try as she might to push it from her mind. Quinn's eyelids scrunched tightly closed as she grumbled to herself.

"This is what I get for letting Santana talk us into watching But I'm A Cheerleader on Netflix."

… … …

"Heads up!"

Santana giggled as Brittany snapped at the air, trying to catch a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

"Oh, darn," Brittany pouted when it bounced down her shirt.

She fished it out and tossed it for herself, this time capturing it successfully between her teeth.

"So, was it weird being Teacher for a Day this week?" Santana asked with a small smile.

"When Mr. Schue had me teach hairography? Yeah, I don't get what he's up to lately." Brittany shrugged and leaned back against the arm of the couch. "I thought the point was for us to be different, not copy the moves of other groups."

"You did a good job, though." Santana beamed. "I told you Sue had it all wrong. You're more of a leader than you think."

Brittany flushed with pleasure and trailed her finger over Santana's legs where they crossed atop her stomach.

"It was kind of nice to have them actually listening to me," Brittany admitted.

"I listen to you."

"She says as she reaches for her phone," Brittany teased with a light chuckle.

"I'm just answering a text," Santana protested mildly.

"Whose?" Brittany asked.

She crawled to Santana's end of the couch and tried to tilt the screen of the phone toward her. Santana squealed and wriggled away.

"It's Puck's, okay? Trust me; you don't want to read this stuff. It's lame."

Brittany ducked under Santana's arms and rested her head on the other girl's chest, turning to see what Puck had typed.

"'Let's hook it up tonight?'" she read incredulously. "Are you going over there?"

"No, we're just sort of playing around," Santana shrugged and averted her eyes.

"Hang on." Brittany plucked the phone out of Santana's hands. She sat up and arched her spine to lean over the back of the couch, keeping the phone just out of her friend's reach. "Are you guys sexting?"

"Yeah, a little," Santana admitted. "It's nothing hardcore. Seriously, forget about it. It's nothing."

She made another grab for the phone but Brittany hopped away, giggling.

"'Tell me about your panties,'" Brittany recited from the most recent message.

"Britt!" Santana protested. "C'mon, give it back."

Brittany held the phone against her chest.

"How are you going to answer?"

Santana grabbed the phone and shot off a quick reply, trying to conceal it from the other girl, but Brittany still managed to catch it.

"'Not wearing any,'" Brittany said with arched eyebrows. "Hmm…"

She tugged Santana closer by the loops on her jeans and slipped a hand down the back of her pants.

"Yes you are!" Brittany cried. "Just 'cause it's a thong doesn't mean it doesn't count!"

Santana's face grew hot but she turned away and read Puck's next message before sending off another of her own. Brittany wrapped her leg around Santana to hold her in place and made another mad grab for the cell.

"Brittany!" Santana shrieked, although she couldn't fight back her own giggles. "Let go! Stop tickling me! You can't read them all!"

They scuffled and Brittany playfully nuzzled Santana's neck as her fingers continued mercilessly teasing the other girl's side.

"Shit, you made me resend one of my old ones!" Santana complained, though she didn't seem terribly perturbed.

"He probably won't even notice," Brittany murmured beside her ear.

A few moments later, Santana saw that her friend was right, but she wasn't about to admit it. Brittany stilled her fingers and wrapped her arms around Santana instead.

"Does that really make you happy?" she asked softly.

"What, sexting?"

"Yeah. Well, not exactly. I mean, are you okay that that's all you guys have to talk about?" Brittany queried.

"That's all it's ever been about," Santana replied, trying to keep the old pain from resurfacing in her voice. "He's no good for anything else."

Her words made Brittany frown but Santana booped her nose and smiled sweetly.

"Besides, I don't need him for anything else. I've got you."

Brittany's stomach did a somersault, although she knew better than to read too much into it. Still, she couldn't stop the offer as it flew out of her mouth.

"I could take care of that, too, you know. Then you wouldn't need him at all."

"Britt-Britt, I-," Santana began, but her voice trailed off as she allowed the distance between them to close for a kiss.

She waited until they broke apart before attempting to issue another protest but Brittany touched one finger to her lips, eyes pleading for her to stay silent. Santana sighed and kissed Brittany again, surrendering to the warmth and kind caresses. Her body went limp under the devoted attention and the phone slipped from her fingers onto the floor.

Brittany bunched Santana's shirt up in her fists and pulled it over her head. Her hands ran hungrily over the other girl's skin and raised goosebumps in their wake.

"Your family," Santana panted weakly.

"Movie theater," Brittany mumbled before lightly nipping her neck and shoulder.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the button and zipper of Santana's pants, unable to make her fingers cooperate. With an exasperated grunt, she tugged the jeans out of the way and allowed them to crumple beside the couch.

Santana bit her lip and pushed up Brittany's shirt. Brittany took the hint and shed it immediately, followed by her sweatpants. She snatched up the remote control and turned off the television, letting only the sound of their overlapping breathing fill the room.

Both of her hands settled over Santana's bra, taking comfort from the wild thundering of her heart. She studied the other girl's face intently, waiting for the merest flicker of something more than lust, but those dark irises yielded as little as ever. The wall remained intact, shutting her out. Brittany squeezed lightly, subtly flexing the muscles in her palms until she felt Santana harden beneath the fabric.

Their lips met again and Brittany had just tentatively slipped her tongue into Santana's mouth when the phone buzzed again.

Santana broke away and picked it up, squinting at the screen as her shoulders tensed.

"That rat bastard," she growled.

Brittany felt her hope diminishing and tried to bring Santana back, sliding her hands along her torso and kissing her neck.

"Ignore him," she said.

"I can't," Santana fumed. "Look at this. He says he's babysitting with Quinn! He's freaking sexting me and auditioning for Teen Dad at the same time! I'm going to kill him!"

Brittany slumped disappointedly against Santana and pouted.

"Poor Quinn."

"Poor Quinn? Try poor me! Somebody needs to make it really clear to him that he can't have his cake and eat it, too!"

Against her better judgment, Brittany brightened.

"That's good. You can break it off with him when you see him at school."

"Oh no." Santana shook her head. "He's not getting off that easy. I've got a better idea. I'll hit him where it really hurts."

"What are you going to do?" Brittany asked as a terrible dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm going to tell Quinn."

… … …

It was the crunch of gravel that announced a guest pulling into the Pierces' driveway. Brittany sat up from where she had been making angels in the fallen leaves and tilted her head to the side. The car was Quinn's.

Quinn climbed out of the vehicle and circled it, hugging her stomach and periodically wiping tears from her cheeks. She didn't need to speak for Brittany to guess what had upset her. She'd spoken to Santana and, subsequently, to Puck.

Brittany rose to her feet and strode across the yard, arms already extending for a hug.

"I'm such an idiot," Quinn bawled the minute she was safe in her friend's embrace. "Why did I try so hard not to see the truth?"

"Don't say that," Brittany urged gently. "You're one of the smartest people I know."

"Maybe in school but not outside of it," Quinn wept. "All I want is for this baby to have a better childhood than I did. It looks like the only way she stands a chance is if I'm not in her life at all."

"What do you mean?" Brittany asked bewilderedly. "What happened?"

She kept one arm draped around Quinn's shoulders as she led her to the back yard.

"I've made a mess of everything again."

Quinn climbed onto the tire swing and allowed her legs to droop listlessly over the edge. Brittany was struck for a moment by how different her friend was now from the girl who had sat in that same place not so very long ago, dreamily pondering what it would be like to have her first kiss. The Quinn who perched there now seemed so much older, battered and broken by all that had passed in the time since that summer.

"I decided to keep my baby," Quinn said with her eyes shut tight.

Brittany's jaw dropped.

"You did?"

"Yeah, only not with Finn. I wanted to raise her with Puck. Now I find out he's incapable of staying faithful to me and I'm all out of options. Finn's got too much ahead of him and Puck has too much he won't leave behind. I have no choice. I can't do this on my own."

She opened her eyes again and looked at Brittany despairingly.

"So I'm back to giving her up for adoption. I want to be relieved but there's this space in my chest that just feels so empty."

Her legs began to swing in irritable, jerky movements. Brittany kept her distance and watched with a sympathetic expression.

"It wouldn't have been fair," Quinn stated aloud, more to herself than to Brittany. "I'm not having this baby grow up with a father who won't make her top priority, or who runs at the first chance because he wasn't ready for the responsibility. A girl needs her daddy."

Her face flushed and she gulped down a sob.

"She needs that more than anything."

Brittany walked a little closer and gently touched Quinn's knee. Though her face displayed only concern and comfort, at the back of her mind she wished that Santana could see this: the wreckage left behind by Puck and his escapades, the price of too many hearts being on the line.

"I guess I just have to accept that I'm doing the right thing," Quinn concluded miserably. "In this case, the best way to show my love really is to let her go."

Brittany awkwardly hugged Quinn around the rope of the swing and rested her cheek on the other girl's shoulder with a dejected nod of agreement.

"Maybe so."

… … …

When the third bell of the day rang, Quinn gritted her teeth and forced her way through the press of bodies. These days she had to stick close to the wall just to keep from being knocked off balance; the crowd didn't part for her anymore. After a few tense seconds, she finally managed to reach the bathroom and darted inside.

It wasn't until she was washing her hands that Quinn became aware that not all the cubicles were deserted. The sound of muffled sobs became louder just as the water stopped running. Quinn pulled a towel slowly from the dispenser and tilted her head in the direction of the noise. She dried her dampened palms and discarded the towel, all the while easing sideways toward the furthermost stall.

Without calling out to the owner of the voice, Quinn pushed open the unlocked door and it swung inward. Rachel jumped so hard that she nearly fell off the toilet on which she had been perched, fully clothed and hugging her knees to her chest.

"What are you doing in here?" Quinn demanded. Her voice came out harsher than she'd intended, but the other girl took little notice.

"It's all my fault," Rachel blubbered miserably, unable to contain her tears.

"What is?"

"Glee is over," Rachel wailed. "The commercial I got us from Mattress Land? They sent us mattresses for everyone as a thank you and one of them has been opened. Evidently, that counts as accepting payment for the work and now we've lost our amateur status. We can't compete."

She gazed despondently at the filthy bathroom floor and shook her head.

"Here, to think I was so worried about a yearbook photo, and now the club won't even exist at all. I can't believe it. I know I've joined as many clubs as I possibly can, but none of those ever really meant fitting in or being accepted. They were just for my résumé. Glee was mine, my place to feel like I was where I belonged. Now it's gone."

Rachel hiccupped and reached for the toilet paper, ripping off several squares to dab under her eyes.

"So that's what she meant," Quinn murmured as a rush of understanding and indignation washed over her.

"Who are you talking about?" Rachel asked.

"Coach Sylvester," Quinn explained distractedly. "She told me in the hallway that the Glee kids had 'really stepped in it.' I wanted to think she was just using some kind of intimidation tactic, but this is what she had up her sleeve. This is bullshit."

