FIC: The Avengers - Glee, Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana (1/4)
TITLE: The Avengers - 1/4
AUTHOR: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
GENRE: Glee
PAIRING: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany, Glee Girls
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: ~ 21700
SPOILERS: Through Journey
SUMMARY: Never trust a man to do a Cheerio's job.
NOTES: Based on this Glee_Fluff_meme prompt: The boys might have heard Will about not taking revenge against VA, but the girls didn't. Chapter Titles from 'Femme Fatale' by the Velvet Underground.
Thanks to gilligankane and lostbitca for the support and the beta.
CHAPTERS: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR
__
I. She's Built You Up To Just Put You Down
All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War
--
Exactly nine months ago, if someone had wanted to find Brittany and Santana, they would have had to look no further than two steps behind Quinn Fabray.
Quinn hadn't just been a Cheerio; she had been THE Cheerio. The Force. The Head-Bitch-In-Charge, who, despite only being a sophomore, ruled this school with the determination and ruthlessness of a Roman Emperor at war.
Two wine coolers, and the irrational impulse to want to believe in Noah Puckerman of all people had ripped that away from her and left her a homeless, hobbling, bloated, pregnant statistic with swollen feet who had just spent twenty minutes looking for Brittany and Santana and come up empty.
Instead of Brittany and Santana flanking her sides, parting the hallways like freaking Moses and the Red Sea, she had a new best friend; Mercedes Jones, who breathed a little too noisily as she tried to both text from her cellphone and keep up with Quinn's furious stride. No one stepped out of their way or seemed to even see them.
It was infuriating.
Fortunately, Quinn had become a master of the well placed shoulder jab, and a few jocks had learned their lesson, wincing and skittering away as a result.
"I think Brittany forgot to charge her phone again." Mercedes wiped a bang out of her eyes. "It's going straight to voicemail. I would leave a message but it keeps saying the mailbox is full."
"It's been full for the last six months." Quinn didn't bother to hide her exasperation. "Brittany can't remember how to check it. I'm checking the library."
"The library? Please." An impish smile spread on the other girl's face. "They're probably locked up in some janitor's closet somewhere, making out."
The image conjured was enough to cause Qunn's insides to gurgle in disgust, her baby thrusting out and pounding at her insides in retaliation.
"Please. I JUST brushed my teeth from the last time I threw up today," she snipped, ignoring the slightly disappointed look from Mercedes.
It wasn't like she never knew about the two of them. They had been best friends, however loosely any of them meant that. And Quinn may have had moments of seriously bad judgment (witness current BABY), but she was far from stupid. She didn't believe in gaydar, but there wasn't anything normal about the way Brittany and Santana looked at each other, even back then.
It didn't matter if Quinn knew better now. All someone had to do was look at Kurt to realize that it wasn't a choice. Somehow, she had always known that. It hadn't stopped the nearly visceral reaction; the almost irrational anger that swelled in her each and every time she walked into a room two seconds too early, witnessing Brittany and Santana jumping away from each other, identical guilty expressions painting their features.
Of course back then, one glare from Quinn had been enough to squelch any lingering glances, grazing touches. Quinn had considered herself their own personal Savior, shutting down their homosexual urges by forcing them to join chastity club, shoving Santana at Puck and convincing dim Brittany that it would be an awesome feat to make out with every guy in the school.
It hadn't been altogether Christian, all that manipulation, but Quinn figured being a slut had to have been better than being a lesbian, at least in God's eyes.
That had lasted as long as her popularity. Without Quinn to keep them in check, Brittany and Santana had quickly risen out of her shadow, and created their own rainbow hued cast. Oh, they were still sluts, but now they were bi-sluts who couldn't keep their hands off each other (or anyone else) and didn't care who knew.
What was left of their friendship existed in pockets of commiseration and pity, mingled with something that felt almost like resentment.
On both sides. Quinn didn't have the energy to wonder why, but there was such a feeling of loss inside her each and every time she witnessed linked pinkies and intimate whispers, she felt damn near hollow.
"Oh, come on. I think it's cute. You know, in a Pinky & the Brain kinda way." The phone in Mercedes' palms buzzed. "Tina says to check the library." Head lifting up, Mercedes' expression to Quinn was that of skeptical disbelief.
"This is ridiculous," Quinn breathed, and pivoted on her foot, striding back the way they came to turn down another hallway, grabbing hold of the handle of the door that led to the school library, and yanking it open. The musty smell of old books and sweaty backpacks hit her like a slap in the face, and she grimaced, squinting as she let her eyes adjust to the dark. "I told you they'd be in here," Quinn hissed somewhat bitterly.
