Principal Figgins folded his hands, "Mr. Karofsky and Miss Berry were involved in a physical altercation on school grounds. McKinley High has a zero fighting policy, and they've both been assigned outdoor suspension for four days."
"Four?" The fathers asked at the same time. They glanced at one another, and Mr. Karofsky said, "I have a job and so does his mother, and I don't feel comfortable leaving him in the house by himself, he's only sixteen. Can't we make it indoor, if he has to have suspension?"
Quinn was surprised that neither father protested that their child was in a fight. Her father would have insisted that his daughter wasn't in a fight and that it must have been a miscommunication.
Figgins shook his head, "I'm afraid not. The student handbook states that all fighting leads to a three day outdoors suspension. Their actions in this room have led to an extra day."
Jeremiah balled up a hand and put his fist on his hip. There was a tattoo on his forearm of a whale that bulged with his movements. He was fairly muscular, she saw. Not the bulky muscles that Puck had, but the muscles that came from someone who engaged in practical labor. "And what about the bullying my child has experienced? When we enrolled her here, you assured us she'd have a tolerant learning environment and that bullying would not be allowed."
He cleared his throat, "We can only stop bullying that we don't see if there aren't any reports filed."
Rachel opened her mouth, and then closed it after her father gave her a look. Quinn knew the look and reclined in her seat. It was obvious she was here for something, she just didn't know what.
Jeremiah continued, "What do you mean don't see? From the parking lot to here I saw at least two cases of physical bullying and one of verbal."
"Those students haven't filed reports, so we cannot take it seriously. Children horse around all the time."
Mr. Karofsky interrupted him, "Be that as it may, I'd like to discuss my son's actions. They had a fight, am I correct? Where are the other students involved?"
"They fought each other," Figgins clarified. "I have eye witness testimonies from two teachers, three male students, and the young lady behind you."
The men turned around. Quinn gave them a weak smile and they smiled back. Mr. Karofsky had dimples; Jeremiah didn't. Neither of Rachel's fathers did, so her biological mother must have them.
Mr. Schuester and Mrs. Hutcherson gave their accounts quickly, and they matched. They'd seen the crowd and tried to disperse it, only to find David and Rachel fighting. They'd immediately brought them to the principal.
"Who started the altercation?" Jeremiah asked. His hand had moved from Rachel's shoulder to petting her head. His hand was so big it covered the back of her head and his skin was startlingly pale against her hair. He had neat fingernails, and he scratched from the nape of her head to the top. She wasn't sure which one of them relaxed more at the touch.
"David," Figgins said. "He pushed her chest. They get the same number of days because she didn't try to leave or find a teacher."
Jeremiah's mouth fell open and he spoke indignantly, "Are you serious? He's twice her size!"
"Like David doesn't have scratch marks all over him."
"Have you seen the size of my daughter's ear? How do I know she won't go deaf sometime in the future?"
"And his face? Who knows what she has under her nails."
Rachel's ear was getting puffier and his scratches had gone from pink to red. The two men bickered for a while.
"Okay," Mr. Karofsky eventually said. "What about the young lady back there?"
"Quinn is one of our most excellent students," Figgins said. "David apparently pushed her and called her a name, which led to this altercation."
"David, is this true?" His father demanded. "Apologize to the young lady."
"Sorry, Fa - Quinn," He gritted out.
She smiled sweetly, "Apology accepted, Dave."
"Spencer," Jeremiah said, "You were defending her? It's not an issue, but normally you don't get involved in quarrels."
Rachel's response was low, "She's pregnant."
Mr. Karofsky's face became pinched, "We're going to have a discussion about this when we get home, young man, and your mother as well." Karofsky paled further.
Jeremiah's hand had stilled briefly, but he was petting Rachel again before he told Principal Figgins, "I'd like to schedule an appointment for later in the week to talk about the bullying I see going around. As a concerned parent, I think I speak for all of us that want our children treated with the respect they deserve."
"Of course. Just stop in with the secretary. The suspension starts tomorrow, although if you take them home now, we won't stop you."
