Day 03: Body Swap

all we are is skin and bones, trained to get along

Quinn has seen Freaky Friday. She knows how these things work, at least in theory. Still, it's something of a shock when she rolls out of her bed one morning and – well, she can roll, and that's something altogether new, at least for the past four months or so. She notices, first, that she can see her feet – that's weird is her brain's foggy reaction. She blinks down at the coral pink nail polish, trying to remember where she would have gotten that color from. She usually paints her toenails red.

Then, well, she notices that the feet are peculiar shade of tan, and she starts to realize there's something very wrong.

She hurries to the mirror hanging above her chest of drawers, and she claps a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. It startles her just as much to see the figure in the reflection do the same thing in tandem – though she knows that's how mirrors operate.

Her heart is racing in her chest, and it almost hurts; she feels a sharp pain radiating from her chest and moving down her arm. Her first instinct is to clutch at her abdomen, worried that the stress hormones or anxiety or the freakin' heart attack she's having will badly affect the baby – but when her palms meet a very toned, very flat stomach, it somehow becomes all the more real to her.

She's Santana.

Santana Lopez.

She hears Mercedes' mom hollering at her to come down for breakfast, and her eyes go wide. She can't face the Joneses like this – they wouldn't believe her, anyway. She's wearing baggy maternity pajamas, and even as she pulls the drawstrings tight on the pants, they hardly stay on Santana's bony hipbones. She knows she won't have any clothes here that will fit – all of her pre-pregnancy clothes are still at her mother's house – and she runs a hand through her hair, tugging at it. Even that is weird, because it's a thickness and texture she isn't used to.

"Come on down, now!"

That's Mrs. Jones. Quinn breaks out in a cold sweat at the prospect of facing Mercedes' family. She winces, her palm sliding against the doorknob, and she slowly creaks the door open. She almost yelps in surprise when she sees – well, herself – barreling towards the door at a quick sprint. She darts out of the doorway and Quinn – Santana? – slips through, her breath hitching.

Quinn closes the door and feels her heart thundering in her chest. It's completely surreal and unbelievable to be looking at herself like that – she's taller than she realized – and her hair's a wild mess. Her body is squeezed into a pair of baggy sweatpants and a ragged white t-shirt, which is probably something Santana borrowed from her dad. Quinn's body breathes heavily and rests against the wall, her face towards the ceiling.

Quinn tries to think of something to say, but everything she can possibly think of is so absurd.

"Hi," She says, finally.

"Yeah." It's a shock to hear her own voice, so uncharacteristically low and biting, coming from her own body – but yet, not her own. She sounds awfully nasally to herself, and she realizes – this is how Santana sounds to herself, all of the time.

"What the fuck is going on?" Santana hisses. "You are Quinn, right?"

"Yeah." Quinn nods. She can't stop looking at herself, at every detail – from her messy mop of hair to her swollen belly, down to the bare feet. She wants to put her hands – Santana's hands?- on her belly to feel her baby move and kick.

"I called Britt, and she's Mercedes. It's some huge giant mindfuck and I don't know what's going on."

"Wait – Brittany's here?"

"I guess. I called Brittany's cell phone, and.. well, it was Mercedes."

"Oh, my God." Quinn feels her eyebrows sliding upwards on her forehead. "This is insane."

"Yeah!" Santana wipes at her forehead, and Quinn can see that she's sweaty and winded.

"Here, sit down." Quinn guides her over to her bed, and makes her rest. "How is the baby?"

"Tch," Santana makes a disgusted face. "I feel like a giant fucking cow, Quinn. This thing is at least forty pounds. You're carrying a baby whale."

Quinn scowls darkly at Santana, but she still presses her hands to Santana's stomach. Santana glares at her, annoyed, but Quinn pushes in until she feels the baby kick back. It sends a huge shock of relief through her. "Thank God."

"Ouch! Don't make it do that, Christ!" Santana yanks away from Quinn.

"It's a her. And you need to take it easy. You have high blood pressure."