"Well, how was I supposed to know?" Mercedes protested, eyes wide at the image of the two Cheerios, settled quite comfortably at one of the dirty wooden tables, huddled together over a book. "It's Brittany. And Santana."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, hair whirling as she turned back to glare at her friend. Her brief, odd moment of protective sensitivity faded when Mercedes, unafraid, only cocked a knowing brow. With an exhalation, Quinn's head dipped in acknowledgment. "Brittany finds the gross smell… soothing. Or something. Something about it smelling like armpits. I don't know. They just like it in here."
A loud, intrusive 'SHHHH' was directed their way, and when Quinn glanced, the old crone of a librarian put her finger to her mouth in warning.
Biting down her acerbic retort, Quinn stepped forward, ready to head in their direction when a warm hand held her back. "What?"
Mercedes, it seemed, had been hit with a moment of indecisiveness. "Are you sure we need them?" Before Quinn could roll her eyes, she continued hurriedly, "I'm just saying; it's not like either of them give a crap about Rachel. And asking Santana for help?" Mercedes shuddered. "I feel unclean. Like I'm making a deal with the devil."
"I feel unclean already," Quinn muttered. Thinking about the fact that she was on a quest to avenge Rachel Berry's honor like some sort of white knight made her want to scrub her brain with bleach. "But this is about Glee and Santana is one of us. She'll help us." Mercedes' look still reeked of doubt. "Look, out of everyone in this Glee Club, who would you vote most likely to kill someone in a fit of rage? Besides Puck," she amended, patting her belly in an unconscious plea for forgiveness for her unborn baby's thug of a father.
"Please, that boy stopped being scary the second he wouldn't shut up about the Rainbow Track in Super Mario Kart," Mercedes huffed, before her lips pursed in thought. "I see your point," she conceded.
"Good." Quinn jerked her head in the direction she wanted to be moving. "Let's go."
Santana was the first to see them approaching. She gave them nothing but a look of disdain. Brittany, curved into Santana's side, offered instead a smile and a wave.
"Hi guys!"
"We're busy," Santana said immediately, eyes locked on her book. "Go away."
Instead, Quinn placed her hands flat on the wooden table. "We can't let what Vocal Adrenaline did to Rachel stand. I demand retribution." She knew the words weren't quite right the moment they left her mouth, and flushed in embarrassment when Santana expression shifted from brief shock to smug mockery.
"What am I, the friggin' Godfather?" Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
The comparison was almost laughable. "Hardly. What you are, is a member of the Glee Club, and if Mr. Schue is going to be a total passive hippie and tell us to dance the funk at them, and the guys are stupid enough to be happy with that, I think it's up to the girls to return the favor."
"We need to prank Vocal Adrenaline," Mercedes affirmed beside her. "And prank them bad. What they did was cold."
"I made out with Mrs. Weene the lunch lady once," Brittany interjected. Quinn blinked and found her lip wrinkling in reaction, conjuring suddenly the image of the gray-haired chubby woman in the plastic hair net. "In the cafeteria freezer. It was really cold in there."
Brittany's eyes went back down to her book. Any remark Mercedes might have made was squelched immediately when Santana lifted her head and shot her a murderous look, daring her to make a comment.
Mercedes' mouth clamped shut, but her eyes to Quinn were wild. Suddenly exhausted, Quinn could only shrug.
"Anyway," she began.
"Anyway-" Santana interrupted, tone flat. "In case you're suddenly pregnant and deaf, I told you we're busy."
"You're actually reading 'The Art of War'." Mercedes voice was tinted in disbelief.
"I'm not reading it," Brittany admitted softly, tongue poking out of mouth in concentration as she etched. "I just like drawing between the spaces."
Currently, a small dandelion was forming in the margin of the defaced library book.
Inhaling noisily through her nostrils, Quinn crossed her arms and muttered quickly, "Coach Sylvester had us memorize it freshman year. She didn't make you?"
Mercedes frowned. "All she gave me was a stack of Aretha Franklin CDs and a copy of Jillian Michael's '30 Day Shred'." When Santana snorted, Mercedes glared. "Got a problem with that?"
Santana's answering expression clearly indicated the girl not worth her attention. Toying with the spine of the book delicately with her pinkie, she said to Quinn, "She's yours now, isn't she? Fix her."
"Fix me?!"
Mercedes' nostrils actually flared. Before the other girl could launch herself over the table to throttle Santana, Quinn quickly stepped forward, blocking Mercedes with her belly. "Santana, seriously, we have a problem. Vocal Adrenaline needs to pay."
"Wrong, Tubbers, you have a problem," Santana replied immediately, eyes flitting to Brittany, until the girl seemed satisfied with her drawing and nodded. Santana immediately turned the page, and Brittany pressed in again, scribbling with her pen. "We have work to do."
