Disclaimer:I do not own any of these characters. This is purely and simply fiction. The characters belong to Fox and Ryan Murphy and a bunch of other people who I do not know.

A/N: This is my first Faberry story, and I am quite nervous. Reviews would be lovely, but do not feel obligated :)

*** I recently rewrote and edited because, Lord, the secondhand embarrassment I got when I reread this required me to***

Staring out the window, Quinn Fabray traced the raindrops trailing down the cool glass. The muffled sound of Schindler's List coming from the living room above lingered in the background of the musty Puckerman basement, the noise mixing with the pitter-patter of the rain against the ceiling.

It was peaceful, albeit lonely, but at the moment, it was better than being homeless.

A few days earlier, Quinn accepted Puck's hasty offer to move in after Finn ended their relationship with the angry kick of a chair in front of the entire Glee club.

The former Cheerio sighed into the window, losing herself in the clear droplets dancing for her. A soft yet firm kick brought her back to reality, her hand immediately gravitating to her stomach to soothe the infant inside of her.

This baby was all she has left, not counting the mohawked stud who was currently crying his eyes out with his mother upstairs. He was all talk and no action; half of the time he ignored her to play video games, masturbate or sext the newest hottie. Quinn gently traced hearts onto her stomach.

"Hey, baby," she whispered into the silence, curling her knees up to her chest to caress her stomach closely.

Every night, before she went to sleep, Quinn talked to her daughter. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if said someone couldn't talk back. Maybe it was better this way.

"Vocal Adrenaline came to our auditorium today. After their weird attempt to scare us, Jesse said he was leaving Glee for good. I never trusted that guy. I think it was the hair."

The baby rolled over in her stomach. Quinn smiled softly, her eyes dropping to the origin of he movement.

"He dumped Rachel. She seemed upset," she continued absently.

A sharp kick pierced at her stomach.

"She deserves better."

Rachel was a freak most of the time, don't get her wrong, but she didn't deserve a crappy boy friend. No one did. Besides, Rachel was the only one who hasn't been looking at her like she had two heads which was more than refreshing, even though they never really talked. Still, Jesse was a jerk, and Quinn couldn't help but feel a little protective.

Suddenly, a small knock came from her door.

"Come in," she said warily.

Puck walked in slowly, as if he was expecting to find her in labor.


"Hey," he replied softly, sinking into the chair beside her.

Quinn looked at him, her eyes raking over his tanned skin and deep brown eyes; they paused at those normally pursed lips that had uttered three words that made her capture them in a searing kiss that landed her where she was right now, pregnant, homeless, and alone.

"You okay?" he asked.

Quinn nodded automatically, her response always the same.

"How is she?"

Quinn smiled, her eyes gazing down at her stomach hoping for a kick; the baby was silent.

"She's fine."

Puck sighed in defeat.

"Well, uh, that's good. I'll be upstairs. Sorry I bothered you."

Quinn saw a flash of pain in his eyes.

"Puck, wait," she said quickly as she stood up.

He turned around, a hopeful smile on his face.


"I'm sorry," she all but whispered.

He nodded and left silently. Quinn made her way over to her bed. Puck wanted to keep the baby. If she were to be logical, she would say no because her daughter deserved the best possible life, a life that right now Quinn couldn't give her. Adoption made sense. Her daughter needed to be happy. A homeless teen for a mom and Puck for a dad was not an equation for happiness.

If she were to be completely honest she would say she wanted to keep her. Ever since her parents kicked her out, she became closer to the infant growing inside of her. She could distinguish when the baby was happy or fussy, when she wanted to be rubbed or talked to. It makes her feel needed, loved; but it would be selfish of her to keep her daughter just so she wouldn't be lonely. So she sticks to being Logical Quinn, despite how much it hurts.

It hurt so much.

She slowly lay back down on the cot and glanced over at the portable clock atop the rumbling washing machine. Puck had given it to her, his attempt at a housewarming gift. The washing machine soon began to lull Quinn to sleep.

It was only 9:27pm.

She felt her eyelids drooping, fighting to stay awake, but why? There was nothing to stay awake for. Her homework was finished, and there was no way in hell that she was going to watch Schindler's List. So she let her eyelids droop, praying that for the first time in weeks she would get a good night's sleep. And she did, sort of.


Quinn finds herself in an open field, clutching her round stomach.

In the distance she sees a black baby grand piano, beckoning her with its looming presence.

She walks to it, and once she is there, her fingers gently touch the keys, craving the touch.

They begin moving over the object and create music.

Claire de Lune.

It's the first thing she plays, her fingers effortlessly hitting the notes with each one resonating within her soul.

All of a sudden she feels a warm soft hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slightly.

She smiles, and her body melts at the touch.

As she continues to play, the wind blows slightly and causes something to brush by her porcelain cheek.

She whips her face around and is greeted by the sight of a familiar girl.

The brown luscious locks sway in time with the breeze as the girl smiles at Quinn, blinding her with beauty.

The girl leans in and kisses her on the cheek.

"You're not alone, Quinn,"

Quinn shot up in bed, sweating and hanging onto her stomach for dear life.

It was pitch black and silent, save for her heavy breathing. A deep fire burned in the pit of her stomach. It startled her, though it was probably heartburn or the baby. The child was kicking like crazy, but it was a good crazy, a happy crazy. Quinn lay back onto her pillow, rubbing her belly, questioning her sanity and something else too.