"Yeah? No fucking kidding. I thought I was going to die climbing up the stairs."

"You have to go slow." Quinn's brow creases with worry. "How did you get here so fast?"

"I woke up like an hour ago because your brat was kicking my bladder. I almost pissed myself when I realized what was going on."

"I bet." Quinn gnaws on her bottom lip. "What did Mrs. Jones say?"

"She thought I was taking a walk around the block or something. I told her – uh, I told her I was here, just to avoid the confusion. She thinks you got here before she woke up."

"Uh huh." Quinn rubs at her forehead. "That was actually very clever of you, Santana."

Santana huffs, narrowing her eyes. "Don't press my buttons today, Q. I have all these crazy baby hormones going on inside of me. I don't even know what I might be capable of."

Quinn snorts. She realizes that a very pregnant Santana is actually a dangerous thing – she knows that, some days, it's all she can do to stop from throttling everyone with a frying pan; and other days, she hides herself away in a bathroom and cries. Santana is already a volatile, emotional mess; Quinn can't imagine how this is going to go for her, now.

"Did you bring clothes?" Quinn asks.

Santana scowls. "No, I didn't think to pick you up a wardrobe on the way here. I just –" Santana tugs at her own hair, almost sharply. "You didn't like buy some cursed earrings from a Jamaican voodoo shop, did you?"

Quinn wrinkles her brow. "What are you talking about?"

Santana scoffs, launching herself upwards. "Come on, you've never seen the Hot Chick?"

Quinn shakes her head.

Santana rolls her eyes. "You are so socially challenged."

"That isn't the point," Quinn can feel herself getting irritated. "You said Brittany and Mercedes changed places – who else did? What is going on?"

"This is body swapping in the extreme." Santana agrees. "I'm going to get dressed. I'll ask Brittany to bring her spare Cheerios outfit for you to school."

Quinn glares at Santana. "You actually think we should go to school like this?"

"What choice do we have, Quinn?" Santana is already rummaging through Quinn's closet, wrinkling her nose at every maternity shirt she sees. "We need to try to figure out how to fix this."

It was easier to play off the presence of Brittany – with Mercedes in her head – than it was to explain the general absence of Mercedes to the Jones family. It was just lucky for them that Mercedes' parents are busy – and her mother left without too much questioning. Mercedes looked almost comically pained to watch her mother leave, which was somewhat tragic to see on Brittany's face.

"I am on fire thinking about what that girl is doing with my body," Mercedes says on the ride to school. She's dressed, comically, in something she would typically wear – but it looks almost clownish on Brittany's frame.

Santana can't stop staring at her, and it makes Quinn uneasy.

"This is all very strange," Quinn says. She's driving the three of them in Santana's car.

"You're telling me," Mercedes snaps. "This is some devil worship stuff right here."

Quinn can tell Santana is more mesmerized by Mercedes speaking out of Brittany's mouth than she is by the fact that she's wearing Quinn's body.

The trip to school is short, thankfully, and they meet up with Brittany in the Cheerios locker room. Quinn doesn't think twice about zipping up the uniform – it's still second nature to her – but she catches the way Santana is watching her, almost mournfully. Brittany has to help Mercedes into it, which is, in itself, a kind of a comedy. Santana helps Brittany into Mercedes' clothes, too, and Mercedes adjusts the necklaces and earrings to her liking.

"This is too weird." Mercedes says finally. "Like looking at a mirror, but.. worse."

"Yeah." Brittany grins, reaches out to touch Mercedes' – her own? – hair. "It's kind of like invasion of the body snatchers."

"Sort of." Santana says.

"We have to come up with a plan." Quinn faces the other three. "We don't know how many people this has affected, or for how long. I think we should stick together and try to help each other."

"I agree." Mercedes says, shaking her head. She snatches Brittany's arm in hers and pulls her close.

"Wait," Santana frowns. "Shouldn't we try to look as normal as possible? Like – shouldn't Quinn and Mercedes stick together, and me and Britt?"