"Since when do you care about homework?"
"Since when do you care about Rachel?"
Santana's dark head finally rose, eyes locking with hers in a heated, unafraid gaze that suddenly caused Quinn's cheeks to burn.
"I don't," she said immediately, and said it so quickly and defensively she groaned inside. Santana's eyes twinkled with an evil mirth, and just the sight of it was enough to cause Quinn's spine to stiffen. Eyes narrowing, her mouth flattened. "It's a matter of honor. For Glee Club."
"Glee Club," Santana drawled, drawing the words out until they seemed superficial and ridiculous. "Right."
It was moments like these when she hated Santana with every fiber of her being. Moments when Santana suddenly looked at her with that stupidly smug expression, like she knew something Quinn didn't. Like she knew Quinn at all.
Months ago, Santana wouldn't have dared to look at her like that. Now the stare was given freely, and it was humiliating.
"Quinn, let's just go," Mercedes tugged gently at her elbow. "They're not going to help us."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Excuse me?"
"What's your big idea?" Santana settled back against her wooden chair, pushing the book towards Brittany and crossing her arms. "Your big revenge plan. I bet it's brilliant."
Glancing helplessly at Quinn, Mercedes' answer was weak. "We hadn't actually thought of anything yet."
"Of course you haven't." Santana's gaze never left Quinn's. "This is beyond the scope of someone whose worst crime was to draw highly inaccurate pornographic pictures of Rachel Berry on the women's bathroom wall."
Mercedes' gaze swiveled to her. "That was you?"
"She also slept with Puck when she was with Finn. And then she lied to Finn about the baby," Brittany added. Her smile to Quinn was friendly, as if she was just making a statement about the weather. "That's worse, right?"
"That wasn't a prank, Britt. That was just a lie. A big, fat lie." Santana's smile widened. "Quinn does deviate between extremes, doesn’t she?"
It was the baby hormones. It had to be. Quinn had never let anyone get under her skin this easily, but Santana Lopez of all people staring at her, judging her, like she was better than her? Like she had a right?
The tears sprung to her eyes before she could fight them. "Screw you, Santana."
"SHHHH!" Mrs. Mackey waved menacingly in their direction.
Sucking in a soldiering breath and holding to her belly in support, Quinn blinked rapidly to contain herself. Mercedes placed a careful palm on the small of her back. To Santana, she said, "You know, you might have more than one friend if you weren't such a miserable bitch."
"Who said I needed more than one?"
Brittany, who had been following the exchange with a look of concern, confusion and unease, seemed to brighten at that. Without reservation, she leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to Santana's cheek that seemed at once friendly and lewd.
"You don't," Brittany promised, so full of admiration and devotion that it once again touched that hollow place in Quinn, the part that seemed to scab and reopen and scab all over again. An unspoken jealousy and god-damn wistfulness that took hold of her chest and made her feel like choking, because Brittany may have been a Looney Tunes character brought to life, but no one, not Finn, not Puck, not even her parents, had ever loved Quinn the way Brittany seemed to love Santana.
"You're right, Britt." Santana's gaze broke from hers; her smile for Brittany was indulgent and almost sweet. "I don't."
"All right, we're out." Mercedes, tired of the whole dramatic farce of a conversation, pressed at her back. "We've got a prank to plan. Let's go, Quinn."
This time, Quinn didn't waste time in turning around, but their power exit was ruined when in doing so, they nearly collided with Tina.
"You found them!" Tina said, smiling brightly until she noted the mutual looks of exasperation and aggravation on their faces. "Oh," she sighed, putting two and two together when she glanced at the Cheerios sitting behind them. "You found them."
"Did you get it?"
A proud expression flitted on Tina's face immediately when Santana addressed her. Maneuvering around Quinn and Mercedes, she leaned over the table and deposited a slip of paper in Santana's outstretched palm. "Yeap. But we owe Artie big time. Nothing would distract her until he offered to videotape her rendition of 'No Good Deed Goes Unpunished' to cheer her up."
"Good God."
The mutual look of commiseration on Santana and Tina's face, coupled with the familiar way Tina settled at the table was unsettling.
"Tina." Left with little in the way of patience, and with an aching back thanks to a parasitic baby growing inside of her, Quinn's tone snapped like flint. "What are you doing?"
A look of confusion bubbled up in Tina's face. "We're getting back Vocal Adrenaline. Didn't they tell you?"
No, Quinn thought miserably, eyes jerking to Santana. The other girl simply gazed coolly back at her. They didn't.
"Say what?" Mercedes husked.
Santana rolled her eyes. "I was going to tell them."