The other girl's eyes widened. Rachel had clearly not expected Quinn to side with The New Directions, and certainly not to seem as angry as she now appeared.

"I already spoke with Mr. Schuester," Rachel expounded falteringly. "He said he was the one who used the open mattress. Something about problems at home…"

Quinn felt a flutter of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, but she held onto the rage and saved her curiosity for another time.

"He seems to think that, if he resigned as director, we might be able to continue," Rachel spluttered. "Even if such a gesture was accepted and we were granted a reprieve, how can we expect to move past this point without our leader? It's hopeless either way. The New Directions will have ended before it had barely begun, and no one will remember us."

"Yes they will," Quinn stated determinedly.

"You see another loophole?" Rachel asked.

"No, but if Mr. Schue can keep us in the running, I can get us that photo."

"Us?" Rachel repeated.

"The whole club," Quinn nodded. "I'll set it in motion right after school so I don't miss my chance."

Rachel stared at Quinn in awe. The faintest sign of hope reemerged on her face. Quinn reached into her bag and handed her classmate a folded bundle of tissues.

"Leave it to me," she told Rachel confidently.

Quinn's eyes narrowed and she held her head high, every inch restored to the same ferocity she'd once possessed as captain of the Cheerios.

"I'll take care of it."

… … …

Mr. Schue did exactly as he had implied to Rachel that he might. He 'took the bullet,' as Puck phrased it when the rest of the Glee Club learned of the situation at their meeting. It pained them all that they could not share the preparations for Sectionals with their teacher, but his speech about their potential stirred everyone enough to give them renewed confidence.

Quinn had held up her end of the deal as well. She engaged in a brief sparring of words with Coach Sylvester and, after reminding the woman that the Cheerios were far guiltier of lost amateur status than the Glee kids would ever be – particularly after free haircuts and tickets to theme parks – she backed Sue into a corner that left her with no choice but to surrender one of the cheerleaders' six pages to the New Directions, free of charge.

Every club member finally consented to pose for the photo in which they had formerly been loath to appear. It was seen as a gesture of gratitude to Mr. Schuester for taking the fall for them, and they stood in a cluster around the club sign with their most winning smiles.

As the camera captured their image with repeated clicks and flashes, Quinn felt Rachel's hand briefly brush against hers and squeeze. It did not linger long enough to actually take hold, but she understood the sentiment all the same. This club meant more to Rachel than it meant to all the others combined and, thanks to Quinn, she would now have a picture to remember it by.

… … …

Brittany's mind was in too many places at once. Her thoughts flew down a dozen different avenues at lightning speed and she could hardly focus enough to keep one foot moving in front of the other.

The truth about Quinn's baby's biological father was about to come to light.

Mercedes had told the rest of the club, after Puck had evidently made her his confidante, but still one member in particular had been left out of the secret circle – Rachel. Everyone had agreed that she could not know because it would take her all of a few quick strides to run off and whisper it into the most dangerous ear: Finn's.

No one had anticipated that she would see the signs all on her own and put the pieces of the puzzle together. Now it was going to take the New Directions' collective effort to keep her silent.

A mass Code Red text from Tina reached Santana's and Brittany's phones. The two dialed her number simultaneously and were clicked onto a party line. Santana launched into accusatory mode at once, demanding to know who told, and for a brief moment Brittany hoped that her friend had set aside the rivalry with Quinn long enough to be genuinely concerned about what this situation could mean for her.

Everyone presumed it had been Santana herself who had let the truth slip, as revenge since she was dating Puck. Santana's eyes narrowed and she scoffed.

"Sex is not dating."

"If it were, Santana and I would be dating."

Brittany froze. Immediately to her left, she felt Santana do the same. The words had come out of nowhere; prior to that moment, Brittany had not added her voice to the others at all. Brittany's blood ran cold with dread and she was almost afraid to meet Santana's gaze directly. She was vaguely aware that they had continued moving, and that Santana had successfully set the group conversation back in motion after the shocked silence. All the same, the air would not return to her lungs. Brittany breathed it in with great gulps, trying to steady her thrumming pulse. Guilt and fear pressed down on her so heavily that nothing seemed able to keep her head from spinning.

Then suddenly the phone call was over and it was just the two of them still standing in the hallway. Brittany waited, eyes downcast in shame, for the anger she knew must be boiling just below Santana's frighteningly passive features.

"Come outside with me," Santana said in a tone Brittany could not quite identify.

The two of them navigated the few hallways between themselves and the courtyard that was used as an outdoor cafeteria in warmer weather. The minute she had propped the door open with her books, Santana squinted one last time through the glass and then turned to face Brittany.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, her speech and demeanor still unnervingly emotionless.

"I don't know," Brittany confessed tremulously. "Santana, I am really, really sorry. It just slipped out. It won't happen again, I promise. We'll just brush it off if they bring it up later. It will die down. Everyone will forget."

"What if they don't?"

Feeling had returned to Santana's voice at last, but not in the way Brittany had been expecting. No anger was present; she heard only muted terror.

"They will," Brittany said with more confidence than she really felt. "We can tell them anything. Tell them it was a joke. Tell them I didn't know what I was saying. Everyone thinks I'm stupid anyway; nobody will question it."

"You're not stupid," Santana responded before sinking onto a nearby bench. "If anything, I'm the dumb one for getting myself into this mess."

Brittany sat beside Santana and hesitantly reached for her hand. Santana accepted the touch and spread her fingers to make room for Brittany's between them.

"Maybe it wouldn't even be so bad," Brittany hazarded bravely. "If they believed what I said. They might not even care. Nobody in the club bothers Kurt about how he feels except you."

Santana's shoulders tensed.

"Kurt's situation is different from mine."

"How?"

"Because he's gay!" Santana cried.

She looked directly at Brittany then, as if challenging her to make the argument they both knew she easily could.

"When he's in Glee Club, he's accepted. He's safe," Brittany said instead. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"Because the only person in this goddamned school who truly cares about me is you," Santana replied. "Everyone else hates me or would at least like to see me knocked down a peg or two. Even Quinn. I don't blame them, but I also can't trust them. They'd crush me underfoot without batting an eyelash."

Brittany privately thought her friend wasn't giving some of their peers enough credit, but she kept that protestation to herself.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" she asked tremulously.

"No, I'm not mad," Santana answered, and the gentle smile on her face was genuine.

She squeezed Brittany's hand once and rose to her feet. They walked back toward the building side by side. Santana picked up her books and held the door open for Brittany.

"With a little luck, Babygate will blow any day now and we'll be the last thing on their minds."

… … …

Blow was exactly what the scandal did, although in a more literal sense than Santana had meant at the time.

Finn stormed into the room at the next club meeting and floored Puck with a single sucker punch. He did not stop there. His knees hit the ground just as his fist made contact again. It snapped back and lashed forward repeatedly, making a horrible thudding sound with each impact.

Everyone watched in silence, too shocked to move, as Mr. Schuester broke the boys apart and tried to calm them down. Finn would not be mollified, however, and demanded that both Quinn and Puck confess the truth.

Quinn did so tremulously and, after renouncing his girlfriend and the club as a whole, Finn kicked a nearby chair and departed.

All rivalries and outside drama forgotten, Santana reached for Quinn just as Brittany did the same. Their friend did not even see them. When she could be sure of not running into Finn in the hallway, Quinn left as well with a sob that echoed behind her.

She found a small alcove and settled down with one arm draped around her belly. The silence here was less stifling now that all those watchful eyes were no longer upon her. Here, Quinn could finally try to breathe. At least, she had started to do so, until she discovered she had been followed.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel said sincerely. "I fully understand if you want to beat me up."

Quinn flicked an icy glare up at her. For a moment, she seriously contemplated the offer.

"If you can, just try and avoid my nose. Right," Rachel braced herself for the punch and closed her eyes.

"I'm not mad at you," Quinn admitted, although a part of her dearly wished that she could be. "All you did was what I wasn't brave enough to do – Tell the truth."

Rachel settled nervously beside her and began explaining her selfish motivations, but Quinn didn't really hear. She was too busy remembering the look in Finn's eyes, in her mother's and her father's - the disappointment, the disbelief, and the pain.

"I have hurt so many people," she whispered.

Rachel sat studying Quinn's face as she tried not to cry. Quinn willed herself not to look over, not to give an inch more than the other girl had already taken.

"Can you go now?" she finally requested when she couldn't bear her classmate's scrutiny any longer. "I just really want to be alone."

It was only when Rachel was not looking at her that Quinn could allow the first tear to fall. She did not have long to dwell in solitude, because Puck filled Rachel's spot beside her almost immediately.

Even after all that had passed between them, he still spoke of himself, Quinn, and the child as though they could be a family. It nearly chipped away what little strength she still had left. Quinn tried her best to let him down easily. It was time, she had decided, to stop looking for any male figure to share this burden with her.

"I'm gonna do this on my own," she told him decisively. "I know you don't understand it, but please respect it."

Then Quinn strode toward the parking lot and the blissful isolation her car would allow, with Puck's eyes on her all the while as she walked out the door.

… … …

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Brittany stopped in her tracks and gritted her teeth.

"Step into my office," Sue instructed from the doorway. "I think it's high time I got a little update."

There was no chance of escape. Brittany was headed for the one class of the day that separated Santana from her side: Math. Unable to rely on her best friend to navigate the conversation, Brittany was left alone under her coach's critical inspection.

"Dear, doe-eyed, little Brittany," Sue purred dangerously. "You haven't compromised my mission, I trust?"

"I've never told anyone about you wanting us to spy for you," Brittany answered and shook her head to reiterate the statement.

"It's not so much a concern of premature revelation as a matter of loyalty. You're still a Cheerio, aren't you, Brittany? Still adherent to my commands at all times?"

Brittany bobbed her head, though her eyes were darting fervently toward the door.

"Relax," Sue urged in a deceptively smooth voice. "No harm in having a little catch up chitchat."

She settled behind her desk and folded her hands primly on top of it.

"So, what are the mouth-breathers planning for their first big hurrah this Saturday?"

"The same as everyone else," Brittany tried to answer innocently. "Two group numbers and a ballad."

"Very good," Sue said sarcastically. "Glad to know that you aren't letting any important information get past you. What songs are they favoring specifically?"

"The three that they thought they could sing the best."

"Playing coy hardly seems fitting for someone who spends so much time on their back," Sue criticized harshly.

Brittany blinked and nearly argued in her own defense. However, fear of her teacher's wrath and dismay that such news had carried so far kept her silent.

"The songs," Sue demanded simply. "You won't be leaving this office until I know them."

Brittany was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and bolting when her coach's cold voice stilled her flight.

"Grades are funny things, aren't they?"

Brittany turned to face Ms. Sylvester with a lump in her throat. She swallowed and blinked slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"By the time everything is being averaged out, just one little number could tip the balance. A single test grade could mean the difference between a pass and a fail."