Quinn was trying to figure out what the purpose of her being in the office even was when everyone stood up and left, and she scrambled up as well. Mr. Karofsky was escorted back to the main office, David in tow.
Standing in the hall, Jeremiah was even more of a contrast to Rachel. One of his huge hands was on her head again and they were talking quietly before he pinched her cheek, glanced at Quinn and said, "And who's your friend, darling?"
Quinn walked closer and Rachel took her hand to pull her even closer. "Abba-leh, this is Quinn Fabray. Quinn, Jeremiah Berry."
He took her hand. Much like Rachel, her hand disappeared in his palm. He had warm hands and there were flecks of paint on them. The paint was the same color, a mint green, as his jeans. Seeing where she was looking, his mouth crinkled into a bright smile, "Sorry, I'm painting my store. Luckily I was home today."
They let go and then his eyes narrowed a little, "Fabray? As in Russell Fabray?"
She nodded, "Yes, sir. He's my –" She hesitated. Russell had kicked her out with no regrets. Was there really any call to say that he was her father? Quinn took the plunge, "He's my father."
Jeremiah's smile stayed in place, even if it managed to convey some of his distaste on his mild face. That was okay; the longer she was away, the most distasteful she found Russell as well.
"He's an interesting man. I've met him a few times."
Quinn didn't ask him where, and he turned to Rachel.
"Come, Spencer, we have to get you to Dr. Isles about that ear."
"Yes, abba-leh." Rachel smiled at her, "I'll see you later, Quinn."
"Bye," Quinn stated and wiggled her fingers in a hint of a wave as they left. The bell for third period rang and students spilled out of the classes. For once, no one pointed at her or whispered. She went to Brittany's locker to get her things, and then remembered Rachel telling her about the CDs. There were four of them in little paper CD covers, and a little sticky note on top read in Rachel's loopy handwriting, "'Evening Out With Your Girlfriend' is generally not considered an album." Quinn put them away with a small smile.
Class was, as always, boring and simple. Matt claimed he had enough time between the end of school and the beginning of practice to drive her home, so that was convenient. They never talked. The same football player dropped her and Finn off every morning. The week passed quickly but slowly, as it was the end of the grading period. Her report cared would have all A's with no one to show them to. The week edged forwards at some points, lonely for Rachel without it being an acute ache, not really, and a transcending boredom at the Hudson's.
Santana and Brittany called, which saved her from Finn being her primary source of companionship. Mike and Matt proved protection, just as Rachel had said. A part of her assumed they did for her what they couldn't do for Rachel. Neither of them talked to her casually, except to ask if she needed something or if she was feeling bad. They even claimed a table one day and demanded that she sit with them.
Their protectiveness did not go unnoticed. Soon, rumors floated around. She was having Mike's baby; the baby was Matt's; she was having twins and both of them were the fathers. The idea of having twins made her squeamish. There weren't any twins on her side but God only knew about Rachel's family. One baby seemed hard enough, but two would wreck her.
Rachel was also on severe punishment. There were no texts or calls, no MySpace or YouTube updates. She didn't come to school to collect her work, and Puck wasn't allowed to visit, he said. As far as anyone could tell, Rachel had been separated from all of society.
Rachel and Karofsky returned the next Monday, mostly healed. Karofsky blinked in all of the lights and constantly rubbed his eyes, paler than he normally was. Rachel was darker than Santana, even though the temperatures had dropped almost fifteen degrees in the week. She explained at lunch.
"Abba-leh decided that the house needed painting. And the shed. And his shop. And the neighbor's house.."
She rubbed her shoulders and rolled them to relieve tension.
Mike asked, "Isn't that child labor?"
She grimaced, "Not when it's under forty hours. Besides, it was either that or no Barbra for the week."
Quinn resigned herself to the fact that Barbra took precedence over 90% of Rachel's life and hoped she didn't go into labor anywhere near Barbra Streisand.
Although she was grateful for the table, she missed her quiet time with Rachel. It was obvious in Rachel's kisses as well, when they could sneak them in. Her kisses were always eager, always anticipating and long and so good – so warm and soft and willing, all the gentlest touches of her tongue and the tang of her mouth – which made her wonder at nights, half shamefully and the other half relentless of what she tasted like between her thighs. Not just her penis, either, but the vagina she'd spoken of once, and if the soft skin of her thighs felt the same as her hands and lips.
