A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for your patience with this update. I'm actually working on a show myself that opened this week and I've been very busy. The next chapter is already in the works. This chapter is unbeta'd so please excuse any grammatical errors.
Even in the early hours of Monday morning, the air was thick with heat and humidity. Sweat rolled off Quinn's body as her feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm. When the alarm on her phone had gone off at seven, she had left her mother sleeping on the couch and grabbed her iPod, running until her muscles burned and she was forced to slow to a jog, her lungs pulling in air painfully. She no longer had any desire to rejoin the Cheerios, but hated the way her strength felt sapped from her body since giving birth. She wished, not for the first time, that her mother was more aware of herself so that she could offer some kind of advice, or at least commiserate. As she returned home, showered and dressed and got into the car, she pushed these thoughts from her head and instead tried to imagine what tasks lay ahead at the theatre. Jason had called the day before and asked her to come in by ten, even though he knew it was the "butt crack of dawn." Quinn had rolled her eyes. Clearly, Jason had never been subjected to Coach Sylvester's weekend practice schedules. He had assured her this was not the norm, but that there were things they needed to take care of before rehearsal started that night. Quinn refused to admit that she was a little excited to be involved in something outside of taking care of her mother, but even so found herself happily distracted from her troubles by imagining what was in store for her as she pulled up in front of the theatre.
Hours later, Quinn was cursing herself for agreeing to help as she stood slowly, her stiff knees objecting painfully, and surveyed her work. The room with Rod's makeshift office in it had been cleared to some degree, boxes of props piled up along the walls and couches pushed out of the way. On the floor was a ground plan of the scenery, reproduced in colored tape for rehearsal purposes. Quinn, Jason, and Allan had been crawling around all day with several tape measures, a copy of the ground plan, a scale rule, and many rolls of tape. Quinn's theatrical vocabulary, which contained a few terms and phrases gleaned from Glee club rehearsals, had expanded exponentially, as had her limited collection of obscenities. Allan, it turned out, had been a union stagehand at some point.
"The cast should be arriving any minute," Jason said as he collected the tape and other tools. In preparation, they set out chairs and rolled a piano in from the theatre, then set up a table and chairs for Rod and themselves. Allan left, muttering something about scheduling a tuning for the piano. Just as he left, Rod entered accompanied by four other people: an older, distinguished-looking gentleman with a salt-and-pepper goatee and heavy eyebrows, an attractive middle-aged woman with blonde hair, a clean-shaven young man in his mid-twenties, and Rachel Berry.
Quinn did a double take. Rachel Berry? Rachel was in conversation with the blonde-haired woman and hadn't noticed her yet. Quinn grabbed Jason's arm.
"Tell me Rachel Berry isn't in this play," she said in a low hiss.
"Oh, you know her? Great! She's incredible." As usual, Jason missed the ferocity of her glare and continued setting up for rehearsal. Quinn fumed, watching as Rachel ended her conversation. Their eyes met, and the brunette smiled hesitantly at her. She looked like she was about to make her way across the room, but Jason had begun to speak.
"Alright, if everyone could please grab a seat, Rod can start with introductions." He smiled and sat behind the table with a pen and a pad of paper at the ready. Quinn reluctantly took her seat beside him, feeling utterly trapped.
"I want to welcome everyone to this production of Jason Robert Brown's Songs for a New World. I really believe this is going to be a great show and I'm excited to be directing you all. This is a powerful piece of theatre. It's about reaching a moment that demands you make a choice, whether you take a stand or back down. That's what our concept for the show has been throughout the design process." Quinn thought about that, choosing whether to take a stand or back down. She realized she had no idea what this show was actually about.
She was quickly pulled out of her thoughts by Jason's voice saying her name.
"And this is Quinn Fabray; she's our assistant stage manager." Rod and the four actors politely clapped as Quinn offered them a weak smile. She could see Berry grinning at her from across the room and suppressed a glare, certain that the shorter girl would now consider her some sort of friend. She silently cursed the universe as the cast introduced themselves and their roles.
