Alternate Universe - Pezberry week
Written for the Pezberry week:: Saturday, May 17th: Alternate Universe
Rating: T
Words: ±1200
Disclaimer: nothing is mine
English is still not my first language, thanks to slacker_d for the help.
“Berry,” Santana slammed Rachel’s locker close, and leaned against it.
“Santana,” Rachel acknowledged her calmly, not giving away the slight scare she'd felt at the banging sound, and the relief that no fingers had been crushed.
“I need your services,” Santana said, straight to the point.
Rachel looked at her unimpressed.
“Not that kind of service. I don’t need to pay for that, hell, people would pay to have sex with me.”
“Are you aware that you’re basically saying that you accept money in exchange for sexual performance?”
“Oh shut up!” Santana snapped. “So fucking annoying!”
“You’re the one who sought me out,” Rachel fixed her bag on her shoulder. “If you’re finished,” she started to turn away.
“I need to talk to you,” Santana stopped her, grabbing her arm, but releasing immediately as Rachel glared at the hand.
“And what were we doing previously?”
“Berry,” Santana growled, and Rachel relented. “Let’s go to my office.”
Rachel led Santana into the choir room, unused since she had gotten Sandy Ryerson fired for harassment and nobody had dared to pick up the role of Glee coach, not after Coach Sylvester had made it clear that anyone who dared to do such a thing would become Sue’s number one enemy.
Rachel sat at the piano, crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap, the picture of the innocent schoolgirl, if Santana didn’t know better.
“How can I help you, Santana?” Rachel asked, her tone professional.
“I want you to find out something.”
“My investigative skills are finally getting recognized, I see,” Rachel looked satisfied.
“I call it butting you big schnozzle in everyone else’s business, but whatever,” she took out-seemingly from nowhere-a nail file and started using it, acting disinterested. “Fabray.”
“What about her?” Rachel frowned. Quinn Fabray was the Head Cheerleader, Queen of McKinley High School and supposedly Santana Lopez’s best friend.
“She is hiding something,” Santana looked at Rachel. “I want you to find out what.”
“I can do that,” Rachel nodded, already formulating plans. “About the payment…”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” Santana said quickly.
“Does everything always go back to sex with you?” Rachel snorted.
“Have you seen my body?” Santana put an hand on her hip, the other waving up and down along her body.
“I usually accept payment in favors,” Rachel ignored the question. “Not the sexual kind,” she added immediately.
“Your loss,” Santana muttered, before saying louder. “I’ll stop the slushies,”
“Really?” Rachel wasn’t convinced: one person stopping a whole school?
Santana saw that. “I’m Santana fucking Lopez, I can do it,” she looked at Rachel. “Get me what I want, and I’ll do it.”
.
“Mini golf? Really?” Santana sauntered up to Rachel. “I thought it was close during the week.”
“It is,” Rachel didn’t look up, concentrating on the ball.
“Why we are here? Couldn’t we meet somewhere else?”
“I don’t want anyone to overhear us,” Santana raised an eyebrow, even if Rachel still wasn’t looking at her. “And playing helps me to relax and think.”
“God, you’re so lame,” Santana shook her head. “What did you find?”
Rachel hit the ball, holing out, and finally looked at Santana, using the club as a cane. “Quinn Fabray is pregnant.”
“What? Are you shitting me?”
“I’m not kidding you.”
Santana would have rolled her eyes at Rachel’s persistence at avoiding swear words, but she was too shocked. Then she started laughing. “Little Miss Perfect isn’t so perfect after all.”
“This is too good to be true,” Santana regained her breath. “Guess that Finnocence isn’t so innocent. Never though he had it in him. Knocking up Fabray,” she shook her head.
Rachel frowned at the amused tone but said nothing, simply clearing her throat. “I can say on a good authority that Finn Hudson isn’t the father.”
“Will the wonders ever cease?” Santana looked at her interested and somewhat impressed. “Why do you say that?”
“Finn is convinced that the conception happened while they were making out in the hot tub and he reached his orgasm, with both of them wearing their swimsuits,” Rachel bit her lips to stop from joining Santana’s raucous laughter.
“Are you serious? He really believes that?” Santana was incredulous.
“When I inquired further he mumbled something about sperm swimming faster in hot water,” Rachel confirmed.
“Oh God. This is even better. Sex before marriage and cheating,” Santana chortled. “I wonder what Miss Chastity’s daddy will say about his little Christian princess.”
“I thought she was your friend,” Rachel commented, omitting the best, seeing as it clearly wasn’t true.
“Ever heard of ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’? Besides, I fucking hate her father, always looking down on me and judging me. He preaches all that shit about acceptance and love, when really, he’s just a racist bastard,” Santana took a breath. “Any ideas about the real baby daddy?”