Still, their talks never strayed past the chaste. They talked about their days and music, and Quinn laughed at finding out that Rachel had made her a mix available online.
"Is your whole life music?" Quinn asked her.
Rachel hummed, "You know, I think so, actually. I watched musicals as a toddler, there was always music on around the house, Papa sang me to sleep."
She smiled, "That sounds adorable."
"There's a photo or two hanging around. I'll make sure to continue the tradition with our child."
"Good, I think they'll have nightmares dealing with me."
"Your voice is lovely," Rachel protested. "It's not traditional, granted, but it reminds me of Lauren Bacall, at it's lower registers."
Of course, that led into a segue where she sang a few lines of a song, which led to a mostly one-sided conversation about female vocalists in bands. All Quinn was able to contribute was "Joan Jett" which somehow led to 70's music, which led to 60's, which led to folk music, which somehow ended up with her falling asleep to Rachel singing, "Farewell Angelina" in the style of Joan Baez.
They talked more, besides that, and Quinn read over "East of Eden" over the phone so that everyone was included.
Even Invitationals couldn't take the edge off. April Rhodes had stolen the show and when someone asked if she'd participate in an indie musical, she'd promptly quit school and moved on, leaving them without a second powerhouse. Mercedes had a powerful voice but she didn't have the lower range of either April or Rachel, and Santana would rather spit nails than sing for more than an audience of one. Kurt was trying to make up for it, but Finn was uncomfortable singing a romantic song with a boy and Mr. Schuester wouldn't switch him for Puck. Beyond that, Sectionals was coming up and they still hadn't decided on a set list. It almost seemed like Mr. Schuester wanted glee club to tank.
But incompetence or no, her dreams continued. She woke up sticky and increasingly frustrated each day. Quinn had actually tried to masturbate – something good Christian girls decidedly did not do, but she was already pregnant out of wedlock so it didn't seem that terrible – but it was a weak relief, even compared to the fading memory of Rachel's tongue over a month ago.
She knew she had to do something, and quickly, when Ms. Pillsbury presented to her proudly a pamphlet that read "What to Do When Your Bedroom Eyes Won't Stop," subtitled, "Ten Cures for Sexual Frustration." Quinn left hurriedly to find Rachel, and then smacked her shoulder for laughing unrepentantly at her story. They were in the hall, lingering on the way to lunch.
"It's not funny," Quinn hissed.
Rachel insisted, "It's a little funny. You should give me the pamphlet."
"No."
Rachel beamed, as if that would make her give it up.
"No."
Rachel blinked a little, as if surprised it hadn't worked, then wiggled her eyebrows, "Want to find an empty room? We have twenty-seven minutes until lunch is over."
Quinn was tempted, but shook her head. "What I want to do with you is going to take more than twenty-seven minutes, Rach."
Rachel blushed but her grin grew, "Oh."
The blonde blushed as well, embarrassed by her public declaration, and after a quick look around, pressed a kiss to the upturned corner of her mouth. Rachel's grin grew, but Quinn backed away. She knew that look.
"Not again," She hissed.
"Hey, ManHands," A familiar voice called, "Leave Quinn alone." It was Santana, and she quickly steered Quinn away. Rachel waved at her as she left.
"Santana," Quinn said, "Just leave her alone."
Santana rolled her eyes, "You may have seemed to have built up an immunity but she still makes me nauseous."
"Oh, yeah, right. She's sweet," The blonde replied before she could think.
"Sweet," Santana said skeptically. "Right. If 'sweet' means Oompa Loompa-esque, then I guess so."
Quinn crossed her arms, "Did you need something?"
"Yep," She replied. "We need you to tell Finn he's not the father."
Her arms fell, "I –" Her voice was lost.
Santana continued, matter-of-factly, "I'll be honest, for a minute, I thought Finnocence managed to wait long enough to actually get it in to bust a nut, but then I thought about it. He can't write his name without screwing up, no way you're pregnant from him. So then I thought Puck, but he can't even look at you half the time and he may be an idiot but he's no deadbeat."
