Fic: [1/7] The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany's Psychic Cat
Title: The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany’s Psychic Cat
Author: cariluv
Characters/Pairings: Puck/Quinn/Mercedes, ensemble-ish
Type: Polyamory (so… slash & het)
Word Count: 40,885
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, AU, polyamory, strong language, no spoilers for Season 2
Beta: It'sInMyBlood
Summary: Puck, Quinn, and Mercedes have been dating for two years. Weeks before high school graduation, Brittany’s (allegedly) psychic cat has a vision that inadvertently causes their breakup. Five years later, a coincidental turn of events provides an opportunity for them to give their relationship another try. The story is told through a chronological series of "snapshots," which include: child disciplining for dummies, and an anniversary party at which New Directions reluctantly performs "You've Got the Love." Also inside: cameos from the other nine original glee club members, especially Rachel, who just would not go away; a Seinfeld drinking game; Chicago (the city and the band); and the theme from Baywatch.
Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me.
The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany's Psychic Cat
Part One. In the Beginning
Puck looked pissed when Quinn and Finn became Prom King and Queen, and Quinn looked pissed when Puck grabbed Santana’s ass that one time after Rachel’s Nationals victory after party, and Mercedes looked pissed as hell when Brittany asked her if cats were psychic, because her cat had totally just had a vision the other day that Quinn liked Josh, and she’d just seen them making out in the old photography club room. So yeah, trouble in paradise.
-Matt Rutherford
Their high school senior year wasn’t shaping up to be what they’d imagined it would. Their unorthodox relationship had begun in sophomore year. Two years later, the magic seemed to be gone. The psychic cat debacle was the last straw.
*
“Brittany, are you hearing what you’re saying right now?” Mercedes slammed her locker shut and turned to her best friend. “Kurt, did you hear what she asked me?”
Kurt nodded. “Well, you’d better answer her,” he said slyly.
Mercedes groaned, and refocused her attention on the happily oblivious cheerleader. “Brittany, cats aren’t psychic.”
“Are you sure? Because my cat totally had a vision last night-“
“Um, Brittany?” Kurt interrupted her. “How do you know that your cat had a vision?”
“You’re encouraging her,” Mercedes muttered under her breath. Kurt grinned.
“You guys know my cat’s been reading my diary, right? Well, last night I knocked over my tube of mascara and some of it spilled on the floor and my cat stepped in it and then he…or she…hmmm…I don’t really know. Is it a boy or a girl? Didn’t it have kittens last year? Or maybe that was the neighbor’s-”
“Britt! Focus!” Kurt clapped his hands in her face.
“Oh, yeah. So my cat stepped in the mascara and then he stepped on my diary, and then I had to wipe his paws off. But then, after, I looked at the print on my diary, and I totally palm read it. The paw print, I mean. Because, y’know, I’m really in tune with my cat. And that’s how I knew he had a vision. Or she.”
“Okay, fine. So your cat is psychic and it had a vision. What was the vision about?” Kurt asked. Mercedes looked at him, incredulous. He shrugged.
“My cat had a vision that Quinn was drawing hearts around Josh’s name in her math notebook-”
‘Hearts?’ Mercedes and Kurt mouthed to each other simultaneously.
“And I just saw them making out in that room next to the teacher’s bathroom,” Brittany finished.
“The photography club’s old room,” Kurt said automatically. He placed a hand on Mercedes’ arm. “Mercedes…”
“Oh, there’s Tana! See you later, guys!” Brittany bounced away.
“Mercedes,” Kurt said again. “You know that Brittany is not really the best person to listen to about, well, anything.”
Mercedes looked directly into Kurt’s eyes. The anger and hurt he saw in her eyes was unmistakable. He squeezed her arm.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“You’re not fine.”
“I’m fine,” she said again. “I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. This is high school. Two years is a long time to be in any relationship, right? And, and…” she trailed off.
Kurt took it for what it was: a sign that his friend was either going to flip the hell out, or start crying. “Talk to her,” he urged. “And Pu-Noah. You guys can work it out.”
“Yeah,” Mercedes said calmly. “C’mon, let’s find Tina and buy lunch outside today.”
“Mercedes,” Kurt said. “Don’t you think-”
“Kurt.”
He shut up and they went off in search of Tina.
*
3:32pm. Mercedes: Can we have dinner somewhere? 7:30?
3:35pm. Quinn: Okay. Where?
3:37pm. Noah: New Thai place near rt. 81 pick up?
4:00pm. Mercedes: No that’s fine.
4:01pm. Quinn: No, I’ll get a ride.
4:05pm. Mercedes: See you two then.
*
“What’s up, Quinn?”
“I’m okay, you?”
“Oh, fine. Glad we’re almost done with high school.”
“Right? These last two weeks are kind of a waste of time.”
“You’re telling me. Kurt and I are thinking about-”
Noah tossed his car keys on the table. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Quinn said.
“Outdoor table, nice,” Noah said.
“Yep,” Mercedes said.
They looked through the menu and placed their orders with the waitress. An awkward silence fell.
“So, Quinn,” Mercedes began.
Quinn immediately picked up on Mercedes’ tone. “Yes, Mercedes?” she asked, just a bit frostily.
“Brittany told me that she saw you making out with Josh today. Weird, huh? Especially seeing that, last time I checked anyway, you’re dating two people!”
“Um, I think you should be more pissed about Noah grabbing Santana’s ass two months ago after that glee rehearsal when we were practicing lifts. Besides, this is Brittany you’re talking about. How do you know she even knows what she’s talking about?”
“Two months ago?!” Noah exclaimed. “Christ, talk about holding a grudge! We were practicing lifts, how else was I supposed to lift her up? And you still haven’t said anything about this Josh dude.”
“Excuse me?” Quinn looked affronted. “I’m not holding a grudge. And anyway, it’s called a waist, you-”
“Forget Santana,” Noah interrupted. “Why don’t we talk about you and Finn at prom last week? They don’t crown people king and queen unless they’re fucking each other, Quinn. Even Jewfro knows that. Anything you wanna tell us? And please, don’t leave out the Josh story.”