Brittany grasped her meaning immediately and felt a hot wave of panic sweep her from head to toe: her Health test. The one she had just taken the previous day. Her scores in the course were already shaky at best. It wouldn't be difficult for Ms. Sylvester to find reasons to dock extra points and pull her grade down past redemption.

Her shoulders sagged with defeat. One last glance at the door confirmed no one was coming to her rescue. Brittany pouted and fiddled dejectedly with the hem of her skirt.

"Do you have a pen?"

… … …

"Well, I guess it's true what they say," Rachel despaired. "Man plans and God laughs."

"But h-how did they know our songs?" Tina asked. "We j-just picked them this week."

The members of the New Directions were convened in the green room of the Buckeye Civic Auditorium. Their already high competition jitters had now escalated into a full-out panic; the two other competing schools had stolen their songs and performed them as their own.

Accusations and suppositions flew around the room, but it was Kurt who leveled the blame on the Cheerios. Quinn, having at last given up hope of rejoining the ranks of the cheerleaders, backed up his claim. Santana's eyes narrowed.

"Look, we may still be Cheerios, but neither of us ever gave Sue the set list," she asserted.

Beside her, Brittany hesitantly voiced the confession she hadn't had the chance to make to Santana in private.

"Well… I-I did, but I didn't know what she was gonna do with it."

She shrugged helplessly and her lip began to protrude, knowing that this meant all the people she'd started to count as friends would be angry at her. Even Santana distanced herself, and Brittany felt the back of her neck burn with shame. As her best friend continued to emphasize her own innocence in the matter, Brittany couldn't help but feel abandoned while she stood alone in the corner of the room. A fitting place, she thought ruefully, since that's where one was usually sent as punishment.

Mercifully, the conversation turned to what songs they could do instead, numbers that they would be able to take on with so little time for pre-performance preparation. Mike beckoned for Brittany to sit beside him on the couch and she gratefully accepted. Rachel was ready with a ballad and Quinn recommended Somebody to Love as one of their group numbers, since it had been such a crowd pleaser when they performed it in their own auditorium. That left one more group number to be chosen, but no one had any ideas.

Then Finn walked in with sheet music in hand. Everyone gawped at him, amazed that he had decided to come after all, and even more so that he had shown up at the precise moment they needed some outside ideas.

He assigned Matt, Mike, Santana, and Brittany the task of coming up with some quick choreography to accompany the number. Just like that, Brittany was back in everyone's good graces.

It's only because now they need me, she thought to herself.

Then again, wasn't that precisely what she was used to already? Only being called upon in times of need?

Her eyes flitted to Santana, but the pain that welled up in her chest was too distracting and she knew she needed to focus. So Brittany joined her co-choreographers around the table and pushed her feelings aside.

The important thing was to try to help them win. If they could just come home with a victory, maybe things would start to look a little brighter.

… … …

"We won!" Santana shouted as she drove to the Pierces' with her windows rolled down.

It had been several days and still the thrill of coming home with a trophy kept a smile on everyone's faces. Things seemed as if they couldn't possibly have taken a better turn. Not only had they defeated the two rival schools at Sectionals, but Sue's treachery had been discovered and she was no longer coach for the Cheerios. In fact, she was temporarily suspended from the school. The truth behind her meddling also helped to reinstate Mr. Schuester as director of the Glee Club. The New Directions had put together a number to make up for him missing their winning performance and to celebrate his return.

Brittany tried to share in Santana's joy, but the smile that stretched across her face was halfhearted. She walked her fingertips along the edge of the passenger door and stared out the window.

"You've been really quiet lately," Santana remarked as she turned right off East 2nd onto South Sugar Street.

This elicited a noncommittal shrug from Brittany but nothing more. She continued to watch the blur of clapboard houses pass by in silence.

"Is something wrong?" Santana pressed.

"I'm just a little sad," Brittany admitted.

Santana parked the car in the Pierces' driveway and faced her friend.

"Talk to me."

Brittany tugged her legs up onto the seat and hugged them to her chest. She rested her cheek on her knees.

"You haven't asked me about what happened with the set list," she said quietly.

Santana lifted and dropped her shoulders indifferently.

"Sue tricked you. It's what she does best, lying up a storm and making sure the blame falls on someone else. It's not your fault."

"It seemed like maybe you thought so at first," Brittany mumbled gloomily. "You walked away from me."

"I was just trying to salvage the whole thing," Santana explained. "I wasn't thinking, just acting out of self-preservation. It was a dick move to leave you standing by yourself. I'm really sorry."

Brittany smiled fleetingly before the frown returned. She traced her finger along Santana's arm.

"Sue didn't just trick me. It wasn't that simple."

"Did she threaten you?" Santana asked. Immediately, she sat up straighter with a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Kinda."

"What was she going to do to you?"

"She never actually said it out loud, but she made it sound like she was gonna flunk me," Brittany answered feebly. Her hands rubbed along her own arms as if trying to ward off a chill.

"That bitch!" Santana growled venomously and smacked her hands against the steering wheel. "If she wasn't halfway to Boca by now, I'd curb stomp her prehistoric scull!"

"I know my parents wouldn't get mad. They know I try, but…," Brittany sniffled and batted her eyelashes to try to reign in the tears. "I just didn't want to fall that far behind. If I get too many Fs, I'll get held back. Then I won't have you with me and I'll just be really lonely."

Santana held both sides of Brittany's face and wiped the girl's cheeks with the pads of her thumbs.

"Well, Sue got what she deserved in the end and they kicked her ass out for a while. Still, even if she had followed through with that threat, you'd never have to worry about being alone."

She reached for Brittany's wrist and held it aloft, indicating the silver bracelet secured there.

"I meant what I said, you know. You're stuck with me, thick or thin, come hell or high water."

Brittany's face lit up in a watery smile. Santana held her pinky aloft and Brittany accepted it with her own, locking their fingers together to reaffirm the promise.

Santana beamed back at Brittany and kissed her nose before climbing out of the car.

"Come on!" she called playfully over her shoulder. "Last one to the top of the stairs is a rotten egg!"

… … …

Quinn left her English class with their new assigned reading balanced precariously atop her already heavy stack of books. She rounded the corner holding the novel in place with her chin and hoped she could reach the desk of her next period without losing it.

Just then, she was blindsided from the left by oncoming student traffic. Or, so she assumed by the force of the collision. Then she heard the voice of her accidental assailant and realized the truth.

The book she had been holding in place so carefully flew out of her grasp and slid across the floor. Rachel picked it up and handed it back to her with stammered apologies.

"Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe," Rachel noted with interest. "Unusual choice."

"Ms. Kerhew says it's an unconventional pick for sophomore reading but that it's worth a try if we're willing to keep our minds open," Quinn replied. Her brow furrowed as she noticed splotches on Rachel's face and the way her lip kept trembling. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Rachel lied immediately.

"So your mascara is running of its own accord?" Quinn quipped drily.

"It's just Finn," Rachel divulged reluctantly. "But, seeing as you're his very recent ex, it doesn't seem appropriate to discuss the matter with you."

"Or maybe it's the most appropriate since I understand him better than anyone else you could talk to," Quinn suggested.

Rachel considered this a moment and sighed.

"He doesn't want to be my boyfriend."

"You mean the creepy cat calendars didn't convince him you were written in the stars? Yeah, I've seen them," Quinn confirmed Rachel's unspoken inquiry.

"I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with sometimes… most of the time… but I have supported him through everything and now he wants to play the field," Rachel cried wretchedly. "It wasn't supposed to go this way."

"Yeah, well, life has a habit of going the exact opposite of how we planned," Quinn stated bluntly, but then Rachel's face seemed in danger of crumpling again and she hastened to soften the blow. "Don't take it too hard, though. I was Finn's first girlfriend, and look how that went for him. It's understandable he wouldn't want to dive back into anything committed."

"I guess so," Rachel acknowledged, nodding as she tried to process what the other girl had said.

Quinn assumed their conference was at an end and tried to continue to class. Then Rachel began walking beside her.

"So, how are you doing now? I gather you're living with Puck. Have you settled in okay?" Rachel tried to ask politely.

Quinn kept her eyes trained straight ahead and fought to keep her expression composed.

"The Puckermans have been really generous to take me in now that I can't stay with Finn. Dietary restrictions aside, I'm lucky to have a place to stay."

"'Dietary restrictions?'" Rachel repeated.

"Mrs. Puckerman came home to me frying bacon on her stove and nearly had an aneurism."

"Oh, right, because they're Jewish," Rachel acknowledged. "I can warn you about other no-can-do foods, if it would help."

"I'll muddle through on my own," Quinn said flatly.

Rachel nodded and hugged her own books a little more tightly.

"You still hate me, don't you?"

"No," Quinn admitted with slight curl in her lip. "Although you'd deserve it if I did. I'm trying my level best not to lay blame on anyone for any of this, to just view it as something that's happening to me. Don't go pushing your luck and making me a friendship bracelet or anything, but for the moment you can call us… civil acquaintances."

"Okay," Rachel said far more brightly than Quinn thought the news merited. "This is me, so I'll, um, see you around. Bye!"

She turned into a classroom with an oddly happy smile on her formerly anguished face. Quinn lifted an eyebrow with a bemused laugh.

"Bye."

… … …

Brittany had been nudging Santana insistently under the table for the past twenty minutes. It was 8:45 and they were still sitting in Breadstix with Finn Hudson. It was difficult for Brittany to believe they had even come this far.

Sue had been reinstated as the coach of the Cheerios. Her suspension – which had been almost comically short-lived – was terminated for reasons unknown, although the general belief was that it must involve blackmail. Coach Sylvester had returned livid and more vindictive than ever. She sent for Santana and Brittany immediately, absolutely outraged that they had failed to keep New Directions from their win even after all of her best-laid plans.

So she had a new, albeit reused, tactic: take down the club's star. The way she proposed to do it? Deprive Rachel of her chance with Finn. Date the boy themselves and leave the aspiring starlet utterly crushed.

Brittany had been immediately against the plan. She spent every spare moment in the subsequent classes quietly arguing in opposition. Santana, on the other hand, seemed to believe it was best to keep Sue placated.

"We do not want to kick the hornet's nest right now," she asserted. "It'll be harmless, I promise. He's still a giddy little virgin. It won't take much to inflate his ego and convince him he's the Giacamo Casanova of Spartan Way. Just follow my lead."

So Brittany had followed, but soon she found that they were in a place she couldn't have possibly anticipated in her wildest dreams.

"Let us give you an introduction into the way that we work," Santana said. "You buy us dinner and we make out in front of you. It's like the best deal ever."

What the hell?

Brittany didn't break from their act even then, but that was when she increased her efforts to signal to her friend under the table that it was time for a private conference.

At long last, Santana dismissed Finn as if he had only been their taxi service, commanding him to leave the credit card behind and wait for them in the car.

"Why have you been bruising my calves for the past half hour?" Santana demanded in a low voice.

