Ch. 1

It had been 1 year, 2 months, and 13 days since she had held the baby. Quinn didn't want to know the name since knowing the sex had already done enough damage. The nurses didn't help either when they plopped the wailing mess of fresh limbs and blood onto her lap after she heard Mercedes whisper "praise" and the tearing pain turned into a dull throb.

She went into the delivery room with the strict self-preserving thought, I cannot love her. How wrong could she be? From the second she spotted the almond shape of her eyes and the familiar brown hair of the boy standing not ten feet away, Quinn was in love. Her baby girl. Her Beth if Puck had had his wish. She had one long stare deep into those eyes and tried to effuse all of her emotions into the back of the baby girl's brain so one day, when she was old enough to wonder, she would know that her mother—biological of course—loved her without question. Nothing would stop her from sending that message.

Except the nurse who just as quickly swiped the baby back out of her arms.

Puck and Mercedes followed the doctors out of the room and Quinn was left alone with the mother she hadn't seen in 4 months. Letters could only bridge enough for a hug and one gentle pat on her sweat-soaked head. Safe to say that very little had changed in the Fabray house in terms of intimacy; with her father supposedly out of the picture—she really didn't know if it was a ploy of her mother's at the time—she wished they could develop a stronger bond; the type that she saw on TV shows and in her favorite books.

The outlook was bleak.

So it had been 1 year, 2 months, and 13 days if she didn't include that day when Quinn sat on the windowsill of her bedroom, a lit cigarette between her teeth, and both hands tearing the sleeves off her favorite t-shirts. She had gone thrifting with Melissa, the self-proclaimed leader of her new group of friends, and had picked out at least thirty shirts that needed modification before school started. Quinn had come to the simple conclusion that she had worked entirely too hard for her body to let it go to waste. That meant showing as much of her toned arms and thighs as she could.

What it came down to was simple. Quinn knew her reputation had taken more than its fair share of hits over the past two years. Glee club, her pregnancy, and losing the one title she had worked her entire school career to achieve—prom queen—demolished what she saw as her claim to fame. When all was said and done she would have a few crowns, captainship of a nationally-ranked cheerleading squad, and a high-profile boyfriend to take her far away from the pit of Lima, Ohio.

How quickly they had been stripped off her. Now, she decided, it was time for a whole new reputation. If she was resigned to spending the rest of her life in Lima, she would burn through her youth with cigarettes and hair dye. Real estate and husband-hunting would have to come later. Much, much, later if she was being honest with herself. At the end of the last school year she had said goodbye to glee club with every intention of never returning and her life had been purged of all the pressure that had compelled her to get drunk and pregnant, kick her friends to the curb, and then finally slap the one person who had always tried to do right by her.

Rachel Berry hadn't been making her transition to isolation easy. The captain of glee club, ever diligent and self-important, had spent at least—by Quinn's estimation—an hour of her time recording voicemail messages on her cell phone. They ranged from peaceful protests of Quinn's silence to Rachel's indicting drawl about responsibility and the necessity for "consistency." As if she had any semblance of consistency, Quinn continued to ignore the calls and the texts, refusing to wonder where the girl had gotten her phone number. None of her friends could be trusted anymore to save her from the useless diatribe of opinions that was Rachel Berry.

When June turned to July and Quinn decided that it was time for her to step up the image of her recklessness, Rachel showed up again, this time more invasive as she appeared behind her mother shocked at her newly-cut hair. In typical them-fashion, Quinn offered a snide comment and watched Rachel scurry away, down the stairs and out the door. As she slammed her door shut on her mother, she accepted that she would always be menacing and hoped that it would work in her favor when it came time to confront the rest of the club she had once considered a family.

Sitting on the windowsill for too long sent a stabbing pain through her spine and she switched to lying on her back, one side against the wall in order to keep her arm up and the cigarette out the window. Even if she couldn't look her mom in the eye she didn't want to permanently stink up the house with smoke. It was the least she could do since Judy took her back in after the Jones' insisted she reconnect with her family.

Rachel Berry, Quinn thought, breathing smoke into her lungs. She imagined the accusations she would get for "damaging" her voice if Rachel could see her there on the floor at that moment. If Rachel would accuse her of anything, though, it would probably be some form of sabotage for not returning her calls or joining in any of the summer glee club "rehearsals." Quinn could just barely find it in herself to care.

A niggling, fleeting, passing notion of a miniscule feeling.

She felt guiltier before she took into account the times they actually used her whether it was in practice or in actual competition. Once she had been featured in competition and the rest she had sung in the group numbers. When she looked from that perspective it would have made more sense for her to rejoin Cheerios than the New Directions. Unfortunately, the decision had nothing to do with whether or not she got a solo—she didn't think she could be that petty—but rather involved the people she would have to face if she showed up for those meetings anymore.

She had given it one more school year in the hopes that she could turn it around and make it matter. Instead she saw all the faces of the people who she had hurt as they crossed her path and how little they wanted to do with her, even while sitting two rows back. She could toy around and manipulate them into helping her find her way back, but that had the opposite effect. They all still saw her as the selfish cheerleader who would sell them out at the drop of a scholarship-donning hat.

All of them except…

"Rachel Berry," Quinn said aloud, reading the name off the screen of her white Blackberry as the text tone chirped through the room. The noise disappeared as fast as she had the message open.