Quinn started to speak but Mercedes beat her to it. “Am I the only person in this relationship who’s been faithful?”
Noah looked incredulous. “You think grabbing someone’s ass is cheating?” He took a gulp of his drink.
The arguing came to a halt as the waitress brought their orders. The moment she left, Quinn started up again.
“Don’t even go there, Mercedes. And none of you will even listen to me explain about Finn and Josh.”
“I’m not ‘going’ anywhere, Quinn! I’m just saying that it’s a problem when two out of three people in a committed relationship are going around grabbing cheerleaders’ asses, and making out with Josh Ackles!” Mercedes stabbed her fork in her noodles for emphasis.
Quinn nearly choked on her chicken. “So you’re the perfect one? I know for a fact that you…you…well…”
“Can’t think of anything, right?” Mercedes asked. “Because I haven’t done anything but be faithful to you two. Forgive me for assuming you’d both be the same! I mean, damn-”
“It’s not like people are knocking down your door to-” Quinn shut up, mostly because of the horrified look on Mercedes’ face.
“That is really fucking low, Quinn, and you know it.” Mercedes’ voice was low and steady, which Quinn knew meant she was extremely pissed.
“You know what?” Noah said. “Fuck this. Fuck it. I didn’t sign up for this shit. I feel like I’m on a fucking reality show.”
“A reality-” Quinn couldn’t even finish, she was so upset. “Two years and you’re throwing it away?”
“I think you already threw it away by letting stupid Josh what’s-his-face stick his hand up your shirt,” Noah said.
“Oh, fuck you!” Quinn said vehemently, which shocked Noah and Mercedes. “I’m done with this, too. We’re about to graduate, anyway. We’ll be going to different schools. There’s no point. Mercedes?”
“If you both want to say ‘screw it,’ then there’s no one left for me to date, is there?”
“Oh, God, enough with the martyr shit,” Noah said.
“You know what?” Mercedes started. “I’m sick and tired of being criticized for being the only sane one in this relationship. I can’t deal with this. I’m done.”
“Fine,” Noah said.
“Fine,” Quinn said.
“Fine,” Mercedes said. “Let me get the waitress to wrap this food up.”
They sat in silence until the waitress returned with the carryout boxes, and the bill. They each paid their share before rising to leave.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Noah walked to his truck and drove away without a backward glance. Quinn and Mercedes waited in silence for their respective rides. Finn arrived first, and Quinn left without a word. Kurt pulled up to the restaurant a few minutes later. Mercedes climbed into the passenger seat.
“Well?” Kurt asked.
“We’re through.”
“Oh, ‘Cedes…”
“It was bound to happen eventually, right? Although…”
It was a quiet drive to Mercedes’ house. Kurt stopped in front of her house and turned to face her.
“I know I loved them,” Mercedes said quietly.
Kurt squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Part Two. Five Years Later
I’m as pessimistic as Ted Nugent’s stylist, and even I knew they had something special. They were the New Directions power…triad, and it was a little disheartening to see how fantastically they broke up.
-Kurt Hummel
One of the worst feelings in the world was swearing that the car keys were on the kitchen table (or somewhere), but finding them under a pillow on the sofa (or someplace else). Quinn Fabray was currently experiencing that feeling. Frantically, she ran around her tiny apartment trying to find her car keys. She overturned a stack of mail - bills, mostly, and a letter from Ohio State’s Alumni Association, asking her to donate to something or other. “Maybe when I’m making more than twelve dollars above minimum wage,” she muttered.
She’d gone to Ohio State University and changed majors about seven times before finally settling on psychology. Her mom thought it was a silly degree to spend 20 grand a year on, which was partly why she’d done it. What had solidified her decision, however, was a summer internship at a foster care agency in Cleveland. Surrounded by children who had had an appalling start to life, she had finally realized something, something that everyone in Glee Club had told her, and her parents had told her, and Noah and Mercedes had told her: she had done the right thing by giving Beth up for adoption. Granted, Shelby Corcoran was a little weird, (and thinking about Rachel being a sort-of sister to Beth was even weirder), but she genuinely wanted and cared for Beth. Ms. Corcoran was able to provide for her in ways that sixteen-year-old Quinn and Noah had been unable to.
It was more than ironic, Quinn thought, that she felt such a strong compulsion to do social work. The pay was abysmal and the work more than a little depressing, but she loved it. Her sister thought that she was trying to compensate for not being able to keep Beth. Quinn rolled her eyes at the thought of her sister’s bogus psychology…
…And found her keys! They were in the medicine cabinet, of all places. Quinn sighed. It was already shaping up to be a long day.
*
“I went to the home. The mother wasn’t there, and the grandmother doesn’t speak English.”
Ms. Ross, Quinn’s supervisor, looked up from a case file, a harried expression on her face. “Well, what does she speak?”
“I think it’s Portuguese.”
“Eh, that’s close enough to Spanish. Why didn’t you bring Rosa along to translate?”
Quinn sighed. “I asked her and she told me that she would be in family conferences all day.”
“Look, Quinn. Work it out. We need to have a statement from someone in that house before the court date.”
“I will,” Quinn promised. She started heading back to her cubicle on the other side of the office space.
“And for Christ’s sake,” Ms. Ross yelled at her retreating back. “Find the most recent folders for the Williams kids! No one knows where they are.” She returned to her case file and muttered, “No one knows where anything is around here.”
Quinn returned to her desk and contemplated what she’d have for lunch. It was another day at the Cleveland Agency for Child Welfare.
*
“I’m placing my keys on the kitchen table,” Quinn said aloud to herself. “On the kitchen table. My keys are on the kitchen table.” This was her latest technique in remembering things - constant repetition. She had just arrived home from a longer-than-usual day at the agency. Some of the girls had invited her out for drinks, but she’d declined. Tonight she wanted to stay in and watch bad TV.
She half-heartedly flipped through the channels until she landed on what seemed like the millionth cycle of “America’s Next Top Model.” It reminded her of Mercedes and Noah. She vaguely considered changing the channel, but didn’t.