"This is getting out of hand," Brittany said. "Besides, we don't even have to get him to stay away from Rachel. Didn't you catch how he reacted to us gossiping about her? He barely even defended her from us. Like the first half of the semester didn't even happen and he hasn't been staring at her in all our Glee Club meetings."

"Well, he doesn't want to piss us off by being argumentative. Even Finn isn't dumb enough to risk losing his chance at boasting he had two girls at once," Santana pointed out with a shrug.

"Yeah, but he's still not going to get that, right? We're not really going to kiss in front of him?"

"Of course not," Santana waved the inquiry away. "We'll each kiss him on the cheek when he drops us off and he'll be on a cloud. It's that easy. Piece of cake."

"I still don't like it," Brittany frowned. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Santana patted her thigh and smiled. Brittany secretly thought the glint behind the other girl's eyes was almost as alarming as her suggestion to have a make out session viewed by a third party.

"You're almost finished, Britt. Then you won't have to give it a second thought. I can fly the rest solo and keep Coach appeased. Don't worry. I've got it covered."

… … …

Quinn sat in the middle of the Puckermans' living room positively cross-eyed with boredom. She had tried to watch the television half an hour before but nothing caught her attention. It was merely on now to provide background noise in the otherwise quiet home. Mrs. Puckerman was behind the house doing yard work and Puck's little sister was upstairs finishing some assignments.

With a petulant huff, Quinn eased herself back against a pillow and rubbed her ever-growing stomach. The life inside of her had been making its presence known on no uncertain terms lately. Sometimes she would feel a kick near her pelvis or wriggling beneath her ribcage and had to press insistently at the spot until the baby consented to move.

Right now there was a different sort of internal communication taking place, however, one from an organ that was still her own: her rumbling gut. Quinn was hungry. Her head lolled to the side in the direction of the kitchen. It seemed impossibly far away to her aching feet. Was it worth the effort it would take to pull herself off the sinking couch cushions?

She didn't have time to reach that conclusion because, at that exact moment, Puck entered through the front door. Well, almost. He opened it only a crack and stuck his head through the space to peer into the house beyond.

"Psst! Quinn!" he hissed before realizing that she was already looking at him.

"What?" Quinn demanded with a scarcely-suppressed eye roll.

"Is anybody else around?" Puck asked in an undertone.

"No," Quinn replied. "Your mom's outside and your sister is upstairs. Why?"

"Awesome. C'mon!" he beckoned eagerly.

"Easier said than done, Puck," she growled irritably. "In case you haven't noticed, it takes me a while to do anything anymore."

Puck sighed and darted through the doorway to tug her to a standing position. Then he hurried Quinn along back the way he came.

"What's gotten into you?" she griped. "Are you high?"

"No!" he exclaimed defensively. "Well, not right now, anyway. We're in the middle of a covert operation here. Keep your voice down."

Quinn made no attempt to hide the fact that she was questioning his sanity but allowed herself to be led out to the car and loaded into the passenger side.

"So, where are we going?" she asked while carefully sliding the belt into place.

The young man spared her a brief look and a cryptic smirk before he turned the key in the ignition.

"You'll see."

This was all the more he would say on the matter until they pulled into the parking lot of a Burger King. He steered the car into the line wrapping around the drive-thru and tapped his thumbs against the wheel while they waited. Quinn sucked on the insides of her cheeks and tried to bite back the countless comments she was dying to make but in the end one question still slipped out.

"So, this is it?" she groused. "You hauled me off the couch and dragged me out of the house because you had a mad case of the munchies?"

"Not at all," Puck protested. "I'm not even hungry. At least, not like I usually am."

"Then why are we here?"

"Listen," he explained and turned to face her properly for the first time. "I know that leaving Finn and his family to move in with mine hasn't been easy. You've had to make a lot of adjustments and give up a ton of stuff. It makes you cranky. Hell, I would be, too. I can't change it all for you; we are the way we are. But there is one thing I can help you get that might make you feel a little better."

Almost as if on cue, it was their turn to order. Puck leaned forward to choose the desired items.

"I'll have two cokes and two bacon cheeseburgers. That's all."

Quinn gazed at him with wide eyes and her mouth agape. He took in her surprise with a sideways glance but only acknowledged it with a small smile before moving up to the second window.

Once they had their food, Puck pulled into an empty parking space and opened both wrappers. With one deft hand, he plucked the bacon off the top of the burger on his left and added it to the one on his right. Then he handed the second one to Quinn and took the first for himself. He placed the cokes in the cup holders and leaned back against his seat, clearly quite proud of himself.

"Thank you," Quinn murmured quietly. "I didn't know I had complained so much that even you heard me."

Puck shrugged indifferently and took a sip from his drink.

"Don't sweat it. I turned your whole world upside down; the least I can do is buy you a damn sandwich," he said while looking out the window. "Dig in."

Quinn did so contentedly and let out a moan of satisfaction.

"I love you," she said around a mouthful of her meal.

Puck couldn't quite tell if she was saying it to him or the bacon cheeseburger but he took a small bite from his own and muttered, "I love you, too."

… … …

Maybe Brittany was right after all.

That was the first thought Santana had after having sex with Finn Hudson.

It had seemed like such a good idea earlier that week. Coach Sylvester was on another of her bizarre kicks, this time idolizing Madonna and insisting that her Cheerios do the same. In the spirit of this most recent inspiration, she ordered them all to go find younger men to date. Finn's birthday only came after Santana's by a handful of days, but it still counted. Plus, what better way to make sure Brittany's sex versus dating blab slipped from everyone's memory for good than to bed McKinley's most popular but elusive virgin?

Now that it was over, Santana understood that neither aspect of what she had previously deemed a "win-win" was consolation enough for how horrible she felt. It wasn't right, any of it. She had arrived late at the Courtyard Lima Hotel only to find that Finn had locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out.

While she waited for him to find his courage, Santana changed into the lingerie she had bought for the night and tried to get comfortable on the bed. She shifted her body around several times, trying to decide which position she ought to be in when he finally emerged. She had never pre-arranged sex this way before; there was no heat of the moment, no spontaneity. It felt more like a business transaction, and a poorly conducted one at that.

The actual act itself had been disastrous. He fell on her so clumsily and his body, already sticky with nervous sweat, stuck to hers in a way that made Santana's skin crawl. Somehow she had thought he might try to be tender – he was the sort of romantic who'd want the first time to be sweet and perfect – but there was nothing ideal about the way he fumbled amateurishly in his movements and displayed an unfortunate fixation on roughly groping her breasts.

The cheap motel covers irritated the backs of her thighs. Santana started aiding his thrusts just to use the friction to scratch the itch. She tried to feign a little enthusiasm, to run her hands over his chest despite the fact that he'd insisted on still wearing his shirt, but even her training in putting on a phony smile for cheerleading competitions couldn't help her find a way to fake it through this.

When he had finished, Finn rolled onto the vacant pillows and pulled the covers up over himself. Santana tugged her lingerie back on and copied his stance by folding her hands and staring straight ahead. It was easier than looking at him directly anyway. The red light filtering through the window felt as though it was belatedly censuring their act, advising them not to proceed. Now it was too late. Santana had taken something from him that she didn't even want to belong to her, and she couldn't give it back.

Unbidden, Santana flashed back to her own first time and wondered if Finn felt the chill as well, the shivering realization that the moment was gone and the expectations had been founded on nothing. She could still see Puck, only fourteen then but just as incomprehensible as he was now, leaving her naked and alone so he could eat in the kitchen downstairs.

Strangely, Santana was hungry now. She wanted more than anything to get dressed, eat, and leave that room behind her.

"Do you think they have room service in this place?" she asked abruptly. "'Cause I want a burger."

Finn still hadn't spoken a word. Santana busied her hands and pulled out a drawer on the bedside table to examine the contents.

"I thought I'd feel different after," Finn confessed into the emptiness.

Santana offered vague words of comfort, unwilling to delve too deep into personal experience when she was already feeling so vulnerable. Only her conscience wouldn't let her get off that easily.

Do it, her mind urged. Ask the thing you wanted him to ask.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't feel anything," Finn said despondently. "'Cause it didn't mean anything."

The last of Santana's efforts to redeem her actions and the situation crumbled. She hated herself, hated that night, hated everything that had led her to this place. Finn was silent again, and the quiet weighed down on Santana until she found it difficult to breathe. She closed her eyes to hold in the tears and murmured softly.

"Well, at least now it's over."

… … …

It was far from over.

The worst part of all still waited: telling Brittany. Santana had expected shock and confusion, maybe even disappointment, but what she hadn't foreseen was the way tears sprang into Brittany's eyes as she recoiled.

"Is this punishment?" Brittany asked quaveringly. "For what I said on the party line? I thought you were okay because nobody said anything. I thought you weren't angry at me."

"I wasn't! I'm not!" Santana insisted.

She tried to hold Brittany's arm but her friend did not want to be touched.

"It's because of what I said in the hall the other day," Brittany concluded as the color drained from her face. "When we were talking about dating younger men and I told you how I was going to 'date' my sister's friend from soccer. I told you that you should hook up with Finn because he's a week younger than you. I didn't mean for you to actually do it! Santana, I was joking. Sue's assignment was so ridiculous. I thought you knew that."

"I knew you weren't serious," Santana acknowledged. "But it got me thinking, and I started wondering if maybe it was worth a try for my image and to get myself that promotion to captain now that Quinn's out."

"And to make sure that everyone knew you liked boys only," Brittany finished in a deadened voice.

"Yeah, well, it ended up being a complete bust so it serves me right, doesn't it?" Santana griped sensitively. "Sue's still not satisfied and I'm still not where I want to be. Now she's putting this pressure on us to lose weight for this goddamn magazine spot. Do you know what she said to me before I went to the showers today?"

Brittany reluctantly looked at Santana and shook her head.

"She told me I'd have to 'wage war against my genetics' and trim up my 'lardy Latina waistline.' What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Santana crossed Brittany's bedroom and opened her closet, examining her reflection critically in the mirror.

"I guess I could afford to cut back on the snack attacks during our Friday night movies," she admitted while she pinched one of her thighs.

"Ms. Sylvester doesn't know what she's talking about," Brittany asserted immediately. "There's nothing wrong with your body."

Santana snorted and angled herself to study her profile.

"The red lines left when I take my clothes off would suggest otherwise," she countered. "I'm squeezed into this thing. No wonder she wants me to tone it down. I'm like a freaking stuffed sausage in this getup."

"You know she orders them a size too small so they're formfitting!" Brittany protested.

She rose to stand behind Santana and rested her chin on the other girl's shoulder.

"Still, there's a difference between formfitting and form squishing," Santana disputed. "So, in this case at least, that makes her right. A few pounds have gotta go."

Brittany sighed heavily and pressed her forehead against the curve of Santana's neck.

"I think you're perfect no matter what."

… … …

This was the first time since the fact she was pregnant became public that Quinn could actually remember being glad she was not a member of the Cheerios. All the girls had started carrying around water bottles filled with awful so-called "health drinks" and eating nothing along with them. Quinn asked her friends about Sue's concocted beverages and Brittany joked that even sand would improve the taste.

