The Glee club assembled for rehearsal slightly slower than normal. Quinn walked in, her eyes immediately landing on Rachel. Her eyes were tired, and her countenance was clouded with a quiet sadness.
When Finn dumped her, Rachel was pissed. Quinn recalled the brunette hammering out an furious rendition of Give's You Hell that left Finn literally shitting himself.
This Jesse kid dumps her, and she was upset about it? Quinn's heart fluttered when the Rachel captured her gaze, that sad face quickly turning into a confused one. Quickly, Quinn darted her hazel eyes away from the dark brown ones and focused on Mr. Schuester as she took her seat. The kids watched absentmindedly as Mr. Schuester wrote the word "FUNK" on the white board. Where was he going with this?
"Funk. Use it in a sentence," he prompted eagerly.
When no one responded, he decided to call on Rachel.
"This cheese smells funky."
"That's because it's frumunda cheese."
"Shut it, Puckerman!"
"That's enough!"
Quinn couldn't help but laugh at that, and the baby kicked in response. This was a different kick, similar to the one she had felt the night before after her dream.
"Okay, okay. I was thinking more along the lines of: Vocal Adrenaline sure has put us into a funk."
"I'm so depressed I've wore the same outfit twice this week."
From then on Quinn kind of drifted away from the pointless discussion she had no desire to be a part of. Mr. Schue said something along the lines of "we can beat them by doing a funky number" which made absolutely no sense.
When Quinn tuned back in, she heard the words soul and anger. Maybe funk wasn't such a bad thing.
"You guys can relax. I've got this covered," a cocky Mercedes said.
Quinn rolled her eyes, completely sick of being ignored simply because she was white and pregnant.
"Hold on a second. I want a chance to get funky too!" she cried.
Everyone except Mr. Schuester and Rachel laughed at her. And that's when Quinn snapped.
"You said funk was about soul and anger. I have plenty of both. Look at me. Look at my life. I'm furious!"
Mercedes went on to further humiliate her and white people.
"Mercedes' racism aside, I will have something prepared tomorrow."
Quinn's blood began to boil. She had to prove to these idiots that just because she wasn't exactly a minority (because apparently being pregnant didn't count in Glee club) didn't mean that she couldn't express herself without making a fool out of herself.
The bell rang obnoxiously, prompting everyone to leave the room. Quinn waddled towards her locker, still seeing red from her altercation in the choir room. Just as she was nearing her locker, she was greeted with a cold slushy to the face.
"Sup, preggo. Hey, guys, heads up! Blimp coming through!"
Quinn felt the ice cold drink drip down her face into her bra and nose.
It took everything she had to make it to the bathroom without crying.
With a hard thump she collapsed to the floor, her tears mixing in with the high fructose corn syrup. She was pathetic.
"Quinn?" a soft voice asked.
The blonde looked up. The baby kicked.
Rachel Berry was looking down at her, probably pitying her. That made it official. Quinn Fabray was now a loser. Quinn swiped furiously at her eyes.
"Can I help you?" she barked, trying to add a sting to it but failing miserably.
She couldn't be mad at Rachel. She was too tired.
"I-I saw you- I saw you get slushied and run in here so I just followed you to see if you were okay. I know it- it hurts really badly, especially when it gets in your eyes or your bra. Those are the worst ones."
Quinn winced.
"I-I'm so sorry I put you through this. I-I'm so sorry, Rachel."
Rachel's jaw hit the floor. Quinn lifted herself off the ground and went to get a paper towel.
"Here, wait," Rachel blurted, snapping out of her daze to hand the blonde a towel with a large gold star on it.
Quinn choked down a giggle. Typical Berry.
"It's from my emergency slushy kit. I figured you'd need it being as you probably were not prepared for the ambush. I myself was quite surprised that those Neanderthals had the audacity to do such a thing. You didn't even deserve it."
The blonde happily took the towel and wiped off her face. Her dress was completely covered in grape slushy, something not even Seltzer could remove, and her hair was sticky.
She was a mess.
"Let me help. I am much experienced in the art of cleaning off a slushy. Do not fret. I have shampoo and extra clothes, although I don't know if you'll fit but-"
"It's okay," Quinn cut her off defensively. "I have gym clothes I can wear."
Rachel nodded before guiding Quinn to the sink and a conveniently placed stool. Hot water poured over her scalp, washing out the icy concoction with ease. Then two not at all man hands gently worked the slushy out of Quinn's hair. Quinn melted into the touch as her eyes fluttered shut.
Rachel giggled softly. Quinn's hair felt smooth, like silk, in her fingers. Once completely clean, Rachel dried Quinn's hair with a towel before giving Quinn enough space for her to get up from the stool.
Comfortably on her feet, Quinn looked at Rachel who was smiling at her expectantly with deep brown eyes. Amidst the swirls, Quinn caught a sight of a glimmer, something that resembled a spark. Quinn's breath hitched.
The baby kicked her, hard.
"Ow," Quinn muttered as she clutched her stomach.
Rachel's face dropped.
"What is it? Is she okay?" she gasped in a panic.
Quinn giggled as the baby kept squirming around. It was certainly the most active the little tyke has been in a while.