In high school, Mercedes and Kurt had started a glee club ritual of watching ANTM nonstop during the summers. It was the only reality show they could all decide on. Rachel was entirely opposed to “American Idol” (“I refuse to support a pop culture phenomenon that has popularized the entirely false notion that the American public can accurately judge talent of any kind on any scale!”), Santana nixed “19 Kids and Counting” (“All I can think about is how she managed to push nineteen kids out of there. How those people are even allowed to have more kids is a crime.”), and Mike and Matt were the only ones interested in watching “Mantracker” (“It’s really good! Seriously! It’s this Canadian reality show where this guy tracks these random people by, like, sniffing footprints. You can’t say you don’t want to know how to do that.”). So “America’s Next Top Model” it was. All twelve of them holed up in Kurt’s basement and watched season after season.
It reminded Quinn of Mercedes and Noah because she would sit on the floor between them, leaning against a bookshelf, while Mercedes snarked about every challenge, hairstyle, and clothing choice. Noah would inevitably start comparing the models and their issues to Grand Theft Auto. (And to be honest, his comparisons usually had some valid points.) And she would sit between them and laugh when Rachel began berating Noah for comparing women to cars, and when Artie and Mercedes tried to out-snark each other. Kurt would usually jump in with a perfectly timed criticism and everyone would acknowledge that he was the Queen (King?) of Snark.
“Ladies,” Tyra was saying, “It’s not only about what’s on the outside. I want to see the beautiful you on the inside. Because it’s what’s on the-”
Quinn abruptly changed the channel.
*^*^*
“I had Bill look up Georgetown on the net - you know I’m terrible with computers - and it costs a fortune to go there! Don’t you think so? There are more than enough lawyers around, don’t you think? You must think about what you really want to do with your life…you have such a lovely voice, maybe you should…”
Mercedes Jones rolled her eyes and switched her cell phone to the other ear. As a first year law student, she’d had plenty of WTF moments, the most obvious of them being: WTF am I doing here? Some days, she was excited about learning torts and, yes, even contracts. And it was nice to be studying law in the nation’s capital; Georgetown Law School had accepted her, and she’d gone right after undergrad at NYU. But sometimes there were days when nothing went right. Today was one of those days.
She woke up late because, the night before, she’d decided to reward herself for studying three straight days in a row. She’d YouTubed random videos for an hour. Then she’d discovered that, in fact, Masterpiece Theater wasn’t so bad - but not before finding a blog with working links to “Supernanny” episodes, which she’d watched to make her feel better about her life. All in all, it had been a long night.
After skipping breakfast, she spent a good ten minutes looking for her favorite grey sweater, until she realized that she’d left her laundry in the basement of the student condominium she lived in. Great.
Mercedes lugged her laundry upstairs, ironed the sweater, and threw it on. It was a fifteen-minute walk to campus, twelve if she hurried. And she hurried, because she was late, late, late, late!
She slid into the back row of her Contracts class and proceeded to scribble copious notes for three hours. Then she walked back to the pizza restaurant near her place to get lunch. The line was about a million people long. While she waited, her aunt called and began - as usual - berating her about her life choices.
“If you must go to law school, and spend a fortune doing so, you could at least go to, well I don’t know, Ohio State or somewhere. Someplace close by so that your parents won’t worry. Then maybe I could see you more often than every other Christmas,” Mercedes’ aunt continued.
Mercedes rolled her eyes again. She was twenty-three years old, her parents didn’t worry about her anymore than usual, and why the hell would she go to Ohio State if she could go to Georgetown? Did Ohio State even have a law school? She made a mental note to Google that. And then she made a mental note to ignore the first mental note.
Sometimes she wanted to strangle her aunt. Or do some serious damage to her wigs.
“You could audition for that show. What was it? Star Search? American Idol? Something like that,” her aunt continued. “Why are all these shows so similarly named? It’s confusing, don’t you think?”
Oh my God, Mercedes thought. But she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t as if she could get a word in edgewise. She finally got up to the counter and placed her order. “Chicken parmesan with pasta, please.”
“Speaking of names, how on earth will you get any clients with a name like Mercedes? I told your father, I said ‘Don’t let your wife give my niece a frivolous name. Please give my niece a nice, solid name like Hilary, or Regina, or Elizabeth.’ Imagine my surprise when I arrived at the hospital and saw the little bracelet around your wrist. Mercedes! You’re not a car. And it’s not as if your parents have a Mercedes, anyway. What on earth your mother was thinking I will never-”
“Your name is Geraldine,” Mercedes burst out. She’d heard this particular rant so often she didn’t get angry anymore, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
“And what’s wrong with-”
“You’d rather see me on the 300th cycle of American Idol than getting a law degree? You realize that’s completely crazy, right?”
“Well, I-”
Mercedes decided to cut the conversation short. “I have to go, Aunt Geraldine. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye!” She quickly hung up and tossed the phone into her purse.
Lunch was fast. She headed from the restaurant to the Alumni Office, where she stuffed envelopes for quick cash. Then she studied for an hour. She stopped after realizing that she wasn’t even sure she was reading the right law journal. (She checked later that evening. Right journal, wrong volume.)
What she really needed, Mercedes decided, was shopping therapy. Just a little bit. It would have to be window-shopping therapy, anyway, because broke law school student was broke.
Rockland Mall was out of the way, but it was the one place she could definitely count on to get her mind off of Aunt Geraldine, and school, and forgotten laundry, and Aunt Geraldine.
Mercedes walked around for a few minutes, taking note of a few window displays she wanted to mention to Kurt, who was kind of on his way to fashion stardom.
She saw a teal sweater that practically screamed Quinn, and it was so eerie she decided to go to another store. And then she saw a picture of a Led Zeppelin tattoo in a kiosk, and that reminded her of Noah. Mercedes decided that maybe she should go back to studying.
So she did.
*^*^*
“Hey, can we get more drinks over there?” Rob Sussman slid Joe the Bartender a twenty and pointed to a corner table.
“You got it.”
Rob slid back into the booth. “Okay, boys. More drinks coming up!”
Sean Maher looked up from his Blackberry. “Was Johnson’s quiz hard or what?”