It all seemed laughable, not to mention completely typical of their fanatic instructor, until Quinn saw Kurt and Mercedes in uniforms in the cafeteria and watched Mercedes leave an entire lunch tray untouched.

Alarmed and confused, Quinn started sitting at nearby tables that week so she could keep watch. On Thursday, Mercedes sat with Tina and Artie, both of whom kept kindly offering her food in the hope that she would change her mind. This unwanted focus on her diet made Mercedes instantly defensive and she stood to leave. However, before she had even covered half the distance to the cafeteria doorway, she collapsed.

Quinn reached her side before anyone else had even registered what happened. She lifted the girl's head into her lap and shook her gently.

"Mercedes? Mercedes, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," she mumbled feebly. "I just feel a little weak."

"We've got to get you to the nurse's office," Quinn told her before turning to the rest of the cafeteria. "Can somebody help me?"

Teachers were called for and Mercedes was helped to her feet before being led to the school nurse. Quinn followed at a distance, rifling through her purse for spare change. She paused at one of the machines in the hallway and bought a granola bar, which she offered to Mercedes as soon as the nurse had checked her blood pressure and stepped away.

It was the first time they had ever had such a pleasant exchange. Quinn felt the familiar twist of guilt as it was brought to her attention once again how alienated she managed to make others feel. So, this time, she chose to offer her help.

Quinn was unaccustomed to speaking about the time before her weight loss to anyone besides Santana and Brittany. She could feel her pulse pounding as she admitted to Mercedes that she knew exactly what dieting felt like because she had been there herself. Only there had been no one around at the time to impart the hard-earned wisdom she now shared with Mercedes.

"When you start eating for somebody else so that they can grow and be healthy, your relationship to food changes. What I realized is that, if I'm so willing to eat right to take care of this baby, why am I not willing to do it for myself?"

A tear spilled down Mercedes's cheek.

"You are so lucky," Quinn said sincerely. "You've always been at home in your body. Don't let Ms. Sylvester take that away from you."

At Quinn's insistence, she remained with Mercedes while they waited for her mom to pick her up from school.

"I know I don't want to feel this way ever again," Mercedes said after a few minutes. "But I also know I never want anybody else to feel it either. I want to help Kurt and the others love themselves, too. I don't want Coach to win."

Quinn nodded her approval.

"You should definitely tell them. I know for a fact that some of the more seasoned Cheerios could stand to hear that, too."

Mercedes gave Quinn a small smile.

"I think I have an idea for how I want to take a stand. Would you help me?"

Quinn returned the smile with one of her own.

"I'd be happy to."

… … …

Brittany climbed the gym bleachers wearily and settled onto one of the topmost seats. She leaned back and stared at the ceiling with a grunt.

"What's the matter, sunshine? Is there trouble at the top?"

Brittany propped herself on her elbows to see who was speaking and spotted Mr. Kidney, the janitor, leaning against the handle of his mop.

"Yeah, sort of," she called back to him.

He ascended the stairs and settled beside her.

"It's a tricky thing, popularity. It looks nice from an outsider's perspective but it's not always all it's cracked up to be."

Brittany turned her head to the side and studied him curiously. He couldn't really be that far off from her age, if his clean-shaven face was any indication. There was also something youthful in the sparkle of his gray eyes and the ease of his bright smile.

"You had trouble with social status in school?" she guessed tentatively.

"Actually, I had the opposite," he chuckled. "I was the star of every sport I could squeeze into my schedule, top of the heap for all four years."

"What happened then?"

"I lived too much in the now and didn't prepare for later," Mr. Kidney sighed. "I scraped by with my grades in high school. Then, when I got to college on a baseball scholarship, I partied, I drank, and I got myself kicked out. Now, four years later, I'm sweeping the halls I used to rule and polishing off the old trophies I won. Hell, I smuggle in vodka in a teapot just to get me through the day."

"That's really sad," Brittany sympathized.

"Yeah, but that's life. Or, it's mine, anyway," Mr. Kidney shrugged. "What about yours? What's troubling your head, kid?"

"My friends," Brittany sighed. "And my coach. Well, just kinda school in general, like the way it all works, you know? First we're being put on diets where we can only drink this sick stuff Ms. Sylvester made for us. The Cheerios rebelled at the school assembly and sang a song about being beautiful, so I thought that'd all be over. Only now there's this anonymous Glist ranking the hotness of the Glee Clubbers and even that new kid that Rachel's dating, Jesse, is on there but some of the original members got left off of it. There's always somebody telling everybody that they're not good enough."

Mr. Kidney pulled a toothpick from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth.

"Do you feel like you're not good enough?"

Brittany lifted her shoulders and dropped them, lowering her eyes to stare at her sneakers.

"Maybe a little," she said. "But I'm more worried about my friend, my best friend, Santana. She wants to be captain of the Cheerios so badly and it's like she doesn't care if it kills her to get there."

"Have you guys talked about it?"

"She's really good at talking," Brittany laughed a little. "But not so much at listening."

"Hardheaded," Mr. Kidney deduced. "Just like I was."

"What did it take to turn you around?"

"A heavy dose of reality," he replied. "Only, most of the time, that's something that can't be dealt by force. It takes time. You can't make this friend of yours change until she's good and ready to. You've gotta have patience and give her space."

Brittany groaned and flopped backward.

"That's what I was afraid of."

Mr. Kidney frowned and ran a hand through his short, light brown hair. He took the toothpick out of his mouth and gently poked her leg with it.

"Cheer up, doll. It'll happen. If you stick around and keep being understanding, you'll be the first person she thanks when things start looking up. Just have some faith."

Brittany sat up and looked at him gratefully.

"You're really good at giving advice, Mr. Kidney."

"Call me Dylan," he said kindly. "And you're a sweet girl for caring so much about your friend."

He nudged her companionably with his arm but paused as soon as they touched. Brittany stayed still as well, knowing why he was looking at her the way he was and finding that, truthfully, she didn't really mind. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Brittany smiled and held his gaze.

Dylan leaned forward and was only a few inches away from her face when she warned him, "My body's been a little achy. I might be coming down with a cold."

All Dylan did was smile and lean closer still.

"I'll take my chances."

… … …

Frannie warmed her hands on the fresh cup of coffee she had just accepted from the barista and joined Quinn at the corner table.

"This is a nice place," she commented, looking around interestedly. "The Lima Bean. I'll have to remember that when I visit at Christmastime."

Quinn nodded and nibbled on a cookie.

"How have you been, sweetheart?" Frannie asked. "You're living with the biological father now. Is it better or worse than being with the Hudsons?"

"Pretty equal," Quinn responded as she stirred her drink with a straw. "Either way, I know the bottom line is that I'm fending for myself."

"I'd move here for you to live with me instead, if I could," Frannie said.

"I know you would," Quinn acknowledged appreciatively.

She hesitated, reluctant to say what was weighing most heavily on her mind.

"Frannie, I…um… I did something kind of stupid."

Her sister gave her a broad grin.

"You're talking to the champ in that department," Frannie chuckled. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. What happened, Goose?"

"I made a list," Quinn confessed. "It ranked from the hottest Glee Club member down to the least attractive. It was crazy and completely on a whim and I really regret it. I just wanted people to see me as number one again."

Frannie frowned empathetically.

"Did it get you into trouble?"

"No, thankfully," Quinn said. "Mr. Schuester covered for me. I'm really lucky he didn't tell our principal. I was afraid I'd be expelled."

Frannie broke off a piece of the muffin she'd purchased and popped it into her mouth.

"I understand how much your social status means to you," she said. "Especially since you know what it's like at the other end of the spectrum. There's just one thing that confuses me."

"How I could be such a moron? Me, too."

"No," Frannie laughed. "It's just that the Glee Club has been branded the least popular group at McKinley, according to what you've told me. Why make a list ranking its members? If the rest of the school ignores them, then doesn't that mean the list would only change how the people within the club saw you?"

Quinn sat with her mouth open for a moment, blinking occasionally, the cookie still held aloft.

"See what I mean?" she cried at last. "I've lost it completely. The plan made perfect sense to my damn pregnancy brain."

Frannie held onto Quinn's hand and squeezed it consolingly.

"Take it from someone whose whole future was determined by appearances. Better for everyone else to think you're a freak while you're being the version of yourself that makes you happiest than to let them tell you who you should be and wake up every morning with regret."

… … …

Brittany stretched out on her bed and covered her eyes with one arm. The mattress creaked a second time and she was greeted by a loud meow.

"Hi, Lord Tubbington," Brittany mumbled without looking.

The cat turned in a circle and meowed again.

"No, no Santana today," Brittany answered as if he had made an inquiry into her whereabouts. "She's too busy trying to figure out how she's going to destroy Mercedes for starting to date Puck."

Lord Tubbington nudged her arm and purred.

"I know; I don't understand it either," Brittany concurred. "She said they weren't dating but she won't let him date somebody else. I guess it's like you and your catnip mice. Just because you aren't chewing on them all at once doesn't mean you're okay with Charity borrowing one."

The portly feline climbed onto Brittany's chest and looked into her eyes.

"What am I going to do? Wait it out, I guess. That's what Mr. Kidn- Dylan told me to do," Brittany said as she stroked the cat's back pensively. "She's got her ties to guys keeping her busy – Matt, Puck, Finn – maybe I just need to get back on the field."

She held Lord Tubbington close to her face and frowned deeply.

"But I don't want to be in a relationship with anybody right now."

Lord Tubbington continued gazing at her unblinkingly.

"Or, at least, not any guy," Brittany conceded. "Kurt came into Glee Club today acting like a country boy. He changed his voice, his clothes, and the way he walked. So I offered to make out with him."

She placed the cat back down on her stomach and covered her face with her hands.

"I know, I know. I'm a crazy person. It just seemed like the best solution. He's bound to realize that isn't who he really is, and I know being in a relationship with him isn't where I want to be. We can just keep each other company until it wears off. No big deal, right?"

Lord Tubbington stuck his tongue out and closed his eyes. Brittany pouted and flopped back against the pillows again.

"Yeah, I think so, too."

… … …

Regionals were drawing nearer every day and the Glee kids were growing increasingly nervous. Even though she was dating the former lead of their most fearsome competitor, Vocal Adrenaline, Rachel decided that getting a firsthand one-up on Jesse's alma mater wouldn't hurt.

She asked Mercedes and Quinn to accompany her as backup and listen in on the other club's rehearsal. Quinn provided their transportation and followed the other two girls up the steps into the second level of seating in Carmel High's auditorium.

Vocal Adrenaline was preparing a Lady Gaga number, perfectly choreographed and equipped with red Chantilly lace replicas of the pop idol's costume from one of her live performances. A few yards in front of her students, their coach, Ms. Shelby Corcoran, paced back and forth calling out criticisms and suggestions.