Quinn covered her mouth, praying internally that Rachel hadn't been looking at her in a less than friendly way and Santana rolled her eyes again, "Don't try that shrinking Southern belle shit on me. You had sex with somebody and I intend to find out, Mary."
She was momentarily so confused, she felt less of the overwhelming fear. "Mary?"
"Yeah, Mary of Magdalene."
She quirked an eyebrow at Quinn's face, "Don't tell me a week away from home and the Christian doctrine left you. That shit's a gang; blood in, blood out."
Quinn said quietly, "I'm not a prostitute."
"Well, you sure aren't the Virgin Mary, and the only important women in the Bible are saints or sinners. What's it going to be?"
The blonde ignored her, "Finn is the father."
She scoffed, "Yeah, right. I didn't imagine that look on your face, Quinn." Her face softened, "I'm not going to tell anyone, alright? The shit's going to hit the fan, and soon. You want to get kicked out of two places in two weeks?"
Quinn rubbed her face and then rubbed the back of her neck. "It's not my secret to tell."
Santana shook her head, "Bullshit."
Quinn covered her stomach, "Hey!"
"Shut up, you said 'whore' a minute ago. Besides, midget probably doesn't have ears yet."
Midget. Santana called Rachel midget and she fought a smile. Apparently, she didn't fight it well enough because Santana moaned, "Oh, Jesus. You're gonna be one ofthose moms with the million nicknames."
Quinn shook her head, "No. I just – midget isn't as bad as I thought you'd come up with."
"Well, what am I supposed to call it?" Santana shrugged, "Berry?"
"Leave her alone!" She insisted.
The brunette shrugged, "I don't see what the big deal is, you aren't dating and you didn't have sex. I should be able to talk about her."
Quinn blushed and cursed her fair skin. Santana paled. "You had sex with Berry?"
"No!" Quinn denied, too fast.
Santana leaned against a locker. "Gay panic. You had gay panic after sex with Berry you fucked someone and now you're pregnant."
Santana ran a hand over her face, "Jesus, Quinn, I know you're repressed but shit. Do you even know who it was?"
She was shaking. This was it, now or never. Rachel had Puck in her corner; Quinn had to have someone. She couldn't do this with a secret like that hanging over her.
"Yeah," She said. "I know who it is."
Santana's voice was softer, almost caring, "Is he helping you take care of it?"
Quinn took the plunge, "They went with me to see the doctor a couple of weeks ago."
Santana frowned, "But the only people that went were-"
She paled further. "No fucking way."
Quinn hurried, "You have to keep it a secret, please, Santana, she's only told me, please!"
"Who would believe me?" She was blinking hard. "The fuck is that possible?"
"Your dad's the doctor," Quinn replied.
"Yeah, an oncologist," Santana snapped. "I know more about biology than his ass."
Quinn tried to maintain a persona of cool. She, rather shamefully, had never taken the extra step to look into Rachel's medical condition. Something that affected Rachel's life on a day-to-day basis, and she barely even knew what the name of it was.
Still, she didn't want to make things easy for Santana. She considered it payback for all the Rachel bashing and cursing she'd had to hear. "Look it up."
"Oh yeah, right. What, I google "chick with dick medical condition" and see what pops up? The fuck do I know that shit's real?"
"Make sure to add 'real life,'" Quinn suggested, and went to lunch.
She was fairly certain Santana cursed her within an inch of her life, but she was okay. Rachel had packed her a peanut butter and honey sandwich, which was absolutely perfect. She wanted sweets lately, like when she was on her period, probably because of the time.
When she got home she showered then immediately pulled up Google and looked up "intersexuals." The results were staggering. Rachel didn't just have a one in a million voice; she had a one in a million body. Technically, it was one in a thousand but there weren't many articles to help explain Rachel's condition besides what she soon saw as the basic disregard for personal values. Telling people their kids had cancer in order to perform surgery? It was disgusting. She also had no clue if Rachel had ovaries. A vagina, yes, but not ovaries. How did you even ask someone that? "Hey, sorry I've been too wrapped up in myself, but do you have ovaries?"
