Fic: What Rachel Knows Chapter 5
Haha, I actually proofread this chapter. I hope you guys like it, I'm a little torn, but it is a definite turning point in the story.
Chapter 5 - Ice Queen Cometh
After the soda incident, Santana mostly left Rachel alone for a while. She would make the occasional catty remark, she was quiet excellent at those, but was not nearly as confrontational with her. She knew that when monkeys see, monkeys do and that she no longer needed to micromanage making Rachel’s life miserable. That did not mean, however, that she had stopped causing trouble behind the scenes.
Rachel had worn Quinn’s cardigan for the rest of the school day and, while most of her classmates were too dim to notice the transfer of the clothing, Santana, at the very least, understood that Rachel hadn’t ripped the sweater off Quinn’s body and ran off with it.
No, Santana seemed to understand exactly what had happened, even if Quinn had been as discreet as possible.
Possibly because of this, Santana and Quinn’s relationship had taken a somewhat troubling turn. The two girls had seemed a little standoffish with each other since the beginning of the year, but they also seemed to work as a cohesive unit. They really did seem to be the epitome of “frenemies,” which apparently usually worked quite well for them. Nevertheless, even if Santana was one of the only ones who realized it, Quinn had, in helping Rachel, basically acted against Santana.
Personally, Rachel really wasn’t sure what the proper protocol for this situation was. The two girls were both very attractive in their own way, and they were not brain dead like many of the attractive girls in the school, so it was easy to see why they were already in the running for most popular. Both girls were already shoo-ins for not only being on the Cheerios in high school, which was apparently a big deal, but were even competing for the top spots. They both were headstrong women who knew what they wanted. The two, though, were also vastly different.
Quinn was, for lack of a better word, gentler than Santana. More wholesome. She earned outstanding grades, even slightly better than Rachel’s, from studying hard and putting in real effort. She seemed mostly uninterested in her already numerous male suitors and was even in a bible group. She had her snide moments, from what Rachel could tell, but was never malicious. She seemed to be mostly nice, or at least indifferent, to the student body in general and was polite and friendly to the teachers and people of authority. Everyone loved her.
Santana was a lot harsher in general. She was already an outrageous flirt, although the manner with which she flirted always gave Rachel the impression that she wasn’t really interested, just willing. She made fun of everyone, to their faces, including the teachers. And she paid about as much attention during class as Noah, which meant not very much. The girl wasn’t stupid by any means, Rachel wouldn’t hesitate to call her crafty and clever, but she didn’t dedicate herself to anything or anyone, aside, of course, for Brittany. Most of her popularity came from fear and desire. People felt she was above them because she acted like they were lower than her.
The two of them worked well together. While Quinn’s friendly demeanor usually meant she was in the lead for most popular, Santana was the one that seemed to get things done. To the public, they were still a unified team, but Rachel had seen more than one hidden, hissing squabble between the two girls.
She didn’t know the exact words exchanged, but Quinn was always the one who ended up looking torn. Santana just looked angry. She didn’t know why, because someone as nice and smart and pretty as Quinn would always be well liked and had the potential to get whatever she wanted in life, but Quinn seemed to honestly need to be the most popular. It wasn’t enough to liked or even respected by the masses, she had to maintain the most popular position. The popular boys and girls in the school were the ones whose opinions mattered most, and whatever Santana was saying seemed to be threatening that. Gradually, Quinn’s moments of antagonism became more frequent and her gaze became wistful at best.
There were still those moments where she would catch Quinn staring at her in a way that was decidedly not wistful, bordering more on hungry, especially in gym, and Rachel still heavily featured as her inspiration during art class, but those moments were definitely more distant now. And part of that may have been Rachel’s fault.
As much as she cared about what she had dubbed the Queen Quinn Situation, her focus had wandered to herself and her own situation. Since the soda incident, her social status had plummeted even further, which, on its own, would not have been that big of a deal. Despite what most people think, she didn’t really mind her current lack of popularity. Of course, she wanted friends and people she could count on, and she certainly wouldn’t mind being as popular as Quinn or Santana. But she was content to do without it.
Whether it was her personality or her parents, Rachel had grown up without many friends and very little social status. She was used to the nagging feeling of lonliness. She knew that there wasn’t something so wrong with her that, once she was out of this little town and could choose her life, she would still be a loser. She was completely…content with people ignoring her in the hallways and in class. Once she opened her mouth and belted a song, they wouldn’t - couldn’t - ignore her.
Things were getting really bad lately, though. It wasn’t really a matter of not having friends anymore, as Santana’s attack on her person had led to people playing a game of follow the leader and becoming much more vicious. The incident may have occurred in the privacy of the locker room, but teenagers were notorious gossips and the story had spread quickly.
Since then, Rachel had faced more teasing and taunts, especially from the girls in her year. They had become spiteful and just plain mean, though not particularly original, taking every opportunity to insult her wardrobe, her hair, and, no doubt following Santana’s example, had started making some upsetting insinuations about her body. Boys had taken to leering and snarling in equal measure, and, just the other day, she had overheard Noah Puckerman talking to his friends in a disgusting manner.
“Yeah, dude,” he had started, a smirk lighting his face and the love of an audience gleaming in his eyes as he spoke to the small crowd of older students, “I went to temple with her. She’s always been a freak, but that’s what happens when you got fairies raising you, right?” The crowd laughed boisterously and Noah shined at the attention before he noticed her watching from a distance. His eyes had met hers and, if only for a brief moment, he looked regretful, but then just shrugged it off.
It had hurt.
She really didn’t understand it. The way she was being treated honestly baffled her. She had, as previously mentioned, never been popular, but people had never acted like this around her, and she hadn’t changed. She was the same girl, so why were people treating her like a cockroach.
Whenever she raised her hand in class, everyone else groaned.
And they shouldn’t! It wasn’t about showing off or giving her an excuse to talk, like people insinuated. It was the fact that nobody else in the class was raising their hand, and the oppressive silence as the teacher just stared, waiting, was too much. He would eventually call on someone who wasn’t raising their hand anyways, and that person would then have to stumble through an answer. She was helping.
