because the north wind blows north, rachel/quinn, pg-13
Title: because the north wind blows north
Author: intobrakelights
Rating: PG-13, but only for minimal (but strong) swearing.
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn.
Summary: Quinn was five steps ahead of the boys and there was no way in hell Will Schuester could stop her. A response to this prompt at the glee_fluff_meme.
Spoilers: For everything, basically, particularly Funk.
Author's Notes: It's been a while since I've written any sort of fanfiction and this--well, idk, I finally just decided to post it because I wanted to get something done and figured it was vaguely possible someone somewhere in the world might enjoy it. And it's also my second post on my LJ. Oh, and the title's totally ripped off from Nikki Giovanni's "Resignation." ♥
It is only once she has entered the doors of Mount Carmel High that she realizes she might have gone completely insane-because in no sane universe would she have even considered this an option. (Later, she’ll have the clarity of mind necessary to blame it on pregnancy hormones; now, she’s just furious.)
But she opens the doors without the slightest hesitation because for an instant she remembers what it is like to be Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray. For an instant, the dramatic entrance and the turning of heads remind her of everything she once had. She feels power surge through her and knows no regrets, because Quinn Fabray smirked and glared and terrorized and never once looked back.
So it is Quinn Fabray who strolls into Mount Carmel High’s auditorium. It is Quinn Fabray who steps onstage and interrupts some new perfectly choreographed number. It is Quinn Fabray who comes face-to-face with Jesse St. James. And it is Quinn Fabray, whose voice has become liquid venom, who whispers, “Do you really think you can play this game? Are you really stupid enough to try?”
He looks at her-they all look at her, and rather than humiliation all she can feel is a flood of delight-and shakes his head, attempting a scoff which comes out half-strangled, quivering with false bravado. Eight months pregnant and she can still incite terror-for this can be nothing but terror. She breathes it in, tastes it in his sigh, and feels the smirk as it curls the corners of her lips. She had forgotten the beautiful, intoxicating rush of arrogance; now her heart thrums with this knowledge, that under no circumstances can she possibly lose.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jesse says, but it is two minutes too late and as quickly as her certainty is blooming, his is disappearing. For a moment she almost pities the little boy he has become, trying so desperately to feign self-assuredness amongst his peers. But Jesse St. James is no Quinn Fabray-and, somehow, in this moment, they both know it.
“If you come near us again, you will.” Her voice has become a quiet hiss, her smile the smile of a predator just before it strikes. “If you or any of your little club so much as think about touching her again, you will know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looks fleetingly at each of them, but it is Jesse’s eyes she meets and she thinks for a moment she catches a flicker of regret. She cannot bring herself to care (somehow she can’t stop caring, somehow all she can feel is Rachel’s suffocating humiliation and all she can see is that fucking yolk sliding down her cheeks, disguising her tears but not her gut-wrenching sobs and she cares cares cares too much).
She steps fluidly away, the threat still on the tip of her tongue, at the corners of her lips, flashing in her eyes. “See you at Regionals,” she says, leaving them one last smirk. But before she is halfway gone, she returns to the stage where they still have not stopped watching her and adds, “Oh, but one more thing.” With that, she raises her palm and slaps Jesse St. James across the cheek harder than she had considered possible, so that it echoes and echoes and echoes. She thinks it is far more beautiful than anything they could ever sing.
Then she is gone.
---
Leaving the doors of Mount Carmel High reminds her of exactly who she is: a gleek, a loser, notacheerleader, pregnant, just Quinn. The sting isn’t quite as sharp as she expects, but the ache is there, dull and throbbing. It is Just Quinn that clambers back into her car (a ride made altogether less than comfortable by the vastness of her stomach) and it is Just Quinn that breathes a soft sigh of might-have-beens
It is here, on the return home, that she remembers the why--mostly why this is completely ridiculous and men-in-white-coats-worthy. Because Quinn, gleek or not, reserves no affection for Rachel Berry. Because being in a room with Rachel Berry reduces Quinn to rolled eyes and scoffing and overdramatic sighs rough with annoyance. Because Rachel Berry is inane and out of her mind and probably Cheerleader Quinn Fabray has terrorized her far more than Vocal Adrenaline ever did. But Quinn feels something curling in the pit of her stomach and it feels like-
-protectiveness? Quinn’s knuckles are white as she clutches the wheel, as she desperately scrabbles to find the logical part of her brain. Because somehow it must have disappeared, somehow it must have been stolen from her by these damn pregnancy hormones and this is not even remotely verging on okay. (But there’s Rachel and her knees are curled into her chest and there’s yolk everywhere and shaky sobs and this time the sting is sharp.)