PBS had an article about an intersexual having a gender reassignment, and so did other magazines. From there she had to look up gender, and found it was different from biological sex. From what she could understand, gender was how a person felt, sex was what their body was defined as, the body didn't have to have a binary definition although society pressured people to choose, and either way it seemed most countries was uncomfortable with using more than he and she. God, why didn't they cover any of this in biology? There was some comic thing, but she didn't want fiction, she wanted facts. It took three hours for her eyes to start stinging, and she turned to her homework. She turned to biology last because she was tired of bodies and science and seeing that the Bible didn't have the answer to everything. She read the first few paragraphs, closed her eyes, and prayed.
What in God's name was an asexual?
She Googled that too. Asexuals were people who didn't feel sexual desire to others or an interest in sex. That, of course, led to more about sexual orientations, which weren't restricted to gender, something she'd already known, or something some people had. By the time she thought she had a loose grasp of those things – extremely loose at that – it was almost one in the morning. Quinn flopped onto her bed and fell asleep.
She was exhausted the next morning and Santana looked similarly tuckered out. She growled at Quinn in class, "It took me half an hour to find something that wasn't a porn site, you dick. You couldn't have just told me intersexual?"
Quinn yawned and slumped on the bleachers. Coach Sylvester was paranoid about her having the baby in class – which she really didn't understand – so she was given a grade for staying out of the way.
"I didn't want to make it too easy."
Santana rubbed her eyes, "Jesus Christ. So Berry's an intersexual –"
"And identifies as female."
"Right. And she's bisexual."
"Possibly," Quinn conceded. "Maybe pansexual."
Santana stopped rubbing, "What the fuck is pansexual?"
She made a small noise. "You must not have gone that far into the internet."
"What do you mean 'gone that far'? It's not a hole."
Quinn disagreed, "It's a hole."
"It's a system," The brunette argued. "There can be a hole in a system, but the system can't be a hole. It's composed of servers, information, and networks, that analogy is ruined."
"It's a hole in the metaphorical sense, genius. You go in to look at, I don't know, a cat breed, you exit knowing that tapirs are related to horses."
Santana stared at her, "You're a fucking geek. Jesus fuck, you loser."
Quinn flushed, "You know how the internet works. That makes you a bigger loser."
"Who doesn't know how the Internet works?"
"No one knows how it works, they just go on it."
Santana ignored her in favor of waving at Brittany, who was jogging up and down the steps. Brittany waved back, and then went back down the stairs. Santana plopped next to her and Quinn glanced at her. She really did belong in the uniform, she noted. She didn't wear it like armor, she wore it like skin.
Santana propped her head on her hands. "So, Berry's the – the other parent."
Quinn nodded, "Yeah."
"Kid might only be fifty percent hopeless, then," Santana conceded. "I mean, she's weird as all Hell, but she's pretty enough and smart. A couple of quirks would be okay."
Quinn smiled.
The brunette continued, "I'm not going to be nice to her or anything, but as long as the baby doesn't have her shnozz or personality, I'm okay."
They were quiet before Santana asked, "Is her dick big?"
Quinn pushed her.
Santana laughed, "It's a genuine question! Is her dick big?"
Seeing Quinn's face, she sighed, "Did you at least touch it?"
She hesitated. "Um."
"Have you seen it?"
"Yes!" She then muttered, "Twice. And she was hard once."
Santana rubbed her face. "Virgin. Complete and utter virgin. You're back to just Mary, mother of God. I can't even curse at this point."
Quinn protested, "I know what it looks like, it's just weird to describe it to you."
"Well, tell me. Anyone that crazy has to be insane in the sack."
Quinn's ears reddened. "It was at the party at Puck's, so I don't remember."
Santana gagged, "Oh, ew! That's what I slept on! I just thought it was a water balloon."
Quinn covered her mouth to keep from giggling. Santana continued to be disgusted, and then said, "Tell me before I barf."
"Then she um – she put her tongue on me-" The wording was funny, but that was essentially what'd happened and everything else seemed excessively crude, "in the auditorium a couple of months ago, and about three weeks ago we had sex in the choir room."