Jamal Williams groaned. “Hard? That shit was impossible. ‘Discuss Frank Lloyd Wright’s influence on modern housing architecture’ is not a three-paragraph prompt. Dude designed over a thousand projects!”
“Johnson has nothing on Sacco, though,” Rob said. “I heard she failed an entire class section last semester. One hundred people had to retake Drawing I.”
“No shit!” Sean breathed. “Is that even legal?”
Rob shrugged. “Admin said there was nothing they could do. No one signed up for her class this semester, though.”
The arrival of a waitress bearing drinks halted conversation. She was a slim brunette, tallish, with grey eyes and a smile that was just a bit too bright.
“Hi guys, how are you all tonight?” She bent over to place the drinks on the table. The view did not disappoint.
“Great,” the guys chorused.
“And how are you?” the waitress asked the clean-shaven man who was intently focused on his iPhone. He didn’t notice that she was talking to him.
“Noah! Yo, Noah.” Jamal banged on the table in front of him.
Noah Puckerman looked up with the tiniest of a start. “What’s up?”
Sean jerked his head toward the waitress, who looked slightly amused.
“Hi,” Noah said.
“How are you?” she repeated with a smile. “Anything special I can get you?
Noah shook his head and pocketed his phone. “No thanks.”
She moved in closer. “Y’sure?”
He rebuffed her without even realizing it. “Yeah.”
The waitress straightened her spine and admitted defeat. “Okay. You guys enjoy.”
“Thanks,” Rob said. He watched her go. This time the view was mildly disappointing.
“And this, my friend,” Jamal started with all the gravity of a philosophical drunk, “this is how I know something is wrong with you!”
Noah laughed and wrapped a hand around his cold glass, feeling the iciness sink into his fingers. “What are you talking about, man?”
“I mean,” Jamal continued, “she was kind of hot. A little too skinny for me. Brothas like a little meat on the bones, you know. But white guys dig that kind of girl.”
“Gee thanks,” Sean said. “That sounded like an insult.”
Jamal shrugged.
Rob sighed and turned back to Noah. “She was flirting with you, mate.”
“No she wasn’t.”
“Yes, she was,” Jamal said.
Rob snorted and looked at Noah. “How would you know about flirting anyway? You haven’t been on a date since Will Ferrell was still relevant.”
Noah looked confused. So did Jamal. “Uh,” Noah began. “I don’t…. So…what? When?”
“Five years ago!”
“I date,” Noah argued, somewhat feebly. “I do!”
“When was the last date you were on?” Rob countered.
“Um, there was…wait, no…before the thing with…brunette?” Noah downed the rest of his drink. “Okay, a year ago. That’s not that long.”
“As the only married guy here, I’m telling you Noah. You need to start looking. Being in a committed, monogamous relationship with Emily has been the most rewarding-”
Jamal coughed. “Did someone pay you to say that, Sean?”
“Fuck you,” Sean said without animosity.
Jamal grinned.
“Look around,” Rob said to Noah. “Half the women in here are staring at you.”
Noah opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again. “I was going to leave that alone, because it makes me sound like a total baller, which I am, but you guys are sitting at this table too. How do you know they’re not staring at you?”
“I’m not saying we’re not all completely dashing,” Rob said. “But-”
Dashing? Jamal mouthed to Sean and Noah.
“Shut the fuck up, I’m Australian.” Rob continued talking to Noah. “But, when you walked in twice as many heads turned. You need to get out there! Surf the waves. Check out the fish in the sea. Look-”
“The water metaphors? Annoying as fuck. Dude, I know you’re Australian, but, seriously, branch out.” Jamal said.
“What, should I use some metaphors from the ‘hood?” Rob snarked.
“Bring it on, Steve Irwin.”
“Guys, guys. Emily wants me home before 1am. Can we save the xenophobic and ethnic jokes for tomorrow?”
Noah suddenly spoke up. “My last two years of high school I dated a blonde chick. A black chick.”
“First, random. Second, a blonde black chick?” Jamal asked. “You know that wasn't her real hair, right?”
Noah grinned and held up two fingers.
“Two blonde black chicks? I’m not knocking my sistahs - ya gotta love ‘em - but- “
Sean finished munching on a pretzel. “I think he means he was dating two girls - a blonde one and a black one.”
“At the same time?” Rob looked incredulous. “And they didn’t find out about each other?”
“We were all…together,” Noah admitted.
“Wait,” Jamal said.
“You had a threesome?” Sean finished.
“An honest-to-god threesome. Jesus Christ,” Rob said.
“Yo, in high school?” Jamal was wearing his patented I-know-you’re-bullshitting face.
“Yeah,” Noah admitted.
“You must’ve gone to the most liberal high school in the country, man.”
“Actually, it was pretty repressed, conservative, and stratified. The only controversy happened when the cheerleading coach led disturbing crusades against PETA after it criticized her for using an endangered tiger cub in her routine for nationals my senior year. No, McKinley was your average high school.”
“Complete with two girls who were willing to be in a committed relationship with a guy for two years. Yep, sounds just like my high school.” Sean shook his head in disbelief.
Rob couldn’t escape the main point. “Holy fuck, a threesome. A ménage a fucking trois. The sex-”
“Hey!” Noah interrupted.
“Sorry mate,” Rob said without sounding the least bit apologetic.
Sean groaned. “Can we talk about something other than Noah’s pitiful lack of a love life?”
“Or a sex life,” Jamal said.
“Or a sex life,” Sean agreed.
“How about those Colts?” Rob said, with all the air of someone who didn’t actually give a shit about American football.
Conversation became progressively louder, then, as they all argued about which player was the most useless, before agreeing that - in fact - it was the coach who was a moronic dick.
It was then, sitting in the only decent bar near Columbia University’s School of Architecture, listening as the guys debated the aesthetic merits of Monica Bellucci, and why those would influence whether the Colts won the Super Bowl again (Personally, Noah couldn’t see the correlation. Rob’s argument was the most convincing though, which was surprising considering that - in Australia - what they called football was actually soccer, and anyway, you had to practically bribe Rob with pizza and beer to get him to watch a football game {a real football game}) - it was then that Noah Puckerman came to the realization that he was still in love with Quinn and Mercedes.
