Title: Revelation

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

Summary: You're pretty sure you've hit puberty. And not the puberty in the sense that you're growing breasts and getting your period because, been there, done that. But puberty in the sense that you're starting to be attracted to the most random things like low, intimate tones of voices, people innocently brushing against various parts of your body, hugging.

A/N 1: AU, I suppose since this takes place sophomore year and Beth just doesn't exist. I sometimes can't help but wonder how different Quinn would have been had sleeping with Puck never happened. So occasionally I just pretend it didn't…

A/N 2: I may come back to this and make it a two-shot, but I don't know. I'm kind of a sucker for unrequited lust. And I enjoy getting into Quinn's head and the result is a tangled and confused mess. This poor girl. Also, full-on second person in this fic, because I adore this POV, but don't write it often because not many share my love for it, haha. Hope you enjoy!

You don't too much care for people. And your apathy isn't at all natural, but you've felt this way ever since Lucy Caboosey began to stick, and no one's proven themselves worthy of giving a damn about since, so no. You'd much prefer to not take care of the fake, plastic baby at the front of the classroom with a partner for the next month.

Mrs. Williams is just simply ecstatic, and it only serves to piss you off more as your elbow sinks into the unforgiving wooden desk and you rest your head in your hand. Your eyes are sharp as they walk over your fellow classmates to find that no one is really paying two brain cells worth of attention.

No one, except Rachel Berry, teacher's pet extraordinaire.

She's diligently taking notes, though the teacher is only going over the basics that anyone who can spell their name correctly on an IQ test would be able to understand without jotting down word for fucking word, ver-fucking-batim.

(You're kind of angry with the world, but you don't let that stop you from going to church on Sundays.)

Rachel's posture is impeccably rigid, as rigid as her hair with its serial killer straightness, and anally retentive curled bangs.

Literally, everything about her makes you sick.

Even down to her plaid skirt that doesn't match her sweater at all, but she still has the nerve to waltz into school every day like she's going to win prom queen in two years. Her back has this subtle arch to it that starts where her neck ends and curls increasingly inward until your eyes drop to her lower back, then her ass dares to protrude backwards as if she's looking for lewd attention while taking notes in home ec.

Her thighs are pressed tightly together and you wonder with a snicker how her crotch can even breathe—

You turn away quickly. Your eyes are large and round in your head as you blink them repeatedly as if that can erase the thought you just had. You ignore everything that just transpired the past three minutes as you face forward again to give the teacher your full attention.

Good girls didn't think about crotches. Good girls didn't even know the word crotch.

And you had just thought about fugly, fugly, two-by-four, Rachel Berry's crotch.

"Ugh," you mutter in disgust to yourself, and Santana cuts you an odd look that's half amused and half curious.

"Berry," you mouth exaggeratingly with an even more exaggerated eye roll, and Santana giggles like you had a few minutes ago, except she isn't giggling at the thought of a crotch like a pre-pubescent boy like you were.

Your day sucks already, and you're over it.

"Quinn Fabray?"

Your neck elongates swan-like at the sound of your name and your eyes zero in on the teacher.

"Your partner is Rachel Berry."

And good, wholesome girls don't swear, but you mutter, "Fuck," under your breath anyway.

Rachel's not exactly over-the-top excited like you were expecting, but you can smell the stench of hopefulness on her as she cradles the hard plastic baby to her chest like it's real and stares up at you like she's waiting for you to get up from the couch and go buy a bag of diapers because Jr.'s soiled them all.

"What do you think we should name her?" Rachel asks in a breath, quick and buzzing energy by your side and you purposefully ignore her for a second as you grab your textbooks.

"What makes you think she's a she?" you finally ask.

"I—well, she has on a pink bonnet, so…"

You look down at the 'baby' for the first time since class when you simply glanced at it then handed it to Rachel. "So it does…"

"She," Rachel emphasizes, and right then and there you know the next month is going to be challenging. She rambles on about how refusing to call your child by her appropriate gender will give her identity issues when she's older, and that if you don't stop, Rachel will be forced to note that in the journal that the two of you have to keep until the month is up and it's a pretty large percentage of your grade along with the baby being returned in one piece with no permanent ink tattoos on her person. And your eyes can't help but drop to Rachel's lips and wonder how they don't get tired because you're sure Rachel spends like, twenty-three hours a day talking, only allotting one hour of deep sleeping a night where she's finally quiet.

You slam your locker shut and only then does Rachel shut the fuck up for a change. "Fine."