Santana looked torn between depreciating and impressed.
"So, you haven't touched her, you haven't given her a blow job, you're pregnant despite the use of a condom, she's gone down on you once, and you've had sex in public places twice."
Quinn nodded, "Yes."
"Worst virgins ever."
Quinn laughed. She couldn't help herself. If someone put her sexual experience in words, it looked – it looked stupid and something like a bad romance novel.
"That's pretty much it."
Santana persisted, "Can you at least give me an estimate?"
"Why are you so curious?" Quinn asked.
Santana held up two fingers. "Well, one, you and Berry had sex and the world didn't explode into leaping rainbow unicorns, so curious as to how that'd happened and two, you and Berry had sex, I deserve to know after putting up with all your lovey-dovey gay panic bullshit. Besides, she's like half Black, half Jewish. The universe is fucking with me if she's less than six inches."
"That's offensive on several levels."
"Your face is offensive."
They were quiet for a little while.
"I'm calling your kid smurf."
"No."
"Yes. I have to get some pleasure out of this."
"No."
"Fine, Ducky then."
Quinn gave her a deadpan look.
"There are worse nicknames then Ducky," Santana argued.
"Prove it."
Santana didn't have to prove it. Finn sat down with them at lunch, leaned forwards, and said excitedly, "I have the perfect name! We'll name the baby Drizzle!"
Everyone stilled, and then Santana said, "I didn't think it was possible but you are stupider than you look."
He blushed, "Shut up!"
"No."
Finn turned to Quinn and whined, "Why is she here?"
Quinn ignored them both.
They ignored each other and Quinn ate her sandwich. It was only a reminder that Finn was getting attached, and fast. She had to tell him the truth and fast. Not about Rachel, God knew how he'd react to that, but that he wasn't the other parent.
She licked her lips and decided to tell him before Glee. Hopefully, he'd just storm off.
She quietly asked Santana, on the way to class, to hold everyone off for a while during Glee. She nodded, her face serious for once.
Still, Quinn was nervous. Finn was goofy, but he was big and even if he didn't mean to, it was possible he would lose his temper and hurt her. Puck seemed to have the same mentality and stayed by the door with no prompting. She texted him to meet her in the choir room.
Two thirty came and Finn wasn't inside. Two thirty one and he and Puck were inside, rolling around on the floor.
He was screaming, "How could you? How could you do this to me?"
Finn was taller, but Puck was stronger, and he pinned Finn on the ground. "I didn't do anything! You've got a problem, talk to Fabray!"
It was more than just them in the room, suddenly, it was the entire Glee club. Puck got off of Finn and checked his face for bleeding. Finn was red-faced and he yelled, "Who was it? Tell me, who was it! Who let me be a complete idiot, caring about some baby that isn't mine!"
Quinn shook her head, hands pressed to her mouth as her eyes dewy. The tears were more of relief than anything else. He hadn't gone off the deep end as much as expected and the hardest thing she'd had to do - besides the actual act of giving birth - was over with. She'd broken her boyfriend's heart and was now free to date Rachel, and all that came with it.
He was reaching for her, probably to shake her, when Mike caught him around the chest and dragged him out the room. Even as he was being pulled, he stared at Quinn and said, "I'm never going to forgive you for this."
Quinn wiped her eyes, took a fortifying breath, and left the room. No one followed her. Rachel was at work, probably, and she texted her, Finn found out. Someone told him before I did. he doesn't know its u.
It took ten minutes for the next text to come in and Matt had moved out to ask her, shyly, if she still needed a ride to the Hudson's. He never said "home," always the Hudson's. His eyes seemed far away and she asked him, feeling oddly selfish to have never asked him anything, just accepting that he wanted to help her, "Matt, are you okay?"
He blinked at her and then smiled a little, "I'm fine."
Her cell phone chirped. The text was simple, and obvious when she thought about it. I'll inform him and Carole. It's just as much my fault as it is yours.