But that night, lying in her bed for the last time-or, more accurately, the bed in Puck’s guest room-she cannot help the warmth of satisfaction that settles upon her, a stark and frustrating contrast to the sheer absurdity of her conquest. Of the whys.
She isn’t sure when the why become Rachel Berry, bold and in caps and preceding a gold star.
(She sleeps soundly that night.)
---
Upon returning to school, she discovers their plan for retaliation: singing.
Quinn Fabray might have been able to deny the joy she found in performing the Glee numbers, but Just Quinn cannot-and yet, as the answer to the humiliation Berry endured, it seems weak, even pathetic; after all, “symbolic” cannot compete with slapping St. James. Quinn seems to be the only one aware that real life isn’t Disney and singing isn’t, though Mr. Schuester might like to pretend otherwise, the cure for all the world’s problems.
It doesn’t matter, though (she can’t help but think with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips). She knows very well that whether they win or lose, whether they intimidate them or bring them to hysterics, Jesse St. James will not be stupid enough to approach any of them (her). He will not even think to touch them (her). He will radiate false bravado and he will smirk and Quinn will see through every single second.
It is this certainty that carries her through the day and eventually leads her to the auditorium-where she finds Berry, sitting in one of the seats and staring blankly at the stage. The fact alone that she’s not standing on the stage itself is worrisome-like, possibly apocalyptic proportions worrisome. An upset Rachel Berry tends to involve copious amounts of performing, after all, and yet there she sits, still. Quinn very nearly turns away (because why deal with Berry, why deal with confusion and illogical reasoning) but it is in this moment of indecision that Rachel turns and sees her.
Her eyes are red and her shoulders are slumped. “Quinn,” she sighs, her voice raw with exhaustion, and Quinn doesn’t know how to deal with this Rachel Berry, the one who has no more tears to cry and who looks about to break. She does not know how to deal with a fragile Rachel Berry without the energy even to sing As much as it shouldn’t matter, Quinn finds that, staring at this person before her, she is terrified.
“Oh,” she says. And then, a beat later, “Berry.” She doesn’t move. She’s not exactly certain she remembers how.
“Look, Quinn, I’m really not in the mood,” Rachel says, emotionless, so much so that Quinn very nearly cringes (except she doesn’t, because it doesn’t matter-a claim that might be slightly more believable if she hadn’t just driven to Carmel High to threaten Jesse St. James, but she’s sort of trying to pretend that none of that was real).
“Don’t worry about Jesse,” Quinn finds herself saying, because words are definitely coming out of her mouth that were never supposed to, ever. “He’s been-taken care of.” And then she cannot help the smirk because even though she was defending Rachel Berry’s honor (even the thought of it almost makes her wince-because what the hell), she was also reminding everyone all the reasons Quinn Fabray was so absolutely terrifying.
And then Quinn sees emotion, finally-and breathes an audible sigh of relief and that should also not be happening at all, in any way, like she’s somehow connected to Rachel Berry’s emotions or something equally horrifying and stupid. She sees Rachel look at her and she sees her mouth open and hears-nothing. For a moment, all Quinn can do is smile because this has to be some kind of record, because she ought to win an award for rendering Rachel Berry speechless. And then all she can hear is the thudding of her heart.
“Quinn, you-” But even then the words won’t seem to come and all of a sudden Rachel’s standing and she’s walking towards Quinn and wrapping her arms around her and breathing, “I can’t believe you-you-”
For a second, Quinn doesn’t respond. Because Rachel-Rachel Berry, her enemy and endless annoyance (and also her victim)-is hugging her and she’s quite sure there’s no proper response for that situation. Because it doesn’t happen, it shouldn’t happen, but Rachel’s still hugging Quinn and so Quinn responds in by far the most absurd and unwarranted manner possible: she hugs Rachel back.
When Rachel pulls away-because, mortifyingly, it is Berry who pulls away first-Quinn glances down (and possibly ducks her head, too, but that is entirely the fault of the pregnancy hormones, she’s sure).
“You didn’t put yourself at risk for expulsion, did you? Because your schooling is a vital part of-”
Quinn almost says Right, like I’d risk expulsion for you except part of her, part of the Just Quinn her, knows that this is a lie and she’s sick of lies. Instead, she says, “I’m not Finn or Puck. I’m not stupid enough to slash someone’s tires and get caught.”