(7:34 PM) Rachel B: Quinn.

It was different than the last sixteen messages she had erased as soon as she was finished reading them. Quinn could almost feel the weight behind this one, the reluctance as well as frustration. She had spent enough time with Rachel to understand her many and rapidly-changing moods.

Quinn looked at the timestamp and saw she still had two hours before the Skanks would show up at her window, throwing rocks that were rather too large at her window to get her attention. It left two hours of boredom, probably laying on the floor of her bedroom and listening to the soft music vibrating from the floor below her where her mother was entertaining a friend.

Or it could be two hours of taunting, her favorite pastime.

Opening a new message, she stared at her thumbs on the keys. For the first time, she felt incapable of nasty threats or vicious insults that would end the conversation before it began. She couldn't tell if it had to do with her increasing laziness to bother with what she had once enjoyed, or if it had to do with the fact that she felt alone as she lay on the rough carpeting, her access to human communication finally open.

She could talk to Melissa, or Jen, or Vicky, but it just wasn't the same. The last time she hadn't felt alone long preceded those girls. They were her way to pass the time and an excursion into her new lifestyle—not friends, not comforting.

Before she could type out a response, the phone buzzed again.

(7:48 PM) Rachel B: Please, Quinn. This is ridiculous.

She finally had an opening to return their familiar repartee.

(7:48 PM) What's ridiculous, Berry?

Quinn sucked in a breath and threw the cigarette out the window, shutting it and sitting back up against the wall, her head against the wooden frame.

(7:49 PM) Rachel B: Do you know how long it's been?

1 year, 2 months, and almost 14 days.

(7:51 PM) How long?

(7:52 PM) Rachel B: Almost a month, Quinn. You could have been dead for all we knew.

She snickered.

(7:52 PM): That could be avoided.

Quinn could imagine the gratuitous eye roll she had just earned herself.

(7:52 PM) Rachel B: What could be avoided?

(7:55 PM): Just stop caring. Then we'll be even.

A few long minutes passed before her screen lit up again, this time instead it was a call. She watched the blank picture ID tremble as the phone vibrated and again, she let it go to voicemail.

Nice try, Berry.

(8:01 PM) Rachel B: Really?

(8:03 PM): Really.

(8:04 PM) Rachel B: Is this making you feel better? I thought we were past this. Friends, even.

Quinn couldn't imagine the face that accompanied such a heartfelt confession. She hadn't seen or heard one of those in a long time to remember what expressions meant that you were sincerely hurt by what the other person was doing. Her life had been full of turned-away emotions, hiding what got to her and lashing back out at the appropriate time. In that way she thought of her and Rachel as kindred spirits—she had heard her fair share of crying from behind the wings in the auditorium and from outside the bathroom stalls. They were both smart enough to know that emotions were weakness, but where she had been hardened and conditioned, Rachel was still naïve and trusting.

It caught her by surprise the more she realized how well she knew the girl who was without a doubt her nemesis at McKinley. She reconciled that must have been the reason she had learned the inside and outside of Rachel Berry so well.

(8:10 PM): We aren't.

(8:10 PM) Rachel B: Friends or past bickering?

(8:15 PM): Take your pick. Is there a reason you wanted my attention tonight?

She came back to the weighty first text and what felt like the start of a real conversation until she had antagonized Rachel into a corner.

(8:18 PM) Rachel B: Actually, yes. I wanted to know what your plans for school-shopping were?

Quinn balked as she read the message over and over to discern the meaning she wasn't finding.

(8:18 PM): My plans for school shopping?

(8:20 PM) Rachel B: Pencils, pens, notebooks. That kind of thing. For school.

Mystified would be an understatement as Quinn could only laugh.

(8:22 PM): What the hell, Rachel?

(8:22 PM) Rachel B: What?

She had had enough. Without thinking she pressed the green phone button and held it against her ear, listening to the ringing. Almost instantly after the first pass, Rachel picked up.

"Yes?"

"How does this work? I tell you we aren't friends and you still ask me to go out and shop together." It all sounded incredibly more ludicrous when she said it aloud.

There was a hint of a snicker from the other girl. "Well, if you must know, I sincerely want to see you before school starts up again."

That was too forward for even Rachel.

"Not gonna happen."

"Quinn, please."

"Fine! We aren't friends," Rachel shouted. "You can still at least be a human decent being."

Quinn sat forward off the window frame and planted her elbows into her thighs, hard. "I didn't even do anything to you!"

Even louder, Rachel added, "You're the only person who has been remotely sincere to me in this town, Quinn! I really think you need to talk to someone! Anyone!"

"You're nuts if you think that person should be you!" Quinn pushed the 'END' button and pounded her phone into the carpet.

Quinn sulked into her legs, face contorted in frustration. She had spent the last month working on her mellow demeanor and all it took was hearing Rachel's voice to send her back into pure agitation.

Cutting off her trance, a rock ticked against the window pane and she didn't have to look to know who was waiting for her. She lifted the window open and felt the cool, night breeze drift against her chest, making her turn back and grab a dark hoodie from the hamper next to her television. As she pulled it over her arms and climbed outside, she ignored the blinking light of her cell phone that meant she had another text message and shut the window behind her.

Thank you! :)