Quinn took her seat beside Rachel and watched carefully. It didn't take much observation to see that they were good, leagues ahead of the New Directions even in this choppy phase of prep work. Even still, Ms. Corcoran was dissatisfied. She called for them all to stop and expressed her concern that they didn't understand what theatricality was all about, and then she offered to demonstrate.

Shelby was instantly in command of both the stage and her audience. Quinn found herself leaning forward in her chair without making any conscious decision to move; the woman's presence was captivating. When her voice filled the auditorium, a hush fell over everyone within earshot. They scarcely dared to breathe or blink, lest they miss a single moment of the creative sincerity that poured out of her as though her soul, not her body, was what stood before the footlights.

Quinn glanced at Rachel and saw that the other girl's eyes were lined with tears. It was a very emotional reaction but, then again, Rachel's passion for the arts always did manifest itself in strong and unpredictable ways.

What did surprise Quinn was when Rachel rose to her feet and started walking toward the steps. Mercedes called after her, but she did not seem to hear.

"Get back here," Quinn commanded in a whisper, but was likewise ignored.

Mercedes and Quinn leaned over the balcony and peered into the shadows below, watching as Rachel emerged there and approached the foot of the stage. Shelby's performance concluded and she continued to stare into the middle distance until Rachel's voice caught her attention.

"Miss Corcoran? I'm Rachel Berry. I'm your daughter."

Quinn and Mercedes exchanged shocked looks and turned immediately back to see what would happen next. Shelby became visibly flustered and dismissed Vocal Adrenaline for the day. She watched the students leave with a wary eye and then ushered Rachel to a couple of seats in the now empty house.

"Maybe we should go," Mercedes suggested quietly.

Quinn hesitantly nodded.

"We can wait in the car," she concurred.

They waited for half an hour before they finally spotted Rachel stumbling out of one of the school's entrance doors. Quinn climbed out of the car immediately, thinking perhaps Rachel had somehow twisted an ankle, but as the girl drew nearer she saw that the real problem was that Rachel could not see through her tears.

Quinn shuffled forward as quickly as her sizable belly and sore feet would allow. She reached her classmate not a moment too soon and Rachel collapsed against her chest.

Mercedes, who was still waiting inside the car, gestured a question through the glass. Quinn shrugged confusedly and stroked Rachel's hair.

"Is it true, what you said back there?" she asked her quietly. "That's your mother?"

Rachel blubbered and nodded feebly.

"How did she take the news?"

"We talked for a little but I don't think she wants me," Rachel sobbed. "All I wanted was for her to hug me and say that everything was going to be all right, that she'd be here from now on, but she didn't even sit in the same row as me."

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," Quinn said truthfully. "I know all about parents not being there when you need them. The pain… It sucks. Nobody should have to go through that."

"Not even a sworn enemy like me?" Rachel joked tearfully.

Quinn laughed and gave the girl's torso an extra squeeze.

"Not even you. Listen, this is a lot for you to process right now. We don't have to discuss competition tactics today. I'm just going to get you home so you have some time to think, okay?"

Rachel rubbed at her face with the back of her hand and nodded. She climbed into the back seat but, just before she shut the door, she stopped.

"Hey, Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Quinn smiled and opened her own door.

"Any time."

… … …

"We have an emergency on our hands," Santana said the minute she joined Brittany in the hallway. "I'm declaring DEFCON 1."

"Worse than Vocal Adrenaline using our auditorium for a performance just to show us we're doomed to failure at Regionals?" Brittany queried. "What is it?"

"Puck's on the scent," Santana elaborated. "I… well, to sum it up, I suggested some things in the bedroom and he got suspicious. He joked about me picking it up from you, which of course I denied. Only he won't let up and he was trying to snoop through the old messages on my phone and now we're just fucked. We are well and royally fucked."

"So what does he want now?" Brittany asked quietly.

"A threesome, which is completely ludicrous and I told him to go drill a knothole but -"

"Set it up."

"What?" Santana gawked incredulously.

"Set it up," Brittany repeated dully. "He won't let it go until he's had his curiosity satisfied. We do this and he gets off your case. Find out the time and the place."

Santana froze, buffeted on either side by the passing student traffic. Her jaw was still dropped and she barely blinked.

"You'd do this for me?"

Brittany gritted her teeth and batted her eyelids rapidly, sniffling once.

"I'd do anything for you. You know that. So set it up."

Then she turned in the direction they'd been headed and picked up her pace so that her friend could not follow. Santana mouthed wordlessly and watched her go.

… … …

Santana could not sleep after the date was set. She couldn't focus in class, practice, or Glee Club. The rising heat on the back of her neck kept her from meeting Brittany's gaze directly for the rest of the week. Puck, on the other hand, kept stealing every opportunity to catch her eye and wink at her roguishly. Santana just shook her head and turned away.

Since Quinn was still living there, it was clear they could not meet at the Puckermans'. Brittany's place was also a definite no, which left Santana's house. It didn't take much careful planning to make the arrangements. Her parents went out every Saturday evening anyway and her little brother would be spending the night with a friend. It was almost too easy.

Brittany arrived a few minutes early but did not say much as she walked into the house. She started to ascend the stairs but Santana called after her.

"Not there," Santana said. "We're going in the basement."

Brittany's eyebrows lifted in surprise but she shrugged and turned in that direction instead.

The Lopez family's basement was fully furbished and pleasantly warm. A billiard room, bar, guest bedroom, and bathroom filled what space had not been sectioned off as a large storage closet on the far end. Brittany grabbed the 8-ball and rolled it directly into the corner pocket before walking into the spare bedroom and flicking on the light.

"When is he coming?" she asked.

"Soon, I think," Santana answered nervously. "I told him seven-thirty but he always runs a little late."

Brittany eyed the king size mattress and chose instead to sit in the corner chair.

"You can still back out of this," Santana offered without turning to face her. "I'll make up an excuse for you, if you want."

She glanced sideways to catch her friend's reaction. Brittany shook her head slowly and sat with hollow eyes.

"No more excuses. Tonight should end it."

Santana nodded vaguely and jumped when a doorbell sounded overhead.

"That's him."

Her mouth was suddenly dry. Santana left Brittany seated downstairs and went to answer the door. Puck was waiting on her front porch with a huge, prematurely-smug grin on his face.

"Hey," he greeted in a low voice.

"Hey," Santana said back with a facial spasm she had intended to be a smile. "Come on in. She's already downstairs."

Puck swaggered into the house and made his way to the basement. He looked around for a moment and spotted the light in the guest bedroom.

"Brittany," he greeted with an incline of his head as he entered.

"Puck," she responded archly.

Santana watched the exchange from the doorway and chewed on her lip.

"So," Puck said with an anxious clap of his hands. "How do these things get started in real life? Pretty sure they don't work the same way as in pornos."

Brittany snorted but said nothing.

"I'll, um, lock the door and then I guess we should all get undressed," Santana suggested as her face began to burn.

Puck smirked again and pulled his shirt off, clearly bending his arms as much as possible to showcase his biceps. He dropped his jeans to the floor and then his boxers before settling under the comforter in the middle of the bed. There, he stretched out with his hands behind his head and waited like a king.

Santana locked the door and turned on the bedside lamp before she flicked the light switch down again. She and Brittany undressed with their backs to each other in complete silence. The only sound for a few moments was Puck's excited breathing.

Santana could hear Brittany climbing under the comforter on the far side of the bed. Though she didn't think she could bear the sight, Santana turned and climbed in on the nearest side. Puck was already running his hand hungrily along Brittany's thigh. Santana reached out to hold onto his shoulders and kiss his back just to block the scene from view. Still, she heard the kiss that followed and began to feel lightheaded.

Puck's mouth moved to Brittany's neck and her face was now within her friend's line of sight again. Santana saw the expression in her eyes and had to look away.

When a few minutes had passed, Puck turned over and dragged Santana's face to his. She submitted to the touch but barely returned it. All the while, she could feel Brittany's eyes on her and they scalded like a brand.

Then Puck pulled away from her and his eyes grew darker, hungrier. Santana knew with a sinking feeling what he wanted next. The lightheadedness increased and left her feeling dizzy. His hand gripped the backs of both their heads and urged Brittany and Santana in to share a kiss.

Santana felt her gut somersault. Pinpricks of fear covered her flesh when she saw that the only feeling she could recognize in Brittany's expression was determination.

Brittany held onto both sides of her neck and pressed their mouths together so swiftly that Santana was sure her lips would be swollen. The kiss was fierce and deep without any prelude. Bewildered, Santana allowed their tongues to meet even as a shudder ran through her body.

"Fuck," Puck whispered amazedly.

Brittany broke away with the same blazing look in her eyes. Without any words at all, Santana understood all that was coursing through Brittany in that moment and she thought she had never hated herself more.

Puck grunted in the way Santana had learned to recognize as the signal that he was in need of release. He eased back the covers and guided the two girls to the center of the bed. He coaxed Santana into a kneeling position and backed Brittany up against her.

Santana's stomach lurched as she finally comprehended what he had in mind. She was to help hold Brittany aloft, to kiss and caress her while he finally sought his satisfaction.

Was the room shaking, or was that merely her vision?

It took everything Santana had to gulp in mouthfuls of air and keep oxygen flowing to her brain. She held onto Brittany tightly but it was more for her balance than for her friend's. When Puck began to move steadily, Brittany was thrust back against Santana's body time and again.

Santana thought she was going to be sick. As the pace increased, so did her panic. Finally, the last of her resolve snapped and Santana coaxed Brittany into Puck's arms before she hastily climbed off the bed and left the room.

Reaching the bathroom was nearly impossible. Santana crashed against furniture and the doorframe before she finally stumbled onto the cool linoleum and collapsed to her knees. Dry heaves wracked her frame while she clutched the toilet and sobbed.

Her tears ran warmly down her cheeks and fell into the basin. Shoulders, knees, fingers – all were shaking so hard that Santana could only cling to the bowl and pray it would pass. The minutes stretched on for hours and she felt certain she would die until footsteps padded into the bathroom. When she realized it was Brittany, Santana's grip slipped and she fell to the floor.

Brittany kicked the door shut and pulled the other girl into her lap. Santana clung to her so tightly that her short fingernails left pinpricks of blood on the backs of her friend's arms.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry," Santana wailed over and over. Brittany simply rocked her and kissed her hair, shushing Santana gently while her fingers traced comforting patterns across the weeping girl's back.

Santana hiccupped and buried her face in the crook of Brittany's neck.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault," Santana murmured tremulously.

"I went along with it," Brittany whispered back with tears sliding down her own cheeks.

Santana shook her head vehemently. She held Brittany's face in her hands and looked her directly in the eye.

"You only did this to save me. Well, no more. I won't take you down with me. Never again."

… … …

Quinn carefully slid her arms into the straps of her backpack and held her head high. For the rest of the Glee Club, the 'funk' they were currently experiencing was a new sensation; for her, it was an everyday state of being.