The more it happened, though, the more she hated it. The way the class all looked at her before she even raised her hand, and the look in the teacher’s eyes as he said nothing in her defense made her feel like dirt. If anything, the immature, groaning students were pulling him to their side, which, given his role as an impartial educator, made no sense. It, honestly, made her want to just stay quiet, keep her hand, and her head, down and get through the class in peace. That wasn’t how she was raised, though. She was meant to stand out from the rest, sparkle and shine like a gold star, and never back down from a challenge. If they hated it so much, expected it so much, she would give them exactly what they expected.
She raised her hand for every question, face impassive and gaze focused straight forward, and let the groans pass right over her. Not only did she answer the questions, but also answered them as clearly and completely as possible. She studied hard, aced her tests, and turned in every homework assignment. She ignored the way no one wanted her in their groups or were willing be her partner. Just like her, they didn’t have a choice, and she wouldn’t let their negative attitudes effect her grades or her happiness. They could act like immature children all they wanted, but she wouldn’t let it bring her down. It would just be incentive to do better.
When people walk by her desk and ‘accidentally’ knock her paper to the floor, she became even more organized, investing in a trapper keeper that keeps everything together. When someone fills her locker with a sticky, repugnant foam, rendering it unusable for a good while and ruining her books and personal items, she replaces everything and gets a new book bag (with wheels!) so she can carry all her stuff with her and eliminate the need for the locker. When girls start trying to trip her in gym class, she goes out of her way to avoid the others, even if it means putting less effort in, and starts waking up earlier in the morning to complete her own exercise.
When nobody will sit with her at lunch, when they knock her lunch to the floor or slyly sneak away her lunch money, she begins to bring healthier, tastier lunches and eats them alone in the unused auditorium. Which is where it happens.
She was having another bad day. The period before was, of course, gym, and somebody had decided to flush the little make-up she had started using down the toilet (thanks for the idea Santana) and somebody had succeeded in tripping her during a jog, leaving with a scraped knee. During second period, Math, she hadn’t raised her hand for once because she honestly didn’t know the answer and, of course, the teacher felt the need to make a big deal about it and call on her anyways. Everyone had found it hilarious.
She just needed a break.
While she was eating her pasta salad, she ruminated on her day and felt there was only one option to brighten her day. With a new urgency, she finished off most of her lunch as quickly as possible and put everything away so she could sit down at the piano that had apparently been left there after a recent band practice. She wasn’t great or anything, she found herself passable on the piano at best, so she never played in front of other people, but for the greatest effect she needed accompaniment.
Her fingers glided over the keys, plucking out a familiar melody, and she opened her mouth and let her true talent show.
There is a castle on a cloud,
I like to go there in my sleep,
Aren't any floors for me to sweep,
Not in my castle on a cloud.
“Castle on a Cloud” wasn’t her favorite song from the seminal Broadway classic Les Miserables by any means, but she felt it adequately expressed her current emotions. As with all her performances, even without an audience, she put everything she had into the song. She closed her eyes, fingers finding the basic melody of the song from memory, and imagined she was on stage, the crowd crying in sympathy and eyes wide in awe.
I know a place where no one's lost,
I know a place where no one cries,
Crying at all is not allowed,
Not in my castle on a cloud.
She cut off there, soon she would need another singer and the metaphor would begin to fall apart anyways. She briefly ran through her mental catalogue, looking for another, maybe more cheerful, song to sing before she opened her eyes. With a sigh, she looked into the empty chairs and saw Quinn standing in the walkway looking shell-shocked.
She stood abruptly from the piano.
“Quinn,” she practically stuttered, which was not a good way to start what she hoped would be their first actual conversation, “What are you doing here?” The other girl flinched a little, looking around nervously.
“I should go,” she said, quiet, and Rachel quickly acted.
“Wait, no, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Rachel cut off, not sure what she could say to entice the other girl to stay. She may have been set on ignoring her for the most part, but, even through her somewhat nastier actions, she had let Rachel use her cardigan and had apparently searched her out. Moreover, Rachel just really needed someone to be kind to her right now.
“Stay! I mean, please stay. Come up here and sit. You can have some of my carrot sticks that I didn’t eat, which, as I’m sure you know, are very healthy and good for you, especially if you don’t slather them in some sort of dip, which I don’t - not that there’s anything wrong with doing that if you like dip, just that I don’t have any if you want it. But I do still have your sweater. I’ve washed it and everything at home because I feel it’s best to take care of other’s belongings that they kindly let you use, but I didn’t know when the best time to give it to you was and didn’t want to carry it around all the time, but I can bring it in whenever you want it or need it and it can be a very covert exchange if necessary-” Rachel was stopped by Quinn’s hand gentle resting on her arm. She blushed, realizing how out of control her speech had gotten.
It had done its job, though, as Quinn had slowly made her way up the stage and was looking at her with a mix of awe and curiosity.
“Singing improves breathe control,” she offered, looking at the floor.
“Oh,” Quinn replied, hand still on her arm, “Yeah, that makes sense. I don’t…you can keep the cardigan, I mean, if you want. It looked nice on you.”
Rachel raised her head back up and smiled in thanks at the older girl, delighting in the spreading blush despite herself.
“I- Thanks…it looked nicer on you though,” Rachel replied, because, honestly, it was the absolute truth. Quinn’s blush darkened and Rachel realized exactly what she was doing. “Oh, but - and I really do not mean to be rude - why are you here. Not that I mind, because I really don’t, but usually this place is deserted.” Quinn blinked at her, hesitating for a moment, but seemed to come to some sort of decision.
“I, uh, I’m pretty good at math. I have the problem from earlier today if you wanted to go over it. I mean, you’re smart so it shouldn’t take much time, but Hendrick’s a jerk and should have explained it better,” Quinn said, hesitantly like always, and Rachel knew she had to be careful in her reply, as to not scare the girl off. But something stood out.
“That’s very kind of you Quinn, and I appreciate the offer,” Rachel started, noticing the small smile on Quinn’s face, “but how did you even know I was going to be here?” The smile dropped and Quinn took a step backwards. Rachel sighed a little, knowing she had spooked the girl.
“I, uh, didn’t know you were going to be here,” Quinn said, fumbling her words, “I just was walking down the hall, because I wanted to find you and you weren’t in the cafeteria, and…and I saw a cat running down the hall and into the auditorium. I followed it because it might have been Brittany’s. She brings in animals and loses them sometimes. It was white. And small. Like a kitten more than a cat.”