[2/7] >>
Author: cariluv
Characters/Pairings: Puck/Quinn/Mercedes, ensemble-ish
Type: Polyamory (so… slash & het)
Word Count: 40,885
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, AU, polyamory, strong language, no spoilers for Season 2
Beta: It'sInMyBlood
Summary: Puck, Quinn, and Mercedes have been dating for two years. Weeks before high school graduation, Brittany’s (allegedly) psychic cat has a vision that inadvertently causes their breakup. Five years later, a coincidental turn of events provides an opportunity for them to give their relationship another try. The story is told through a chronological series of "snapshots," which include: child disciplining for dummies, and an anniversary party at which New Directions reluctantly performs "You've Got the Love." Also inside: cameos from the other nine original glee club members, especially Rachel, who just would not go away; a Seinfeld drinking game; Chicago (the city and the band); and the theme from Baywatch.
Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me.
The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany's Psychic Cat
Part One. In the Beginning
Puck looked pissed when Quinn and Finn became Prom King and Queen, and Quinn looked pissed when Puck grabbed Santana’s ass that one time after Rachel’s Nationals victory after party, and Mercedes looked pissed as hell when Brittany asked her if cats were psychic, because her cat had totally just had a vision the other day that Quinn liked Josh, and she’d just seen them making out in the old photography club room. So yeah, trouble in paradise.
-Matt Rutherford
Their high school senior year wasn’t shaping up to be what they’d imagined it would. Their unorthodox relationship had begun in sophomore year. Two years later, the magic seemed to be gone. The psychic cat debacle was the last straw.
*
“Brittany, are you hearing what you’re saying right now?” Mercedes slammed her locker shut and turned to her best friend. “Kurt, did you hear what she asked me?”
Kurt nodded. “Well, you’d better answer her,” he said slyly.
Mercedes groaned, and refocused her attention on the happily oblivious cheerleader. “Brittany, cats aren’t psychic.”
“Are you sure? Because my cat totally had a vision last night-“
“Um, Brittany?” Kurt interrupted her. “How do you know that your cat had a vision?”
“You’re encouraging her,” Mercedes muttered under her breath. Kurt grinned.
“You guys know my cat’s been reading my diary, right? Well, last night I knocked over my tube of mascara and some of it spilled on the floor and my cat stepped in it and then he…or she…hmmm…I don’t really know. Is it a boy or a girl? Didn’t it have kittens last year? Or maybe that was the neighbor’s-”
“Britt! Focus!” Kurt clapped his hands in her face.
“Oh, yeah. So my cat stepped in the mascara and then he stepped on my diary, and then I had to wipe his paws off. But then, after, I looked at the print on my diary, and I totally palm read it. The paw print, I mean. Because, y’know, I’m really in tune with my cat. And that’s how I knew he had a vision. Or she.”
“Okay, fine. So your cat is psychic and it had a vision. What was the vision about?” Kurt asked. Mercedes looked at him, incredulous. He shrugged.
“My cat had a vision that Quinn was drawing hearts around Josh’s name in her math notebook-”
‘Hearts?’ Mercedes and Kurt mouthed to each other simultaneously.
“And I just saw them making out in that room next to the teacher’s bathroom,” Brittany finished.
“The photography club’s old room,” Kurt said automatically. He placed a hand on Mercedes’ arm. “Mercedes…”
“Oh, there’s Tana! See you later, guys!” Brittany bounced away.
“Mercedes,” Kurt said again. “You know that Brittany is not really the best person to listen to about, well, anything.”
Mercedes looked directly into Kurt’s eyes. The anger and hurt he saw in her eyes was unmistakable. He squeezed her arm.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“You’re not fine.”
“I’m fine,” she said again. “I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. This is high school. Two years is a long time to be in any relationship, right? And, and…” she trailed off.
Kurt took it for what it was: a sign that his friend was either going to flip the hell out, or start crying. “Talk to her,” he urged. “And Pu-Noah. You guys can work it out.”
“Yeah,” Mercedes said calmly. “C’mon, let’s find Tina and buy lunch outside today.”
“Mercedes,” Kurt said. “Don’t you think-”
“Kurt.”
He shut up and they went off in search of Tina.
*
3:32pm. Mercedes: Can we have dinner somewhere? 7:30?
3:35pm. Quinn: Okay. Where?
3:37pm. Noah: New Thai place near rt. 81 pick up?
4:00pm. Mercedes: No that’s fine.
4:01pm. Quinn: No, I’ll get a ride.
4:05pm. Mercedes: See you two then.
*
“What’s up, Quinn?”
“I’m okay, you?”
“Oh, fine. Glad we’re almost done with high school.”
“Right? These last two weeks are kind of a waste of time.”
“You’re telling me. Kurt and I are thinking about-”
Noah tossed his car keys on the table. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Quinn said.
“Outdoor table, nice,” Noah said.
“Yep,” Mercedes said.
They looked through the menu and placed their orders with the waitress. An awkward silence fell.
“So, Quinn,” Mercedes began.
Quinn immediately picked up on Mercedes’ tone. “Yes, Mercedes?” she asked, just a bit frostily.
“Brittany told me that she saw you making out with Josh today. Weird, huh? Especially seeing that, last time I checked anyway, you’re dating two people!”
“Um, I think you should be more pissed about Noah grabbing Santana’s ass two months ago after that glee rehearsal when we were practicing lifts. Besides, this is Brittany you’re talking about. How do you know she even knows what she’s talking about?”
“Two months ago?!” Noah exclaimed. “Christ, talk about holding a grudge! We were practicing lifts, how else was I supposed to lift her up? And you still haven’t said anything about this Josh dude.”
“Excuse me?” Quinn looked affronted. “I’m not holding a grudge. And anyway, it’s called a waist, you-”
“Forget Santana,” Noah interrupted. “Why don’t we talk about you and Finn at prom last week? They don’t crown people king and queen unless they’re fucking each other, Quinn. Even Jewfro knows that. Anything you wanna tell us? And please, don’t leave out the Josh story.”
Quinn started to speak but Mercedes beat her to it. “Am I the only person in this relationship who’s been faithful?”