Her rage still bubbled beneath the surface at the fact that Mercedes had made it clear in Glee that day that she thought Quinn was incapable of pulling off the funk numbers they had been assigned for the week. If anyone was imbued with the spirit of that musical genre, Quinn felt certain it was herself. Now she was on a mission to prove to them all that she was right.

A few mild student interrogations had given her the information necessary to find the help she needed. There was an unofficial club, the Unwed Mothership Connection, that would have the fellow sufferers she knew could sympathize. Its president was a very petite and very heavily pregnant brunette named Mackenzie.

Quinn was told she could find this girl seated in the football bleachers at the end of the school day, so that's where she went the minute she had gathered her things from her locker after the final bell.

Mackenzie, Quinn learned, was a mix of curious contradictions. Her childlike eyes and brightly colored maternity clothes suggested a youthful personality but, when she spoke, there was a toughness and grit earned only by a series of hardships.

"Are you lost?" she called to Quinn when she spotted her lingering at the bottom of the bleachers.

"No," Quinn replied and ascended the stairs. "Actually, I was looking for you."

"Looks like you succeeded. You found me." Mackenzie smiled lazily. "Although I've gotta say I'm not sure what you'd need me for."

"I need backup singers."

"For what?" Mackenzie queried guardedly.

"I want to perform a number to express how difficult it is to be pregnant as a teenager. How alternately ignored and reviled we are. Only I can't really get the point across without more voices to add to my own. I'm going to need your entire committee."

"I'm listening," Mackenzie acknowledged and leaned back against the bleacher bench behind her.

"Well, I couldn't offer you guys payment or anything. I have to keep my money to help take care of this baby until it's due, but I could maybe order us a few pizzas while we rehearse tonight."

"We're definitely not ones to turn down free food," Mackenzie joked with a throaty laugh. "Time and place?"

"Do you know the shelters in the park?" Quinn asked. "The ones near the lake where the ducks are?"

"Yeah, I've seen 'em."

"We'll meet up there at five o'clock. Can you round up the others by then?"

"I've got them all on speed dial," Mackenzie replied. "Them and a Quiznos where the delivery boy foots the bill 'cause he thinks I'm cute."

Quinn giggled and extended her hand.

"Well, thank you for agreeing to help me. I really appreciate it."

Mackenzie shook her hand and nodded.

"No problem. Maybe, if this number of yours gets me up and moving, the dam will finally break. I swear, if this kid makes me any bigger, I'm gonna pop."

… … …

"What's the buzz, Bumble Bee?"

Brittany smiled at her father's familiar nickname and hopped onto the stool under the window in the garage.

"I'm scared."

"Did you hear those footsteps in the upstairs hall again? I think that's just Lord T., sweetie. He's been packing on the pounds and he's starting to make the boards creak."

Brittany laughed.

"No, it's not that."

"Then what's on your mind?" Mr. Pierce prompted kindly while he examined his handiwork on a new birdhouse.

"The cheerleaders are all worried we're going to lose our chance at scholarships."

"You guys are champs. I'm sure you'll all have plenty of opportunities by the time graduation rolls around," Mr. Pierce said confidently.

"It's just that Coach Sylvester is in a funk, just like how the Glee Club has been. Practices have been cancelled and we're all really lost," Brittany explained. "And… I know some of them could maybe get into schools some other way… but not me, Dad. I really need one."

Mr. Pierce set the birdhouse aside and dragged his wheeled chair over to sit in front of his daughter. His blue eyes met hers and he scratched the scruffy brown stubble that had begun to grow on his chin.

"There is so much you can do, honey," he said. "You have so many talents. Cheerleading is just one of them. If that door shuts, there'll be a dozen windows still open."

"Like what?" Brittany asked tentatively.

"Like dancing, or singing, or art, or journalism – any given one of those could give you the scholarship you need to pursue a higher education, if that's what you want to do after you leave McKinley."

"The big art schools would actually want me?" Brittany marveled. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Mr. Pierce replied.

Brittany beamed and swung her legs excitedly back and forth.

"So, how's your friend been doing lately? Quinn. She's going to be due any time now, right? How's the end of pregnancy treating her?"

"I think she'll be a lot better now that she isn't going to be living with Puck," Brittany said. "Mercedes invited Quinn to live with her family now. Things will be a bit easier without baby daddy drama."

Mr. Pierce nodded and grabbed a rag to wipe the paint off his calloused hands.

"How's our Santana?"

Brittany blanched and licked her lips. Tempted as she was to divulge all that had been plaguing her mind on the matter, she opted for truth in its utmost simplicity.

"Santana is Santana, same as always."

… … …

Quinn gathered the last of her few belongings into the duffel bag and zipped it closed.

"That's everything," she announced aloud.

"Do you need Noah to help you carry it to the car?" Mrs. Puckerman asked. "You shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting this far along."

"Yes, please," Quinn said gratefully.

Puck heard the conversation from the chair in which he had been brooding all morning. He rose and accepted the bag without a word, hefting the strap onto his shoulder before stepping outside to take it to the Jones family's van.

Quinn murmured her thanks and then turned back to Mrs. Puckerman.

"I wanted to speak to you," Quinn confided. "In private, while Puck is outside."

Mrs. Puckerman nodded curtly and folded her arms.

"I'm sorry," Quinn apologized sincerely. "I let myself get pregnant by your son; I shut him out and tried to pretend my boyfriend was the one who had done it, and then I intruded on your hospitality when I had to leave the Hudsons' after the truth came out about my baby's father. It's no wonder you hate me."

For the first time since Quinn had arrived in that house, she saw Mrs. Puckerman's features soften.

"I don't hate you. Hate is not something I do. Do I wish Puck could have stayed with that nice Jewish girl? Yes, but a mother's dreams and her child's reality are often two different things. I'm sure you'll learn that someday, although I suspect you have already," Mrs. Puckerman surmised.

Quinn draped her arm protectively over her abdomen and nodded.

"I know living with us has not been a picnic for you," Mrs. Puckerman acknowledged. "In a time when you're already facing enough adversity, you had me to contend with every day."

Quinn mumbled polite objections to the blame the other woman was placing on herself, even though what she was saying was true.

"I had a lot of anger and disappointment when I learned that Noah had fathered a child," Mrs. Puckerman admitted. "I believe I took that out on you. I owe you an apology."

Again, Quinn tried to dismiss this claim, but Mrs. Puckerman waved it away.

"Good luck to you," she said sincerely. "Even though you won't be raising this baby, I know you'll still need it."

Quinn stared back at Mrs. Puckerman and her lip began to quiver. She scarcely stifled a sob as she darted forward and threw her arms around the other woman. When she felt the hug being returned, her tears began to fall freely.

Puck came in to find both his mother and the mother of his child weeping and laughing in each other's arms. He blinked slowly and his brow furrowed. Then he shrugged and sidestepped them both as he walked deeper into the house.

"I'm gonna be upstairs."

… … …

Brittany closed her locker heavily and leaned back against it with a frown. It was the Monday before Regionals and, despite the fact that the Cheerios were back in action and had won the National championship and the New Directions had managed to intimidate Vocal Adrenaline enough to at least somewhat level the playing field, everyone else's funk had lifted but hers. Though she knew the reason why, she was not expecting one of the contributing factors to round the corner just as she was dwelling on the subject.

"Hey," Puck greeted awkwardly.

"Hi," Brittany said back, arms immediately crossing over her chest.

"Listen, I want to talk to you," he began slowly.

"I'd rather not," Brittany murmured.

"About that Saturday night…"

Brittany felt panic rise up in her throat and she turned away, taking long strides to distance herself from him. Puck did not catch up, but instead called out loudly enough that she could hear even from a distance.

"I know why she left."

Though it was a relatively vague statement, it froze Brittany in her tracks. Reluctantly, she returned to where she had stood and waited for him to continue.

"Why Santana bolted and went to the bathroom," Puck elaborated in a low voice, his eyes scanning the hallway to ensure that no one was listening.

"She wasn't into it," Brittany shrugged evasively.

"Yeah, I got that, but I also know why," Puck replied.

Brittany looked fearfully into his eyes and waited.

"The secret," Puck whispered.

Brittany's ears were ringing and she was beginning to breathe sharply through her nose.

"I know she thinks it's all hush-hush, but she can't hide it from me," Puck continued. "We've known each other too long and too well for that crap."

"Please don't," Brittany beseeched him.

"It's okay," Puck said. "Nobody's gonna hear it from me. I know I didn't give her the kind of relationship she wanted but, believe it or not, I do care what happens to her. And I know I'm not the only one."

He leveled a knowing gaze on her. Brittany did not argue.

"She deserves a shot at being happy, something I sure as hell never knew how to make her," Puck decided. "So, I've been thinking we should wipe the slate clean. Let's just pretend that Saturday never happened, and you won't have to worry about any more trouble from me."

Brittany's expression was dubious. Puck sighed.

"Look, I don't know what kind of stuff Santana's been telling you over the years, but I'm not always a complete asshole."

Brittany scarcely stifled a snort.

"We can treat the guest room like Vegas," Puck suggested. "What happened there stays there."

He hocked a wad of spit onto his palm and held it out to her.

"So, truce? For Santana?"

Brittany wrinkled her nose at the glistening circle on his skin.

"C'mon," Puck goaded. "Do it."

Brittany spat discretely on her palm and shook his hand.

"Cool," Puck smiled.

He patted Brittany's shoulder bracingly, as though encouraging a comrade-in-arms – Santana's two defenders.

"She's bitchy and batshit crazy, but you hold the number one spot on her good list. You always have."

Puck gave Brittany a parting nod and strolled off down the hall. Brittany watched him go while rubbing her hand clean against her skirt. In spite of herself, now that he was gone, she allowed her lips to tug up into a small and grateful smile.

… … …

Regionals had arrived. The New Directions' usual jitters had returned by a hundredfold, knowing as they did that they would be facing Vocal Adrenaline and that the judges – which included, of all people, Coach Sue Sylvester - were not in their favor. All the same, with the Journey medley that Mr. Schuester had helped them prepare, they had a strong set list that they knew could please the rest of the audience.

Quinn felt the now-familiar rush of standing under the lights and hearing the roar of the crowd. Even though her sister had been unable to attend, calling that very same afternoon with an apologetic cancellation, the thunderous applause of countless strangers still lifted Quinn's spirits. The club felt better than ever before, more commanding of the stage and more powerful than they had previously exhibited. Though their choreography was not as complex as it could be if they had all been trained dancers, it still possessed a joie de vivre that those seated in the house found immediately contagious.

When the performance had concluded, Quinn followed the others backstage with a nervous but irrepressible grin spreading across her face. Then she heard a voice that cut straight to the bone.

"Quinnie!"

"Mom," Quinn said with a small sputter of disbelief. "What are you doing here? Is Dad okay?"

"I came to hear you sing," Judy explained and gave her a radiant smile. "You were wonderful."