She looks relieved, then smiles brightly at you before hoisting the baby higher. "I know that…we don't really get along, Quinn, and I know that you don't like me, and draw pornographic images of me—" You regret the day you ever confessed to that, "But this project is a huge percentage of our grade and I know a fellow honor student such as yourself won't let petty differences be the deciding factor in whether we pass or fail this."

And she's right about one thing, there's absolutely nothing, not even your dislike for Rachel Berry of all people, that will stop you from getting a good grade on an assignment.

You clutch your books to your chest and spin on your heel because you have Spanish soon. Rachel falls in step beside you, giant grin still in place. "So, names?"

You open your mouth, but she beats you to the punch.

"I've been throwing Barbra, Liza, and—"

"I don't like any of those names," you mutter. Everyone in the hallway is staring at you with judgmental eyes for walking down the hallway with Rachel, and it's kind of getting under your skin as your fingers curl tightly around the spiral notebook in your arms until indentations form on your skin.

You can see your classroom just down the hall and you're so close to ultimate relief that you almost smile to yourself.

"Hey, Rachel!"

You know that voice.

You swivel around to find Finn jogging over to the two of you, more specifically Rachel, and he looks so big and goofy that you can't help but wonder what you ever saw in him. He gives Rachel a dopey grin and you are not at all jealous as she returns it with white teeth and pink gums.

"Good morning, Finn," Rachel chirps, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and your eyes roll at her Baby Gap version of flirting. "H-how are you today?"

You hadn't heard her sound like that, shy and nervous, in the past ten minutes you were talking to her and your eyebrow flicks up at the way her head lowers demurely. You tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling as the question why me? floats around your head, and your jaw works back and forth in annoyance at Finn's charmed chuckle at Rachel's bashfulness.

The warning bell rings and you shoot Finn a look that commands come with me as you rip the baby from Rachel's arms to finally get her attention. She turns around with alarmed eyes, and you force a smile that honestly looks scary as you glare down at her. "I'll take her for this class, and we can swap after lunch."

Rachel's apprehension is visible in the lines of her body, but she bites her lip and nods anyway, and you don't even say goodbye as you walk away because of how livid you are at their obvious flirting in front of you as if you weren't Finn's girlfriend first.

"Cute baby," Finn says conversationally as the two of you walk in class, and you level him with a look that inquires just how much of a moron is he if he thinks you're going to talk to him after that little stunt.

"Super cute baby, Q," Brittany gushes in excitement as you sit down beside her and you smile exaggeratedly so Finn can see how much more you like her than you like him at the moment.

"Thanks, B."

You glance down at the baby with more interest than you had earlier now that you realize how important she is to Rachel, and you can't help but wonder why. She's hard and cold with a face frozen into an icy smile and big, blue eyes that neither you nor Rachel have. She looks nothing like either of you, but she's worth a huge grade and you fathom maybe that's why Rachel cares so much already.

When class ends, Rachel is standing dutifully outside the door, and you walk past her because you're pretty sure she's waiting for Finn, but instead she walks faster to catch up with you, and she grins when she glances down at the baby in your arms and realizes there's no damage done. "How was she?"

You sigh at the stupid question, but then glance over your shoulder to find Finn looking jilted in the doorway, and suddenly you can play this game, very well.

"She was great," you murmur. "Very quiet."

"She gets that from you," Rachel gushes like you guys actually have a child together, and—whatever. Finn's pissed right now and that's all that matters.

You look down at the smile on her face once more, then continue walking down the hallway with the baby in your arms and Rachel by your side. "Yeah."

"I just don't understand why that school of yours is perpetuating same-sex relationships with this new project," Russell declares with a stern furrow of his brow at the dinner table.

You had foolishly brought Little-Baby-What's-Her-Name to the dinner table to show your parents in some form of muted excitement. Judy's smile was bland and indulgent, though her reaction was better than your father's, who still can't wrap his mind around the fact that you're partnered with a girl to 'raise a baby.'

"The point of the project is to show everyone that raising a child isn't easy. They're trying to cut down on teenage sex and promote abstinence."

"Isn't that what the celibacy club is for?" Judy chimes in after a moment and Russell nods his head gravely in agreement.

"A club which you're president of. You don't need this assignment when you're the poster child of celibacy," Russell decides.

Your rigid, domineering personality comes from him and you don't pretend otherwise. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now since I have to do the project and it's thirty percent of my grade."

Judy's eyes widen, which surprises you because you thought she had tuned out by now like she always does. "Then you had better do it."

Russell frowns. "She's in a same-sex relationship, raising a baby."

"This isn't real, you know," you advertise, like waving a flag across the table in order to be heard. Your father doesn't much care for gay people. He's just shy of homophobic and firmly believes that one man lying with another is a ticket straight to hell.