Quinn couldn't stop looking at Rachel, realizing how many features she shared with Shelby: the woman who got to hold Beth every day, who got to feed her and would witness her first words. Quinn couldn't help but think about how Shelby had dumped Rachel with her dads. As detached from Rachel as Quinn tried to be, she couldn't pretend not to know how hurt Rachel had been by that. As a matter of fact, Quinn mused, watching the rehearsal unfold as the cast sang through the songs, she seemed to have noticed a lot of things about Rachel despite actively belittling her existence for the past several years.
When rehearsal was over, Rachel made a beeline for Quinn, who was organizing the notes that Jason had taken while the room cleared out.
"Hello, Quinn," Rachel said, smiling the same hesitant smile from the beginning of the night. Quinn was unable to keep the scowl off of her face, but managed a low "Berry" in acknowledgement.
"I wasn't aware that you would be working on this production. In fact, I didn't know you held any interest in stage management."
Quinn looked up from the papers she was shuffling around. "I don't, I'm doing this as a favor for Jason," she said before flipping through the giant binder that Jason had told her was called the prompt script.
"That's admirable. By my observations, the role of assistant stage manager seems to hold much responsibility. It's good of you to commit so much time and effort to a volunteer position. Obviously accepting a role in such a small cast also holds a certain amount of responsibility but of course I will be rewarded with applause whereas you have accepted quite a thankless position. I wouldn't have pictured you as an ASM."
Quinn couldn't stand looking at Shelby's abandoned genetics any longer. All her anger and resentment at having to give Beth up bubbled over, as her anger and resentment usually did.
"Why, because you can't imagine me accepting a job I won't be applauded for? I'm not you, Berry; I don't act like a freak hoping someone will notice me and throw me a crumb of attention."
Rachel looked like Quinn had just thrown another slushie in her face.
"I think you're wrong, Quinn. I think you crave attention as much as I do. At least I am looking for recognition of my talents. You can't forgive yourself for something so you hurt others, and claw your way to the top hoping people like Noah Puckerman or Finn will give you the love you can't give yourself. You think we're so different but I think if you were honest with yourself, you'd find we are quite similar."
Quinn glowered at her, matching the heat in the brunette's eyes. "Listen, Furby, don't presume to know anything about me. You-"
Quinn's next insult was cut off by Jason's reappearance. For once, he seemed to notice the negative energy in the air and stopped a few feet from them.
"Oh...I'm sorry...I hate to interrupt but, Quinn, we need to get started on the rehearsal report for tonight," Jason said haltingly, looking from one girl to the other.
"That's quite alright, Jason. I was just leaving," Rachel said, turning her eyes away from Quinn and crossing the room to pick up her bag. Quinn saw her hesitate at the door and half turn back, and then change her mind and leave, shutting the door behind her.
Jason showed her how to write the report but explained that he would typically be the one to generate it and email it to Rod, Nancy, and Allan.
"Also," he added as he typed on his laptop, "We will be locking the building up each night. Nancy will show you how if you go find her."
Quinn wandered the twists and turns of the little building, wondering just how many little hiding places were there. She finally started just trying doors, and one finally opened into the theatre she had helped Jason get the piano from earlier. The large room was lit by a single bare bulb on a stand in the middle of the stage. Ghost light, Quinn's new knowledge of theatre terms told her. In the dim light, she could make out the house, where the audience sat. She would have guessed it could hold no more than one hundred people. The seats were raised so that the stage was on the floor level, and above her head several lighting instruments were clamped to a grid of metal pipes that stretched along the whole room, just below the ceiling. The stage was bare save for a few piles of wood and some tools. She was about to turn back to the hallway when she heard voices. Stepping to the side of the bank of chairs, she could make out Tiffany and Nancy sitting together in the third row. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but as with many things, she ignored her conscience and quieted her breathing.
"...I feel bad but I don't know what to do. I don't think I did anything wrong, I don't know why she's mad at me." Tiffany, who played piano for the show, was sniffling and her mom was rubbing her back soothingly.
"Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with you, sweetie. She might be mad about something else and just taking it out on you. Have you tried talking to her?" Nancy spoke in soft tones.
"I just don't know who to eat lunch with now! She's my best friend!" Tiffany shed fresh tears and buried her head in her mom's shoulder. Nancy continued to rub her daughter's back.
"I know, honey bunny. Try talking to her away from your other friends and ask if she's alright. Maybe she just needs someone to talk to like you did tonight with me."