"When?" Quinn found herself sputtering. "When you were going on and on like a villain in a James Bond movie?"
"I thought you said it wasn't your problem!" Mercedes said helplessly.
"No, I said you two had a problem. Cause you do. Clearly." When Quinn could only stare blankly, Santana huffed and began to articulate every syllable, as if she were speaking to children. "Do you really think we weren't going to do something?"
"Rachel's kinda annoying, but she's ours." Brittany shrugged, like this was a fact.
"Not to mention the fact that Vocal Adrenaline egged our Vegan captain and the only thing we did to get back at them was DANCE?" Santana looked disgusted. "It's humiliating. We're Cheerios, for Chrissake."
Brittany nodded resolutely."And Jesse deserves it, even if he is Mr. Schuester's son."
The impact of all of this seemed so out of left-field Quinn discovered herself gaping like a fish. Flushing, she shut her mouth and straightened her posture. "I want in."
"Me too," Mercedes said immediately.
Santana frowned. "No. You're going to come up with something lame like TP'ing Jesse's house, and embarrass us all."
"You let in Tina!" Mercedes' whine was almost embarrassing.
"Tina's goth," Brittany said solemnly, as if that explained everything. "Plus, all she had to do was get Jesse's number off of Rachel's phone."
Quinn blinked, then found herself fixating. "She still has his number in her phone?"
"We know. It's pathetic," Santana sighed.
"I deleted it as soon as I scribbled it down," Tina said helpfully. "Sometimes you have to help those who won't help themselves."
Quinn's eyes wandered down to the book Brittany had once again begun to scribble in. "That's why you were re-reading the book," she mused, a reluctant smile coming to her lips. "You were preparing."
"Preparing?" Mercedes head between her and the Cheerios. "Preparing for what?"
Quinn blew out her breath. "War."
From Santana, there was the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of recognition; animal instincts that had lain dormant inside her in favor of her maternal ones.
A sudden rush of exhilaration filled her, and she was once again reminded of her glory days, stalking the hallways of McKinley with Brittany and Santana, who had always been her enforcer. Her general.
She found herself smiling back.
"War?!" Mercedes' voice cracked, and this time, not even the librarian's increasingly aggravated 'shhhh' could lower her tone. "Tell me we're not gonna actually try to straight up murder Jesse St. James. Cause I may like Rachel, but I sure as hell ain't going to jail for her."
Santana's brow arched. "Brittany?"
Immediately the girl beside her began to clap excitedly. "To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence," Brittany recited, like she was sing-songing a nursery rhyme. "Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."
After a moment of shocked silence, Quinn heard Mercedes sputter in her ear, "Am I the only one who's suddenly terrified?"
--
In a way, she was almost like a superhero.
Quinn could be a reformed bad ass. Use her powers for good.
Like one of those characters in those stupid video games Puck was always playing. The bad guy who used to be an assassin or hit man or something and then some even more evil guys killed his family or his dog or whatever, and now he was all bad ass and on a mission to avenge their deaths by killing everyone, ever.
Quinn frowned, palm smoothing over her round stomach, focus on Santana as her former friend punched the numbers from the slip of paper into her phone.
Even if that meant making an uneasy alliance with an ex-man-at-arms who might stab him in the back at the first opportunity.
And was it even worth it? She was achy and pregnant and homeless and when she thought about that, Rachel Berry getting egged in the school parking lot seemed … well… trivial in comparison. Even on an objective level, if Quinn could even BE objective about Rachel.
Which, apparently judging by the white hot rage that had flooded through her the moment Mercedes had told her about the egging incident, didn't seem to be possible.
Apparently, somewhere in her unconscious, Quinn had decided that SHE was the only person allowed to screw with McKinley's resident tranny, and it had evoked… this… scheme that rested on some diabolical plan concocted by Santana to win back Glee Club's honor, and avenge Rachel in the process.
It had been a long day, and a sweaty one. When the muscles in her back cramped in complaint, Quinn grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair.
"Tina, what the hell is this? An 8?" Quinn blinked, broken out of her thoughts when across the choir room, Santana shoved the paper at Tina, who squinted.
"That's a three."
"On what planet is that a three? You write like a kindergartner." A pat from Brittany seemed to soothe the Santana-beast, because that was the only insult Tina got, before Santana went back to dialing.
Quinn's eyes went down to the notebook in her lap, and she opened it to a scribbled portrait of Rachel Berry, with a monstrous nose and pimples sprinkled liberally around her face.
Even if Quinn was a cool superhero or something now, it wasn't like Rachel was her family or even her dog.
Though there was definitely a puppy-ish quality to her. Quinn decided she could easily picture Rachel as some sort of toy canine, dressed in argyle and pastel colors; relentless and annoying everyone by yapping all the time about perfect pitch, nipping at their heels.