Quinn doubted that. Rachel hadn't been the one who wanted to lie for over a month to all these people. Saying she was pregnant and the baby wasn't Finn's was much different from saying that Rachel wasn't the father, but at the time it'd seemed very much the same. Either way, her worst nightmares had come true. Her parents had kicked her out, her church wasn't accepting her, her boyfriend had broken up with her and she was being kicked out again, and on top of that the girl she was infatuated with was working so much that actually seeing her for more than a quick kiss in an empty classroom looked like a pipe dream.
"Yes, Matt," She said. "I could use that ride to the Hudson's."
He drove her and said quietly on the way, "Things will work out."
Her laugh was dry, "What, if I believe?"
"No," He said thoughtfully, "if you work at it. Newton's third law: action and reaction are equal and opposite."
Carole was home before she was. Finn must have called her and gotten a ride. Quinn got out of the car and said, "Thanks, Matt."
He gave her a thumbs up before he drove off.
The front door was unlocked and Finn was visible, pacing in the living room. Carole was sitting on the couch and Quinn took a dry swallow before she closed the door and entered the house fully.
"I want her out," Finn was saying. "She made me believe that I was the father and she used us as a place to stay! I want her gone!"
Carole ran her hands over her face before saying, "Does she have a place to go? Would her family take her back in?"
"I don't know and I don't care! She's not my girlfriend!"
Her voice was tired but sincere, "You should care, Finn. No matter if she's made you upset or not, you have to think of others. I refuse to let a young lady sleep on the street or put her things on the curb because of something you thought of in a moment of anger. She was kicked out barely two weeks ago." She cut him off, "This is my house and these are my rules. When you start paying utility bills, car payments, and insurance go ahead, but until then she stays until she wants to leave and has a place to stay.
Finn was still upset, it was obvious on his face, but he slumped into the love seat. Carole looked up, gave her an exhausted smile, and patted the couch cushion next to her. Quinn took the seat and Carole said, "Finn, would you go to your room?"
Finn left and Quinn started to wring her hands. Almost as soon as Finn was out of sight, she said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I didn't mean to lie to either of you but I just – when I told him I wasn't thinking, and then things just –"
"Snowballed," She supplied the word. The older woman took another look at Quinn and said, "I don't think you're a bad kid, Quinn. A little misguided, yes. In a terrible circumstance, yes. But intentionally hurtful and manipulative? No."
Quinn couldn't help the tears that gathered in her eyes. Carole pulled her into a hug, so her forehead was against Carole's neck and she was practically sitting on her lap, and said, "It's okay, sweetie. Stay here as long as you need."
Quinn stayed pressed to her neck, but didn't cry. She was more emotionally exhausted then she was overwhelmed and she simply leaned against Carole, who turned the TV onto the news. They watched the local news for more than an hour and a half before the doorbell rang. Carole gently untangled Quinn from her embrace and walked to the door.
Quinn could hear her say, "Hey, sweetie, come on in. Are you here for Quinn? I'm sure she could use some cheering up right now from someone closer to her in age."
It was Rachel, then, who entered the room and her eyes were huge and scared before they trained on Quinn and relief slowly bled into them. Her face was pale except for under her nose, which was pink. Quinn stood up and Rachel hugged her tightly. They clung perhaps a little longer than socially acceptable, and settled on the couch together.
Carole sat down and Rachel said, quietly, "Mrs. Hudson, I have something to tell you and Finn regarding Quinn and her unborn child."
It was weird, hearing Rachel say "her." Every time Quinn heard Rachel refer to the baby, it was "our."
Carole glanced at both of them, and said, "Sure. I'll go get him."
The woman went up the stairs and Quinn turned to Rachel. She whispered, "Are you sure about this?"
Rachel took a deep, shuddering breath. "No, but I have to. I can't - I'm not going to let them do any of this from under false pretenses. We know that I'm the other parent, and I'll tell them. Today's date night and if you want to, Puck and I can move you into the spare room before they even get home."
She licked her lips but before she could move or say anything, Finn and Carole were downstairs.
"What are you doing here?" Finn asked.
Rachel stood and said, "I actually have something to tell the both of you. It was Quinn's decision not to tell either of you who the second biological parent to her child was, and I respected that. Now, I'd like to say that i-"
She took another deep breath, "I am the second biological parent."
