fic: should you choose to accept it (1/?), rachel/quinn
Title: Should You Choose to Accept It
Rating: PG
Length: 1616
Summary: Sue Sylvester charges Quinn with an unusual task.
A/N: AU - Quinn isn't pregnant. Also, this is pretty cracky (and fairly ridiculous), so consider yourself warned.
There are four chairs in Sue Sylvester’s office, and as far as Quinn knows, there always have been. The most impressive belongs to Sue, of course; it’s a towering leather monstrosity that wouldn’t seem out of place under a five star general or the dictator of a developing country. Sue acquired it after the Cheerios’ first win at Nationals, and some say she stitched it together from the hides of the squad with the next highest score. Though Sue has always had a uniquely proactive approach to eliminating the competition, Quinn thinks this a bit unrealistic - if only because Sue is an enthusiastic proponent of outsourcing, and never does manual labor herself when there are Malaysian sweatshop workers at the ready.
The three other chairs are more standard fare, spindly, plastic-backed seats emblazoned with the WMH logo. They are, like everything else in the office, a strategic move on Sue’s part; they squeak at the least sign of movement, so recipients of Sue’s verbal lashings can’t even shift uncomfortably without her savoring their distress.
Quinn sits in the central chair, a position she’s occupied since her freshman year. Propelled by determination and an opportunistic streak of amorality, she rose quickly through the Cheerios’ ranks; perfect make-up application only helped her cause. She’s Sue’s protégé now, the only Cheerio Sue seems to recognize as an actual person instead of a building block occasionally useful in pyramid formation. Usually Quinn revels in her exalted station; at the moment, though, she wishes she were anyone else, because her position gives her particular insight into the depth of fury about to be unleashed upon her.
Quinn has failed. Despite her machinations, the glee club persists in existing. Worse still, it’s gaining steam, and with the maddeningly talented Rachel Berry at its helm it may even go on to compete at nationals. (Quinn refuses to contemplate the possibility of glee’s winning there.)
Most heinous of all, glee club seems to be gaining support among the general student body. Today at lunch, for instance, Quinn heard a girl with not-totally-horrible hair commit the ultimate blasphemy: she said glee looked like fun.
Quinn is disgusted anew at the memory.
Glee is supposed to be social suicide. Embarrassing, demoralizing, and vaguely masochistic, yes, but certainly not fun.
Some part of this is her fault, Quinn knows: she did join glee (even if it was only to keep an eye on the straying Finn), and a Cheerio participating in any activity goes a long way towards making it socially acceptable. She nearly got a slushie to the face this morning, though, so there are clearly more insidious forces at work here. Quinn is determined to root them out, destroy them, and return things at McKinley to their natural order.
Assuming, that is, Sue lets her out of the office alive.
Sue leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her tracksuit of the day is a violent orange, and Quinn has to blink against its visual assault.
“We have things to discuss,” Sue says. Her body language is relaxed, her tone conversational. Normally this would be heartening, but since Quinn has achieved such little success, Sue’s good mood can only be the result of some imagined torture.
Quinn swallows, wishing Brittany and Santana were in the room with her. When she has minions around, she’s adept at making her screw-ups become everyone else’s fault. It’s one of the first things she learned from Sue, actually.
“I expected better from you.”
“I’m sor-“
A hand appears inches from Quinn’s face, subtle reminder that this is Sue’s monologue and she will not tolerate interruption.
“Normally when someone fails me I grind them up into tiny pieces and feed them to my pet gerbil. But I like you, Q, and I’m going to give you another chance.”
A file appears on the desk between them. At Sue’s nod, Quinn reaches out to open it. Knowing that various heads of state have withered under Sue’s steely glare, she’s absurdly proud that her fingers are steady. Then, when she sees obnoxiously hopeful brown eyes staring up at her, her pride deserts her and she just wants to cry.
“Berry?”
Quinn is at the moment unable to muster up any more colorful epithet. This, more than anything else, is sure sign of the apocalypse.
“Rachel Berry is the only reason that glee club continues to limp along like a sad, old horse with a broken leg. I want you to euthanize it.”
“By what, pushing her off a cliff?”
“By seducing her. I know you have the necessary skill sets, Q.”
