A/N: Okay, I lied; there will basically be no rhyme or reason as to how I'm going to update. I'm just going to write and try not to let my classes kill me (go to college, they said, it'll be fun, they said). I also realize that this is a relatively short chapter, but I felt really bad about the long wait in between updates (I'M TELLING YOU I'M NOT MEANT TO WRITE MULTI-CHAP FICS), so I wanted to give you something. (Side note: reviews toooootally motivate me to write faster *wink*). But yeah ANYWAY – enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything from Glee (side note: wow they're actually done filming. Like. Whoa. Kinda hurts my heart.)

.

Sophomore Year Part One

Summer is boring for you. You spend your time working out, reading books, going on "dates" with Finn (many trips to Breadstix), and sometimes hanging out with Santana and Brittany. You go to church every Sunday with your parents. No matter how many times you go, when the sun comes pouring through the stain glass windows, your breath still catches in your throat. But, still, no matter how many times you go, there's still that small moment of trepidation that you'll be struck by lightning when you touch the door. And every time your father talks about sin and every time your mom mutely nods her head in agreement, you feel yourself die a little inside.

Sometimes you would catch yourself thinking about your encounter with Rachel in the auditorium. On particularly sad days, you would go back to your window and think of all the things you would have said in another world. A more… accepting, world. One where you'd be free to love Rachel the way she deserves.

You come to terms that you can't outright be mean to Rachel anymore. Before, she used to be an illusion to you. Just a name and a face to put to the term soulmate. And, other than a slight infatuation and some curiosity, you didn't really feel anything for her (okay, so maybe that's a little lie). But then you had your little moment and if you can't make Rachel happy, you don't have to make her sad.

With a plan based more on avoidance and less on frozen drinks, you gear up for your sophomore year.

.

"Q, I need you to invade that Curly-q McGelHead's little club and give me all the Intel you can. There's no way his pathetic band of misfits is going to take away my funds for the cheerios."

Your heart is puttering in your chest because that's Rachel's club. You haven't talked to her since your embarrassing break down in the auditorium the end of last year. You've stopped throwing slushies and insults, and in their place, you've just completely ignored Rachel. Even so, you've still managed to find out little details on her – less of keeping tabs and checking up on her, and more so out of just mild curiosity (at least, that's what you've convinced yourself).

Which is how you found out she's in glee club (you knew she could sing, so it wasn't that much of a surprise). That's also how you found out she's in about ten other clubs, has two gay dads, is a vegan, and talks. A lot. She's also going to live in New York and make it on Broadway one day. (For Rachel, you've also learned, it's never about if but rather when.) You try to ignore your suddenly love for tall buildings and city lights after you found that out.

But you've been ignoring her. You can't ignore her if you join her club. What's even worse is that she might think you're joining it for her. That, suddenly over summer break, you've had an epiphany (okay so maybe you had a very tiny one) and you want the both of you to try… something. Whatever that might be. Friendship or…

You can't bring yourself to finish that thought.

Coach is still sitting behind her desk in front of you polishing her plethora of trophies, so you dumbly say, "Of course, coach Sylvester," and walk out of her office.

If you're going to do this, then you're enlisting Brittany and Santana (and Finn) as your backup and support (and very tall shield).

.

Your song goes without a hitch and you join glee club.

.

It's not even two days later when Rachel finally (you've been waiting for this) meets you at your locker.

"Hello, Quinn. I hope your summer was well for you. I see you still look lovely as ever in your cheerios uniform. I hope you don't mind, as I know you probably don't want to talk to me – at least not here in the public of the school halls, if our interaction, for lack of better term, was any indication – but I do have a few questions that have been eating away at me, and I just can't seem to figure them out." You hear Rachel take a deep breath, so you mimic her, shut your locker door, and turn to her.

You've found that, whenever it's slightly warm outside, Rachel loves to wear skirts. Short skirts. Super, how-are-those-even-school-appropriate short skirts. Being that it's still the beginning of school, it's been very nice outside, temperature wise. You will your eyes not to stray downward.

You look down, anyway.

My god those legs are not fair.