"No." Mercedes shakes her head quickly. "No, no. I'm not letting this girl go off with you – with my body – to just do whatever she likes!"

If this were a different situation, Quinn would laugh at the expression of shock on Santana's (her own) face. It is weird to hear Brittany speak with such assertion in her voice, but – she has to agree.

"Yes, I think we should stick with.. each other. To make sure the other person behaves in a normal manner."

Santana rolls her eyes. "I know how to act like you, Quinn."

Quinn's eyebrows raise.

Santana puts on a mocking tone – ironic, since she doesn't need to mimic Quinn's voice, as she is actually using Quinn's voice – "I'm Quinn Fabray, captain of the celibacy club, but oh look, I'm pregnant! I cheated on my Neanderthal boyfriend and got knocked up by a Jew! My daddy is so mad he sent me packing and now I'm all mopey and whiny but still somehow superior to everyone else."

Quinn feels anger gather in her sternum, but she swallows it down. "Very cute, Santana."

"Oh, let me!" Brittany says, grinning. "I'm Santana and I like to make out with other people's boyfriends." She looks between Mercedes, Quinn, and Santana. "Did I win?"

Mercedes stares at her. "No."

"Be nice," Santana hisses.

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "Well, I'm not gonna let this girl walk around saying crap like that with no explanation. I don't want people to think that I'm insane, too."

"Fine." Santana mutters, crossing her arms.

Quinn rolls her eyes, but she stays put as Brittany and Mercedes move out of the locker room, arm in arm. Santana watches them go with a worried expression.

"They're going to be okay."

Santana narrows her eyes at Quinn, and shakes her head. "Let's get out of here, blondie. We need to get to first period."

Xxxx

Quinn notices, first of all, that this whole body switch phenomenon only seems to affect the girls of McKinley. Her first indication is during her second period, when Puck sidles up to her and sits down in the desk beside her. Quinn glares at him from beneath her eyebrows – this is one of the classes she and Santana don't have together, so she was forced to come to an English class where she has no idea what the lesson is – and he stretches, casually, and places his arm around her.

"Ugh!" Quinn jerks away from him.

"Hey, now, babe, don't be like that," Puck says, an arched expression on his face.

"Gross. Go away, Puck."

"What's eatin' you?"

Quinn just stares at him. "Don't you have, like, a pregnant girlfriend around here somewhere?"

"Hey!" Puck puts his hands up defensively. "Quinn is not my girlfriend." He lowers his voice and edges in closer. "And besides – that didn't seem to bother you last weekend."

Quinn scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You're disgusting."

Puck grins. "You like it when I'm dirty."

"Oh my God!" Quinn shoves at his shoulder, hard. "What a jerk. Go away."

"Where's your sense of humor?" Puck scowls, rubbing the spot where Quinn shoved. "You been spending too much time with Quinn."

Xxx

"I had no idea Puck still hits on you like that!" Quinn hisses, grabbing Santana's arm on the way to the cafeteria.

"Yeah, he's kind of an animal," Santana says, though her voice is oddly reserved. She follows Quinn docilely, and doesn't look up when they enter the cafeteria.

"Are you hungry?" Quinn asks, glancing at her. "You need to eat."

"No," Santana's voice trembles.

"Oh." Quinn stops, turns to her. "What's wrong?"

Santana pushes at her eyes, trying to stop the tears from shedding. "I'm just – everything is so sad, Quinn! In history we watched a documentary about kids in Africa, and – they're starving!"

Amused, Quinn steps back to watch Santana sniffle. "This is just hormones."

"I know," Santana's voice cracks. "And I'm such a loser to be crying like this but I can't help it!" She flings herself forward and clutches at Quinn's neck, pulling her close. "Make it stop."

"Shh." Awkwardly, Quinn pats Santana's back, wrapping an arm around her midsection. "It's okay, Santana. It's going to be okay."

"Turn it off." Santana sobs, pushing her face into Quinn's neck. "I hate everything."

"I know." Quinn rocks Santana gently. "You just gotta let it happen. It's better if you don't fight it."

