With an argyle binder clutched tightly to her chest, Quinn Fabray walked cautiously down the deserted hallways of McKinley High. She passed by classroom after classroom, observing sleepy students staring blankly at their teachers. Her flats padded lightly against the linoleum floors as she turned the corner into the choir room.

Quinn held her breath as she opened the door.

It was empty.

To her right were two guitars standing upright next to an unplugged amp. The grand piano resided in the center of the room, looming before the red chairs she and her peers sit in each and every day.

Quinn shut the door behind her quietly, releasing her breath, and walked over to one of the acoustic guitars. Her slender hands expertly handled the wooden instrument. After she ran her palms over the soft base and slick strings, Quinn pulled the strap over her shoulders and took a seat at the piano bench.

Her fingers surprisingly grabbed the first chord and began to strum lazily. Within minutes, her idle strumming morphed into a much more purposeful movement as she began the song that had been haunting her since Regionals. It was like she had never stopped playing. The chords switched effortlessly. A small smile graced her normally pursed lips. It was exhilarating. Ignoring the small bit of pain that shot through her raw fingers, Quinn continued on more and more viciously.

The time for words was fast approaching. Quinn bit her lip, attempting to blockade her mouth from uttering the lyrics. The music flowed out of the instrument naturally, but she couldn't will herself to sing. She opened her mouth once or twice, but no sounds came out. In her dreams, Quinn walked into the room, smoothly picking up the guitar, and crooned out a heart wrenching ballad alla Rachel Berry; reality was thoroughly disappointing.

Finally, after what felt like years of endless chords, Quinn inhaled deeply and exhaled. Maybe it would sort of resemble a note.

Like a bird cawing or a moose dying, Quinn released a sound that immediately caused her fingers to stop their graceful movements. The silence was deafening. Her eyes welled up with tears, and her throat burned from its lack of use. Her tears were fighting for freedom. Quinn desperately fought back, pushing them furiously down her throat.

Without warning, she chucked her guitar and watched it crash to the ground with a loud bang. She began to pace, burning holes into the ground with each heavy step. Her hand rubbed her neck, trying to search for where the problem was, why she couldn't sing a simple song she'd known forever. After a few minutes of pacing, she tuckered herself out and plopped down on a vacant chair.

It had been a year since Regionals. It had been a year since the club lost to Vocal Adrenaline. It had been a year since the birth of her child. Quinn's heart throbbed. A small sob wracked through her body. Her hands gravitated towards her barren stomach.

A small being lies in the arms of its mother. Her hazel eyes slowly open, adjusting to the harsh light of the operating room, and focus hazily on the girl holding her. Her eyes are tired, but upon seeing her child a small flame ignites in them, one that hasn't been lit in months. The infant's lips curl neatly into a smile, earning a bright laugh from her mother. Frightening yet comforting warmth filled her up. Her body tensed in response. Soon this baby would be in another woman's arms.

Quinn gazed at her daughter anyway, cradling the child gently against her chest, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"Hey, baby girl," she breathed as the nurses hurried around the room.

"Ms. Fabray, we need to take your daughter now," one of them said suddenly.

Quinn's eyes widened and returned to the gurgling, squirming child in her arms. Tears spilled over her eyes. With one final kiss, she handed the child over to the nurses before slipping into a morphine-induced sleep. The hospital faded to black. She heard the distant cry of her daughter being ripped away from her.

Quinn woke up empty and in a cleaner room with lightly yellowed walls and a sleeping teenaged boy slumped over in an armchair by her side. The room came into focus as well as the pain from the labor. Her hips ached, and her hands immediately clutched them. She groaned softly. The sound woke up the boy who rushed to her side.

"Hey," he whispered, his hand gripping onto the bed for support.

His normally playful brown eyes were dimmed and tired. Neither of them had the energy nor the words to comfort one another. Quinn simply settled for silence as Puck awkwardly shifted his weight.

"Listen, I-," he began.

"Please," she croaked, "get out."

Puck's eyes widened, his mouth hanging slightly open. Then he nodded, swallowing his words and tears, and left the room quietly. Once the door shut behind him, Quinn turned into her pillow and released a guttural scream into the material.

