Characters/Pairings: Unholy Trinity friendship (Quinn/Santana/Brittany)
Word count: 665
Summary: Quinn's contractions start well before New Directions goes on stage at Regionals. Set during Season 1 Journey.
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
“Not today,” Quinn breathed, hands resting on her rounded abdomen as another cramp built in her back and radiated forward. “Today is important. You have to wait.”
She braced herself against the bathroom wall, allowing her head to lull backwards as the pain subsided. It was a pain, not a contraction, even though it was the sixth she’d had since they’d arrived at Regionals an hour earlier. If she called it a contraction then she was in labor and she was not going to ruin everything for the entire glee club just because her baby had sucky timing.
“Stay put for a little while longer,” she instructed, poking the side of her belly gently. “Just until after Don’t Stop Believin’. Then you can…”
“Britt,” Santana started, flinging open the bathroom door, “you can’t be so nice to the other teams. They’re our competition.”
“But they seem really nice.” Brittany sighed, following Santana into the bathroom. Her face brightened when she saw Quinn and she waved excitedly. “Hi, Quinn!”
“Hey, Britt,” Quinn replied, forcing a smile. “Santana,” she greeted the other Cheerio icily.
“Preggers,” Santana greeted her back with a sneer. “You’re looking particularly shitty this morning.”
“San,” Brittany hissed under her breath. “Be nice.”
“Seriously, Quinn,” Santana continued, her tone softening a little as she took in Quinn’s pale and sweaty face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Quinn hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m almost nine months pregnant, I’m supposed to feel like crap.”
Santana shrugged, moving to the mirror and reapplying her lip gloss. “Whatever. Just put on some make-up so you don’t scare the audience.”
Quinn followed her to the mirror and reluctantly accepted the blush she was handing her. She did look terrible. “Thanks.”
“My hair is poofy,” Brittany stated blankly, repeatedly patting the top of her head.
“I know,” Santana rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe Berry made us wear these lame Bump-Its. We have infomercial hair.”
“At least the dresses are…” Quinn cut off, wincing in pain as her belly tightened again.
Santana caught her expression in the reflection of the mirror. “Oh my god, you’re in labor, aren’t you?”
Quinn bit her lip and shook her head. “No,” she managed to squeak out.
“Q,” Santana turned to her, using a nickname she’d used when they were friends.
“Maybe,” Quinn breathed. “Yes,” she seceded, tears pooling in her eyes.
“Okay,” Santana nodded, offering Quinn her hand to squeeze as she worked through the end of the contraction. “It’s going to be okay. Brittany, go find Mr. Schuester and Puck and tell them that Quinn’s in labor.”
“No,” Quinn shook her head frantically. “Not yet.”
Brittany looked between the two of them, confused. “Who am I supposed to listen to?”
“Me,” Santana stressed firmly. “Britt, go get them right now.”
“Stay,” Quinn demanded, catching Brittany’s arm as she breezed past her. “I’m not screwing this up for everybody else.”
“Quinn, you have a person coming out of you. No one is going to be pissed at you for going to the hospital.”
“Rachel will,” Brittany not so helpfully pointed out.
“Please don’t tell,” Quinn begged. “My water hasn’t even broken yet. I can do this. I want to do this.”
Santana looked slightly disgusted by the idea of anything breaking but she nodded. “Just promise you won’t drop that kid of yours in the middle of our performance.”
Quinn smirked a little, “I’ll do my best.”
“Can we do anything to help you?” Brittany asked, already at the sink, wetting a paper towel with cold water before running it over Quinn’s sweaty forehead.
She closed her eyes. “Rub my back for a minute? It’s killing me.”
“Sure,” Santana pressed her hand to the small of Quinn’s back, rubbing it in tight circles.
“Thank you,” Quinn smiled gratefully, turning her head to look at Santana. “Does this mean you’re done hating me for sleeping with Puck?”
Santana shrugged. “Consider it a reprieve until you’re done giving birth,” she said with a playful wink.