"How do you do it?" Santana sniffs. "How do you go through the day like this?"

Quinn shrugs.

"Take me home. I don't want to be here anymore."

Quinn laughs. "I have perfect attendance. We can't skip the rest of the day."

Santana pulls back to glare at Quinn. "I don't care about your perfect attendance, Quinn! I just want to go home!"

"I know." Quinn holds Santana's face. "There's only a few more hours. It's going to be fine."

Santana lets out a wet breath. "How are we gonna fix this? I can't keep being you. I can't. It's too hard."

It makes Quinn's chest ache, slightly, to hear those words from Santana.

Santana seems to realize what she said, because her eyes soften. "I didn't mean it like that, Quinn—"

Quinn shakes her head. "Let's just get something to eat."

"I figured it out," Mercedes hisses, sitting down next to them in glee club after school. "I think Tina did it, so she could switch places with Rachel and be the star."

Quinn turns to stare at Rachel and Tina, who are uncharacteristically close. She snorts when she sees Finn try to cop a feel on Rachel's body, but Tina reaches over and smacks him on the shoulder. He turns around, perplexed, and Tina gives him a dirty look.

"L-leave Tina alone, Finn!" Rachel (Tina?) says, and her voice is strangely loud.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Keep your hands to yourself." Tina (Rachel?) narrows her eyes.

Finn turns around, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"I don't think we should assume Tina did it. Did what, anyway? How could Tina have done this?" Quinn turns to Mercedes.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

The glee club rehearsal is a joke. Brittany, in the body of Mercedes, is suddenly tone deaf and flat – it causes Mr. Schue to stare at her with a perplexed expression – and Rachel, in the body of Tina, keeps singing all her own traditional solo parts. Mercedes tries to use Brittany's voice to hit the notes she would be able to do for herself, and Santana almost trips trying to do a dance move. All in all, the entire thing is disjointed chaos, and it Mr. Schue throws his hands up in disgust.

"I don't know what's gotten into you girls, but please, figure it out before tomorrow."

"I intend to," Mercedes mutters.

Mr. Schue looks at her strangely.

She ignores him, and grabs Tina's arm on the way out of the classroom. Tina yelps, which is kind of comical to see coming from Rachel Berry, and then all six of the girls march towards the bathroom.

"All right, Tina," Mercedes huffs, cornering her. "Tell us what's going on."

"I-I'm not T-Tina," Tina stutters.

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "Don't play dumb. I know it's you."

"Brittany—" Rachel begins.

Mercedes turns to glare at her. "This is Mercedes."

"Present." Brittany pipes up from the side.

Quinn watches Santana run her palm over Brittany's arm.

"We know you had something to do with this, girl Chang," Santana says.

"Wait." Rachel turns to look at them, her eyes wide. "Are all of you switched?"

"Yes!" Mercedes hisses. "I think Tina did it, using ancient Chinese magic or something."

"That's incredibly rude!" Tina's mouth drops. "And racist! And not true!"

"You're not Chinese?" Brittany asks curiously.

"It – it was me," Rachel confesses.

Quinn's mouth drops. "You?"

"I just made a wish! That's all!" Rachel rushes to explain. "I didn't know it would turn out like this!"

"Great!" Santana spits. "Then unwish it and fix this, Berry!"

Rachel winces. "I think there has to be a shooting star or something."

Santana makes an angry noise, and Rachel hurries on – "It's not like I planned this, okay? I didn't know this would happen!"

"You have to fix it." Quinn says, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"It's not fair for you to take out your dysfunction on the rest of us." Santana sneers.

Rachel ducks her head. "I'll see what I can do, okay?"

Tina glances nervously between the girls. "Look, just back off Rachel. We all need to start thinking of ways to resolve this."

"Easy for you to say," Santana mutters. "You don't weigh two hundred pounds with an alien fetus kicking your organs."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Stop being so hostile, Santana."

"That's like asking her not to breathe," Mercedes says.

