A/N: Okay, here's the thing. The good news is that you have a new chapter! The bad news is that the next one is the last chapter. The good and/or bad news, depending on how you look at it, is that the last chapter is seriously not done. So there's going to be a break in posting, probably at least a week, but maybe less.

Also, please someone talk me out of somehow extending the story, because I really like what I've started here but I don't know what else I would write past the last chapter that I've planned thus far.

After touring the performance building and grabbing a quick dinner, they make their way back to the hotel. It's unlikely that they'll actually get any sleep tonight anyway, but Mr. Schuester keeps stressing the importance of resting before the big show, so they're in for the night before eight o'clock.

Ms. Pillsbury strongly lobbied to sleep on the fold-out couch in Brittany and Santana's room, after Brittany let it slip that they could take another person ("We'll definitely only need one bed and we'll probably shower together too, so we'll be, like, super courteous roomies."), so the rest of the roommates kind of just fall into place; Matt and Mike, Finn and Puck, Kurt and Artie, Mercedes and Tina, and then Rachel with Quinn. A few months ago, putting Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray in a hotel room alone for an entire night would end with one of them in the hospital and the other in prison, but when Mr. Schuester passes out their room keys, they both smile.

It's a pretty typical hotel room, with two large beds separated by a small nightstand, a desk in the corner, an older TV with a channel guide propped up against it, and a small bathroom right next to the door. Quinn stands in the doorway for a minute, trying to scope out anything that Rachel might not anticipate, but the smaller girl immediately steps past Quinn with her rolling suitcase in tow.

"My dads travel a lot for work and they've never trusted babysitters, so I've spent plenty of time in hotel rooms," she explains, hoisting her suitcase onto the first bed. "Unless it's a suite, they're all laid out the same."

Quinn just blinks a few times, and then starts unpacking her suitcase as well, though she keeps glancing over at Rachel and watching the way she methodically places pre-sorted outfits in the dresser across from the bed, presumably in the order she plans to wear them. Quinn just kind of threw together a bunch of shirts with the two pairs of pants that still fit.

After unpacking the necessities and hanging their dresses in the closet, they both settle into their respective beds without much conversation. Quinn clicks through the entirety of the television's channels twice before settling on one of those terrible Nicolas Cage movies where he digs tunnels under the White House with a spoon or something. Rachel is reading a book, like always, but Quinn catches her snorting derisively on a few occasions.

"I'm barely even paying attention," Quinn says defensively. "I know it's dumb."

"It's ridiculous," Rachel replies, flipping the page of her novel. "I brain cells spilling out of my ears."

Quinn crosses her arms across her stomach and frowns. "There's nothing else on."

"Then turn it off."

Quinn turns it up instead.

–––––

They mutually decide to turn off the television and go to sleep a bit after ten o'clock, because even Quinn is tired of bugging Rachel with this dumb movie and there's really nothing much to do, and they have a long weekend ahead of them. Quinn turns off the lights and slowly eases into bed as Rachel sets the alarm clock she brought from home. When a feminine but slightly mechanical voice chimes that the alarm is set for six a.m., Rachel rolls onto her back and settles into her bed.

"Good night, Quinn," she says softly.

"Good night, Rachel."

"Oh, by the way, I feel I should apologize for my vehement reaction to your choice of entertainment earlier. I have a thing about Nicolas Cage. Sorry."

Quinn rolls her eyes, though she can't help but smile. "Good night, Rachel."

–––––

A few hours later, Quinn has decided that it is definitely not a good night. She's spent the whole time rolling around on a lumpy mattress, the room feels too hot, and her back is killing her. She isn't comfortable on her side, but if she rolls onto her back she feels trapped by the weight of her enormous uterus and it's hard to get up when she has to use the restroom.

She bunches the blankets up and shoves them under her stomach as a last-ditch effort to find some relief, but it only takes a few moments for her to realize that it's not going to help. In a fit of pregnancy hormones and pure rage, she grabs the sheets and throws them off the bed with as much force as she can muster.

"Quinn? Are you awake?"

A hushed voice sounds from Quinn's left, and she rolls over to find Rachel lying on her side, eyes open.