Rachel kept her face blank, not even raising an eyebrow, in the face of that ridiculous story. The girl was a horrible liar and she could only hope it wouldn’t come back and bite her in the behind one day. But she was trying to not scare her away and catching her in a lie probably wasn’t the best way to do that, so she decided to let it go. As long as Quinn wasn’t stalking her, it didn’t really matter. And if she was, Rachel could at least recognize and appreciate the dramatic nature of the situation.
“Alright,” Rachel said easily, willing the still nervous Quinn to calm down, “I’m glad the…Kitten was able to find this place and I hope, if it is Brittany’s, she finds the creature.” Quinn visibly relaxed and Rachel briefly wondered if the older girl actually thought she bought the somewhat lame attempt of a lie. No wonder she needed Santana around if that was the best she could do.
“It’ll be fine,” Quinn cheerfully replies, calming down significantly, “Brittany and her pets always find each other.” She took a step closer to Rachel, light smile still on her face, and Rachel stood her ground, even though a part of her wanted to take a step back. They were standing really close.
“So,” Quinn began, obviously anxious to move past her fib and continue the conversation, “Is that what you always do in here? Sing? Because you were…really good. Like amazing.” Rachel, unable to help herself, beams at the other girl. One thing Rachel is sure of is her musical ability. Personally, she believes she was born musically gifted, and she has the trophies to prove it, but she also believes in hard work and has been doing everything in her power to improve herself, so it is nice to finally hear someone else say it.
“Thank you, Quinn. I always appreciate honest feedback, especially of a positive nature. One day, my name will be up in lights as I grace the Broadway stage and every one will learn of my talent,” she enthusiastically responded. Quinn smiled at her, a tad indulgently to be honest, but Quinn would see Rachel’s potential in time, so she let it go. She looked up a Quinn, who was suddenly really close.
She swallowed briefly, unable to look away from the other girl’s eyes, which were a bit mesmerizing and a magnificent color, and felt the heat of the spot light. They were onstage, center stage, in a quiet auditorium. Nobody was watching and Quinn’s hand, maybe just her pinky, was softly grazing her arm. This was weird.
“How’s everything going with you and Santana,” she blurted, pulling away from Quinn and the sizzling tension.
“What?” Quinn replied, looking distraught at either the question or Rachel jerking away.
“I - I saw a couple arguments lately, I mean, I wasn’t watching them or spying or anything, but you both have been sniping at each other a lot and I saw you guys arguing in the hallway a couple of times,” Rachel rambled, still trying to dispel that weird feeling in the air.
“Oh, yeah, Santana,” Quinn said, looking a little out of sorts, “She’s just being a bitch. She’s mad that I gave you the cardigan, like I did it just to spite her. We have an agreement going on that helps both of us, and she thinks I was breaking it, which I wasn’t.” Quinn answered easily enough, still looking flustered and gazing at Rachel as if she was hypnotized.
Part of her didn’t believe it. Not that Quinn was lying, but rather that Santana wasn’t being sneaky. She remembered the first time Santana confronted her, remembered the reason, and knew that Santana was smarter than her grades suggested. If Rachel would hazard a guess, she would say that even Santana knew how careful she had to be with Quinn, although certainly not gentle.
Rachel sat back down on the piano’s bench, letting her fingers drift over the ivory keys and felt Quinn settle next to her. She didn’t know what had happened that Quinn would not only seek her out, but actually engage in conversation, but she did like it, even if she was a little worried.
“How about you,” Quinn spoke up, hand reaching over to stop her nervously fluttering fingers and staying there, “I mean, how are you doing lately? There is, after all, a reason you’re eating lunch in the auditorium.” Quinn quirked her head a little, obviously curious if not concerned. Rachel, though, was a little hesitant to answer.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Quinn…well, it really was. She wanted to be able to trust the other girl, but she thought it would be unfounded at this point. After all, this was the first real conversation they had. The two of them certainly weren’t friends. Quinn alternated between spitting carefully crafted insults at her, helping her from behind the scenes, and staring at her. It was like the girl was bipolar. She may be in a friendly mood right now, but the situation was sure to switch. She was fairly sure, at this point, that if she really needed something, like an extra shirt, she might be able to persuade Quinn to help her, as long as it was done in secret. At the same time, she doubted the girl would talk to her at all, or at least in a pleasant manner, in public. And that made her hesitant. But she also figured that, well, Quinn should know. Maybe if she knew just what was happening, she might want to stop it.
“I always spend my lunch here,” Rachel started, not looking at the other girl. “I don’t really have anyone to sit with anyways, so no one is going to miss me, and, this way, no one will knock my food to the ground or on me.” Quinn made a non-committal noise of sympathy, leaning gently against her, and she really didn’t know how to take that. She looked up at the other girl, softly gazing into her eyes before continuing.
“I mean, I don’t really mind that people don’t like me, I’ve accepted that, but I just don’t…It’s not just that I don’t understand the rudeness. I mean, I believe that everyone should at least be polite to each other. We’re old enough to be acting at least a little bit like adults at this point, but people are so incredibly rude. If I don’t like someone, I might not go out of my way for them, but I would, at the very least, remain polite, if not kind. And if that is really too hard, if civility, the very thing that makes us different from animals, is too much for them, then why can’t they just leave me alone?” Rachel meant every word. She wanted Quinn to hear them.
She may have been one of the nicest popular kids, but she had still called her RuPaul a while ago and, just recently, simplified the idea to Tranny. She was the one who had snarled at another girl in one of their shared classes about her darker make-up, calling her a goth freak. And she was the one who, briefly during one of the overheard arguments, criticized Santana’s choice to flirt (and more) with Noah because he was just a “Lima Loser” and destined for the gas pump. Unfortunately, she really didn’t think Quinn was listening all that closely. The other girl had a far off expression on her face, giving Rachel the impression that everything she was saying was going in one ear and out the other, and she was just staring deeply into her eyes and leaning in closely and -!
Kissing her!
Rachel, perhaps foolishly, tried to jerk away quickly, and, in an entirely ungraceful move, feel backwards off the bench. She leapt up quickly, one hand over her lips, and stared at the girl. She had thought it possible before, allowed herself to participate in some far off delusion that Quinn Fabray, Christian golden girl, had a crush on her, but she hadn’t actually thought it was true. Quinn looked equally shocked. Actually, more than shocked, she looked panicked. The two stared at each other for a moment, neither sure of the next move.
“You kissed me!” Rachel gawked at the other girl, mostly because the exclamation hadn’t come from Rachel’s mouth.
