Quinn missed home. As much as she had chafed under her parents restrictions, and as much as she knew that it was good to be out from under their disapproval, she missed it and she missed them. As Christmas drew nearer, she felt like she couldn't close her eyes without seeing the huge Christmas tree her father and godfather would go cut down every year, that she and her mother would decorate; the smell of pine and cinnamon wafting throughout the entire house; the steadily growing pile of presents in the living room.
Every time she rolled over in the narrow, lumpy twin bed she slept in at Finn's house, she remembered cinnamon and pine and opening gifts on Christmas morning as a family; she couldn't make herself focus on the family fights that always waited until at least two days after Christmas; or the fact that the turkey they ate for Christmas dinner was always bought pre-cooked; or the fact that no matter how heartfelt and painstakingly chosen her gifts for her parents were, they always gave her what they wanted and never what she asked for.
Sometime shortly after Thanksgiving, she had started finding reasons to stay later at school. Finn's house was within walking distance, and he was preoccupied enough not to argue. Quinn would hide in the bathroom after glee practice, until everyone else had left, and then always find herself back in the practice room, reading or working on homework or taking a nap. She would time her departure to get her to Finn's house just before dark, so neither he nor his mother would worry, and then claim exhaustion and morning sickness and hide out in the spare bedroom she was using. Their small house was quiet and loving and homey, but it wasn't home.
The sound of the door opening pulled Quinn from the calculus homework she was struggling with. Her head whipped up, eyes wide, and a decidedly un-Christian curse floated through her head at the realization that Rachel Berry had just caught her studying in the glee practice room at 5:15 on a Thursday night.
"Quinn," Rachel said, frozen in surprise in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"
"Tap dancing," Quinn said crossly. "Obviously." She was tired and had been fighting the same math problem for fifteen minutes, but the numbers and symbols that usually made sense were translating themselves into words about responsibility and God and children and sin in her head.
Rachel made her way across the room, sitting silently two chairs away from Quinn. "I thought you left with Finn," she said. "Wasn't he going to give you a ride home?"
Quinn barked out a mirthless laugh. "What home?" she said. She focused her eyes on the papers in front of her, erasing a miscalculated derivative and scratching out the proper formulas in the margin.
"What does that mean?" Rachel said. The sincerity in her voice, the naiveté, struck a nerve in Quinn.
"What does it mean?" she snapped. She shoved the textbook and papers off her lap, not caring when they fell to the floor out of order. "It means that I don't have one. My parents kicked me out. I'm sleeping on some crappy old single bed in Finn's mom's spare bedroom, and I don't have half of my things because I'm scared that if I walk into my parents' house my dad will have me arrested for breaking and entering or force me into a convent. That's what it means."
Rachel sat dumbly, unmoving, hands locked together; she stared as Quinn climbed to her feet and started pacing, arms crossed over her troublesome stomach.
"I'm sorry," Rachel said eventually. Her voice, usually so vibrant, was barely more than a whisper. "I had no idea."
"Who would?" Quinn said sardonically.
"How long ago did you tell your parents?"
It wasn't lost on Quinn that Rachel deliberately avoided using the phrase "kicked you out".
"Two weeks ago," she whispered.
"And you've been staying at Finn's?"
"Yeah." Quinn finally slowed, then stopped, her pacing. Six strides separated her from Rachel, who continued to sit motionless. Quinn marveled at her stillness—she couldn't think of a single time in sixteen years of summer camps and dance lessons and classes that she had seen Rachel Berry not move. Yet there she sat, silent and unmoving, wide brown eyes locked on Quinn, who felt ten seconds from a breakdown and wanted nothing more than a hug and someone to rub her back and sleep.
A cheeseburger would be good, too, though. She shoved the craving aside.
"It's not his," she blurted out, entirely unintentionally. Her own eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut, one hand instinctively shooting up to cover her mouth, as if it could have stopped the words that had already passed through her lips.
Rachel still didn't move. She blinked once, and then twice, and then a sad smile appeared on her face. "It's Noah's, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Quinn muttered. "How did you…?"
"It's not that hard to see," Rachel said. "Not with the way he looks at you. He's smitten."
Quinn couldn't help the giggle that rose in her throat at the word "smitten", most especially in connection to Puck. An image of Noah Puckerman following her around like Pepe Le Pieu vaulted into her head, flowers and chocolates and floating cartoon hearts, and she was entirely unable to keep from giggling loudly.
Even her laughter sounded sad to her own ears, she noted.
"I guess so," she finally said. "Does… do you think anyone else knows?"
"Probably not," Rachel said. She finally moved, climbing to her feet slowly and halving the distance between them. "It's amazing what you can learn about someone when you date them for less than a week."
"Yeah, I guess so," Quinn said. She tried not to think about how much she didn't know about Finn, or how he knew practically nothing about her. "Rachel," she said suddenly. "Please don't tell anyone."
"He deserves to know," Rachel said. "And he's my friend. I can't lie to him."
"Please," Quinn said again. "I am going to tell him. I wasn't going to, but I know I have to. Just… please, let me be the one to tell him."
Rachel stared at her with level eyes, arms tight across her chest. Quinn had never felt more exposed, even under the speculative glares of Coach Sylvester, and shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.
"Okay," Rachel said finally. "But you have to tell him soon."
The thought of actually telling Finn caught in Quinn's throat, and she thought for a moment that she really was going to have that panic attack. "What if he kicks me out, too?" she whispered. Her fingers clenched unconsciously at the slender gold cross hanging around her neck. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Sure you do," Rachel said cheerfully. "For one, he won't kick you out. And even if he did, you could stay with my family. Or with Noah. We both know that he'd probably give up his own room for you in a heartbeat right now."
"Really?" Quinn hated how desperate she sounded.