You don't really have a stance, especially since two of your closest friends like to 'lie down with one another' daily. And Kurt's a pretty cool guy who just screams flaming. So, yeah. You're fine with people who are gay, or bi, or whatever other sexuality that means the same sex is occasionally 'lying down together', as long as that doesn't come your way.

The conversation seems never-ending as Russell shoots straight into a rant about how a gay guy back in high school got hit by a car and it certainly had to do with karma coming back to bite him in his ass because of his abnormal ways, and you just get up, grab the baby and slink up the stairs to your room.

Your phone is lying on the bed and you scoop it up before lying sideways across it and scroll through your contacts. Finn's still in there and you spend about five minutes contemplating deleting his number before you decide that you guys have a class together, and glee club, and maybe that number will come in handy one day if you forget an assignment. Curiously, you open up the last message he sent to you. Your eyes narrow as you read it over and you suddenly remember why you never responded back.

shes really cool once you get 2 know her and shes nice and accepting and really youre neither of those things so you cant be mad at me for actually wanting to hang out with her and stuff

You exit out of the message quickly as your chest begins to hurt. It seems that Rachel is everything you aren't, and you get that, but that doesn't mean that you had to lose your boyfriend because of it.

And Rachel just smiles and curtsies whenever Finn is around like he's some king, which he honestly isn't. He isn't that great, smart, or good-looking and even someone like Rachel could do better.

You scroll through your contacts to confirm what you were really looking for: you don't have Rachel's number. You were planning on texting her to inform her that Baby-What's-Her-Face is doing well, but whatever. It was probably best that you didn't have her number anyway.

Two hours of doing homework and a twenty minute shower later and steam is chasing you out of the bathroom. You walk into your room to find the baby lying there in the middle of your bed beside your beeping phone. Scooping it up, you open it to find a message from an unknown number.

Hi, Quinn, it's Rachel. I hope this doesn't bother you too much, but I acquired your number from Finn, and wanted to inquire about the well-being of our baby. Please text me back as expeditiously as you possibly can.

-Rachel Berry *

Your eyes roll at the stupid asterisk in an attempt to ignore the stupid fluttering in your stomach because Rachel called the baby yours and hers, ours.

And you're not sure what this feeling is but it tingles, and it makes you uncomfortable as thoughts of Rachel settle heavily in your head. You compose a reply, and bite your lip as you obsess over what to say.

Hey, Berry. Should have known you'd stalk your way to my number. The baby's fine, btw.

You stare at your reply for a moment. It sounds aloof enough to you and you hit send, then contemplate texting Finn and berating him for giving Rachel your number.

The baby still doesn't have a name, which you don't really care about, but Rachel's been stressing over it all day and it's been making you stress to the point where you're on top of the pyramid at Cheerios practice and the only thing you can think about is the way Rachel whipped her hair around today in the hallway between classes and stalked off to the library for her free period to look up baby names.

You skip glee club sometimes and you definitely skipped today for practice or Sue would have your head—she's told you so—and you rather like your head. It's pretty and blonde and guaranteed to score you a good husband in ten plus years, if this Finn thing doesn't pan out, and you surprisingly find yourself increasingly hoping it doesn't.

Your support literally drops out from under you and your stomach bottoms out as you feel yourself fall back to the ground. You're caught by your team, then promptly dropped again as a lesson to pay attention. You know Sue ordered it, and the smirk on Santana's face as she glares down at you makes your cheeks burn in mortification.

"Hit the showers!"

You spring up, thankful that practice is over, and when Sue doesn't tell you to run laps your shoulders slump in relief.

Santana's hip checks you as she walks by, spinning around to face you with a mocking grin. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," you mutter. She's like a wolf that can smell weakness and vulnerability from a mile away like fresh blood and she always likes to capitalize on it. "Just tired, that's all."

Santana shrugs off the reply like it doesn't interest her and spins back around to fall in step beside you. "How's being partnered with Berry?"

"Lame," is your automatic reply, but it's only been a day and aside from blatantly flirting with Finn in your presence, Rachel really hasn't been that bad.

"Can't be as lame as Puck. All I do is hold the baby and sit while he plays video games all day. We're so gonna fail."

You giggle at the prospect that you aren't alone in this awkward project and clasp your hands behind your back. "Make him turn the game off every once in a while."

"I would, but then he'd be pawing all over me."

"Like you don't like it," you drawl sarcastically.

Santana looks away then and you assume you've gotten the best of her and look away toward the school building…where Rachel is standing just outside the door with the baby on her hip, looking at you expectantly.