"What exactly—"

"No," Quinn cuts in. "Calm down. You're going to upset the baby."

"The baby," Santana mimics, scrunching up her face.

"I have Cheerios practice," Brittany says helpfully.

"Oh, hell no," Mercedes says.

Santana smirks. "Good luck with that, Wheezy."

"If I have to do it, then you do, too," Mercedes says, grabbing Quinn's arm. "Let's get out of here."

"This isn't over, dwarf!" Santana says over her shoulder. "If I'm not back to my normal self soon, I'm going to kill you!"

"Santana!" Tina shrieks. "You can't threaten her like that!"

"I can do whatever I want!" Santana snaps. "I'm pregnant, remember?"

"Oh my God," Quinn pulls at Santana, and Brittany comes up behind her, guiding her out.

Quinn decides it's smarter for her to bring Santana home with her, than to try to play it off without her in front of the Lopezes, or for Santana to try to do a convincing Quinn for the Joneses.

Santana's parents are visibly surprised by the presence of Quinn, though – they stare, with twin expressions of shock on their faces, when they both push through the door. Quinn feels awkward, because she knows that even if she isn't in her own body, that it's still her being judged.

"Hey, guys. Quinn is staying the night. Is that okay?"

Santana's dad turns to look at her, his eyebrows wrinkling.

Quickly, Santana grabs her elbow, and starts leading her up the stairs.

"What?" Quinn whispers hotly. She can't figure out where she went wrong with that.

"Don't ask them," Santana mutters. "You tell them."

"Santana." Quinn narrows her eyes. "You're telling me you don't –"

"Uh, no." Santana shakes her head. "You can't just start changing my behavior like that. They'll start to get ideas."

Quinn's laugh is short. "Unbelievable."

Santana doesn't say much, but she putters around her room with purpose. Quinn perches awkwardly on the edge of the bed and watches Santana. She finds it amusing to see some of her own little idiosyncrasies appear in Santana – well, herself – like the way she presses a hand to the small of her back, to help support the weight of the baby. Still, there are certain other things that are obviously Santana, like the way her eyebrows furrow in a scowl.

"Take off the uniform," Santana orders, almost absently. "You'll wrinkle it."

Quinn sighs. "You don't need to remind me how to take care of it, Santana."

Santana rolls her eyes, but turns away when Quinn starts undressing. Quinn thinks this is probably the most hilarious thing ever – it's Santana's body, after all – and besides, they've seen each other naked dozens of times. "Why are you being so strange? This is you."

Santana turns and looks at her, a little uncomfortably. "It's just so weird – to see myself. It's been wigging me out all day. Sometimes I catch the way you pick at your eyebrow and think, that's so Quinn, and how weird it is to see me doing it. Then other times I see you do something that – well, it has to be my expression, doesn't it? But I've never seen it before. So.." Santana shrugs.

Quinn nods, a thoughtful look on her face. She quickly changes into a pair of Santana's pajamas. "But you know something? I'd figure you'd want to look at yourself naked." Quinn grins at Santana's perplexed expression.

"Oh, shut up, Quinn." Santana rolls her eyes. "I was actually just thinking about how big my hips are. I need to go on a diet."

"Are you joking?" Quinn looks down at herself, tugging her pajama shirt tight, to show the outline of Santana's abdomen. "Your body is perfect, Santana."

"Easy for you to say." Santana says with a sigh. "Yours has taken on the mass of a small planet."

Quinn winces, even though it doesn't surprise her to hear Santana saying it. She turns, wordlessly, and begins digging around in her backpack, searching for a notebook.

"Oh geeze." Santana says, biting her lip. She walks over and sits on the edge of her bed, and after a moment, pulls Quinn down onto it. "Look, I didn't mean that, Q."

"Yeah, right." Quinn sighs. "Just forget it, Santana."

"No, really." Santana takes her hand and holds it, rubbing her thumbs over Quinn's knuckles. Quinn watches it and feels a slight moment of vertigo, because even though their positions are swapped, this is still what it would look like if they held hands. "You actually still look great, for a pregnant chick."