Rachel nods, like maybe she’s agreeing with her, and then she smiles-one of those smiles that seems to stretch across her whole face. And smile doesn’t really do it justice-so perhaps beaming would be more suitable. All Quinn knows is that it is bright, almost blinding, and for a moment she is overwhelmed by the full scope of Berry’s attention, all focused on her (which would, she supposes, explain the thrumming of her heart in her ears). For that moment-just the one-she can almost understand how Finn was swept away so easily.
The moment passes.
---
Vocal Adrenaline comes in first at Regionals, but New Directions takes home a respectable second place trophy. There is disappointment, certainly, but none of them are especially shocked-and tomorrow or the next day they will promise to fight harder and to sing better. Rachel will threaten them with vocal lessons and they will work up the courage to perform again and maybe they will be stronger for it, but today is not that day.
Today is the day that Mr. Schuester will fall into step beside them and tell them, proudly, “You got second place, guys! We’re going to Nationals!”
Today is the day that they will walk outside and it will be pouring and Brittany will leap and spin circles in the rain and so Santana will reluctantly join her and after that it is only a matter of time before everyone else will inevitably follow. They will laugh and yell and dance in the rain and Quinn will refuse outright because she could go into labor any second now and she will not be having a baby while she’s soaking, thank you very much.
But Rachel will approach her-her hair darker and clinging to her skin but her eyes bright-and smile one of those smiles and say, “Come on, Quinn.” And Quinn will protest a little bit more knowing that she could never really refuse, anyway, and finally say, “Whatever, Berry.” The rain will fall upon her, hard, and somehow it will lend the courage of Quinn Fabray (or perhaps the insanity of Just Quinn) and she will do something stupid, like link her fingers will Rachel Berry’s, and then she will lean down and she will kiss her.
And it will be in the rain and it will be freezing and Quinn will be so pregnant that she’s almost not pregnant anymore and she will forget for one ridiculous instant that all of this is true. And it will be different, leaning down to kiss someone, but not in a bad way, and Quinn will forget that there are eleven other people that will be able to provide a firsthand account of her insanity.
But she will remember Rachel Berry and how she tastes like ambition and hope and maybe a little like forsaken promises. “I know we didn’t win,” she will breathe as she pulls away-still close enough that Rachel will seem to inhale the words as quickly as Quinn speaks them, “but your performance was definitely first place worthy.”
It will be the corniest thing Quinn Fabray has ever said and she will almost roll her eyes, but then Rachel will beam at her and throw her arms around Quinn’s neck and they will spin in the pouring rain.
Around and around and around and together.
Author: intobrakelights
Rating: PG-13, but only for minimal (but strong) swearing.
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn.
Summary: Quinn was five steps ahead of the boys and there was no way in hell Will Schuester could stop her. A response to this prompt at the glee_fluff_meme.
Spoilers: For everything, basically, particularly Funk.
Author's Notes: It's been a while since I've written any sort of fanfiction and this--well, idk, I finally just decided to post it because I wanted to get something done and figured it was vaguely possible someone somewhere in the world might enjoy it. And it's also my second post on my LJ. Oh, and the title's totally ripped off from Nikki Giovanni's "Resignation." ♥
It is only once she has entered the doors of Mount Carmel High that she realizes she might have gone completely insane-because in no sane universe would she have even considered this an option. (Later, she’ll have the clarity of mind necessary to blame it on pregnancy hormones; now, she’s just furious.)
But she opens the doors without the slightest hesitation because for an instant she remembers what it is like to be Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray. For an instant, the dramatic entrance and the turning of heads remind her of everything she once had. She feels power surge through her and knows no regrets, because Quinn Fabray smirked and glared and terrorized and never once looked back.
So it is Quinn Fabray who strolls into Mount Carmel High’s auditorium. It is Quinn Fabray who steps onstage and interrupts some new perfectly choreographed number. It is Quinn Fabray who comes face-to-face with Jesse St. James. And it is Quinn Fabray, whose voice has become liquid venom, who whispers, “Do you really think you can play this game? Are you really stupid enough to try?”
He looks at her-they all look at her, and rather than humiliation all she can feel is a flood of delight-and shakes his head, attempting a scoff which comes out half-strangled, quivering with false bravado. Eight months pregnant and she can still incite terror-for this can be nothing but terror. She breathes it in, tastes it in his sigh, and feels the smirk as it curls the corners of her lips. She had forgotten the beautiful, intoxicating rush of arrogance; now her heart thrums with this knowledge, that under no circumstances can she possibly lose.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jesse says, but it is two minutes too late and as quickly as her certainty is blooming, his is disappearing. For a moment she almost pities the little boy he has become, trying so desperately to feign self-assuredness amongst his peers. But Jesse St. James is no Quinn Fabray-and, somehow, in this moment, they both know it.