Noah looked incredulous. “You think grabbing someone’s ass is cheating?” He took a gulp of his drink.
The arguing came to a halt as the waitress brought their orders. The moment she left, Quinn started up again.
“Don’t even go there, Mercedes. And none of you will even listen to me explain about Finn and Josh.”
“I’m not ‘going’ anywhere, Quinn! I’m just saying that it’s a problem when two out of three people in a committed relationship are going around grabbing cheerleaders’ asses, and making out with Josh Ackles!” Mercedes stabbed her fork in her noodles for emphasis.
Quinn nearly choked on her chicken. “So you’re the perfect one? I know for a fact that you…you…well…”
“Can’t think of anything, right?” Mercedes asked. “Because I haven’t done anything but be faithful to you two. Forgive me for assuming you’d both be the same! I mean, damn-”
“It’s not like people are knocking down your door to-” Quinn shut up, mostly because of the horrified look on Mercedes’ face.
“That is really fucking low, Quinn, and you know it.” Mercedes’ voice was low and steady, which Quinn knew meant she was extremely pissed.
“You know what?” Noah said. “Fuck this. Fuck it. I didn’t sign up for this shit. I feel like I’m on a fucking reality show.”
“A reality-” Quinn couldn’t even finish, she was so upset. “Two years and you’re throwing it away?”
“I think you already threw it away by letting stupid Josh what’s-his-face stick his hand up your shirt,” Noah said.
“Oh, fuck you!” Quinn said vehemently, which shocked Noah and Mercedes. “I’m done with this, too. We’re about to graduate, anyway. We’ll be going to different schools. There’s no point. Mercedes?”
“If you both want to say ‘screw it,’ then there’s no one left for me to date, is there?”
“Oh, God, enough with the martyr shit,” Noah said.
“You know what?” Mercedes started. “I’m sick and tired of being criticized for being the only sane one in this relationship. I can’t deal with this. I’m done.”
“Fine,” Noah said.
“Fine,” Quinn said.
“Fine,” Mercedes said. “Let me get the waitress to wrap this food up.”
They sat in silence until the waitress returned with the carryout boxes, and the bill. They each paid their share before rising to leave.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Noah walked to his truck and drove away without a backward glance. Quinn and Mercedes waited in silence for their respective rides. Finn arrived first, and Quinn left without a word. Kurt pulled up to the restaurant a few minutes later. Mercedes climbed into the passenger seat.
“Well?” Kurt asked.
“We’re through.”
“Oh, ‘Cedes…”
“It was bound to happen eventually, right? Although…”
It was a quiet drive to Mercedes’ house. Kurt stopped in front of her house and turned to face her.
“I know I loved them,” Mercedes said quietly.
Kurt squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Part Two. Five Years Later
I’m as pessimistic as Ted Nugent’s stylist, and even I knew they had something special. They were the New Directions power…triad, and it was a little disheartening to see how fantastically they broke up.
-Kurt Hummel
One of the worst feelings in the world was swearing that the car keys were on the kitchen table (or somewhere), but finding them under a pillow on the sofa (or someplace else). Quinn Fabray was currently experiencing that feeling. Frantically, she ran around her tiny apartment trying to find her car keys. She overturned a stack of mail - bills, mostly, and a letter from Ohio State’s Alumni Association, asking her to donate to something or other. “Maybe when I’m making more than twelve dollars above minimum wage,” she muttered.
She’d gone to Ohio State University and changed majors about seven times before finally settling on psychology. Her mom thought it was a silly degree to spend 20 grand a year on, which was partly why she’d done it. What had solidified her decision, however, was a summer internship at a foster care agency in Cleveland. Surrounded by children who had had an appalling start to life, she had finally realized something, something that everyone in Glee Club had told her, and her parents had told her, and Noah and Mercedes had told her: she had done the right thing by giving Beth up for adoption. Granted, Shelby Corcoran was a little weird, (and thinking about Rachel being a sort-of sister to Beth was even weirder), but she genuinely wanted and cared for Beth. Ms. Corcoran was able to provide for her in ways that sixteen-year-old Quinn and Noah had been unable to.
It was more than ironic, Quinn thought, that she felt such a strong compulsion to do social work. The pay was abysmal and the work more than a little depressing, but she loved it. Her sister thought that she was trying to compensate for not being able to keep Beth. Quinn rolled her eyes at the thought of her sister’s bogus psychology…
…And found her keys! They were in the medicine cabinet, of all places. Quinn sighed. It was already shaping up to be a long day.
*
“I went to the home. The mother wasn’t there, and the grandmother doesn’t speak English.”
Ms. Ross, Quinn’s supervisor, looked up from a case file, a harried expression on her face. “Well, what does she speak?”
“I think it’s Portuguese.”
“Eh, that’s close enough to Spanish. Why didn’t you bring Rosa along to translate?”
Quinn sighed. “I asked her and she told me that she would be in family conferences all day.”
“Look, Quinn. Work it out. We need to have a statement from someone in that house before the court date.”
“I will,” Quinn promised. She started heading back to her cubicle on the other side of the office space.
“And for Christ’s sake,” Ms. Ross yelled at her retreating back. “Find the most recent folders for the Williams kids! No one knows where they are.” She returned to her case file and muttered, “No one knows where anything is around here.”
Quinn returned to her desk and contemplated what she’d have for lunch. It was another day at the Cleveland Agency for Child Welfare.
*
“I’m placing my keys on the kitchen table,” Quinn said aloud to herself. “On the kitchen table. My keys are on the kitchen table.” This was her latest technique in remembering things - constant repetition. She had just arrived home from a longer-than-usual day at the agency. Some of the girls had invited her out for drinks, but she’d declined. Tonight she wanted to stay in and watch bad TV.
She half-heartedly flipped through the channels until she landed on what seemed like the millionth cycle of “America’s Next Top Model.” It reminded her of Mercedes and Noah. She vaguely considered changing the channel, but didn’t.