Quinn snorts. "Thanks."

Santana sighs, and rolls her eyes dramatically. "And before you got knocked up? Your body was rockin', Q. I used to be so jealous of you."

Quinn shakes her head. "How?

"C'mon, kid. Your ass? It's to die for."

Quinn feels the blood rising in her cheeks, and she sucks her lips into her mouth. "It's enough, Santana. It's okay."

Santana presses her thumb into the meat of Quinn's palm. "I mean it, blondie."

"Okay." Quinn can't help the shy smile that creeps over her face.

The second day goes less smoothly than the first, and even Quinn – who has been incredibly patient during this – is starting to get aggravated. In Santana's body, she feels like a sexual object: so many boys whose names she doesn't even know jeer at her in the hallways, and she can't pass by a group of them without being groped. She doesn't remember getting this kind of harassment before she was pregnant, but she thinks it has something to do with being Quinn Fabray – the daughter of Russel Fabray, captain of the Cheerios, captain of the celibacy club.

It makes her irritated at everything, and the glee club rehearsal doesn't go any better than it did the day before. Mr. Schue scolds her for 'holding back,' which makes her snap.

"You know what, Mr. Schue? Nobody cares about this stupid glee club! We all have way too much going on in our lives right now to care about showtunes!"

Mr. Schue frowns at her, gripping his chin. "Santana, is there something you want to tell us?"

Quinn squints at him.

"She's pregnant," Puck says. When Finn turns to look at him, his eyebrows shoot up. "Hey, it's not mine!" Then his face drops. "Wait – is it?"

"Oh my God, Puck," Mercedes says, with clear disgust on her face.

"No, I'm not pregnant!"

"Oh, good," Puck says, relieved. "She's just on her period, then."

"Are you joking?" Rachel says, but with such indignation that Mike looks at her skeptically. Sometimes it's hard for Rachel to reign in her Rachelness to be appropriately Tina.

"That's it. This rehearsal is over."

Quinn grabs Santana by the wrist and stomps out of the choir room.

"I'm so tired of this," Quinn mutters to Santana once they're alone. "I hate it. I just want everything to be normal."

"I know." Santana sighs. "Let's go home and eat ice cream and watch reruns of Full House."

Santana's parents don't react as strongly to the presence of Quinn today as they did yesterday. Quinn is in such a foul mood she thinks she does a good job of imitating Santana – even though she feels guilty for it afterwards. Mrs. Lopez serves up bowls of vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce, and the pair of them lay back on Santana's bed to eat.

"It sucks being you," Quinn says morosely. "I think the entire football team has grabbed my ass over the last two days."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Tell me about it. They're assholes."

Quinn looks at her curiously. "Why do you put up with that?"

Santana shrugs slowly. "It's easier to ignore it than to fight it. Sometimes, if they get too grabby, I might slap one of them – but then some other guy thinks it's funny, wants to see if I'll do the same thing to him. Or they get pissed off."

Quinn stares, hard, at the side of Santana's face. She wishes – for many reasons – that they were in the right bodies, but this time is so she could better read Santana's emotions.

"That isn't right. You shouldn't have to put up with that."

Santana shrugs. "It is what it is. I have enough of a reputation for being a bitch, anyway, that usually they leave me alone."

Quinn eats a spoonful of ice cream. She can't think of what it would be like to be in a situation like that – she's been made to feel uncomfortable before, sure, but she thinks that if she were in that position, she might feel.. terrified. Helpless. It makes her stomach roll.

"It's no cakewalk being you, Fabray," Santana says, digging into her ice cream bowl. "I can't believe the dirty looks you get from everyone. Everybody always whispering about you. Sometimes I just feel like yelling, 'SO WHAT? I GOT KNOCKED UP! DEAL WITH IT!'" Santana shakes her head. "And the teachers are almost worse. I never knew that old biology hag, Mrs. Davis, was such a judgmental bitch."