Sue sets a DVD atop the photographic Rachel’s unblinking eyes. It’s title reads 2,4,6,8: Now Who Needs to Masturbate? Quinn loses the ability to breathe when she sees herself on its cover, locked in a passionate kiss of the Sapphic variety. Both she and the other girl involved (whose lips she appears to be swallowing whole, incidentally) are wearing Cheerios’ uniforms.
Sue smiles serenely.
“This is my school, and I know everything that goes on here. Everything. I also have audio and video surveillance in most of the buildings.”
Quinn is still in shock. She’s had enough experience with Sue to recover quickly, though, and soon jumps to the obvious conclusion.
Though she’s been known to take leave of her morals when the situation requires (there’s little room for a conscience in high school, anyway), Quinn is a Christian, and a Christian of the gays-go-straight-to-hell tradition. Consequently, there is only one occasion that could have given rise to that DVD.
The girl was a senior when Quinn was a freshman, the Cheerios’ captain and homecoming queen. She was also undeniably queer, and one day when they were alone after practice she cornered Quinn with a proposition: she promised to make Quinn the most powerful girl in school in exchange for a little help relieving some tension. Quinn hesitated for only a moment. One just doesn’t say no to opportunities like that, even when one is the professedly straight female president of the celibacy club.
“You have a camera in the girls’ locker room.”
Sue nods.
“In your car, too, though I can’t say that one has produced anything interesting. Finn must be a frustrated boy.”
“He’s very patient,” Quinn says distractedly, thinking about the way he watches Rachel, googly-eyed and longing. Seducing her would at least keep them from each other, and that could be fun - if only she didn’t have to interact with Rachel.
“I don’t actually care,” Sue says. “Anyway, you’ve provided me with a memorable entrance into the adult entertainment community. I think there’s a real niche just waiting to be exploited. I won’t take that step yet, though. If you win Berry over, this fine piece of cinematography will stay in my private collection. You can break her heart, or elope to Sweden together and run a nude beach for lesbian tourists. Your choice. I just want her away from glee.”
With that, Sue spins in her chair, leaving Quinn staring at what could easily be human skin, now that she’s really looking at it.
…………………
When Quinn leaves Sue’s office five minutes later, she is understandably preoccupied. As a result, she doesn’t notice the argyle-clad projectile moving purposefully down the hall, and is entirely unprepared when it rams into her, sending her sprawling to the ground.
She glares up at her assailant. When she sees who it is, she decides the universe must be conspiring against her.
“Oh, Quinn! I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure,” Quinn mumbles, but she grabs hold of the offered arm to pull herself up.
Rachel is still talking, and seems to be gearing up for one of her extended monologues. Weighing her options, Quinn decides it’s as good a time as any to start laying the groundwork for Sue’s plan. She’s not sold on going through with it, but it’s always best to appear to be following Sue’s directives until one has adequate leverage or a fully-formed counter-plan. Besides, it might shock Rachel enough to make her be quiet.
“I was just so excited, I found the perfect song for sectionals and I couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Schu. I think -”
Rachel stops talking abruptly, because though Quinn is now standing she hasn’t released Rachel’s arm. Quinn is, in fact, moving her hand over said arm in what can only be called a caress.
Rachel’s eyes go wide, and then widen further as Quinn invades her personal space, moving close enough so that, though she’s not quite touching Rachel, her presence is certainly palpable.
“You think?” Quinn prompts.
“I, um,” Rachel says, almost stammering.
Quinn lets her lips curl into a sultry smile, and wishes Rachel weren’t quite so short, because this is usually the part where she looks up at a boy through her lashes and he becomes her slave. The smile must be pretty potent on its own, though, because Rachel leans forward a little, like she’s losing herself in the moment.
She jerks back two seconds later, looking absolutely horrified.
“I have to go,” she says, speaking even more quickly than usual. “I have to go and show Mr. Schuester the song, he said he was leaving early today and I really want his input before I start working on it, because though he has an unfortunate tendency to impart life lessons at my expense he is a valuable musical resource.”
She backs away from Quinn, repeats “I have to go,” one last time for good measure, and then scurries away down the hall.
Quinn leans against a locker, watching Rachel’s hasty retreat. She smiles. This might be more entertaining than she thought it would be.