Her hip is cocked out with attitude you're kind of amused to find directed at you. Santana slides right past her without a glance in her direction and walks into the building. Your steps slow until you're a couple of feet in front of her. "Can I help you?"

It seems that at the sound of your voice Rachel immediately disarms herself and walks down the steps until she isn't taller than you anymore and standing directly in front of you. She looks at you for a moment, then her head ducks bashfully and your eyes pop widely open at the sight of it. She looks back up at you then and your neck feels hot as she bites her lip to stifle a smile. "I've thought of a name," Rachel says quietly.

You've never heard her voice sound this way, and a part of you wants to sway closer to it. "What?" you murmur just as lowly and Rachel looks at you weirdly for a moment, but then she's smiling again as if she likes it, and your lips twitch.

"Lucy."

Your face falls and Rachel's does as well in reaction before she quickly backtracks. "Do you not like it? I just—it's really pretty and it was on the list of baby names I looked up on this website, and it means 'light' and you know how parents think of their children as the light of their lives? Well, I really see our baby as, you know, the same. And…this is stupid, isn't it?"

You're not sure when your eyes fell heavily on Rachel's lips, but the second she stops talking, you snap out of it. You had liked your birth name, Lucy, very much until middle school rolled around. Since then you've abhorred it so much that you even changed your name, but you had never known that your name, so common and mundane, actually means light, something so positive and essential, and something akin to pride settles warmly in your chest at the thought.

"It's not stupid, no." You shake your head. "We can name her that, if you'd like." You don't bother to tell her that's your actual name, because you don't want to open up that can of worms just yet, or ever.

Rachel squeals in excitement, and the next thing you know she's wrapping an arm around you. It wraps around your neck and squeezes as she holds the baby to the side in an embrace that would have been unsafe were this baby actually real, and you're kind of smug right now at the thought that hugging you is more important than this fake baby's safety in Rachel's eyes.

Your hand touches her waist and you start to feel excited as your tongue swipes over your lip. But you're not even sure why, because you've hugged girls before, Brittany and Santana, but something about this feels forbidden.

She steps closer in reaction to your touch and suddenly you feel her breasts, small and firm molding softly against your own, and you exhale raggedly as your lower stomach begins to ache.

"This is going to be wonderful," Rachel tells you, and your voice is gargled as you just push the word, "Yeah," past your lips in a choked sigh.

You're pretty sure you've hit puberty.

And not the puberty in the sense that you're growing breasts and getting your period because, been there, done that. But puberty in the sense that you're starting to become attracted to the most random things like low, intimate tones of voices, people innocently brushing against various parts of your body, hugging.

And, okay, it's not people these attractions are presenting themselves to you. It's Rachel, which is random, but as long as you don't have to admit it out loud, you can at least admit it to yourself in your pitch black bedroom, under your blankets at—you glance at the clock on your nightstand—two in the morning.

You had woken up in a bit of a sweat with your blankets bunched around your waist from a vague dream that included Rachel's hips, as boy-like as they were. You wonder if she's hit puberty yet because those boy hips are a little lacking, but she's clearly miles ahead of you when it comes to being attracted to people. But then again, everyone's miles ahead of you. Santana and Brittany had been hooking up with each other since late last year when all three of you were freshmen and you hadn't even had your first kiss yet.

And even before then, Brittany had lost her virginity already, and so had Santana. You're the only one clinging to yours as if you have the most sanctified pussy in Ohio.

You groan and jerk your head to the side at your own thoughts, clamping your eyes shut. Since when do you think about the word pussy? It's coarse and grotesque. You have a vagina. Brittany and Santana have vaginas that they like to rub up against each other, not that you have a problem with that.

Even RuPaul Berry has a vagina, and you kind of wonder what she does with it. She probably touches it; she's gross like that. And she'd probably be wet with thoughts of Finn because she has no idea how gross that hairy, pudgy belly of his is up close. And that loud mouth of hers probably wouldn't be able to keep quiet once she gets going, those damn lips never closed, only open and wanton as she licks them until they glisten.

You don't even try to rationalize your own actions when your hand wanders inexpertly into your underwear—only wonder if Rachel does it better. You've always compared yourself to her, but that was only because Finn wouldn't ever stop thinking about her, and you've always wondered what she has that you don't. And maybe this is it. Experience. Dexterous fingers. Fingers that glide through her pussy with ease unlike yours that keep slipping over the abundance of wetness weeping from your sanctified vagina, and why are you so warm down there?

You come anyway, quietly sobbing with pleasure and mortification, because this is your first orgasm. Brittany, Santana, even Finn had exited your thoughts about two minutes ago.

Only Rachel remained.