"Yeah, sorry if I woke you," Quinn says quietly.

"I was awake anyway," Rachel says, waving away Quinn's apology. "I can never sleep the night before a performance."

"I just can't get comfortable," Quinn grumbles.

"Do you need extra pillows? More blankets? Do you want to trade beds? I can…"

"Is this 20 questions or something? Just go back to sleep," Quinn snaps. She knows it's mean and she feels like crap the second she says it, but she's not really used to having anyone around in the middle of the night when she feels like a beached whale, so it just kind of flew out. "Sorry. I'm fine, but thanks for the offer."

It's silent for a moment, and then Rachel quickly sits up in bed. "We could play 20 Questions!" she says with a grin. "Well, actually, I'm not really knowledgeable in public figures unless they're on Broadway, but we could play a modified version. We could ask each other twenty questions about the other, thus changing the purpose of the game but keeping it in line with what the title might suggest, and also helping us get to know each other better. We could both ask and answer twenty questions, or we could ask and answer ten each, totaling out to twenty altogether. That might be more reasonable."

Quinn snorts, but she can't argue with the voice in her head reminding her that this is what she might kind of love about Rachel Berry, so she totally goes along with this ridiculous game.

The questions are really quite benign, like favorite meals and most hated songs, and one awkward moment when Quinn, in a state of exhaustion and lack of clear-headedness, asks Rachel what her favorite color is. Quinn's face burns and she's sure her cheeks are the deepest shade of red known to man, but Rachel just laughs and says it's lavender ("that's a color, right?"), because she likes the way it smells.

Quinn's nervous after that, and it takes her a few minutes to come up with a question that is probably safe: "How'd you get the scar on your forehead?"

"I have a scar on my forehead?" Rachel nearly shrieks, her hand flying up to her hairline. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

The color drains from Quinn's face just as Rachel's laughter fills the small room.

"You are evil," Quinn murmurs. "Evil."

Rachel just laughs harder.

(Quinn thinks it might be her favorite sound.)

Rachel finally composes herself enough to actually answer (only trailing off into giggles a few times). "I was exceptionally mobile and pretty fearless, according to my dads. They usually had baby gates up all over the house to keep me somewhat contained, but it was actually my first birthday and the first night of Hanukkah, so they took them all down to accommodate the guests. Dad left me alone in the family room for five seconds to answer the door, and I crawled right into the corner of the fireplace."

Quinn grimaces. "Ouch."

"My Bubbe fainted, in case you ever wondered whether or not I came by dramatic flair honestly," Rachel says with a broad grin. "My dads never miss an opportunity to bemoan that I have stitches in my birthday portrait from that year. That's of little importance to me, though."

Quinn smiles a bit at Rachel's levity. Everyone says she's such an intense drama queen, but one-on-one, Quinn thinks she's one of the most relaxed people she knows.

"Okay, my turn," Rachel says. "Are you nervous?"

Quinn rolls over onto her side and props her head up with her hand. "Nervous about what?"

Rachel bites her lip, as if she's suddenly considering that this wasn't an appropriate question to ask, but then she just goes for it. "The baby. Are you nervous about having a baby?"

"When I think about it," Quinn answers slowly. "So, yes. Always."

"What are you going to…"

"Wait, wait, wait, it's my turn," Quinn interjects. "Why don't you go to a school for blind people? Wouldn't it be easier for you?"

"My fathers wanted me to integrate into the sighted world as quickly and seamlessly as possible. I suspect spending more time with the visually impaired would be easier, at least in the sense that my choice in clothing wouldn't be ridiculed as often." They both smile at this, even though Quinn knows that she's played her part in that over the years. "I'd have to face the real world eventually, though; it made more sense to just tackle it head-on from the beginning."

"How did it happen?"

It's the question everyone wants to know the answer to but she's pretty sure no one has ever actually asked. Quinn knows it's pretty personal and Rachel has never given the information freely, but she figures if Rachel can ask about her baby, she can ask about the unexplained events that lead to her current 'condition'.

Rachel shifts, as if the question has made her physically uncomfortable. "It's my turn."