Rating: PG
Length: 1616
Summary: Sue Sylvester charges Quinn with an unusual task.
A/N: AU - Quinn isn't pregnant. Also, this is pretty cracky (and fairly ridiculous), so consider yourself warned.
There are four chairs in Sue Sylvester’s office, and as far as Quinn knows, there always have been. The most impressive belongs to Sue, of course; it’s a towering leather monstrosity that wouldn’t seem out of place under a five star general or the dictator of a developing country. Sue acquired it after the Cheerios’ first win at Nationals, and some say she stitched it together from the hides of the squad with the next highest score. Though Sue has always had a uniquely proactive approach to eliminating the competition, Quinn thinks this a bit unrealistic - if only because Sue is an enthusiastic proponent of outsourcing, and never does manual labor herself when there are Malaysian sweatshop workers at the ready.
The three other chairs are more standard fare, spindly, plastic-backed seats emblazoned with the WMH logo. They are, like everything else in the office, a strategic move on Sue’s part; they squeak at the least sign of movement, so recipients of Sue’s verbal lashings can’t even shift uncomfortably without her savoring their distress.
Quinn sits in the central chair, a position she’s occupied since her freshman year. Propelled by determination and an opportunistic streak of amorality, she rose quickly through the Cheerios’ ranks; perfect make-up application only helped her cause. She’s Sue’s protégé now, the only Cheerio Sue seems to recognize as an actual person instead of a building block occasionally useful in pyramid formation. Usually Quinn revels in her exalted station; at the moment, though, she wishes she were anyone else, because her position gives her particular insight into the depth of fury about to be unleashed upon her.
Quinn has failed. Despite her machinations, the glee club persists in existing. Worse still, it’s gaining steam, and with the maddeningly talented Rachel Berry at its helm it may even go on to compete at nationals. (Quinn refuses to contemplate the possibility of glee’s winning there.)
Most heinous of all, glee club seems to be gaining support among the general student body. Today at lunch, for instance, Quinn heard a girl with not-totally-horrible hair commit the ultimate blasphemy: she said glee looked like fun.
Quinn is disgusted anew at the memory.
Glee is supposed to be social suicide. Embarrassing, demoralizing, and vaguely masochistic, yes, but certainly not fun.
Some part of this is her fault, Quinn knows: she did join glee (even if it was only to keep an eye on the straying Finn), and a Cheerio participating in any activity goes a long way towards making it socially acceptable. She nearly got a slushie to the face this morning, though, so there are clearly more insidious forces at work here. Quinn is determined to root them out, destroy them, and return things at McKinley to their natural order.
Assuming, that is, Sue lets her out of the office alive.
Sue leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her tracksuit of the day is a violent orange, and Quinn has to blink against its visual assault.
“We have things to discuss,” Sue says. Her body language is relaxed, her tone conversational. Normally this would be heartening, but since Quinn has achieved such little success, Sue’s good mood can only be the result of some imagined torture.
Quinn swallows, wishing Brittany and Santana were in the room with her. When she has minions around, she’s adept at making her screw-ups become everyone else’s fault. It’s one of the first things she learned from Sue, actually.
“I expected better from you.”
“I’m sor-“
A hand appears inches from Quinn’s face, subtle reminder that this is Sue’s monologue and she will not tolerate interruption.
“Normally when someone fails me I grind them up into tiny pieces and feed them to my pet gerbil. But I like you, Q, and I’m going to give you another chance.”
A file appears on the desk between them. At Sue’s nod, Quinn reaches out to open it. Knowing that various heads of state have withered under Sue’s steely glare, she’s absurdly proud that her fingers are steady. Then, when she sees obnoxiously hopeful brown eyes staring up at her, her pride deserts her and she just wants to cry.
“Berry?”
Quinn is at the moment unable to muster up any more colorful epithet. This, more than anything else, is sure sign of the apocalypse.
“Rachel Berry is the only reason that glee club continues to limp along like a sad, old horse with a broken leg. I want you to euthanize it.”
“By what, pushing her off a cliff?”
“By seducing her. I know you have the necessary skill sets, Q.”