“I have no proof,” Rachel started but Santana interrupted her. “I trust your instincts.”
Rachel was surprised, but didn’t question it. “I believe it’s Noah Puckerman.”
“Puck?”
Rachel nodded. “They are having heated but whispered conversations, clearly trying to keep them secret. And Noah seems to be keeping an eye on Quinn all the time.”
Santana waited for a bit, to see if Rachel was going to add something more. “Good job, Berry,” she nodded to her. “I’ll talk to the others about the slushies,” she started to walk away. “After seeing the coach,” she murmured.
“I wouldn’t do it,” Rachel’s voice stopped her.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Santana turned. “Maybe you don’t get it, Berry, but we’re talking about the Head Cheerleader spot,” she snarled.
“Sooner or later it will happen anyway, whether Quinn quits because of the baby’s health, or she starts showing and coach Sylvester kicks her off the squad. Either way, you’ll become head cheerleader, and you’ll keep your conscience clear.”
Santana gave Rachel a long look. “Whatever.”
.
In the following days some things changed, like the rate of clothing changes Rachel had to go through each day became a big fat zero. Or Santana acknowledging Rachel in the hallway with a nod instead of with a shove against a locker, or with a insulting nickname.
And some things stayed the same, like Quinn hanging on Finn’s arm, or wearing her Cheerio uniform.
.
Rachel was messing around with the piano when Santana entered the empty choir room. Rachel glanced up at her, and continued playing.
“This is how you greet the new Head Cheerleader?” Santana crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Rachel stopped playing. “Congratulations.”
Santana rolled her eyes. “Here,” she slapped her hand down on the piano.
“What is this?” Rachel took two coupons in her hands.
“Coach gave them to me to celebrate my new positions. Two vouchers for Breadsticks.”
“You already paid me,” Rachel looked confused. “The slushies stopped.”
“That was for the dirt on Fabray. The spot was a bonus.”
“So this is you admitting that I was right and that you followed my advice?” Rachel smirked at her.
“Whatever,” Santana looked away. “Do you want it or not?” she took back the slips of paper.
“How could I refuse such an offer?” Rachel snatched one.
“Yeah, make it sound like you’re saying yes only for the free lunch,” Santana muttered.
“Surely I’m not agreeing because I'm attracted by your charming personality.”
(yes, I pictured Rachel as a sort of Veronica Mars)
Rating: T
Words: ±1200
Disclaimer: nothing is mine
English is still not my first language, thanks to slacker_d for the help.
“Berry,” Santana slammed Rachel’s locker close, and leaned against it.
“Santana,” Rachel acknowledged her calmly, not giving away the slight scare she'd felt at the banging sound, and the relief that no fingers had been crushed.
“I need your services,” Santana said, straight to the point.
Rachel looked at her unimpressed.
“Not that kind of service. I don’t need to pay for that, hell, people would pay to have sex with me.”
“Are you aware that you’re basically saying that you accept money in exchange for sexual performance?”
“Oh shut up!” Santana snapped. “So fucking annoying!”
“You’re the one who sought me out,” Rachel fixed her bag on her shoulder. “If you’re finished,” she started to turn away.
“I need to talk to you,” Santana stopped her, grabbing her arm, but releasing immediately as Rachel glared at the hand.
“And what were we doing previously?”
“Berry,” Santana growled, and Rachel relented. “Let’s go to my office.”
Rachel led Santana into the choir room, unused since she had gotten Sandy Ryerson fired for harassment and nobody had dared to pick up the role of Glee coach, not after Coach Sylvester had made it clear that anyone who dared to do such a thing would become Sue’s number one enemy.
Rachel sat at the piano, crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap, the picture of the innocent schoolgirl, if Santana didn’t know better.
“How can I help you, Santana?” Rachel asked, her tone professional.
“I want you to find out something.”
“My investigative skills are finally getting recognized, I see,” Rachel looked satisfied.
“I call it butting you big schnozzle in everyone else’s business, but whatever,” she took out-seemingly from nowhere-a nail file and started using it, acting disinterested. “Fabray.”
“What about her?” Rachel frowned. Quinn Fabray was the Head Cheerleader, Queen of McKinley High School and supposedly Santana Lopez’s best friend.
“She is hiding something,” Santana looked at Rachel. “I want you to find out what.”
“I can do that,” Rachel nodded, already formulating plans. “About the payment…”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” Santana said quickly.
“Does everything always go back to sex with you?” Rachel snorted.
“Have you seen my body?” Santana put an hand on her hip, the other waving up and down along her body.
“I usually accept payment in favors,” Rachel ignored the question. “Not the sexual kind,” she added immediately.