"You've already asked ten questions."

She's quiet for a second, pondering this, and then her mouth drops open in outrage. "You went first! This is your eleventh question."

"Well, then the game is over, and I'm asking you as a friend," Quinn says simply.

Rachel frowns slightly, as if this is a new concept, and then she takes a deep breath. "How did what happen?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You know what. How did you become blind? You never talk about it."

"That's because I never think about it," Rachel replies with a sigh. "I've never known anything else."

"Right, but I'm sure you know how it happened? It's not like you just came out this way and no one knows why, right?"

"No, it's not some big mystery."

"Then what happened?" Quinn suddenly feels like they're five years old again, and after briefly arguing with herself over whether or not Rachel would get the reference, she adds, "I'm the queen, so you have to tell me."

Rachel lets out a short laugh. "I've always wondered if you remembered that."

"I remembered."

Rachel smiles a little, and she seems to be momentarily lost in her own thoughts, until the sound of Quinn shifting on the cheap mattress brings her back to reality.

"I was born way too early, and a lot of preemies develop this thing called retinopathy of prematurity. It happens when blood vessels behind the eyes aren't developed properly and scar tissue develops; I won't bore you with all the details. Sometimes it can be treated and there aren't any residual side effects, and sometimes…well, obviously sometimes it doesn't work out like that. It's harder on smaller babies and ones exposed to a lot of oxygen. I was the size of my dads' hands and I didn't breathe without help for months, so I suppose it was unavoidable."

Quinn tries to speak but there's a lump in her throat that wasn't there a moment ago. This is a lot more information than she was expecting, and being pregnant herself, she probably didn't need to hear it. Her baby could be born at any time now and be just fine, but still, her maternal instincts are in overdrive and just the thought of such a tiny, sick baby makes her want to cry.

A few moments pass before she's composed enough to take a deep breath and try again. "Rachel, I…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"It's okay. It's hard for my dads to talk about it, but it doesn't bother me. I don't remember it, and I'm not upset about it." Rachel shrugs casually. "I'm lucky to be alive, really, so I don't see the point in missing something I've never had."

"Why don't you tell people?"

"Well, no one has really asked, but they'd still indulge in their favored theories anyway," she says lightly. "I'm the poster child for the evils of gay parenting and the wrath of God, and about a million rare diseases and freak accidents that don't even lead to blindness; it's kind of funny. Plus, my more gullible peers believe that I'm a witch, of all things, so they leave me alone."

Quinn feels instantly guilty at those words, because she's certainly facilitated rumors about Rachel for as long as she can remember. The witch thing was totally Santana, but Quinn is the one who brought God into it, and it makes her feel like shit. She is so done acting like she has any idea how God works.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, okay?"

"Thank you, Quinn, I would appreciate that."

They fall into a comfortable silence, and Quinn actually thinks she might fall asleep soon, until the stowaway inside of her starts doing somersaults or something. She tries to suppress the sharp hiss of pain that escapes her lips, but Rachel definitely picks up on it.

"Is something wrong, Quinn?"

"I'm fine. The baby is just all over the place."

Rachel nods in understanding. "I've done a fair bit of reading in regards to pregnancy, because while the Lima library doesn't have a great section of Braille materials that would interest a young girl, they somehow have a few medical textbooks in circulation," she says. "I'm not sure why; I certainly don't discriminate against the visually impaired, but even I would prefer a doctor with 20/20 vision. But anyway, I know that there comes a certain point during gestation when the fetus develops enough strength to kick with a force that can be felt outside the womb. I've heard that feeling it is quite the experience, but I'm sure it's uncomfortable for the mother-to-be."

"It sucks," Quinn says flatly. The baby shifts again and she groans dramatically. "I swear she's trying to find an escape hatch or something."

She turns her head toward Rachel and catches her smiling sympathetically through the small amount of light passing through the curtains, from the neon of the hotel's sign.

"Do you want to feel it?"

Rachel blinks a few times. "I…what?"

Quinn blushes lightly and bites her lip and now she feels weird for even suggesting it. "Nothing, never mind. I just…it's stupid."