“Wh-what?” Rachel questioned, not very eloquently, as disbelief flooded her.
“You - you filthy pervert!” The other girl shouted, but it wasn’t in anger. If anything, it sounded like despair. Already tears were glistening in Quinn’s eyes as the other girl abruptly stood from the bench, notably not falling and making a fool out of herself. Rachel, through the shock, hardened slightly.
“I most certainly did not,” she said tightly, not willing to shoulder the blame, even if Quinn was freaking out. Then came the anger.
Quinn was outright glaring at her, face set in harsh lines, and she took a very deliberate step towards the smaller girl. Rachel, though, didn’t move, standing firm despite the outrageous cocktail of emotions that were swirling about. No tears fell, but, when she spoke, Quinn’s voice was hoarse with bottled emotions.
“You disgusting little f-freak. How dare y-you.” Quinn’s hands were tight fists at her side, but she didn’t take another step towards or away from the other girl. So, Rachel took a step towards her. She walked slowly, keeping her eyes level and as gentle as possible considering the situation.
“Quinn,” she spoke, her voice soft but unyielding, “I didn’t kiss you. You kiss-”
“No I didn’t!” Quinn shouted before Rachel could finish, taking another step forward so she could stand tall and look down at the other girl. “Don’t - Why would you- That’s a lie!”
“Quinn,” she said gently, hesitantly reaching out a hand to comfort the other girl.
“Don’t touch me, you freak,” Quinn pulled away almost falling off the stage. Unable to stop herself, Rachel grabbed her arm to steady her, but was quickly pushed away, luckily away from the edge of the stage.
“I said don’t touch me. Don’t -don’t touch-” and Quinn turned and looked away, closing her eyes to try to hold back the tears that were finally escaping. She raised her hand to wipe them away, speaking harshly under her breath, and Rachel made sure to keep her distance. Finally, she seemed to have collected herself somewhat as she looked up at Rachel. She slowly grabbed her bag and climbed off the stage, keeping a firm gaze on the other girl. She turned to leave, but stopped abruptly and half-turned to look at Rachel over her shoulder.
“Stay away from me, you d-dyke,” she ordered darkly, although it looked physically painful to say, “Don’t come near me again... And-and don’t tell anyone.”
Rachel watched as Quinn hustled out the door, none of her normal swagger in her step, and collapsed to the stage. She stayed there the next period, skipping Art for the first time, any class for the first time, mulling over the events. Truthfully, she didn’t think she could face Quinn during the class. Despite her suspicions, she had never thought things would turn out like this.
She skipped her next period too, but it was study hall so it didn’t really matter, and instead picked herself up enough to sing a couple songs to help her lift her spirit. This helped her enough to make it to her sixth period Science class, although she could not for the life of her remember what the teacher actually said.
After Science, though, was History, and she did share that class with Quinn. She almost skiped, but Art and study hall is bad enough. She is not a delinquent. She girds her loins and marches purposefully into History.
Quinn is not there.
According to her sources (overhearing people talk), people had heard that Quinn ate something that made her sick at lunch and had to go home. Whatever that was in the auditorium, and Rachel still hasn’t completely wrapped her mind around the whole ordeal, sent Quinn running home. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but, at that moment, she felt terrible. Soon she would feel worse.
The next day, Rachel walked into school with her normal, practiced smile, a mask of emotions. She had wanted to talk to her fathers about what had happened. Not only was she short on friends, but she would never discuss something like this, something so revealing about Quinn, with her peers anyways, and her fathers should have some experience in this area.
Unfortunately, they had been rather late coming home. She had ordered the traditional take-out for herself and stayed up late to wait for them. Her Dad came home first, close to her traditional bedtime, and she did try to approach the topic with him, but the second she mentioned a Fabray, he became closed-off and sent her to bed.
She wanted to try with her Daddy, but he must have come home much later because she fell asleep before he came home and was gone when she woke up.
At least she had the whole first period to prepare for the inevitable meeting with Quinn. She wasn’t quite sure how to act, despite her brainstorm session the previous night. If Quinn had managed to work through some things at her own home, she would gladly talk to the other girl and perhaps form a friendship, but she somehow doubted this was a real option. While she felt that things would be better for them in the long run if they had an honest discussion, possibly helping Quinn confront her obvious latent homosexuality, she also felt this was equally unlikely. The most obvious course of action, the one she figured Quinn would prefer she take, was to pretend nothing had happened and give Quinn time to work through her own issues. No matter how long it took.
She was still debating the issue in her head as she arrived at her locker. It had long since been cleaned and was much more convenient for her, so she had prank-proofed it as much as possible, such as plugging the vents, and had taken to using it again. She only kept the bare minimum in it, though, and took everything out at the end of the day. She was putting in her books for the day when she saw Quinn walking in her direction. That was somewhat peculiar.
For one thing, Quinn’s locker and her first class - which isn’t really a class but, rather, a pre-training course for some of the more talented potential Cheerios, run by Coach Sylvester each morning before she heads over to the High School - was not anywhere near Rachel’s locker. Secondly, Quinn knows where Rachel’s locker is, and there is no way that Quinn had already worked through her issues and is ready to speak to Rachel. Thirdly, and possibly most importantly, the potential cheerleader was holding what appeared to be an extra large Big Gulp that the cafeteria sold, for whatever reason, and there it is an impossibility that Quinn would be drinking that sugary mess of empty calories. Especially not right before Cheerio training.
As Quinn gets closer, Rachel turns to her locker so she is not staring at the other girl. She doubts it would have been appreciated.
“Hey, Stubbles,” she hears, and Rachel turns, not at the name or the tone, but at the voice she finally heard in an actual conversation just yesterday. The other girl looks her right in the eyes, a small smirk on her face. The fear she saw yesterday, as well as the kindness, is completely gone and Quinn is as cold as the slushy in her hand.
She glances down, noting the grape flavor, and, with a spark of insight, knows what is going to happen. She’s thankful she is still bringing in a change of clothes.
“Just a little reminder on where we both stand,” the blonde says, voice sharp but quiet, and the two are still locked in a stare as the frozen, sugary mess strikes her.
A/N: There’s not much left after this, so I hope you all like it. I know this one was a little rough.
I’m probably going to post the second part of my two-shot soon and I have an idea after the prom episode for a one-shot where Quinn realizes she’s basically, and accidentally, dating Rachel through Finn, so if anyone is interested, keep your eyes open.