You gulp and look back up to Rachel, who is looking expectantly at you.

"What do you want?" Please say me. You shake your head and prepare yourself for Rachel's questions.

"Why?" You blink. Okay, not exactly the long winded query you expected. But, still, you can work with that.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that, R – Berry." You feel your mouth tug down into a small frown; you can't risk saying her name out loud. Not again.

"Fair enough. Why did you join glee club? I was very much so under the impression that you wanted almost nothing to do with me. From the slushies and crude names last year and you ignoring me all summer and the start of this school year. Of course, I can't help but also remember our moment in the auditorium." You feel your jaw clench and your eyes flicker to the students mingling in the halls around you. If Rachel notices, she continues anyway.

"I saw you, Quinn. I saw the real you in that room. And forgive me if I'm wrong, but you saw me, too. I talked to my dad who works with your dad and so I understand just how hard –"

"You don't understand anything," you snap. It's cold and biting, but the moment she mentions your father, you completely shut down. Rachel seems hurt, but not shocked. You don't know what's worse.

"… Okay." Rachel takes another deep breath and smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in her shirt. "Either way… I want to know why you joined the glee club. Was it because you simply wanted to join? Or was it because you knew we need twelve participants and so that's why you, Brittany, Santana, and Finn joined. Although, I have to say, I understand Finn joining because he's your b-boyfriend, but Brittany and Santana were a bit of a surprise."

You smirk a little and almost tell her all of your embarrassing stories of you catching Santana, for lack of better description, getting down to a song. You want to tell her all of your secrets and stories and hear her laugh. But you bite your tongue and let her continue.

"Or maybe…," Rachel's voice has gone quiet and so soft you can barely hear her, "and a large part of me feels foolish for even thinking about this, but, honestly, you can't blame a girl for hoping… But maybe… it had something to do with me…?"

You want to scream yes at her. Yes, yes, everything I do is for you.

"Sorry to crush your dreams, but coach wanted us in the club to be a spy and report back with our 'findings.'" You roll your eyes because you can't look at Rachel's fallen face.

"Oh… Okay, then. Well in that case, I seriously implore you not to do anything to sabotage this club. Not that I'm saying you would, but I've heard horror stories surrounding one Sue Sylvester, so I can only imagine how terrifying she can be. And I know that glee club might seem dorky to you and uncool… But it's a really good family with some really good people. And, well, we've made it our home. So, just, please…" Rachel takes a deep breath just as the homeroom bell rings. You tug your books closer to your chest.

"Okay." Rachel flicks her gaze back up to you and you swear you see the beginnings of a smile. You absolutely hate the part of you that reminds you that your heart shouldn't flutter at the thought of Rachel's smile. "But only because it would be almost inhumane to destroy such a pathetic club. I'll tell coach what she'll want to hear, so don't worry about losing your precious little family of misfits."

You're about to push past Rachel to walk to homeroom but your feet won't move because she just looks so sad. You internally roll your eyes at yourself (but, really though, who are you kidding).

"And," you sigh and lick your lips, "look..." Rachel looks back up at you with hope. It's guarded, but it's still there (and it makes the gray inside you a little lighter). "We'll work hard, but just don't expect me to be singing a solo every week, or whatever," you grumble out.

She grins at you and your steps are slightly more bouncy on your way to homeroom.

.

Glee club, you've quickly come to find out, is actually really fun. Sure, Mr. Schue can sometimes be a really terrible role model – not to mention rapper – and some of the other kids in the club annoy you, but at the end of the day, it's still a pretty okay club. Not that you would willingly admit that to anyone. But you really do enjoy being able to dance and sing to songs again; it reminds you of your good Lucy days. There's also a sense of freedom that doesn't necessarily come with being on the cheerios; it's all about drills and perfection with them, but in glee club… it's just about having fun.

And, of course, trying not to fall out of your seat or drool on yourself every time Rachel sings a solo. Which is basically every meeting, honestly. Not that you're complaining; anyone can realize just how unbelievably talented Rachel is. Even the other divas, Kurt and Mercedes, admit that Rachel is good. So even when you're swaying in the background or pretending to read a book on the top riser, all of your attention is always on Rachel.