"Q-Quinn?" an unsure voice stuttered softly.

Her body ceased all movement. Quinn slowly turned around and met the shocked gaze of Rachel Berry. Instantly she shot up off of the floor and turned around, trying to conceal the tears Rachel had already seen. Without acknowledging her past nemesis, Quinn walked over to the chair and grabbed her binder silently.

Rachel was still trying to get used to this new Quinn, the depressed and mute blonde with eyes drowning in sadness. After Regionals, everyone, save for Rachel, had tried to get Quinn to speak. The school counselor, Principal Figgins, professional psychologists and grief councilors all took a stab at it, but none of them could get through to the teenage mother.

Rachel didn't even attempt to help Quinn. It was obvious to her that forcing Quinn to talk would only make her quieter; and that was exactly what had happened.

Months went by without Quinn uttering a single word. Though she didn't sing anymore, the club decided it would be best to let her stay in the club. Slowly, Quinn's cheeks hollowed. The circles beneath her eyes became deeper as did her silence. Rachel kept a close eye on the blonde, noting the changes in her eyes, lips, and body language whenever they were around each other. As the year passed, Rachel learned more about Quinn from watching her than from actually speaking to her. Quinn would take a long time to heal, though everyone else seemed to have given up.

Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Before you go, Quinn, may I ask you something?"

Quinn's body stopped moving midway through picking up her binder. Their eyes met hesitantly. Quinn nodded.

"Were you just trying to sing?"

Quinn froze. Ignoring the blonde, Rachel walked to the piano and sat down, her skirt draping over the bench in waves of polyester.

"When I lost my voice last year, I was terrified of singing again. I sat at the piano for hours before I finally got the guts to do it."

Rachel laughed quietly, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. Quinn stared.

"I sounded awful. My voice was scratchy and… just awful. I sobbed for hours. I truly believed that my life was over. But then, I decided to try again. And again. And again. And then before I knew it my voice had returned like a faithful puppy dog."

Her fingers traced over middle C gently before she looked back at Quinn. Swiftly, she leapt off of the bench and took Quinn tenderly by the hand to place her onto the bench.

"Now," she said softly, "breathe in and push your stomach out. Feel the air rush into your diaphragm."

Quinn's body was rigid, her head shaking and rejecting the order.

"It's just breathing, Quinn," Rachel reassured her.

Rachel heard Quinn inhale and release the breath.

"Good," she praised, "Again."

Quinn's body remained stiff. She focused on herself, how the air she took from her surroundings flooded her stomach and then quickly exited through her mouth. At first she felt stupid as she pushed her stomach out far as she inhaled deeply; but after a few breaths, her shoulders sagged and the wrinkles in her forehead straightened out. Her eyes closed and for a while the entire world ceased existing.

As the blonde unwound, Rachel watched curiously, noting how the right side of her lip would curl each time she inhaled and how her lips loosened into a perfect line with each exhale. Quinn was serene. Rachel smiled proudly, immediately chastising herself. She was proud of Quinn Fabray for breathing. It was hardly an act that warranted pride.

Suddenly, a harsh warning bell cut through the air. Quinn's eyes snapped open. Her face returned to its usual wan expression. Quinn avoided Rachel's curious brown eyes watching her, getting up and moving past the now smashed guitar. As she picked up her binder, Quinn braced herself for whatever Rachel would say, some clichéd advice or question to provoke her into speaking. When she turned around, Quinn saw that Rachel was simply leaned up against the piano, her tight blouse hugging her chest tightly, and smiling softly. Quinn's cheeks burned with an obvious blush. For a moment, the silence did not comfort her.

Quinn bit her lip and walked towards the door, ready to make a clean escape. Her body betrayed her. Her mouth opened.

Rachel stilled.

Quinn stood still, her lips quivering. She looked at Rachel, those eyes drawing her in.

A look of panic flashed across Quinn's face. Rachel simply smiled brighter. Before leaving, Rachel grabbed the blonde's arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Quinn watched as she left, her skirt swishing rhythmically and faithfully after her.