In high school, Mercedes and Kurt had started a glee club ritual of watching ANTM nonstop during the summers. It was the only reality show they could all decide on. Rachel was entirely opposed to “American Idol” (“I refuse to support a pop culture phenomenon that has popularized the entirely false notion that the American public can accurately judge talent of any kind on any scale!”), Santana nixed “19 Kids and Counting” (“All I can think about is how she managed to push nineteen kids out of there. How those people are even allowed to have more kids is a crime.”), and Mike and Matt were the only ones interested in watching “Mantracker” (“It’s really good! Seriously! It’s this Canadian reality show where this guy tracks these random people by, like, sniffing footprints. You can’t say you don’t want to know how to do that.”). So “America’s Next Top Model” it was. All twelve of them holed up in Kurt’s basement and watched season after season.
It reminded Quinn of Mercedes and Noah because she would sit on the floor between them, leaning against a bookshelf, while Mercedes snarked about every challenge, hairstyle, and clothing choice. Noah would inevitably start comparing the models and their issues to Grand Theft Auto. (And to be honest, his comparisons usually had some valid points.) And she would sit between them and laugh when Rachel began berating Noah for comparing women to cars, and when Artie and Mercedes tried to out-snark each other. Kurt would usually jump in with a perfectly timed criticism and everyone would acknowledge that he was the Queen (King?) of Snark.
“Ladies,” Tyra was saying, “It’s not only about what’s on the outside. I want to see the beautiful you on the inside. Because it’s what’s on the-”
Quinn abruptly changed the channel.
*^*^*
“I had Bill look up Georgetown on the net - you know I’m terrible with computers - and it costs a fortune to go there! Don’t you think so? There are more than enough lawyers around, don’t you think? You must think about what you really want to do with your life…you have such a lovely voice, maybe you should…”
Mercedes Jones rolled her eyes and switched her cell phone to the other ear. As a first year law student, she’d had plenty of WTF moments, the most obvious of them being: WTF am I doing here? Some days, she was excited about learning torts and, yes, even contracts. And it was nice to be studying law in the nation’s capital; Georgetown Law School had accepted her, and she’d gone right after undergrad at NYU. But sometimes there were days when nothing went right. Today was one of those days.
She woke up late because, the night before, she’d decided to reward herself for studying three straight days in a row. She’d YouTubed random videos for an hour. Then she’d discovered that, in fact, Masterpiece Theater wasn’t so bad - but not before finding a blog with working links to “Supernanny” episodes, which she’d watched to make her feel better about her life. All in all, it had been a long night.
After skipping breakfast, she spent a good ten minutes looking for her favorite grey sweater, until she realized that she’d left her laundry in the basement of the student condominium she lived in. Great.
Mercedes lugged her laundry upstairs, ironed the sweater, and threw it on. It was a fifteen-minute walk to campus, twelve if she hurried. And she hurried, because she was late, late, late, late!
She slid into the back row of her Contracts class and proceeded to scribble copious notes for three hours. Then she walked back to the pizza restaurant near her place to get lunch. The line was about a million people long. While she waited, her aunt called and began - as usual - berating her about her life choices.
“If you must go to law school, and spend a fortune doing so, you could at least go to, well I don’t know, Ohio State or somewhere. Someplace close by so that your parents won’t worry. Then maybe I could see you more often than every other Christmas,” Mercedes’ aunt continued.
Mercedes rolled her eyes again. She was twenty-three years old, her parents didn’t worry about her anymore than usual, and why the hell would she go to Ohio State if she could go to Georgetown? Did Ohio State even have a law school? She made a mental note to Google that. And then she made a mental note to ignore the first mental note.
Sometimes she wanted to strangle her aunt. Or do some serious damage to her wigs.
“You could audition for that show. What was it? Star Search? American Idol? Something like that,” her aunt continued. “Why are all these shows so similarly named? It’s confusing, don’t you think?”
Oh my God, Mercedes thought. But she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t as if she could get a word in edgewise. She finally got up to the counter and placed her order. “Chicken parmesan with pasta, please.”
“Speaking of names, how on earth will you get any clients with a name like Mercedes? I told your father, I said ‘Don’t let your wife give my niece a frivolous name. Please give my niece a nice, solid name like Hilary, or Regina, or Elizabeth.’ Imagine my surprise when I arrived at the hospital and saw the little bracelet around your wrist. Mercedes! You’re not a car. And it’s not as if your parents have a Mercedes, anyway. What on earth your mother was thinking I will never-”
“Your name is Geraldine,” Mercedes burst out. She’d heard this particular rant so often she didn’t get angry anymore, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
“And what’s wrong with-”
“You’d rather see me on the 300th cycle of American Idol than getting a law degree? You realize that’s completely crazy, right?”
“Well, I-”
Mercedes decided to cut the conversation short. “I have to go, Aunt Geraldine. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye!” She quickly hung up and tossed the phone into her purse.
Lunch was fast. She headed from the restaurant to the Alumni Office, where she stuffed envelopes for quick cash. Then she studied for an hour. She stopped after realizing that she wasn’t even sure she was reading the right law journal. (She checked later that evening. Right journal, wrong volume.)
What she really needed, Mercedes decided, was shopping therapy. Just a little bit. It would have to be window-shopping therapy, anyway, because broke law school student was broke.
Rockland Mall was out of the way, but it was the one place she could definitely count on to get her mind off of Aunt Geraldine, and school, and forgotten laundry, and Aunt Geraldine.
Mercedes walked around for a few minutes, taking note of a few window displays she wanted to mention to Kurt, who was kind of on his way to fashion stardom.
She saw a teal sweater that practically screamed Quinn, and it was so eerie she decided to go to another store. And then she saw a picture of a Led Zeppelin tattoo in a kiosk, and that reminded her of Noah. Mercedes decided that maybe she should go back to studying.
So she did.
*^*^*
“Hey, can we get more drinks over there?” Rob Sussman slid Joe the Bartender a twenty and pointed to a corner table.
“You got it.”
Rob slid back into the booth. “Okay, boys. More drinks coming up!”
Sean Maher looked up from his Blackberry. “Was Johnson’s quiz hard or what?”