You try to keep your staring to a minimum. Honestly, you do. But it's just so hard sometimes. You're beginning to think that maybe Santana might be catching on to you. She knows you haven't thrown any slushies at Rachel (or anyone) this year and you haven't called her man hands or RuPaul or anything horrible like you did last year (just "Berry"). But you hope she thinks it's just because you're teammates now (well, technically). Santana has always been extremely perceptive, though, so there's always a small knot in your gut whenever she's around you and Rachel.

Finn doesn't suspect a thing. He's still the good, doting boyfriend he's always been. Constantly hanging his huge arm around the back of your chair and flashing you grins and smirks he probably thinks are charming or whatever (they're not). He sings you songs, too. They're not bad – he's not bad – but he's just not the person you want dedicating silly loves songs to you. Which sometimes makes you feel bad, but, honestly, Finn knows you can see color. He knows that you've met your soulmate, even if you can't "find him" again. So you really shouldn't feel bad that he's obviously developing some semiserious feelings for you, because, well, he should know better.

Which brings you back to Rachel (honestly though, everything brings you back to her).

You weren't wrong when you said glee club was her club. She is almost always the first one to volunteer for a solo (which still makes your knees go weak) or give "pointers" to her fellow glee clubbers (she's usually not wrong – however blunt she may be). She also often times gets in arguments with Mr. Schue over his plans for songs or weekly projects. Granted, some of his ideas really are kind of terrible, but you still kind of feel sorry for him because, well, Rachel can kind of be really intimidating – which totally makes you feel purple inside. (Sometimes, it takes all of you not to cheer out that's my girl!)

(You have to remind yourself that she's not your girl)

(It hurts)

Luckily, though, she's seemed to pick up on your not so subtle hints about the relationship between the both of you. Over all, Rachel really has left you alone – other than some polite conversations, which you're thankful for. And she really has seemed impressed by your hard work. Even if she did say you occasionally go sharp. Which, whatever, you're not going to be on Broadway like her, so.

But, yeah, glee club isn't that bad. Especially considering it gives you an excuse to be around Rachel.

.

You're at a party with Finn when he finds his soulmate.

You were sitting on the sofa, listening to him talk about something boring – well, listening is putting it nicely – you were more zoning out than anything, when he suddenly stopped talking and went still. You looked away from your people watching to see Finn sitting next to you with this look on your face that made you crunch your red cup in your hand. Then he was up and basically sprinting across the room to some girl you've never seen before.

You honestly don't remember the last time you've felt so angry before in your life. Not when your father threw his drinking glass at the wall, or the time the kids at your old school dumped your lunch on your head, or when your sister left you here.

Seething, you push off the sofa to get another drink from the kitchen. You don't care about the people you shove out of your way: you've always been an angry drunk, just like your father.

Three more drinks and two shots later, you aren't be able to tell purple from green. All you know is that you're angry; you're angry because Finn was supposed to be with you. He is the quarterback and you're the head cheerleader and you're meant to be together. But he goes off and finds some skank to be with – his freaking soulmate – and leaves you in the dust. You. Quinn fucking Fabray! You can't be with your soulmate so why should Finn be able to be with his?

You see Puck grinding on someone unimportant and a growl slips out as you slam your drink on the counter. With a smirk on your face and ice in your eyes, you stalk your way over to him. You smell the alcohol on his breath when you grab his arm. Puck starts to say something, until he realizes who is dragging his arm and where you're taking him. You ignore the snickers and cheers over the booming music while you make your way upstairs.

You make him say your name the entire time.

.

You're still not sure why you thought this would be the best place to do this, but it's after school and you're crying to yourself in a bathroom stall on the second floor.

You're pregnant.

You hadn't really been feeling your best for a few weeks, and then when you missed your period…

Your first thought was to laugh. Which you did.

Your second thought was that you were going to kill Puckerman. Which you really want to.

Your third thought, after the colors had sorted themselves out again, was what had you really scared.

Now what?

Now fucking what?

You're barely sixteen years old – you can't have a kid! You're still a kid yourself!