Tiffany nodded slowly. "Maybe. Thanks, Mom."
Quinn felt like she had been sucker punched. She was overcome, once again, with the realization that she would never hold Beth as she cried; she would never comfort her through frivolous fights with her friends in her teens. She would never have silly terms of endearment for her carried over from her baby days, the days that Quinn was missing at that very moment. Would Shelby know to say these things to her? Quinn realized now that parenting was an art that required skills and experience and a mindset that she lacked; otherwise she would be home with her baby girl right now. Did Shelby have those skills? She didn't before, or she'd still have Rachel.
Quinn took a deep breath to quiet her thoughts. This was not the moment to break down. Smoothing her face into a neutral mask, she stepped out from the shadows and allowed Nancy to usher her around the theatre, explaining all the tricks involved in locking the numerous doors in the building. Tiffany trailed along and gave her input as to which doors "really sucked," and before long the three of them and Jason were saying their goodbyes on the sidewalk in front of the theatre.
Once locked into her car and alone, Quinn allowed the tears to fall, the uncertainty and doubts to overwhelm her. She rested her head against the steering wheel and sobbed, the sound filling the car's interior like it always did. This was Quinn's place to let go. Her car had allowed her to cry into its leather interior when she found out she was pregnant, and now again when she wondered if she had made the right decision in giving her child away.
When she finally returned home, her mother was sitting at the island in the kitchen again. Usually her mom popped just enough pills or downed just enough of the drink of the day to keep her catatonic, but today Quinn noticed the empty bottles and knew something must have happened.
"Mom, are you okay?" she asked, pulling a glass full of melting ice cubes out of her hands.
"Give me that," Judy slurred, trying to grab the sweating glass out of her daughter's hands. Quinn put the glass in the sink and wet a washcloth, wiping her mother's sweaty brow with it.
"You've been crying," her mother said, peering up into Quinn's face. Quinn shrugged.
"Where were you?" Judy asked. Quinn was thrown off by the question. Her mother had taken no interest in her activities since she had moved back in. Quinn didn't feel up to explaining what she was doing with Jason, so instead just said, "I was out."
"But you were crying. Why?" Judy pressed, attempting to stand and wobbling on the spot for a few minutes.
Quinn stared at her mother, wondering if she really cared. Had she chosen this moment to become a parent again?
"I miss Beth." she said simply, watching closely for a reaction.
"Beth?" her mother looked confused. Quinn's heart sank to the floor immediately.
"My baby, Mom." it took a lot for Quinn to speak those words without wincing. Judy apparently lacked her daughter's control. She reeled back as if she had been slapped. It was the first time Quinn had broached the subject since her return.
"You got rid of it so you wouldn't have to be reminded of your sins," her face twisted in a drunken rage, "You have no business missing the bastard. I miss your father, Quinn, but he's gone now. Because of you. Because of your sins, because of your bastard child."
Quinn's fists were balled at her sides, her chest heaving. But Judy had already slumped to the floor, her head resting against the side of the island, sobbing pathetically on the tiled floor of their perfectly decorated, filthy kitchen. Quinn turned and stormed up the stairs, slamming and locking her bedroom door. She paced the room furiously, her feet silent on the plush carpet.
There was so much that could go wrong with mothers. What if Shelby drank, too? What if she ignored Beth the way that Judy ignored her own children? Even if everything was fine now, there was no guarantee that things would stay that way. Shelby had been able to hand Rachel over to the Berrys, then decide she had made a mistake sixteen years later, then changed her mind again and let Rachel go for a second time. What was stopping her from changing her mind about Beth, too?
Quinn was suddenly consumed with the need to see her baby. She didn't know where Shelby lived, she had no way to contact her, no way to see her child. She fell back on her bed, raking her hands through her hair and squeezing her eyes shut. How could she find them? Beth's face swam before her eyes, then Shelby's. The dark brown locks, the strong jaw and fierce eyes.
God, she really does look just like Berry.
Quinn's eyes flew open. Rachel! It was so obvious she slapped her hand to her forehead and sat up. But I can't just ask her, she thought, after today she probably hates me as much as I hate her.
Quinn's manipulative tendencies sent her mind spinning with possible damage control ideas. She knew what she had to do; she had to make Rachel Berry trust her.