“Your loss,” Santana muttered, before saying louder. “I’ll stop the slushies,”
“Really?” Rachel wasn’t convinced: one person stopping a whole school?
Santana saw that. “I’m Santana fucking Lopez, I can do it,” she looked at Rachel. “Get me what I want, and I’ll do it.”
.
“Mini golf? Really?” Santana sauntered up to Rachel. “I thought it was close during the week.”
“It is,” Rachel didn’t look up, concentrating on the ball.
“Why we are here? Couldn’t we meet somewhere else?”
“I don’t want anyone to overhear us,” Santana raised an eyebrow, even if Rachel still wasn’t looking at her. “And playing helps me to relax and think.”
“God, you’re so lame,” Santana shook her head. “What did you find?”
Rachel hit the ball, holing out, and finally looked at Santana, using the club as a cane. “Quinn Fabray is pregnant.”
“What? Are you shitting me?”
“I’m not kidding you.”
Santana would have rolled her eyes at Rachel’s persistence at avoiding swear words, but she was too shocked. Then she started laughing. “Little Miss Perfect isn’t so perfect after all.”
“This is too good to be true,” Santana regained her breath. “Guess that Finnocence isn’t so innocent. Never though he had it in him. Knocking up Fabray,” she shook her head.
Rachel frowned at the amused tone but said nothing, simply clearing her throat. “I can say on a good authority that Finn Hudson isn’t the father.”
“Will the wonders ever cease?” Santana looked at her interested and somewhat impressed. “Why do you say that?”
“Finn is convinced that the conception happened while they were making out in the hot tub and he reached his orgasm, with both of them wearing their swimsuits,” Rachel bit her lips to stop from joining Santana’s raucous laughter.
“Are you serious? He really believes that?” Santana was incredulous.
“When I inquired further he mumbled something about sperm swimming faster in hot water,” Rachel confirmed.
“Oh God. This is even better. Sex before marriage and cheating,” Santana chortled. “I wonder what Miss Chastity’s daddy will say about his little Christian princess.”
“I thought she was your friend,” Rachel commented, omitting the best, seeing as it clearly wasn’t true.
“Ever heard of ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’? Besides, I fucking hate her father, always looking down on me and judging me. He preaches all that shit about acceptance and love, when really, he’s just a racist bastard,” Santana took a breath. “Any ideas about the real baby daddy?”
“I have no proof,” Rachel started but Santana interrupted her. “I trust your instincts.”
Rachel was surprised, but didn’t question it. “I believe it’s Noah Puckerman.”
“Puck?”
Rachel nodded. “They are having heated but whispered conversations, clearly trying to keep them secret. And Noah seems to be keeping an eye on Quinn all the time.”
Santana waited for a bit, to see if Rachel was going to add something more. “Good job, Berry,” she nodded to her. “I’ll talk to the others about the slushies,” she started to walk away. “After seeing the coach,” she murmured.
“I wouldn’t do it,” Rachel’s voice stopped her.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Santana turned. “Maybe you don’t get it, Berry, but we’re talking about the Head Cheerleader spot,” she snarled.
“Sooner or later it will happen anyway, whether Quinn quits because of the baby’s health, or she starts showing and coach Sylvester kicks her off the squad. Either way, you’ll become head cheerleader, and you’ll keep your conscience clear.”
Santana gave Rachel a long look. “Whatever.”
.
In the following days some things changed, like the rate of clothing changes Rachel had to go through each day became a big fat zero. Or Santana acknowledging Rachel in the hallway with a nod instead of with a shove against a locker, or with a insulting nickname.
And some things stayed the same, like Quinn hanging on Finn’s arm, or wearing her Cheerio uniform.
.
Rachel was messing around with the piano when Santana entered the empty choir room. Rachel glanced up at her, and continued playing.
“This is how you greet the new Head Cheerleader?” Santana crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Rachel stopped playing. “Congratulations.”
Santana rolled her eyes. “Here,” she slapped her hand down on the piano.
“What is this?” Rachel took two coupons in her hands.
“Coach gave them to me to celebrate my new positions. Two vouchers for Breadsticks.”
“You already paid me,” Rachel looked confused. “The slushies stopped.”
“That was for the dirt on Fabray. The spot was a bonus.”
“So this is you admitting that I was right and that you followed my advice?” Rachel smirked at her.
“Whatever,” Santana looked away. “Do you want it or not?” she took back the slips of paper.
“How could I refuse such an offer?” Rachel snatched one.
“Yeah, make it sound like you’re saying yes only for the free lunch,” Santana muttered.
“Surely I’m not agreeing because I'm attracted by your charming personality.”
(yes, I pictured Rachel as a sort of Veronica Mars)