A Chihuahua. Rachel Berry was a Chihuahua.
"Shut up!" Santana snapped, cutting her finger through the air and in the process silencing whatever chat Mercedes and Tina were in the middle of having. "It's ringing."
Three breathless moments later, the expression on Santana's face went from a snarl to a smile so seductive it was actually a little frightening to witness.
"Hey there, Jesse St. Superstar…." A voice smooth as honey husked out of her, and Quinn found herself arching a bemused brow at Mercedes at the about-face. "It's Santana. Lopez. From Glee. The CHEERLEADER," she snapped, before she glanced at Quinn and caught herself. "I was just here… messing around with Brittany, and we got to thinking about you." An olive-skinned hand reached out. Immediately, Brittany scooted forward, linking her pinkie and pressing into her side.
"Hi," she whispered in the general direction of the phone, and twiddled her fingers at it.
When Mercedes snorted, Santana's gaze swiveled, pinning her with a dangerous glare. The other girl flushed and shut up immediately.
"So I was just thinking… just because we're not on the same team anymore doesn't mean we can't thank you. " Santana listened for a moment, and offered a dry, velvety laugh in response. "For what you did to Rachel Berry, our perpetual pain-in-the-neck. It's about time someone took her down a peg or two… I mean let's face it, Rachel's good, but I think we all knew who the true star of that little pairing was. Right. Exactly. I just wish there was some way we could show our appreciation. Mmm… I like how you think."
As if unconsciously, Santana's fingers began to thread through Brittany's, tangling them with such deliberate finesse it looked almost sexual.
"What about this Friday? Well, we don't mind tagging along. Unless you think your Vocal Adrenaline buddies would mind if a couple Nationally Ranked Cheerios showed them how to have a really good time. Oh, a very good time."
"I can touch the back of my feet to the back of my head," added Brittany, loudly, for the benefit of the phone.
Across them, Tina crossed her legs tightly, looking so confused and uncomfortable and slightly intrigued it was almost amusing.
"Mmmhmm. Can't wait. See you then, Rock Star."
Santana hung up the phone and pressed it in against her cheek, looking absurdly pleased with herself.
"That was disturbing," Mercedes snapped flatly.
"That's your big revenge plan?" Quinn found herself asking dryly. "You're going to give him a threesome as a punishment?"
"It'd scare the hell out of me," her friend muttered in response.
Brittany's ponytail bobbed as she glanced toward them. "Santana and I don't have threesomes," she said matter-of-factly. "That's gross. You get them to buy you stuff and then just let them watch."
It was frightening how someone who came off like a Disney Cartoon could say things that made Quinn want to bathe herself in a tub of Ms. Pillbury's sanitizer.
"It's a hook, idiot," Santana snapped. "To trap a man, nothing's easier than the promise of sex." Her eyes floated briefly down to Quinn's baby bump, and twinkled. "You should know."
Quinn's palms pressed against her baby protectively. "And what, he fell for it? Just like that?"
"He more than fell for it. We have an invitation to the very exclusive, invitation only, Vocal Adrenaline pre-Regionals house party at Jesse's place on Friday."
Santana looked so damn full of her slut self Quinn almost wanted to wring Jesse's neck for being so gullible about it all.
He made it almost too damn easy.
"And what do we do when we get there?" Tina asked, leaning forward.
Santana's look back was withering. "YOU aren't coming. Brittany and I can take it from here."
"No way." Quinn's voice was flat, final. "I told you we wanted in. That doesn't include just sitting in the choir room while you have phone sex with a guy to get him to meet you. We're going."
"Quinn, you're pregnant, and we're slutty." Brittany shrugged. "It's better this way."
"Like hell it is," Quinn shook her head, astonished at their own stupidity. "Don't you think he fell for it too easily?"
"No," Santana said simply. "He's a guy. They never say no to me."
"They really don't," Brittany agreed. They both nodded.
The fact that Quinn couldn't think of one instance when that wasn't true was maddening.
Mercedes snorted. "Do you guys like, leak pheromones or something?"
"Look," she said hotly, "Even if you are slutty, Jesse's gotta be a little bit suspicious. How do you know they're not going to trap you instead? Think with your big head, Santana. You need back up, just in case. You need me."
And Santana did. Quinn knew she knew it, too, because the girl actually had brains. Often, her smarts were overshadowed by her sheer lust for… well… everything, but Santana did have logic. And she knew that even though Santana was smart, Quinn was smarter.
There was a reason Quinn had ruled even her. Quinn may have gone soft by Cheerio standards, but Quinn had played the game way too long not to be damn fantastic at it.