Finn laughed while Carole's eyes went huge.
He looked up and his face slowly dropped.
"Are you serious?" He asked.
Rachel nodded, "Yes."
Carole's voice was choked, "How?"
"I'm what you'd call an intersexual," She explained. "I have female characteristics, such as most hormones and my breasts, as well as a severely underdeveloped vagina. I also have a penis connected to testes that produce –"
"That's enough!" Finn yelped. "You're a girl! That's –" He floundered for words, then said, "You tricked me! You told me you liked me!"
He was standing, suddenly, and in Rachel's face. The brunette stared up at him and said, "At the time, I did like you. You're a very nice young man, Finn, but I –"
"If you liked me you wouldn't have slept with my girlfriend!"
Rachel's voice was still calm, "I can accept that train of thought. It's also distinctly possible that I could like you and your then girlfriend. Attraction isn't limited to one person at a time."
Attraction. It was a very detached word for the feelings Rachel gave her.
Carole reached out and put a hand on his back. "Sit down, son, Rachel," She said quietly.
They both sat down. Quinn took Rachel's faintly shaking hand and got a small, trembling smile in return.
Carole asked the immediate questions, "Are you prepared to take care of this baby?"
"Yes, I currently have a job, I'm maintaining my grades, and since I've given up my extra curriculum activities, I intend to do community service at the local soup kitchen once things settle down."
"Do you have a place for Quinn to stay?" Carole asked. She hastily reassured them, "I'm perfectly fine with Quinn staying here as long as you need, honey, but a parent has to ask these things."
"We have three spare rooms," Rachel told her. "The basement is empty, another room that my older cousin occasionally stays in but it's exceedingly rare as his university is out of town, and a spare. Puck and Mike said they'd be more than willing to help move her in. It's her decision."
Carole propped her chin on her hands and leaned forwards. "How will your fathers react to this, sweetie?"
Rachel's words were less fast this time. She hesitated, then said, "They'd be disappointed in me, I believe, but there's no way they'd let Quinn fall under anyone else's responsibility."
Carole looked thoughtful, then said, "Quinn, it's your decision, but I suggest some time to think it over. At least overnight."
Quinn said with conviction, "I don't need overnight. I'm more than willing to get out of your hair and if the Berry's would be okay with it, I don't see why not."
Carole swallowed and stood. "I'll get some bags for your clothes, then."
This move was just as smooth as the other, even though it required two trips because they didn't have time for a U-Haul, and navigating up the stairs was harder than going down.
Carole hugged her before she entered the house. "You have any trouble, just call me," She said.
Quinn bit her lip, "I know this is probably too late to say, but I'd still like for the baby to have a grandmother, if he or she's going to have two grandfathers."
Carole didn't cry but she was close to it when she left.
Still, it was only just past seven o'clock on a Friday evening.
"My fathers leave at five so they can go to a larger city," Rachel explained. "Date night in Lima isn't the most exciting thing."
She should have explored, but she was tired and needed a shower. Rachel led her to the bathroom and gave her a towel and washcloth. She realized too late she'd left her soap and things in her room. It sounded and felt weird; "her room." Having a room in her unofficial girlfriend's house was a rather sobering experience. Still, she showered, using Rachel's soap that proclaimed 'organic', pulled on her pajamas and headed to Rachel's room. She'd used her fathers shower, and her hair was drying around her head. Her pajamas were about as sickeningly cute as her sweaters. They were green with little blue puppies all around.
Toto glanced at her but didn't bark or huff as she climbed in the bed behind Rachel. She smelled like Old Spice and Quinn nuzzled her neck. Rachel hummed and murmured, "We didn't read tonight."
Quinn yawned, "The baby will forgive us." Rachel yawned as well, and Quinn said, "You should sing to me."
"What do you want to hear?"
She thought about it. "What was the song you sang to me on Wednesday?"
"Farewell Angelina?" Rachel checked. "Okay."
She sang softly until Quinn fell asleep, "Farewell Angelina,
the bells of the crown
Are being stolen by bandits,
I must follow the sound,
The triangle tingles
and the trumpets play slow."