Thank again for reading.
Chapter 5 - Ice Queen Cometh
After the soda incident, Santana mostly left Rachel alone for a while. She would make the occasional catty remark, she was quiet excellent at those, but was not nearly as confrontational with her. She knew that when monkeys see, monkeys do and that she no longer needed to micromanage making Rachel’s life miserable. That did not mean, however, that she had stopped causing trouble behind the scenes.
Rachel had worn Quinn’s cardigan for the rest of the school day and, while most of her classmates were too dim to notice the transfer of the clothing, Santana, at the very least, understood that Rachel hadn’t ripped the sweater off Quinn’s body and ran off with it.
No, Santana seemed to understand exactly what had happened, even if Quinn had been as discreet as possible.
Possibly because of this, Santana and Quinn’s relationship had taken a somewhat troubling turn. The two girls had seemed a little standoffish with each other since the beginning of the year, but they also seemed to work as a cohesive unit. They really did seem to be the epitome of “frenemies,” which apparently usually worked quite well for them. Nevertheless, even if Santana was one of the only ones who realized it, Quinn had, in helping Rachel, basically acted against Santana.
Personally, Rachel really wasn’t sure what the proper protocol for this situation was. The two girls were both very attractive in their own way, and they were not brain dead like many of the attractive girls in the school, so it was easy to see why they were already in the running for most popular. Both girls were already shoo-ins for not only being on the Cheerios in high school, which was apparently a big deal, but were even competing for the top spots. They both were headstrong women who knew what they wanted. The two, though, were also vastly different.
Quinn was, for lack of a better word, gentler than Santana. More wholesome. She earned outstanding grades, even slightly better than Rachel’s, from studying hard and putting in real effort. She seemed mostly uninterested in her already numerous male suitors and was even in a bible group. She had her snide moments, from what Rachel could tell, but was never malicious. She seemed to be mostly nice, or at least indifferent, to the student body in general and was polite and friendly to the teachers and people of authority. Everyone loved her.
Santana was a lot harsher in general. She was already an outrageous flirt, although the manner with which she flirted always gave Rachel the impression that she wasn’t really interested, just willing. She made fun of everyone, to their faces, including the teachers. And she paid about as much attention during class as Noah, which meant not very much. The girl wasn’t stupid by any means, Rachel wouldn’t hesitate to call her crafty and clever, but she didn’t dedicate herself to anything or anyone, aside, of course, for Brittany. Most of her popularity came from fear and desire. People felt she was above them because she acted like they were lower than her.
The two of them worked well together. While Quinn’s friendly demeanor usually meant she was in the lead for most popular, Santana was the one that seemed to get things done. To the public, they were still a unified team, but Rachel had seen more than one hidden, hissing squabble between the two girls.
She didn’t know the exact words exchanged, but Quinn was always the one who ended up looking torn. Santana just looked angry. She didn’t know why, because someone as nice and smart and pretty as Quinn would always be well liked and had the potential to get whatever she wanted in life, but Quinn seemed to honestly need to be the most popular. It wasn’t enough to liked or even respected by the masses, she had to maintain the most popular position. The popular boys and girls in the school were the ones whose opinions mattered most, and whatever Santana was saying seemed to be threatening that. Gradually, Quinn’s moments of antagonism became more frequent and her gaze became wistful at best.
There were still those moments where she would catch Quinn staring at her in a way that was decidedly not wistful, bordering more on hungry, especially in gym, and Rachel still heavily featured as her inspiration during art class, but those moments were definitely more distant now. And part of that may have been Rachel’s fault.
As much as she cared about what she had dubbed the Queen Quinn Situation, her focus had wandered to herself and her own situation. Since the soda incident, her social status had plummeted even further, which, on its own, would not have been that big of a deal. Despite what most people think, she didn’t really mind her current lack of popularity. Of course, she wanted friends and people she could count on, and she certainly wouldn’t mind being as popular as Quinn or Santana. But she was content to do without it.
Whether it was her personality or her parents, Rachel had grown up without many friends and very little social status. She was used to the nagging feeling of lonliness. She knew that there wasn’t something so wrong with her that, once she was out of this little town and could choose her life, she would still be a loser. She was completely…content with people ignoring her in the hallways and in class. Once she opened her mouth and belted a song, they wouldn’t - couldn’t - ignore her.
Things were getting really bad lately, though. It wasn’t really a matter of not having friends anymore, as Santana’s attack on her person had led to people playing a game of follow the leader and becoming much more vicious. The incident may have occurred in the privacy of the locker room, but teenagers were notorious gossips and the story had spread quickly.
Since then, Rachel had faced more teasing and taunts, especially from the girls in her year. They had become spiteful and just plain mean, though not particularly original, taking every opportunity to insult her wardrobe, her hair, and, no doubt following Santana’s example, had started making some upsetting insinuations about her body. Boys had taken to leering and snarling in equal measure, and, just the other day, she had overheard Noah Puckerman talking to his friends in a disgusting manner.
“Yeah, dude,” he had started, a smirk lighting his face and the love of an audience gleaming in his eyes as he spoke to the small crowd of older students, “I went to temple with her. She’s always been a freak, but that’s what happens when you got fairies raising you, right?” The crowd laughed boisterously and Noah shined at the attention before he noticed her watching from a distance. His eyes had met hers and, if only for a brief moment, he looked regretful, but then just shrugged it off.
It had hurt.
She really didn’t understand it. The way she was being treated honestly baffled her. She had, as previously mentioned, never been popular, but people had never acted like this around her, and she hadn’t changed. She was the same girl, so why were people treating her like a cockroach.
Whenever she raised her hand in class, everyone else groaned.
And they shouldn’t! It wasn’t about showing off or giving her an excuse to talk, like people insinuated. It was the fact that nobody else in the class was raising their hand, and the oppressive silence as the teacher just stared, waiting, was too much. He would eventually call on someone who wasn’t raising their hand anyways, and that person would then have to stumble through an answer. She was helping.
The more it happened, though, the more she hated it. The way the class all looked at her before she even raised her hand, and the look in the teacher’s eyes as he said nothing in her defense made her feel like dirt. If anything, the immature, groaning students were pulling him to their side, which, given his role as an impartial educator, made no sense. It, honestly, made her want to just stay quiet, keep her hand, and her head, down and get through the class in peace. That wasn’t how she was raised, though. She was meant to stand out from the rest, sparkle and shine like a gold star, and never back down from a challenge. If they hated it so much, expected it so much, she would give them exactly what they expected.