Jamal Williams groaned. “Hard? That shit was impossible. ‘Discuss Frank Lloyd Wright’s influence on modern housing architecture’ is not a three-paragraph prompt. Dude designed over a thousand projects!”
“Johnson has nothing on Sacco, though,” Rob said. “I heard she failed an entire class section last semester. One hundred people had to retake Drawing I.”
“No shit!” Sean breathed. “Is that even legal?”
Rob shrugged. “Admin said there was nothing they could do. No one signed up for her class this semester, though.”
The arrival of a waitress bearing drinks halted conversation. She was a slim brunette, tallish, with grey eyes and a smile that was just a bit too bright.
“Hi guys, how are you all tonight?” She bent over to place the drinks on the table. The view did not disappoint.
“Great,” the guys chorused.
“And how are you?” the waitress asked the clean-shaven man who was intently focused on his iPhone. He didn’t notice that she was talking to him.
“Noah! Yo, Noah.” Jamal banged on the table in front of him.
Noah Puckerman looked up with the tiniest of a start. “What’s up?”
Sean jerked his head toward the waitress, who looked slightly amused.
“Hi,” Noah said.
“How are you?” she repeated with a smile. “Anything special I can get you?
Noah shook his head and pocketed his phone. “No thanks.”
She moved in closer. “Y’sure?”
He rebuffed her without even realizing it. “Yeah.”
The waitress straightened her spine and admitted defeat. “Okay. You guys enjoy.”
“Thanks,” Rob said. He watched her go. This time the view was mildly disappointing.
“And this, my friend,” Jamal started with all the gravity of a philosophical drunk, “this is how I know something is wrong with you!”
Noah laughed and wrapped a hand around his cold glass, feeling the iciness sink into his fingers. “What are you talking about, man?”
“I mean,” Jamal continued, “she was kind of hot. A little too skinny for me. Brothas like a little meat on the bones, you know. But white guys dig that kind of girl.”
“Gee thanks,” Sean said. “That sounded like an insult.”
Jamal shrugged.
Rob sighed and turned back to Noah. “She was flirting with you, mate.”
“No she wasn’t.”
“Yes, she was,” Jamal said.
Rob snorted and looked at Noah. “How would you know about flirting anyway? You haven’t been on a date since Will Ferrell was still relevant.”
Noah looked confused. So did Jamal. “Uh,” Noah began. “I don’t…. So…what? When?”
“Five years ago!”
“I date,” Noah argued, somewhat feebly. “I do!”
“When was the last date you were on?” Rob countered.
“Um, there was…wait, no…before the thing with…brunette?” Noah downed the rest of his drink. “Okay, a year ago. That’s not that long.”
“As the only married guy here, I’m telling you Noah. You need to start looking. Being in a committed, monogamous relationship with Emily has been the most rewarding-”
Jamal coughed. “Did someone pay you to say that, Sean?”
“Fuck you,” Sean said without animosity.
Jamal grinned.
“Look around,” Rob said to Noah. “Half the women in here are staring at you.”
Noah opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again. “I was going to leave that alone, because it makes me sound like a total baller, which I am, but you guys are sitting at this table too. How do you know they’re not staring at you?”
“I’m not saying we’re not all completely dashing,” Rob said. “But-”
Dashing? Jamal mouthed to Sean and Noah.
“Shut the fuck up, I’m Australian.” Rob continued talking to Noah. “But, when you walked in twice as many heads turned. You need to get out there! Surf the waves. Check out the fish in the sea. Look-”
“The water metaphors? Annoying as fuck. Dude, I know you’re Australian, but, seriously, branch out.” Jamal said.
“What, should I use some metaphors from the ‘hood?” Rob snarked.
“Bring it on, Steve Irwin.”
“Guys, guys. Emily wants me home before 1am. Can we save the xenophobic and ethnic jokes for tomorrow?”
Noah suddenly spoke up. “My last two years of high school I dated a blonde chick. A black chick.”
“First, random. Second, a blonde black chick?” Jamal asked. “You know that wasn't her real hair, right?”
Noah grinned and held up two fingers.
“Two blonde black chicks? I’m not knocking my sistahs - ya gotta love ‘em - but- “
Sean finished munching on a pretzel. “I think he means he was dating two girls - a blonde one and a black one.”
“At the same time?” Rob looked incredulous. “And they didn’t find out about each other?”
“We were all…together,” Noah admitted.
“Wait,” Jamal said.
“You had a threesome?” Sean finished.
“An honest-to-god threesome. Jesus Christ,” Rob said.
“Yo, in high school?” Jamal was wearing his patented I-know-you’re-bullshitting face.
“Yeah,” Noah admitted.
“You must’ve gone to the most liberal high school in the country, man.”
“Actually, it was pretty repressed, conservative, and stratified. The only controversy happened when the cheerleading coach led disturbing crusades against PETA after it criticized her for using an endangered tiger cub in her routine for nationals my senior year. No, McKinley was your average high school.”
“Complete with two girls who were willing to be in a committed relationship with a guy for two years. Yep, sounds just like my high school.” Sean shook his head in disbelief.
Rob couldn’t escape the main point. “Holy fuck, a threesome. A ménage a fucking trois. The sex-”
“Hey!” Noah interrupted.
“Sorry mate,” Rob said without sounding the least bit apologetic.
Sean groaned. “Can we talk about something other than Noah’s pitiful lack of a love life?”
“Or a sex life,” Jamal said.
“Or a sex life,” Sean agreed.
“How about those Colts?” Rob said, with all the air of someone who didn’t actually give a shit about American football.
Conversation became progressively louder, then, as they all argued about which player was the most useless, before agreeing that - in fact - it was the coach who was a moronic dick.
It was then, sitting in the only decent bar near Columbia University’s School of Architecture, listening as the guys debated the aesthetic merits of Monica Bellucci, and why those would influence whether the Colts won the Super Bowl again (Personally, Noah couldn’t see the correlation. Rob’s argument was the most convincing though, which was surprising considering that - in Australia - what they called football was actually soccer, and anyway, you had to practically bribe Rob with pizza and beer to get him to watch a football game {a real football game}) - it was then that Noah Puckerman came to the realization that he was still in love with Quinn and Mercedes.
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