Quinn laughs softly. "You get used to it, I guess."

"Well, it isn't right." Santana's face screws up. "You're kinda doing something brave, aren't you? Having a baby? You could have taken the easy way out if you wanted." She gives a slow shrug. "I would have."

Quinn sighs, sets her bowl down on Santana's bedside table. "I thought about it. Sometimes I still wish I would have done it."

Santana nods, biting her lip. "I always used to think how stupid you were. How incredibly stupid, to get pregnant in the first place." Quinn can see that Santana's cheeks are a dark crimson color. "And then – to not just, take care of it?" Santana shakes her head. "I used to think you were the biggest idiot on the planet."

Quinn looks down to the swell in Santana's abdomen. She hasn't thought about having an abortion in a long time, but she thinks – she thinks if she had, eight months ago, realized the full implications of this.. she might have reconsidered.

"I realize it isn't you being stupid." Santana clears her throat. "You got pregnant, which is just unlucky. It could happen to anyone. I'm surprised it hasn't happened to me," She says, with a humorless laugh. "But still, having this baby is a big thing. The biggest thing, I think." Quinn watches as Santana's hand curls protectively over her stomach.

Quinn laughs, trying to break the somber mood. "That's just the hormones talking, Santana. Deciding to not have an abortion doesn't make me brave, or deciding to have one wouldn't have made me smart. It's just life. My life." She closes her eyes. "I wouldn't put you through it if I had any choice about it."

"Oh, hey. I know that." Santana gives her a small smile, nudges her shoulder. "None of this is your fault."

"Yeah." Quinn smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm giving the baby up for adoption, Santana."

Santana's face goes blank, but only for a second. "Really?"

"Yes," Quinn nods. "It's the best decision. I can't – I can't raise a baby with Puck. Come on." She rolls her eyes. "I'll find a family to raise that baby, somewhere far away from Lima. She won't ever have to deal with.. all of this."

Santana listens, and then finally nods. "It's a good idea, Quinn." She smiles briefly. "But hard."

"Yes. It will be hard." Quinn doesn't kid herself into thinking it will be easy by any means.

After they take showers and do their homework, the pair of them crawl beneath the comforter on Santana's bed. In the dark, Santana turns to her, and gropes for her hands beneath the blanket. "Here," She whispers. "She's kicking."

Quinn presses her hands against the swell of Santana's belly, and she feels her baby kicking her through the skin. It makes her laugh, but quickly that laugh turns into a sob, and her voice strangles on it. She doesn't know why she's crying – except that everything inside of her is a mashed up mess of sadness and happiness, of hope and fear. It makes her entire chest ache with the weight of it.

"Don't cry, Q," Santana says softly, pulling her close.

Quinn can tell, by the sound of her voice, that Santana is crying, too.

They wake up the next day in their own bodies. The relief of it shocks Quinn, even though being back in her own body means she has to deal with being eight months pregnant.

"Well, this is good." Santana says, almost awkwardly.

"Yeah." Quinn sighs.

She thinks things change between her and Santana, though it might not be completely obvious to anyone else. Santana sits with her at lunch, and in glee club – she glares at Puck if he gets too close – and she carries Quinn's books, too, from time to time. Santana isn't the effusive sort, so Quinn would never expect her to admit it, but she thinks Santana might feel a little sorry for her.

Quinn, for her part, does her best to keep crowds of jocks from sliding their hands up Santana's skirt – one incident had her yelling so loudly at a sophomore basketball player that he almost wet himself – but Santana is brusque about this gesture, shrugging it off.

"I don't need you to protect me, Quinn," She tells her, with acid in her tone. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm just trying to help, Santana."

"Don't."

Quinn doesn't know how to change the dynamic between them, so she doesn't try. But she does hold Santana's hand from time to time, and she lets Santana carry her backpack.

When the time comes for her baby to be born, she asks to have Santana in the room. It only feels right – she thinks Santana is, at least a little bit, this baby's mother, too.

Quinn cries when her daughter is born. Santana cries, too.