She raised her hand for every question, face impassive and gaze focused straight forward, and let the groans pass right over her. Not only did she answer the questions, but also answered them as clearly and completely as possible. She studied hard, aced her tests, and turned in every homework assignment. She ignored the way no one wanted her in their groups or were willing be her partner. Just like her, they didn’t have a choice, and she wouldn’t let their negative attitudes effect her grades or her happiness. They could act like immature children all they wanted, but she wouldn’t let it bring her down. It would just be incentive to do better.
When people walk by her desk and ‘accidentally’ knock her paper to the floor, she became even more organized, investing in a trapper keeper that keeps everything together. When someone fills her locker with a sticky, repugnant foam, rendering it unusable for a good while and ruining her books and personal items, she replaces everything and gets a new book bag (with wheels!) so she can carry all her stuff with her and eliminate the need for the locker. When girls start trying to trip her in gym class, she goes out of her way to avoid the others, even if it means putting less effort in, and starts waking up earlier in the morning to complete her own exercise.
When nobody will sit with her at lunch, when they knock her lunch to the floor or slyly sneak away her lunch money, she begins to bring healthier, tastier lunches and eats them alone in the unused auditorium. Which is where it happens.
She was having another bad day. The period before was, of course, gym, and somebody had decided to flush the little make-up she had started using down the toilet (thanks for the idea Santana) and somebody had succeeded in tripping her during a jog, leaving with a scraped knee. During second period, Math, she hadn’t raised her hand for once because she honestly didn’t know the answer and, of course, the teacher felt the need to make a big deal about it and call on her anyways. Everyone had found it hilarious.
She just needed a break.
While she was eating her pasta salad, she ruminated on her day and felt there was only one option to brighten her day. With a new urgency, she finished off most of her lunch as quickly as possible and put everything away so she could sit down at the piano that had apparently been left there after a recent band practice. She wasn’t great or anything, she found herself passable on the piano at best, so she never played in front of other people, but for the greatest effect she needed accompaniment.
Her fingers glided over the keys, plucking out a familiar melody, and she opened her mouth and let her true talent show.
There is a castle on a cloud,
I like to go there in my sleep,
Aren't any floors for me to sweep,
Not in my castle on a cloud.
“Castle on a Cloud” wasn’t her favorite song from the seminal Broadway classic Les Miserables by any means, but she felt it adequately expressed her current emotions. As with all her performances, even without an audience, she put everything she had into the song. She closed her eyes, fingers finding the basic melody of the song from memory, and imagined she was on stage, the crowd crying in sympathy and eyes wide in awe.
I know a place where no one's lost,
I know a place where no one cries,
Crying at all is not allowed,
Not in my castle on a cloud.
She cut off there, soon she would need another singer and the metaphor would begin to fall apart anyways. She briefly ran through her mental catalogue, looking for another, maybe more cheerful, song to sing before she opened her eyes. With a sigh, she looked into the empty chairs and saw Quinn standing in the walkway looking shell-shocked.
She stood abruptly from the piano.
“Quinn,” she practically stuttered, which was not a good way to start what she hoped would be their first actual conversation, “What are you doing here?” The other girl flinched a little, looking around nervously.
“I should go,” she said, quiet, and Rachel quickly acted.
“Wait, no, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Rachel cut off, not sure what she could say to entice the other girl to stay. She may have been set on ignoring her for the most part, but, even through her somewhat nastier actions, she had let Rachel use her cardigan and had apparently searched her out. Moreover, Rachel just really needed someone to be kind to her right now.
“Stay! I mean, please stay. Come up here and sit. You can have some of my carrot sticks that I didn’t eat, which, as I’m sure you know, are very healthy and good for you, especially if you don’t slather them in some sort of dip, which I don’t - not that there’s anything wrong with doing that if you like dip, just that I don’t have any if you want it. But I do still have your sweater. I’ve washed it and everything at home because I feel it’s best to take care of other’s belongings that they kindly let you use, but I didn’t know when the best time to give it to you was and didn’t want to carry it around all the time, but I can bring it in whenever you want it or need it and it can be a very covert exchange if necessary-” Rachel was stopped by Quinn’s hand gentle resting on her arm. She blushed, realizing how out of control her speech had gotten.
It had done its job, though, as Quinn had slowly made her way up the stage and was looking at her with a mix of awe and curiosity.
“Singing improves breathe control,” she offered, looking at the floor.
“Oh,” Quinn replied, hand still on her arm, “Yeah, that makes sense. I don’t…you can keep the cardigan, I mean, if you want. It looked nice on you.”
Rachel raised her head back up and smiled in thanks at the older girl, delighting in the spreading blush despite herself.
“I- Thanks…it looked nicer on you though,” Rachel replied, because, honestly, it was the absolute truth. Quinn’s blush darkened and Rachel realized exactly what she was doing. “Oh, but - and I really do not mean to be rude - why are you here. Not that I mind, because I really don’t, but usually this place is deserted.” Quinn blinked at her, hesitating for a moment, but seemed to come to some sort of decision.
“I, uh, I’m pretty good at math. I have the problem from earlier today if you wanted to go over it. I mean, you’re smart so it shouldn’t take much time, but Hendrick’s a jerk and should have explained it better,” Quinn said, hesitantly like always, and Rachel knew she had to be careful in her reply, as to not scare the girl off. But something stood out.
“That’s very kind of you Quinn, and I appreciate the offer,” Rachel started, noticing the small smile on Quinn’s face, “but how did you even know I was going to be here?” The smile dropped and Quinn took a step backwards. Rachel sighed a little, knowing she had spooked the girl.
“I, uh, didn’t know you were going to be here,” Quinn said, fumbling her words, “I just was walking down the hall, because I wanted to find you and you weren’t in the cafeteria, and…and I saw a cat running down the hall and into the auditorium. I followed it because it might have been Brittany’s. She brings in animals and loses them sometimes. It was white. And small. Like a kitten more than a cat.”
Rachel kept her face blank, not even raising an eyebrow, in the face of that ridiculous story. The girl was a horrible liar and she could only hope it wouldn’t come back and bite her in the behind one day. But she was trying to not scare her away and catching her in a lie probably wasn’t the best way to do that, so she decided to let it go. As long as Quinn wasn’t stalking her, it didn’t really matter. And if she was, Rachel could at least recognize and appreciate the dramatic nature of the situation.