You see your father in your mind and your crying comes harder. You're sitting in the stall, curled into yourself, shoulders shaking with so much force you're sure you're going to break soon. You see so much red and you don't know if it's because of your uniform or your father's anger or because you can't breathe and you feel like passing out. You're panicking and your hands are tingling but you can't calm down.

The bathroom door squeaks open and you throw your hand over your mouth to shut yourself up because of course you forgot to lock the door. You hear the sound of footsteps until they stop and then the sink turns on. It's loud enough that you allow yourself a gasping breath (it's shakier than you wanted). But then suddenly the water shuts off and you feel your heart stop in your chest. You will the stranger intruding on your mental breakdown to just go away.

But then she's speaking,

"Hello? Are you alright?" and of course it's Rachel.

You sob harder. You hear her walk over to the stall you're sitting in, and then you see her feet hesitantly stop in front of the door. You don't want her to see you like this.

"Go away, Rachel," you hiccup out. You don't miss her gasp of surprise or the way her feet move in place – like she wants to go to you but knows she can't.

"Quinn? Quinn, are you alright? Ar-are you hurt? Do you need anything? C-can I help?" Her voice is filled with some much concern for you it makes you cry even harder – something you honestly thought was absolutely impossible a few moments ago.

You've never felt so alone and beyond terrified in your entire life. But Rachel is here and she wants to help you and she's meant to be your… your… person. You're practically ripping the door open and the only thing you can think is Rachel's hair is cute today before you're basically throwing yourself at her.

Rachel stiffens as your arms wrap her shoulders, but she's quick to snake her arms around your waist. The hug is so tight you can barely breathe, but you need this. You need Rachel. Because there's a pregnancy test in your right hand (you made sure it wasn't touching Rachel because ew you just peed on that) with a '+' glaring up at you.

You're crying into her neck and she's rubbing your back and softly shushing in your ear.

"It's okay, Quinn. Whatever it is, you're okay." Except you're not okay. You're not going to be okay. Nothing about all of this is okay. So you just hug Rachel tighter, as if she could hug together your world that's falling apart all around you. As if she could teach your heart how to not be broken anymore with her own. As if she could block the gray trying to crawl under your skin. You pray and you cry and hug her tighter. You let her comfort you.

After a few moments, your breathing becomes less like choked gasps, and more like someone who just ran a mile (or ten).

You feel Rachel start to pull away from you, so you tighten your arms to keep her close. She smells like strawberries and is so warm you feel the ice in you begin to thaw. You're selfish.

You hear her chuckle and whisper in your ear, "I'm not going anywhere, Quinn. I promise." So you slowly let her go.

You watch her grab a paper towel and wet it and suddenly you have to look down because you're so embarrassed and pink and wow you just really regret that intense, ugly crying you just forced upon Rachel.

But then she's standing in front of you with a small sad smile holding the wet folded up paper towel. You give a fraction of a nod and then Rachel's oh so gently wiping away the makeup that's ran down your face. You lean into her touch that is so soft it reminds you of butterfly wings and your favorite shade of blue.

"Your eyes are so beautiful, Quinn," Rachel murmurs. Suddenly it feels like there's a parade in your chest and you feel your face catch on fire under Rachel's hands and the cool paper towel. You don't know what to say, so you don't say anything.

Finally, she's done cleaning you up. She tosses the paper towel at the trashcan and you chuckle because she misses by at least ten feet. The pout on her lips tells you it wasn't on purpose, but at the sound of your laugh she flashes you a smile that makes her eyes crinkle a little. She rolls her eyes, huffs a little, and stomps over to pick up the towel and properly throws it away.

"And that is why I belong on the stage and not on a basketball field."

"Court," you can't help but correct her with a small smirk. Rachel rolls her eyes a little, but you see the corners of her mouth pulling upwards.

"Yes, well, same thing." But then she's walking slowly back over to you and she's looking at you like you're a wounded animal. Which, honestly, you can't blame her for doing. "So… Are you okay?"

Suddenly the plastic stick in your hand feels like a million pounds. Your palms start sweating and the colors around you start swirling together again. You feel like vomiting.

So you do.