Quinn couldn't believe what she was hearing. She glanced over her shoulder while her mother continued to speak. More than anything, she suddenly wished she was back in the green room with the others and that this wasn't happening. The conversation felt too surreal and she didn't trust it at all.

"I left your father," Judy announced abruptly. "Well, I-I kicked him out, actually. He was having an affair with some, uh, tattooed freak."

Quinn had to clench her jaw to contain an outburst. After the hell she had endured, after all his fiery speeches on morality, this was the secret her father had been harboring? A grievous fault of his own that he could conveniently overlook while condemning the rest of his family with a mighty hand and a booming voice? It was too much.

"Quinnie, I want you to come home with me," Judy said softly. "I can turn the guest room into a nursery."

Quinn's mouth had forgotten how to speak. A surge of muddled emotions rushed through her entire body. However, alarm and disbelief rose up above all the rest at what she felt next.

"My water just broke."

… … …

Pain.

Pain unlike anything she had ever known. It exploded through every part of Quinn's body and left her shouting at anyone who came into her line of sight as she pushed endlessly. Puck, Mercedes, and her mother were all with her in the delivery room, but none of them were able to calm the mix of rage and anguish that made Quinn snarl like a wounded animal.

"Frannie!" she sobbed pitifully. "I want Frannie."

"I-I'll give the number to someone. I'll have them call her," Judy stammered. "I don't want to leave you, baby."

Quinn howled and clamped her eyes shut. Silently, in the small corner of her mind that wasn't consumed by agony, she mentally begged her sister from afar.

Please get here soon.

… … …

They had lost the Regionals competition. In fact, they had not even placed. The consolation trophy looked almost insultingly small as Mr. Schuester accepted it from one of the stagehands.

Santana could not believe it. After all they had faced just to make this performance happen – hell, they had even briefly left the building to be present when Quinn gave birth – and now they had nothing to show for their tenacity.

When they had all returned from the competition, Santana drove immediately to Brittany's house. She found Brittany already waiting there, swaying on the porch swing and gazing up at the broken wind chime that was hung from the corner of the awning. One of its four chimes had fallen off over the course of the winter and been lost somewhere in the yard, buried beneath the snow.

Santana sat down beside her and matched the bending of her legs in time with Brittany's, swinging idly and saying nothing.

"This sucks," she finally groused aloud.

Brittany laughed quietly.

"I knew you'd be disappointed."

"Hell yes, I am!" Santana ranted. "It was rigged! There's no way those hoity-toity Aural Intensity assholes were better than us. We should have at least nabbed runner-up."

Brittany nodded her agreement but did not appear remotely enraged.

"How is this not bothering you?" Santana asked incredulously.

"Because I know that, no matter what, we gave it our all," Brittany replied. "Besides, I think we got one important thing from today even without a trophy."

"What was that?"

"We found out what you were missing. We discovered what your true passion is."

Santana sat blinking uncertainly and then looked away.

"You're a singer, Santana," Brittany told her. "A star. Every bit as much as Rachel is, even if you haven't had the chance to show it."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter," Santana grumbled. "It's all about who you know in that business anyway and, living in this godforsaken middle of nowhere, I don't stand a chance."

"I think you do," Brittany said.

Santana turned back to her friend and bit her lip, wanting so desperately to believe.

"You were so happy up there," Brittany recalled with a smile. "So bright and at home and alive. I haven't seen you shine so brightly since…"

Her voice trailed off and she twiddled her thumbs in her lap.

"Since Tony was here," Santana finished for her.

Brittany nodded.

"You're right," Santana said softly. "I felt the best that I had in a really, really long time."

"Then you shouldn't let it go," Brittany stated definitively.

"What about you?" Santana asked self-consciously in an attempt to change the subject. "Have you found what makes you complete?"

Brittany gazed at her intently even though Santana was once again looking down and clicking the heels of her shoes together.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I'll do whatever it takes. I'm not letting go."

… … …

Quinn stood before the glass, looking through at the tiny baby swaddled there, for what must have been the dozenth time. She had walked out with so many people – various members of the New Directions, her mother, Puck – now she was with Frannie.

"She's a little angel," Frannie whispered. "A replica of you in miniature."

Quinn laughed quietly.

"Yeah, everybody says she looks like me."

"You're still going to put her up for adoption?" Frannie verified.

"Yes," Quinn replied. "But not to the woman I planned in the beginning."

"I've missed a lot," Frannie concluded. "Here, come on. You don't need to be on your feet so much. We'll get you back in bed and then we can catch up on everything."

She gave her slumbering niece a final wave and led Quinn to her room.

"So, where is she going? Who's going to raise her?" Frannie asked once her sister was comfortably settled against the pillows.

"Do you remember the girl who sings the solos in my Glee Club?"

Frannie nodded a confirmation.

"It's her biological mother."

"Wait," Frannie clarified. "So your baby is going to be your classmate's adopted sister?"

"No. Well, not exactly. Rachel will still be living with her dads. Shelby doesn't have custody of her. So, Shelby is Rachel's birth mom and Beth's adoptive mother."

"Beth?" Frannie questioned.

Quinn blushed.

"Puck gave her the name. I know it was hard for him to let her go. This seemed like the one gift I could give him."

Frannie nodded and patted her sister's hand.

"I'm sure that means the world to him. It's a way for a part of him to be with her even if he can't be present physically."

"I hope so," Quinn agreed. "He, um, he said he loves me, and I know from the look in his eyes that he loves our baby girl. I just hope I haven't ruined his dreams, you know? I got really lucky that I can still have a future. I want him to have that chance, too."

"He'll get through it," Frannie said. "Both of you will."

Quinn turned her head to look at her sister more directly.

"I'm not the only one with news to share. Something happened to you today. Whatever it was lasted long enough that you missed all the excitement," Quinn pointed out gently, trying to laugh. "What was it?"

Frannie sat back and ran her hands through her hair. When she lifted her eyes to look at her sister again, she seemed unspeakably exhausted.

"Thomas and I had a talk."

"A fight, you mean."

Frannie shook her head.

"It was more of a discussion, really. It was a long one, but we needed to cover a lot of ground and get everything out in the open."

"Are you guys unhappy?" Quinn asked. It was a suspicion she'd had for quite some time.

"I've been unhappy," Frannie confessed. "Thomas has been a saint. He knew I didn't love him or, rather, that I wasn't in love with him and yet he's stood by me all this time. You saw; he even let me take my frustrations at Dad out on him."

Quinn's eyebrows knitted together.

"I don't understand. Why did you marry him, then?"

"He was Dad's choice," Frannie answered. "He pushed the issue pretty heavily. His business partner's son – in his mind, nothing could be more fortuitous or more beneficial to the good of the company."

"But, Frannie, that's Dickensian," Quinn protested. "Why didn't you say no?"

Frannie hid her face in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake and it was as though her palms were the only things holding her up and preventing her from collapsing to the floor.

"I didn't care where I ended up anymore."

Quinn tried to touch Frannie's knee, but the chair was just far enough from the bed to keep her sister out of reach.

"You were depressed?"

"Beyond that," Frannie answered. "To be depressed, you have to still be able to feel. I'd lost the ability to connect with anything. I was hollow."

Quinn couldn't bear to see her sibling looking so wretched. This was Frannie – the strong one, her rock, her shelter. She scooted aside on the hospital bed and cleared her throat.

"There's room for two."

Frannie cast a glance at the door as though she expected a doctor to swoop in and reprimand her, but she accepted her little sister's offer. Quinn held Frannie's hand and waited for her to regain enough composure to speak again.

"What hurt you so badly?"

"That's a bit of a long story," Frannie sighed. "See, the thing of it is that, um, Thomas wasn't the only person I dated."

Quinn thought for a moment.

"I don't remember any other boys. What was his name?"

Frannie's expression was grave as she faced Quinn and looked her in the eye.

"That's because there aren't any boys to remember."

Quinn began to understand and her mouth hung slightly agape.

"Her name was Alisha."

Quinn remembered the name, even had a dim recollection of the face that went with it. She nodded vaguely. A few tears slid down Frannie's face and she clung to Quinn's hand with both of hers as if she feared that her sister might pull away.

"Why did it end?" Quinn inquired.

"We got caught. Mom found out about us and she talked to Dad. You know as well as I do that Dad doesn't allow fault in anyone but himself. To him, being in love with a girl was more than a fault. I was an embarrassment, an abnormality, a freak. He behaved as though a member of the circus had escaped and was just masquerading as his child."

"So what did he do to you?" Quinn asked fearfully.

"He told me he would kick me out if I didn't give her up. I was only seventeen; I didn't have the money to support myself. Lish's family, well, they had three boys as well as her; they couldn't afford another mouth to feed," Frannie recalled sadly. "Then Dad started keeping constant tabs on where I was. I was no longer allowed to drive myself to or from school. Mom picked me up. I couldn't go to any parties unless they knew the parents and had confirmed they could keep an eye on me. He took my cell phone, monitored my Internet access, the works. I couldn't carry on with her even in secret. In the end, he didn't even allow me to make the choice."

Quinn rested her cheek against Frannie's shoulder.

"Senior year, seeing her in the halls, it destroyed me. Lish was heartbroken. I tried to tell her I would wait, that we could try again when I was finally able to make my own income and move, but she didn't want me to lose my family. Especially you. She knew I loved you most of all."

Quinn began to cry, too.

"She didn't – You didn't lose her just because of me, did you?"

"No, honey, it's not like that," Frannie promised. "You're not to blame. Alisha was right. You didn't deserve to be left alone in that house."

"What happened to her? Alisha?" Quinn asked.

"That's the thing. After graduation, I didn't know. She disappeared. I thought I'd never see her again. With all this time that's passed, I assumed she was married by now, maybe even had kids," Frannie said. "Then I had a catering job where I saw this guy sitting off by himself reading a newspaper. I recognized that wild hair even from where I stood behind the buffet table. After the event was over, the man left his paper behind. I swung by the table and picked it up. There she was, my Alisha. She's writing for the Chicago Tribune."

"Wait. That money you were saving, the money you gave to me… You were going to go find her," Quinn realized. "I have a little left; I can give it back."

"It's all right," Frannie waved dismissively. "I've saved up enough again. Thomas and I parted amicably. Neither of us harbors any ill will for the other. We're going to finalize our divorce and then I'm going to Chicago. I'm going to try to get her back."

Quinn hugged Frannie's arm and kissed her shoulder.

"Good luck."

Frannie laughed a little.

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it."

She looked at the clock on the wall and climbed back off the bed.

"Well, I'd better get going. You need your sleep," Frannie said as she kissed Quinn's forehead. "Call me when you get home."

"I will," Quinn promised.

Frannie pulled her purse's strap onto her shoulder.

"Thank you for supporting me," she said in a choked voice, as though speaking around a lump in her throat. "About Alisha. About being gay. I know it's a lot to take in."

"I love you no matter what," Quinn answered sincerely. "And I know you'd do the same for me."