“Alright,” Rachel said easily, willing the still nervous Quinn to calm down, “I’m glad the…Kitten was able to find this place and I hope, if it is Brittany’s, she finds the creature.” Quinn visibly relaxed and Rachel briefly wondered if the older girl actually thought she bought the somewhat lame attempt of a lie. No wonder she needed Santana around if that was the best she could do.
“It’ll be fine,” Quinn cheerfully replies, calming down significantly, “Brittany and her pets always find each other.” She took a step closer to Rachel, light smile still on her face, and Rachel stood her ground, even though a part of her wanted to take a step back. They were standing really close.
“So,” Quinn began, obviously anxious to move past her fib and continue the conversation, “Is that what you always do in here? Sing? Because you were…really good. Like amazing.” Rachel, unable to help herself, beams at the other girl. One thing Rachel is sure of is her musical ability. Personally, she believes she was born musically gifted, and she has the trophies to prove it, but she also believes in hard work and has been doing everything in her power to improve herself, so it is nice to finally hear someone else say it.
“Thank you, Quinn. I always appreciate honest feedback, especially of a positive nature. One day, my name will be up in lights as I grace the Broadway stage and every one will learn of my talent,” she enthusiastically responded. Quinn smiled at her, a tad indulgently to be honest, but Quinn would see Rachel’s potential in time, so she let it go. She looked up a Quinn, who was suddenly really close.
She swallowed briefly, unable to look away from the other girl’s eyes, which were a bit mesmerizing and a magnificent color, and felt the heat of the spot light. They were onstage, center stage, in a quiet auditorium. Nobody was watching and Quinn’s hand, maybe just her pinky, was softly grazing her arm. This was weird.
“How’s everything going with you and Santana,” she blurted, pulling away from Quinn and the sizzling tension.
“What?” Quinn replied, looking distraught at either the question or Rachel jerking away.
“I - I saw a couple arguments lately, I mean, I wasn’t watching them or spying or anything, but you both have been sniping at each other a lot and I saw you guys arguing in the hallway a couple of times,” Rachel rambled, still trying to dispel that weird feeling in the air.
“Oh, yeah, Santana,” Quinn said, looking a little out of sorts, “She’s just being a bitch. She’s mad that I gave you the cardigan, like I did it just to spite her. We have an agreement going on that helps both of us, and she thinks I was breaking it, which I wasn’t.” Quinn answered easily enough, still looking flustered and gazing at Rachel as if she was hypnotized.
Part of her didn’t believe it. Not that Quinn was lying, but rather that Santana wasn’t being sneaky. She remembered the first time Santana confronted her, remembered the reason, and knew that Santana was smarter than her grades suggested. If Rachel would hazard a guess, she would say that even Santana knew how careful she had to be with Quinn, although certainly not gentle.
Rachel sat back down on the piano’s bench, letting her fingers drift over the ivory keys and felt Quinn settle next to her. She didn’t know what had happened that Quinn would not only seek her out, but actually engage in conversation, but she did like it, even if she was a little worried.
“How about you,” Quinn spoke up, hand reaching over to stop her nervously fluttering fingers and staying there, “I mean, how are you doing lately? There is, after all, a reason you’re eating lunch in the auditorium.” Quinn quirked her head a little, obviously curious if not concerned. Rachel, though, was a little hesitant to answer.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Quinn…well, it really was. She wanted to be able to trust the other girl, but she thought it would be unfounded at this point. After all, this was the first real conversation they had. The two of them certainly weren’t friends. Quinn alternated between spitting carefully crafted insults at her, helping her from behind the scenes, and staring at her. It was like the girl was bipolar. She may be in a friendly mood right now, but the situation was sure to switch. She was fairly sure, at this point, that if she really needed something, like an extra shirt, she might be able to persuade Quinn to help her, as long as it was done in secret. At the same time, she doubted the girl would talk to her at all, or at least in a pleasant manner, in public. And that made her hesitant. But she also figured that, well, Quinn should know. Maybe if she knew just what was happening, she might want to stop it.
“I always spend my lunch here,” Rachel started, not looking at the other girl. “I don’t really have anyone to sit with anyways, so no one is going to miss me, and, this way, no one will knock my food to the ground or on me.” Quinn made a non-committal noise of sympathy, leaning gently against her, and she really didn’t know how to take that. She looked up at the other girl, softly gazing into her eyes before continuing.
“I mean, I don’t really mind that people don’t like me, I’ve accepted that, but I just don’t…It’s not just that I don’t understand the rudeness. I mean, I believe that everyone should at least be polite to each other. We’re old enough to be acting at least a little bit like adults at this point, but people are so incredibly rude. If I don’t like someone, I might not go out of my way for them, but I would, at the very least, remain polite, if not kind. And if that is really too hard, if civility, the very thing that makes us different from animals, is too much for them, then why can’t they just leave me alone?” Rachel meant every word. She wanted Quinn to hear them.
She may have been one of the nicest popular kids, but she had still called her RuPaul a while ago and, just recently, simplified the idea to Tranny. She was the one who had snarled at another girl in one of their shared classes about her darker make-up, calling her a goth freak. And she was the one who, briefly during one of the overheard arguments, criticized Santana’s choice to flirt (and more) with Noah because he was just a “Lima Loser” and destined for the gas pump. Unfortunately, she really didn’t think Quinn was listening all that closely. The other girl had a far off expression on her face, giving Rachel the impression that everything she was saying was going in one ear and out the other, and she was just staring deeply into her eyes and leaning in closely and -!
Kissing her!
Rachel, perhaps foolishly, tried to jerk away quickly, and, in an entirely ungraceful move, feel backwards off the bench. She leapt up quickly, one hand over her lips, and stared at the girl. She had thought it possible before, allowed herself to participate in some far off delusion that Quinn Fabray, Christian golden girl, had a crush on her, but she hadn’t actually thought it was true. Quinn looked equally shocked. Actually, more than shocked, she looked panicked. The two stared at each other for a moment, neither sure of the next move.
“You kissed me!” Rachel gawked at the other girl, mostly because the exclamation hadn’t come from Rachel’s mouth.
“Wh-what?” Rachel questioned, not very eloquently, as disbelief flooded her.