She knew what she was doing.
And on occasion, she had been crueler than Santana would ever think to be.
And Quinn wanted to be cruel. She did. She wanted to get that power back. She wanted to feel anything but helpless and alone and stupid and ignored.
More importantly, she wanted to be there when Jesse St. James got what was coming to him; what he damn near begged for the minute he shoved his curly hair into Glee Club and screwed with Rachel's heart, just because he was an entitled little bitch who thought he could.
He had no idea who the hell he was messing with.
Her eyes locked with Santana's, challenging and strong and everything she ever was.
"Fine," Santana said finally, like there was even a question. "But you're waiting in the car. You can be like… the back up."
"We can get a van!" Brittany said, suddenly excited. "Like in 'Chuck'!"
Quinn shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not going to wait in the car. I'm in this."
"You will if you're serious about this. Not one of those boys is going to be amped on banging Juno, Quinn." Dark eyes studied her pregnant form, before a small smirk worked itself onto Santana's pretty features. "But if there's anyone with a preggo-girl fetish," she continued, head cocking, "We'll let you know."
There was urge, a remnant of her old self, that wanted so badly to snark back to her that her charms had worked just fine with Puck.
A glance at Brittany, the way the other girl was so carefully smoothing her fingers up and down Santana's forearm, kept the words lodged in her throat. Quinn exhaled raggedly, and clenched her knuckles against the plastic chair, not wanting to understand why there was even an urge to censor herself.
"Oh, that reminds me. Mercedes?"
Quinn jumped when she felt Mercedes' hand suddenly clutch hers, as if bracing herself. "What?" she asked.
"Call Kurt. Take him shopping."
Quinn blinked, momentarily thrown at the random suggestion, until the logic of it fell into place like a puzzle piece.
Mercedes was still unsure. "Why?"
"It's show choir," Santana drawled, like it was obvious. "And they're dancers. Half those boys are going to be gay."
"It's true," she admitted, squeezing Mercedes' hand and nodding sagely. "Not even Brittany and Santana can seduce a gay guy. Though God knows, Britt tried," she added.
Brittany just smiled. "Kurt's a total twink, and he's got really soft lips," she agreed affectionately. "I bet the boys will love him."
"Wait…" Tina raised a hand timidly. "… just so I'm clear… our big revenge plan is to offer Jesse St. James and his friends a threesome, and use Kurt as back up bait? Doesn't that seem kinda… wrong?"
"It doesn't matter," Quinn found herself answering. "This is war. We use every advantage we have. Including our token gay." When Santana chuckled, Quinn swiveled her head, catching her stare. "What?"
What she saw was that same stare that Santana gave her, the one that seemed both familiar and terrifying.
"Nothing," Santana responded. "It's just nice to see you again, Fabray."
Brittany leaned in, confused. "Where'd she go?"
Unnerved, Quinn couldn't help but wonder at the unexpected thrill, the validation at the words.
She wouldn't ever be what she was, she knew that.
But she was going to use what she knew, and she was going to do something good with it; avenge Rachel - what needed to be done. Like a superhero.
Damn, sometimes it felt good to be a bitch.
--
"I need your help."
Santana pressed against her locker, arms crossed and face devoid of any expression whatsoever.
Grabbing hold of her science book, Quinn arched a bemused brow.
"You're actually talking to me?" A sarcastic smile flitted across her lips. "In the hallways? People can see you, you know."
Santana's head lifted, her gaze flitting around the hallway for a half second, before she gave up and shrugged, settling back against the paint-chipped metal.
"Whatever, we won Nationals," she shrugged uncaringly, picking at a piece of lint on her uniform top. "Britt and I are untouchable right now."
The statement, said without thought and full of confidence that bordered on conceit, caused a bittersweet ache. Quinn was suddenly filled with the memory of a year ago; standing on a podium, confetti dotting her hair and her arms around Santana, squealing at the top of her lungs, exhilarated and excited and a god-damn winner.
Her smile faded, and her locker slammed shut. "What do you want?"
Santana studied her, before her breath rushed out and her eyes rolled. "Look, I get it, okay?" she said, frank and to the point. "I don't want you guys involved, but it's Glee Club and it's that 'one for all and all for one' crap. Whatever."
"Is that your incredibly weird way of saying you're part of the team?"
Santana's eyes narrowed. She ignored the question. "You used to be one of us. You know what's at stake. And Kurt? Okay, he's a Cheerio now so maybe he'll get it. But Mercedes and Tina? They'll screw this up in a heartbeat. You know it's true," Santana snapped, and Quinn, mouth open ready to defend her fellow outcasts, shut it again. "It's not that I don't like them," Santana said suddenly. "They're just… soft."