"Of course," Rachel said. "Noah's as in love with you as he's ever been with anyone or anything, and he's determined not to become his father. I've no doubt that—"
"No, not him" Quinn interrupted. "I could stay with you?"
"Oh," Rachel said. She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah, I don't see why not. We have a spare room, and my dads are really generous, so they wouldn't mind."
Quinn stared at her, not caring if she was gaping like a fish. Rachel continued to stand awkwardly, fingers twitching against the sleeves of her cashmere sweater.
"I…" Quinn started, her voice trailing off. "Didn't expect that, I guess."
Rachel shrugged, forced nonchalance obvious in the tight set of her shoulders. "Elphaba always did have a kind heart," she said with a faint smile. "Even for popular blondes who didn't like her all that much."
Quinn cracked a smile, and rolled her eyes; she knew that Rachel could tell that, for once, Quinn wasn't being mocking in the action. "Back to that?"
"Yes," Rachel said firmly. "It's fitting, don't you think?"
"If you say so," Quinn said. She held up her hands tiredly. "I don't even have the energy to argue." She knelt slowly next to the scattered papers, gathering and reorganizing them. She swallowed a groan at the ache in her back, her shoulders, her ankles.
Rachel knelt next to her, picking up the papers and stacking them right-side up. Her hand hovered over the textbook; she flipped the cover shut and her eyes widened a little. "You're taking calculus?" she asked. The surprise was painfully evident in her voice, and Quinn felt a little of the good will she'd started to develop slip away. "I thought they didn't let juniors into the AP section."
"Don't sound so shocked," she muttered. "I was always pretty good at math. And anyways, my sister aced AP stats, which means I have to at least get a four on the stats and calculus exams."
"That's ridiculous," Rachel said. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"One-upmanship is a Fabray family tradition," Quinn grumbled. "Not that I really have to worry about that anymore, I guess." Taking a deep breath, fingers tight on the sheaf of papers in her hand, she pushed herself to her feet. She brushed absently at the skirt of her dress, where a few brave pieces of dirt from the classroom floor had attached themselves.
Rachel stood as well. She silently offered Quinn the papers she had gathered before retrieving the textbook as well. "It's impressive, is all," she said suddenly. "The calculus thing, that is. You must be more than 'pretty good' for them to waive that policy."
Quinn shrugged, too exhausted to pretend that the compliment didn't feel good. "Thank you," she said softly. She busied herself with meticulously re-checking the order of her notes before replacing them in her binder. She slipped the textbook and binder back into her bag slowly, then slowly pulled her coat on. Hefting her now-heavy bag over her shoulder, she turned to face Rachel once more.
"Thanks, Berry," she said with forced nonchalance.
"Of course," Rachel said, not flinching at Quinn's return to her surname. "Teammates, right?"
"Teammates," Quinn echoed. She felt a ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. "Right." Sliding the strap of her bag further up her shoulder, she pulled her coat tight around her stomach in preparation for the early Ohio winter waiting for her outside. "See you tomorrow," she said, waving slightly at Rachel without thinking about it. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and walked out of the room.
She was halfway down the hall when Rachel's hurried footsteps echoed in her ears, and then Rachel appeared at her side, bundled up for the cold with an awkward look in her eyes.
"Do you want a ride to Finn's?" she asked. "It's beyond freezing out there."
Quinn opened her mouth to protest, out of habit, but couldn't summon the energy. "A ride would be great," she said. Her chin dipped towards the floor, the admittance in those three words opening the floodgates to the fatigue she had been fighting all day.
"Okay," Rachel said cheerfully. She started off on a tangent about glee and Broadway, her words falling on Quinn's deaf ears as they walked slowly to where Rachel's car sat.
The drive to Finn's house was short, and the warmth from the heater was just starting to radiate throughout the car. Quinn unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, reluctant to step out into the cold wind. She checked the buttons on her coat to stall.
"Thank you for the ride," she said.
"Anytime," Rachel said, her eyes as serious as they ever had been when talking about glee. Quinn nodded slowly, eyes locked on Rachel, as if she were surveying the offer. Then, with a tight smile, she opened the door and stepped out of the car.
The sound of her name halted her, and she bit her lip against the cold she was desperate to get out of; she obligingly leaned down to meet Rachel's eyes. The brunette fidgeted, fingers tapping on the steering wheel awkwardly.
"Yes?" Quinn said impatiently. "You do know that it's like four degrees outside of your toasty little hybrid, right?"
Rachel smiled apologetically. "Sorry," she said. "I was just… I mean, I was wondering…" she paused, and then took a deep breath. "Could you maybe help me study for my next pre-cal exam? I'm hopeless at it, and I really could use a good grade."
Quinn stared at her, mouth half-open. "I… what?" She shook her head, as if her ears were clogged.
"Can you tutor me for my math test?" Rachel said, speaking slowly. "You're clearly better at it than I am. I could even help you with your voice, if you want, as payment."
"I'm going to ignore that backhanded insult," Quinn said dryly. "But yeah, okay, I guess. Teammates, right?"
"Right," Rachel said. Quinn wondered if the flush in her cheeks was from the cold air seeping into the car, or embarrassment.
"Thanks again for the ride," Quinn said. It didn't sound nearly as forced to her ears as it had the first time around.
"You're welcome," Rachel said. She flashed a bright smile at Quinn. "See you tomorrow!"
Quinn nodded and straightened up, moving to shut the door to the car. She paused, and leaned back down, a comfortingly familiar smirk on her lips. "Just proved your analogy wrong again," she said. "What did Glinda ever do for Elphaba at school?"
Stepping back, she closed the car door with a subdued wave to Rachel. She could have sworn, as the door swung shut, that she heard Rachel's voice.
"What didn't she?"