Sue sets a DVD atop the photographic Rachel’s unblinking eyes. It’s title reads 2,4,6,8: Now Who Needs to Masturbate? Quinn loses the ability to breathe when she sees herself on its cover, locked in a passionate kiss of the Sapphic variety. Both she and the other girl involved (whose lips she appears to be swallowing whole, incidentally) are wearing Cheerios’ uniforms.
Sue smiles serenely.
“This is my school, and I know everything that goes on here. Everything. I also have audio and video surveillance in most of the buildings.”
Quinn is still in shock. She’s had enough experience with Sue to recover quickly, though, and soon jumps to the obvious conclusion.
Though she’s been known to take leave of her morals when the situation requires (there’s little room for a conscience in high school, anyway), Quinn is a Christian, and a Christian of the gays-go-straight-to-hell tradition. Consequently, there is only one occasion that could have given rise to that DVD.
The girl was a senior when Quinn was a freshman, the Cheerios’ captain and homecoming queen. She was also undeniably queer, and one day when they were alone after practice she cornered Quinn with a proposition: she promised to make Quinn the most powerful girl in school in exchange for a little help relieving some tension. Quinn hesitated for only a moment. One just doesn’t say no to opportunities like that, even when one is the professedly straight female president of the celibacy club.
“You have a camera in the girls’ locker room.”
Sue nods.
“In your car, too, though I can’t say that one has produced anything interesting. Finn must be a frustrated boy.”
“He’s very patient,” Quinn says distractedly, thinking about the way he watches Rachel, googly-eyed and longing. Seducing her would at least keep them from each other, and that could be fun - if only she didn’t have to interact with Rachel.
“I don’t actually care,” Sue says. “Anyway, you’ve provided me with a memorable entrance into the adult entertainment community. I think there’s a real niche just waiting to be exploited. I won’t take that step yet, though. If you win Berry over, this fine piece of cinematography will stay in my private collection. You can break her heart, or elope to Sweden together and run a nude beach for lesbian tourists. Your choice. I just want her away from glee.”
With that, Sue spins in her chair, leaving Quinn staring at what could easily be human skin, now that she’s really looking at it.
…………………
When Quinn leaves Sue’s office five minutes later, she is understandably preoccupied. As a result, she doesn’t notice the argyle-clad projectile moving purposefully down the hall, and is entirely unprepared when it rams into her, sending her sprawling to the ground.
She glares up at her assailant. When she sees who it is, she decides the universe must be conspiring against her.
“Oh, Quinn! I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure,” Quinn mumbles, but she grabs hold of the offered arm to pull herself up.
Rachel is still talking, and seems to be gearing up for one of her extended monologues. Weighing her options, Quinn decides it’s as good a time as any to start laying the groundwork for Sue’s plan. She’s not sold on going through with it, but it’s always best to appear to be following Sue’s directives until one has adequate leverage or a fully-formed counter-plan. Besides, it might shock Rachel enough to make her be quiet.
“I was just so excited, I found the perfect song for sectionals and I couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Schu. I think -”
Rachel stops talking abruptly, because though Quinn is now standing she hasn’t released Rachel’s arm. Quinn is, in fact, moving her hand over said arm in what can only be called a caress.
Rachel’s eyes go wide, and then widen further as Quinn invades her personal space, moving close enough so that, though she’s not quite touching Rachel, her presence is certainly palpable.
“You think?” Quinn prompts.
“I, um,” Rachel says, almost stammering.
Quinn lets her lips curl into a sultry smile, and wishes Rachel weren’t quite so short, because this is usually the part where she looks up at a boy through her lashes and he becomes her slave. The smile must be pretty potent on its own, though, because Rachel leans forward a little, like she’s losing herself in the moment.
She jerks back two seconds later, looking absolutely horrified.
“I have to go,” she says, speaking even more quickly than usual. “I have to go and show Mr. Schuester the song, he said he was leaving early today and I really want his input before I start working on it, because though he has an unfortunate tendency to impart life lessons at my expense he is a valuable musical resource.”
She backs away from Quinn, repeats “I have to go,” one last time for good measure, and then scurries away down the hall.
Quinn leans against a locker, watching Rachel’s hasty retreat. She smiles. This might be more entertaining than she thought it would be.