Back pressing against her locker, Quinn hugged her books against her. "I'm not kicking them out of this. They need this as much as we do."
They needed to feel powerful. To feel avenged. If Quinn had learned anything this year, it was that feeling helpless and unheard wasn't exclusive to Cheerios who lived in eternal fear of Coach Sylvester.
Santana, it seemed, had had no such epiphany. Instead, her gaze turned suspicious. "I don’t need this," she answered, voice hard, defensive. "But now that you've brought it up, why do you?"
Quinn felt suddenly cornered. "What?"
"Don't play stupid, Quinn. You may have fooled everyone with this new 'Saint Quinn' tripe you're spouting, but you and Rachel? It's like frenemies 101. So why the big campaign to avenge her?"
"It's not about Rachel," she snapped hotly. "It's about the honor of Glee Club."
"Oh, God, really? I'm already bored." Santana sighed, eyes floating up into her head dramatically. "Fine, whatever. Just… do me a favor and manage the freaks."
"Manage them?" she repeated, nearly a scoff.
"Unlike me, they don't seem to remember what a bitch you were to them." Quinn's mouth flattened. "So use it. Keep them in line."
The imagery that invoked was oddly of Quinn as a cattle rancher, on a horse with a whip, nudging Mercedes, Tina and Kurt along.
She grimaced. "Fine. But do me a favor and don’t underestimate them. Use them."
Santana's brow arched drolly.
"Come on, Santana," she snapped. "Tina's got Artie and his AV stuff. Mercedes knows how to keep her head. You want them to be a part of the team, then let them be a part of it. "
There was a moment of intense glaring, before the other girl finally sighed, and shrugged.
"Okay," Quinn said, feeling oddly winded.
Santana lingered, looking idly bored, until her attention moved from passing students to Quinn's belly.
"I heard you're still giving it up."
The statement, conversational and almost friendly, disconcerted Quinn. She glanced down at her belly, discovered that in her agitation, she had been rubbing at her daughter.
"That's good," Santana said, before she could respond. "It's better for the kid. And better for you." Pushing off the locker, Santana walked away from her.
--
CHAPTER TWO
AUTHOR: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
GENRE: Glee
PAIRING: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany, Glee Girls
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: ~ 21700
SPOILERS: Through Journey
SUMMARY: Never trust a man to do a Cheerio's job.
NOTES: Based on this Glee_Fluff_meme prompt: The boys might have heard Will about not taking revenge against VA, but the girls didn't. Chapter Titles from 'Femme Fatale' by the Velvet Underground.
Thanks to gilligankane and lostbitca for the support and the beta.
CHAPTERS: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR
__
I. She's Built You Up To Just Put You Down
All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War
--
Exactly nine months ago, if someone had wanted to find Brittany and Santana, they would have had to look no further than two steps behind Quinn Fabray.
Quinn hadn't just been a Cheerio; she had been THE Cheerio. The Force. The Head-Bitch-In-Charge, who, despite only being a sophomore, ruled this school with the determination and ruthlessness of a Roman Emperor at war.
Two wine coolers, and the irrational impulse to want to believe in Noah Puckerman of all people had ripped that away from her and left her a homeless, hobbling, bloated, pregnant statistic with swollen feet who had just spent twenty minutes looking for Brittany and Santana and come up empty.
Instead of Brittany and Santana flanking her sides, parting the hallways like freaking Moses and the Red Sea, she had a new best friend; Mercedes Jones, who breathed a little too noisily as she tried to both text from her cellphone and keep up with Quinn's furious stride. No one stepped out of their way or seemed to even see them.
It was infuriating.
Fortunately, Quinn had become a master of the well placed shoulder jab, and a few jocks had learned their lesson, wincing and skittering away as a result.
"I think Brittany forgot to charge her phone again." Mercedes wiped a bang out of her eyes. "It's going straight to voicemail. I would leave a message but it keeps saying the mailbox is full."
"It's been full for the last six months." Quinn didn't bother to hide her exasperation. "Brittany can't remember how to check it. I'm checking the library."
"The library? Please." An impish smile spread on the other girl's face. "They're probably locked up in some janitor's closet somewhere, making out."
The image conjured was enough to cause Qunn's insides to gurgle in disgust, her baby thrusting out and pounding at her insides in retaliation.
"Please. I JUST brushed my teeth from the last time I threw up today," she snipped, ignoring the slightly disappointed look from Mercedes.
It wasn't like she never knew about the two of them. They had been best friends, however loosely any of them meant that. And Quinn may have had moments of seriously bad judgment (witness current BABY), but she was far from stupid. She didn't believe in gaydar, but there wasn't anything normal about the way Brittany and Santana looked at each other, even back then.