Rachel is there, holding back your hair (which is in a ponytail) and rubbing your back. When you're done, she helps you walk over to the sinks so you can wash your mouth out. You're clutching the stick in your left hand and it feels like a death sentence. You accept the piece of gum Rachel got from her bag, and you turn to look at her.

She's looking at you like if she could simply will away whatever was bothering you, she would. You take a deep breath, count three freckles on her nose, and blurt out,

"I'm pregnant."

You feel like barfing again but hold it down.

Rachel's eyes go so big you're scared they're going to pop out of her head (which makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time). But then they finally zero in on the stick that's clutched in your hand. Then she looks back at you. And then the stick. And then you. Again. Then she's blinking about a thousand times a second.

"… Oh."

You give a strangled chuckle because yeah. You glance back at Rachel who looks she's seen a ghost and your chuckle transform into a sob and more tears that are hot traveling down your face. You wish that they would burn you because you've messed up. You've messed up everything. You are the biggest sin and only the reddest fire could baptize you now.

The pregnancy stick falls to the floor with a clank as your head drops into your hands and your knees hit the ground with a thud. The irony of your position is not lost on you, and you just pray that it's all over soon. Because when you used to dream as Lucy about one day falling this is not what you had in mind. But gravity and grief bow your head and you can feel your heart sinking down to your toes. Oxygen is burning in your lungs and it feels like ten thousand needles are stabbing your hands, but you ignore all of it. You just feel the colors slipping away like grains of sand in your fist. There's a deafening silencing echoing in your ears so you slam your eyes shut because maybe just maybe you can drift away completely.

But of course you can't – of course you won't. There's a church inside of you and its beautiful stain glass windows have shattered. Every step you take send shards into your sole until your bloody footprints are evidence of your sins and your inevitable damnation. This is your punishment. This is your penance. You shall bleed a deep red.

Your church is burning inside of you until at least the smoke clears and you find yourself back in the second floor bathroom. You're not crying anymore. You're not doing much of anything, really. Just kneeling on the cold tile and staring straight ahead.

At Rachel. Who is cupping your face and talking to you. She must have knelt down in front of you at some point during your (probably tenth) breakdown. You blink and stare at her lips to try and understand what she's saying.

"… okay? Quinn? I said we'll figure this out, alright? You're going to be fine. I promise." Your eyes flicker back up to hers and you see so many things; raw determination, concern, fear, love. Your eyes drift back down to the pregnancy stick on the floor.

You don't doubt Rachel's promise. You don't know her as well as you would love to, but you know she's an honest and good person. You know she's fiercely loyal and motivated beyond belief. So a small part of you, the part where you know Lucy lives, believes her when she says that you're going to be okay.

But a larger part of you feels numb. Because the larger of you, the part of you that is Quinn, knows. And that part of you has never been so terrified to go home. Because home is where your demons live. Home's where the monsters don't live under your bed and only creep out at night, but they reside in the pictures that frame your walls and in the ice cubes that clink in your father's glass and in the suffocating air that surrounds the dinner table. The monsters chain themselves to your legs the moment you walk through your front door. They snuff out the colors and put a padlock on your heart. They mock you and torment you until their words weave their way into your nightly prayers and your morning mantras. They bleed themselves into the red of your uniform and growl behind each sneer you give and are the ice behind your glares.

Your eyes feel so heavy and you would give anything just to be able to close them for years. But you look back up to Rachel who has been lightly running her nails across your scalp while her other hand strokes your face. You take a gulp and you feel your face collapse.

"I'm scared, Rach." You regret the words – not because they make you feel pink and weak, but because they make Rachel look absolutely heartbroken.

"Oh, Quinn," her voice breaks on your name and you're pretty sure your heart does as well. But then she's pulling you into a hug and your face is pressed against her neck and her hands are across your back and on your head and she's holding you. And, really, you've never felt safer. "I know, sweetie. I know."

You pour the last of your energy into hugging her. You feel yourself slipping and you know you're about to tumble again but Rachel is your anchor. She is the only thing keeping you from collapsing in on yourself. She is the only thing keeping you here.

She is the only thing.