Rachel hops off her bed and immediately finds Quinn's. She feels for an empty space (so she doesn't end up sitting on Quinn instead of next to her) and climbs up with a huge grin on her face. "I want to feel it."

Quinn quickly gets over her embarrassment and gets situated on the bed, scooting up to recline against the headboard. Rachel is eagerly waiting instructions at the edge of the bed and it makes Quinn chuckle lightly; not in the way Rachel used to make her laugh, when Quinn thought she was a one-woman freak show, but in the way that she's just Rachel and she makes her happy.

Quinn tells her to come closer and Rachel immediately obliges. She's sitting with her legs crisscrossed, and they're so close on this tiny bed that her knees are pressing against Quinn's side.

She takes Rachel's hands and guides them toward the baby's favorite place to kick. Rachel just barely lets her palms touch Quinn's exposed skin, as if she'll break something if she applies too much pressure.

"Give it a few seconds and she'll…ow, okay, there you go," Quinn says with a grimace. "Did you feel that?"

Rachel's eyes grow wide. "I did."

Quinn smiles and takes one of Rachel's hands again, prompting her to press down near her rib cage. "This is going to sound super weird, but you might as well have the full experience, so I'll just tell you that over here? You can feel her butt."

Rachel lets out a surprised squeak, and Quinn isn't sure if it's because she just made the girl feel her baby's backside or because said baby seems to be training for the Olympics in there. Either way, she seems to be really, really fascinated by the whole thing and Quinn feels oddly comfortable just lying there while Rachel puts her hands all over her stomach, so it goes on for awhile.

The baby eventually falls asleep, and Quinn wants to thank every deity she can think of, even though it means Rachel will go back to her bed and they'll probably fall asleep as well; it's been kind of fun, like a weird sleepover or something.

"You know," Rachel says quietly, her voice shaking slightly. "I do find it a bit strange that I'm now well acquainted with your abdomen but I don't know anything about your face."

Quinn frowns, because what the hell does that even mean, and what is she supposed to do about it?

"I could, uh…" she trails off and lifts her hands from her lap, waving them in a move that looks vaguely like jazz hands. "I mean, I know that's weird, so if that's not okay, I unequivocally understand and wouldn't at all…"

"It's okay." Quinn nods quickly. "It's okay with me."

Rachel beams at her, like actually smiles so ridiculously wide that Quinn doesn't even know how her jaw is still intact, and fidgets with her hands for a moment, like she's working up the courage to actually move forward.

"Go on," Quinn says softly. "I really don't mind."

Rachel takes a deep breath and slowly reaches her right hand out. She's a little off course and grazes Quinn's ear first (at least, she assumes that wasn't her planned destination, but she doesn't really know much about how this works), but then she backtracks and finds her cheekbone.

Quinn feels like all the air has escaped her lungs as Rachel's fingers lightly trace every curve and slope, particularly when she runs a finger over the bow of her lip and keeps it there for a few seconds.

"You're beautiful," Rachel whispers thickly.

Quinn knows it's not even possible that Rachel has any idea what she's saying, but she still finds herself blushing. "Thank you," she replies. Her voice is high and breathy and it's stupid, and there are butterflies in the pit of her stomach. "So are you."

Rachel ducks her head bashfully. "I'm not."

"You are," she counters. She doesn't even know what she's doing until her fingers are tracing the other girl's face in the same way Rachel had explored hers. Rachel's eyes flutter shut and she notices the way the smaller girl's breathing changes slightly. Quinn's palms settle on Rachel's cheeks and she guides her to lift her head; it's not like Rachel realizes that they're making eye contact, but Quinn just doesn't want to see her cowering like she had been. "You're perfect."

The brunette takes in a shaky breath and swallows audibly. "We should get some rest."

"Yeah," Quinn nods in agreement. "We should."

Except Quinn doesn't move her hands and Rachel doesn't try to pull away, and then everything just shifts and her hands are tangled in Rachel's hair, urging her forward, and their lips connect awkwardly and with a little too much force to call it pleasant.

But then Rachel tilts her head to just the right angle, and to call it pleasant would be somewhat of an understatement.