“You - you filthy pervert!” The other girl shouted, but it wasn’t in anger. If anything, it sounded like despair. Already tears were glistening in Quinn’s eyes as the other girl abruptly stood from the bench, notably not falling and making a fool out of herself. Rachel, through the shock, hardened slightly.
“I most certainly did not,” she said tightly, not willing to shoulder the blame, even if Quinn was freaking out. Then came the anger.
Quinn was outright glaring at her, face set in harsh lines, and she took a very deliberate step towards the smaller girl. Rachel, though, didn’t move, standing firm despite the outrageous cocktail of emotions that were swirling about. No tears fell, but, when she spoke, Quinn’s voice was hoarse with bottled emotions.
“You disgusting little f-freak. How dare y-you.” Quinn’s hands were tight fists at her side, but she didn’t take another step towards or away from the other girl. So, Rachel took a step towards her. She walked slowly, keeping her eyes level and as gentle as possible considering the situation.
“Quinn,” she spoke, her voice soft but unyielding, “I didn’t kiss you. You kiss-”
“No I didn’t!” Quinn shouted before Rachel could finish, taking another step forward so she could stand tall and look down at the other girl. “Don’t - Why would you- That’s a lie!”
“Quinn,” she said gently, hesitantly reaching out a hand to comfort the other girl.
“Don’t touch me, you freak,” Quinn pulled away almost falling off the stage. Unable to stop herself, Rachel grabbed her arm to steady her, but was quickly pushed away, luckily away from the edge of the stage.
“I said don’t touch me. Don’t -don’t touch-” and Quinn turned and looked away, closing her eyes to try to hold back the tears that were finally escaping. She raised her hand to wipe them away, speaking harshly under her breath, and Rachel made sure to keep her distance. Finally, she seemed to have collected herself somewhat as she looked up at Rachel. She slowly grabbed her bag and climbed off the stage, keeping a firm gaze on the other girl. She turned to leave, but stopped abruptly and half-turned to look at Rachel over her shoulder.
“Stay away from me, you d-dyke,” she ordered darkly, although it looked physically painful to say, “Don’t come near me again... And-and don’t tell anyone.”
Rachel watched as Quinn hustled out the door, none of her normal swagger in her step, and collapsed to the stage. She stayed there the next period, skipping Art for the first time, any class for the first time, mulling over the events. Truthfully, she didn’t think she could face Quinn during the class. Despite her suspicions, she had never thought things would turn out like this.
She skipped her next period too, but it was study hall so it didn’t really matter, and instead picked herself up enough to sing a couple songs to help her lift her spirit. This helped her enough to make it to her sixth period Science class, although she could not for the life of her remember what the teacher actually said.
After Science, though, was History, and she did share that class with Quinn. She almost skiped, but Art and study hall is bad enough. She is not a delinquent. She girds her loins and marches purposefully into History.
Quinn is not there.
According to her sources (overhearing people talk), people had heard that Quinn ate something that made her sick at lunch and had to go home. Whatever that was in the auditorium, and Rachel still hasn’t completely wrapped her mind around the whole ordeal, sent Quinn running home. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but, at that moment, she felt terrible. Soon she would feel worse.
The next day, Rachel walked into school with her normal, practiced smile, a mask of emotions. She had wanted to talk to her fathers about what had happened. Not only was she short on friends, but she would never discuss something like this, something so revealing about Quinn, with her peers anyways, and her fathers should have some experience in this area.
Unfortunately, they had been rather late coming home. She had ordered the traditional take-out for herself and stayed up late to wait for them. Her Dad came home first, close to her traditional bedtime, and she did try to approach the topic with him, but the second she mentioned a Fabray, he became closed-off and sent her to bed.
She wanted to try with her Daddy, but he must have come home much later because she fell asleep before he came home and was gone when she woke up.
At least she had the whole first period to prepare for the inevitable meeting with Quinn. She wasn’t quite sure how to act, despite her brainstorm session the previous night. If Quinn had managed to work through some things at her own home, she would gladly talk to the other girl and perhaps form a friendship, but she somehow doubted this was a real option. While she felt that things would be better for them in the long run if they had an honest discussion, possibly helping Quinn confront her obvious latent homosexuality, she also felt this was equally unlikely. The most obvious course of action, the one she figured Quinn would prefer she take, was to pretend nothing had happened and give Quinn time to work through her own issues. No matter how long it took.
She was still debating the issue in her head as she arrived at her locker. It had long since been cleaned and was much more convenient for her, so she had prank-proofed it as much as possible, such as plugging the vents, and had taken to using it again. She only kept the bare minimum in it, though, and took everything out at the end of the day. She was putting in her books for the day when she saw Quinn walking in her direction. That was somewhat peculiar.
For one thing, Quinn’s locker and her first class - which isn’t really a class but, rather, a pre-training course for some of the more talented potential Cheerios, run by Coach Sylvester each morning before she heads over to the High School - was not anywhere near Rachel’s locker. Secondly, Quinn knows where Rachel’s locker is, and there is no way that Quinn had already worked through her issues and is ready to speak to Rachel. Thirdly, and possibly most importantly, the potential cheerleader was holding what appeared to be an extra large Big Gulp that the cafeteria sold, for whatever reason, and there it is an impossibility that Quinn would be drinking that sugary mess of empty calories. Especially not right before Cheerio training.
As Quinn gets closer, Rachel turns to her locker so she is not staring at the other girl. She doubts it would have been appreciated.
“Hey, Stubbles,” she hears, and Rachel turns, not at the name or the tone, but at the voice she finally heard in an actual conversation just yesterday. The other girl looks her right in the eyes, a small smirk on her face. The fear she saw yesterday, as well as the kindness, is completely gone and Quinn is as cold as the slushy in her hand.
She glances down, noting the grape flavor, and, with a spark of insight, knows what is going to happen. She’s thankful she is still bringing in a change of clothes.
“Just a little reminder on where we both stand,” the blonde says, voice sharp but quiet, and the two are still locked in a stare as the frozen, sugary mess strikes her.
A/N: There’s not much left after this, so I hope you all like it. I know this one was a little rough.
I’m probably going to post the second part of my two-shot soon and I have an idea after the prom episode for a one-shot where Quinn realizes she’s basically, and accidentally, dating Rachel through Finn, so if anyone is interested, keep your eyes open.
Thank again for reading.