"She's fine, Rachel. She's just kicking. I think the slushy woke her up."
Rachel blushed and silently chastised herself, her eyes avoiding Quinn's as she picked at her nails and bit down on her bottom lip.
"Do you- do you want to feel her?" Quinn whispered, her heart pounding in her chest, the baby kicking harder.
Rachel's face split into a grin as she bounced over to Quinn, kneeling down on the floor to place her hands onto Quinn's stomach.
The touch sent a rush rippling through the cheerleader's body. It made her dizzy, but Quinn managed to keep herself steady.
Rachel was the first person to feel the baby kick. Quinn didn't say anything though for the feel of Rachel's soft hands subtly rubbing her stomach consumed her.
Rachel's face brightened enormously, the smile hitting her eyes with that same spark Quinn had noticed before. It had grown ten fold. Rachel gasped as the baby kicked right at her hands. Quinn held back a wince.
"I felt her," the brunette breathed, her eyes becoming misty.
"Are- are you okay?" Quinn asked worriedly.
Rachel stood up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A tear rolled down her cheek.
"Rachel?" Quinn asked again, unsure of what was upsetting her.
"I'm okay," the brunette squeaked out. "These are happy tears. She's just- she's just so active. I mean, is she normally like that? Did I scare her or something?"
Quinn giggled at the brunette's endearing paranoia.
"I have to admit, she's never been this… active, but she's not scared. She's only scared when I'm scared. I think- I think she likes you actually."
A blush crept across Rachel's cheeks. It was…kind of cute.
Rachel knelt back down with a shy smile and continued to feel her stomach. The baby squirmed with excitement, imitating Quinn's rapidly beating heart.
Later that night, Quinn found herself sitting on her cot in Puck's basement. Her iPod was playing her funk song softly in the background. She sang along under her breath, embarrassed by the sounds coming out.
The song had to be letter perfect, no mistakes. Quinn couldn't handle another failure.
The house was empty due. Puck was still at football practice, and his mother and sister were at a friend's house for a play date.
Quietly, Quinn made her way up the stairs and across the first floor landing, an affair that grew more challenging as the pregnancy progressed. She turned into a room at the end of the hall; inside were a guitar, an unused desk, and an even more unused piano. She sat down at the bench and ran her fingers over the keys.
Without missing a beat, her fingers began their dance, gracing over each key with purpose. The baby had been uneasy all day, and Quinn had been too busy preparing her funk number to comfort her daughter earlier.
Clarie de Lune, anything by Debussy, calmed her baby instantly. As she progressed, she felt the baby roll over sleepily. She lost herself in the music, the notes echoing in her ears. Her shoulders slowly unraveled with each swell of the melody.
After a while, Quinn looked out the window; it was pitch black. The clock read 7:25 pm.
"Shit," she mumbled under her breath as she quietly exited the room.
Just when she though she had gone unnoticed, a little girl stopped her by the door to the basement.
"I heard you playing my daddy's piano," she said quietly.
Quinn froze, her throat void of speech.
"It was very pretty," the child said with a toothy smile before skipping off to the kitchen.
Quinn sighed and ran a hand through her hair.
"Hey," a voice said from behind her.
Quinn whirled around to meet Puck's eyes.
"Hey," she breathed back.
The baby was quiet. Maybe she was sleeping.
"You know you don't have to sneak around. If you want to play, play. It was beautiful. No one's played since my dad. My mother's in tears."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was his…"
"No, Quinn. It was great."
Puck took her hand and led her into the kitchen to get her dinner.
For the next hour, Quinn endured some documentary on Super Mario Brothers while eating a crappy T.V. dinner. Once she was finished eating, Quinn excused herself and thanked Puck and his mother for the meal.
As she walked down the hallway to the basement, a firm hand caught her arm and a pair of hard lips met her cheek. Her body stilled.
"Goodnight," he whispered softly into her ear.
The boy left Quinn alone in the hallway, her mouth slightly agape as she processed what had just happened. It was a kind gesture, but it didn't have the effect on Quinn that was intended. She begged her heart to skip a beat or for her mind to go fuzzy because of the lingering smell of Puck's cologne.
Her attempts were fruitless, so Quinn worked her way down the stairs down to shower and get ready to go to sleep. It was only 9:30, but she was exhausted.
After a soothing shower, Quinn threw on a loose pair of sweats and an old Cheerio's T-shirt. Pushing back the covers, Quinn slid beneath the blankets, rubbing her stomach affectionately. She closed her eyes with a sigh and replayed the day over in her head, pausing on Rachel Berry, her brown eyes, and the feel of those hands massaging her hair.
The baby kicked, apparently and suddenly awake.
"You really like her, don't you, baby?"
Her hand felt a small movement of approval. A small smile danced across her lips.
"Well, you know how to pick em," she whispered quietly and went on to sing the infant a lullaby.
Her voice echoed through the basement, rang in the blonde's ears. As she sang lovingly to her daughter, a tear fell from her hazel eyes. Her hands still held her stomach, massaging gently.
Eight months. For eight months, Quinn felt her child kick, roll, and tumble about inside of her. At some point, a connection was forged between the two, a connection that would haunt Quinn for the rest of her life, a connection she would lose in one month's time.