“If you come near us again, you will.” Her voice has become a quiet hiss, her smile the smile of a predator just before it strikes. “If you or any of your little club so much as think about touching her again, you will know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looks fleetingly at each of them, but it is Jesse’s eyes she meets and she thinks for a moment she catches a flicker of regret. She cannot bring herself to care (somehow she can’t stop caring, somehow all she can feel is Rachel’s suffocating humiliation and all she can see is that fucking yolk sliding down her cheeks, disguising her tears but not her gut-wrenching sobs and she cares cares cares too much).
She steps fluidly away, the threat still on the tip of her tongue, at the corners of her lips, flashing in her eyes. “See you at Regionals,” she says, leaving them one last smirk. But before she is halfway gone, she returns to the stage where they still have not stopped watching her and adds, “Oh, but one more thing.” With that, she raises her palm and slaps Jesse St. James across the cheek harder than she had considered possible, so that it echoes and echoes and echoes. She thinks it is far more beautiful than anything they could ever sing.
Then she is gone.
---
Leaving the doors of Mount Carmel High reminds her of exactly who she is: a gleek, a loser, notacheerleader, pregnant, just Quinn. The sting isn’t quite as sharp as she expects, but the ache is there, dull and throbbing. It is Just Quinn that clambers back into her car (a ride made altogether less than comfortable by the vastness of her stomach) and it is Just Quinn that breathes a soft sigh of might-have-beens
It is here, on the return home, that she remembers the why--mostly why this is completely ridiculous and men-in-white-coats-worthy. Because Quinn, gleek or not, reserves no affection for Rachel Berry. Because being in a room with Rachel Berry reduces Quinn to rolled eyes and scoffing and overdramatic sighs rough with annoyance. Because Rachel Berry is inane and out of her mind and probably Cheerleader Quinn Fabray has terrorized her far more than Vocal Adrenaline ever did. But Quinn feels something curling in the pit of her stomach and it feels like-
-protectiveness? Quinn’s knuckles are white as she clutches the wheel, as she desperately scrabbles to find the logical part of her brain. Because somehow it must have disappeared, somehow it must have been stolen from her by these damn pregnancy hormones and this is not even remotely verging on okay. (But there’s Rachel and her knees are curled into her chest and there’s yolk everywhere and shaky sobs and this time the sting is sharp.)
But that night, lying in her bed for the last time-or, more accurately, the bed in Puck’s guest room-she cannot help the warmth of satisfaction that settles upon her, a stark and frustrating contrast to the sheer absurdity of her conquest. Of the whys.
She isn’t sure when the why become Rachel Berry, bold and in caps and preceding a gold star.
(She sleeps soundly that night.)
---
Upon returning to school, she discovers their plan for retaliation: singing.
Quinn Fabray might have been able to deny the joy she found in performing the Glee numbers, but Just Quinn cannot-and yet, as the answer to the humiliation Berry endured, it seems weak, even pathetic; after all, “symbolic” cannot compete with slapping St. James. Quinn seems to be the only one aware that real life isn’t Disney and singing isn’t, though Mr. Schuester might like to pretend otherwise, the cure for all the world’s problems.
It doesn’t matter, though (she can’t help but think with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips). She knows very well that whether they win or lose, whether they intimidate them or bring them to hysterics, Jesse St. James will not be stupid enough to approach any of them (her). He will not even think to touch them (her). He will radiate false bravado and he will smirk and Quinn will see through every single second.
It is this certainty that carries her through the day and eventually leads her to the auditorium-where she finds Berry, sitting in one of the seats and staring blankly at the stage. The fact alone that she’s not standing on the stage itself is worrisome-like, possibly apocalyptic proportions worrisome. An upset Rachel Berry tends to involve copious amounts of performing, after all, and yet there she sits, still. Quinn very nearly turns away (because why deal with Berry, why deal with confusion and illogical reasoning) but it is in this moment of indecision that Rachel turns and sees her.
Her eyes are red and her shoulders are slumped. “Quinn,” she sighs, her voice raw with exhaustion, and Quinn doesn’t know how to deal with this Rachel Berry, the one who has no more tears to cry and who looks about to break. She does not know how to deal with a fragile Rachel Berry without the energy even to sing As much as it shouldn’t matter, Quinn finds that, staring at this person before her, she is terrified.
“Oh,” she says. And then, a beat later, “Berry.” She doesn’t move. She’s not exactly certain she remembers how.
“Look, Quinn, I’m really not in the mood,” Rachel says, emotionless, so much so that Quinn very nearly cringes (except she doesn’t, because it doesn’t matter-a claim that might be slightly more believable if she hadn’t just driven to Carmel High to threaten Jesse St. James, but she’s sort of trying to pretend that none of that was real).
“Don’t worry about Jesse,” Quinn finds herself saying, because words are definitely coming out of her mouth that were never supposed to, ever. “He’s been-taken care of.” And then she cannot help the smirk because even though she was defending Rachel Berry’s honor (even the thought of it almost makes her wince-because what the hell), she was also reminding everyone all the reasons Quinn Fabray was so absolutely terrifying.
And then Quinn sees emotion, finally-and breathes an audible sigh of relief and that should also not be happening at all, in any way, like she’s somehow connected to Rachel Berry’s emotions or something equally horrifying and stupid. She sees Rachel look at her and she sees her mouth open and hears-nothing. For a moment, all Quinn can do is smile because this has to be some kind of record, because she ought to win an award for rendering Rachel Berry speechless. And then all she can hear is the thudding of her heart.
“Quinn, you-” But even then the words won’t seem to come and all of a sudden Rachel’s standing and she’s walking towards Quinn and wrapping her arms around her and breathing, “I can’t believe you-you-”
For a second, Quinn doesn’t respond. Because Rachel-Rachel Berry, her enemy and endless annoyance (and also her victim)-is hugging her and she’s quite sure there’s no proper response for that situation. Because it doesn’t happen, it shouldn’t happen, but Rachel’s still hugging Quinn and so Quinn responds in by far the most absurd and unwarranted manner possible: she hugs Rachel back.
When Rachel pulls away-because, mortifyingly, it is Berry who pulls away first-Quinn glances down (and possibly ducks her head, too, but that is entirely the fault of the pregnancy hormones, she’s sure).
“You didn’t put yourself at risk for expulsion, did you? Because your schooling is a vital part of-”
Quinn almost says Right, like I’d risk expulsion for you except part of her, part of the Just Quinn her, knows that this is a lie and she’s sick of lies. Instead, she says, “I’m not Finn or Puck. I’m not stupid enough to slash someone’s tires and get caught.”
Rachel nods, like maybe she’s agreeing with her, and then she smiles-one of those smiles that seems to stretch across her whole face. And smile doesn’t really do it justice-so perhaps beaming would be more suitable. All Quinn knows is that it is bright, almost blinding, and for a moment she is overwhelmed by the full scope of Berry’s attention, all focused on her (which would, she supposes, explain the thrumming of her heart in her ears). For that moment-just the one-she can almost understand how Finn was swept away so easily.
The moment passes.
---
Vocal Adrenaline comes in first at Regionals, but New Directions takes home a respectable second place trophy. There is disappointment, certainly, but none of them are especially shocked-and tomorrow or the next day they will promise to fight harder and to sing better. Rachel will threaten them with vocal lessons and they will work up the courage to perform again and maybe they will be stronger for it, but today is not that day.
Today is the day that Mr. Schuester will fall into step beside them and tell them, proudly, “You got second place, guys! We’re going to Nationals!”
Today is the day that they will walk outside and it will be pouring and Brittany will leap and spin circles in the rain and so Santana will reluctantly join her and after that it is only a matter of time before everyone else will inevitably follow. They will laugh and yell and dance in the rain and Quinn will refuse outright because she could go into labor any second now and she will not be having a baby while she’s soaking, thank you very much.
But Rachel will approach her-her hair darker and clinging to her skin but her eyes bright-and smile one of those smiles and say, “Come on, Quinn.” And Quinn will protest a little bit more knowing that she could never really refuse, anyway, and finally say, “Whatever, Berry.” The rain will fall upon her, hard, and somehow it will lend the courage of Quinn Fabray (or perhaps the insanity of Just Quinn) and she will do something stupid, like link her fingers will Rachel Berry’s, and then she will lean down and she will kiss her.
And it will be in the rain and it will be freezing and Quinn will be so pregnant that she’s almost not pregnant anymore and she will forget for one ridiculous instant that all of this is true. And it will be different, leaning down to kiss someone, but not in a bad way, and Quinn will forget that there are eleven other people that will be able to provide a firsthand account of her insanity.
But she will remember Rachel Berry and how she tastes like ambition and hope and maybe a little like forsaken promises. “I know we didn’t win,” she will breathe as she pulls away-still close enough that Rachel will seem to inhale the words as quickly as Quinn speaks them, “but your performance was definitely first place worthy.”
It will be the corniest thing Quinn Fabray has ever said and she will almost roll her eyes, but then Rachel will beam at her and throw her arms around Quinn’s neck and they will spin in the pouring rain.
Around and around and around and together.