It didn't matter if Quinn knew better now. All someone had to do was look at Kurt to realize that it wasn't a choice. Somehow, she had always known that. It hadn't stopped the nearly visceral reaction; the almost irrational anger that swelled in her each and every time she walked into a room two seconds too early, witnessing Brittany and Santana jumping away from each other, identical guilty expressions painting their features.
Of course back then, one glare from Quinn had been enough to squelch any lingering glances, grazing touches. Quinn had considered herself their own personal Savior, shutting down their homosexual urges by forcing them to join chastity club, shoving Santana at Puck and convincing dim Brittany that it would be an awesome feat to make out with every guy in the school.
It hadn't been altogether Christian, all that manipulation, but Quinn figured being a slut had to have been better than being a lesbian, at least in God's eyes.
That had lasted as long as her popularity. Without Quinn to keep them in check, Brittany and Santana had quickly risen out of her shadow, and created their own rainbow hued cast. Oh, they were still sluts, but now they were bi-sluts who couldn't keep their hands off each other (or anyone else) and didn't care who knew.
What was left of their friendship existed in pockets of commiseration and pity, mingled with something that felt almost like resentment.
On both sides. Quinn didn't have the energy to wonder why, but there was such a feeling of loss inside her each and every time she witnessed linked pinkies and intimate whispers, she felt damn near hollow.
"Oh, come on. I think it's cute. You know, in a Pinky & the Brain kinda way." The phone in Mercedes' palms buzzed. "Tina says to check the library." Head lifting up, Mercedes' expression to Quinn was that of skeptical disbelief.
"This is ridiculous," Quinn breathed, and pivoted on her foot, striding back the way they came to turn down another hallway, grabbing hold of the handle of the door that led to the school library, and yanking it open. The musty smell of old books and sweaty backpacks hit her like a slap in the face, and she grimaced, squinting as she let her eyes adjust to the dark. "I told you they'd be in here," Quinn hissed somewhat bitterly.
"Well, how was I supposed to know?" Mercedes protested, eyes wide at the image of the two Cheerios, settled quite comfortably at one of the dirty wooden tables, huddled together over a book. "It's Brittany. And Santana."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, hair whirling as she turned back to glare at her friend. Her brief, odd moment of protective sensitivity faded when Mercedes, unafraid, only cocked a knowing brow. With an exhalation, Quinn's head dipped in acknowledgment. "Brittany finds the gross smell… soothing. Or something. Something about it smelling like armpits. I don't know. They just like it in here."
A loud, intrusive 'SHHHH' was directed their way, and when Quinn glanced, the old crone of a librarian put her finger to her mouth in warning.
Biting down her acerbic retort, Quinn stepped forward, ready to head in their direction when a warm hand held her back. "What?"
Mercedes, it seemed, had been hit with a moment of indecisiveness. "Are you sure we need them?" Before Quinn could roll her eyes, she continued hurriedly, "I'm just saying; it's not like either of them give a crap about Rachel. And asking Santana for help?" Mercedes shuddered. "I feel unclean. Like I'm making a deal with the devil."
"I feel unclean already," Quinn muttered. Thinking about the fact that she was on a quest to avenge Rachel Berry's honor like some sort of white knight made her want to scrub her brain with bleach. "But this is about Glee and Santana is one of us. She'll help us." Mercedes' look still reeked of doubt. "Look, out of everyone in this Glee Club, who would you vote most likely to kill someone in a fit of rage? Besides Puck," she amended, patting her belly in an unconscious plea for forgiveness for her unborn baby's thug of a father.
"Please, that boy stopped being scary the second he wouldn't shut up about the Rainbow Track in Super Mario Kart," Mercedes huffed, before her lips pursed in thought. "I see your point," she conceded.
"Good." Quinn jerked her head in the direction she wanted to be moving. "Let's go."
Santana was the first to see them approaching. She gave them nothing but a look of disdain. Brittany, curved into Santana's side, offered instead a smile and a wave.
"Hi guys!"
"We're busy," Santana said immediately, eyes locked on her book. "Go away."
Instead, Quinn placed her hands flat on the wooden table. "We can't let what Vocal Adrenaline did to Rachel stand. I demand retribution." She knew the words weren't quite right the moment they left her mouth, and flushed in embarrassment when Santana expression shifted from brief shock to smug mockery.
"What am I, the friggin' Godfather?" Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
The comparison was almost laughable. "Hardly. What you are, is a member of the Glee Club, and if Mr. Schue is going to be a total passive hippie and tell us to dance the funk at them, and the guys are stupid enough to be happy with that, I think it's up to the girls to return the favor."
"We need to prank Vocal Adrenaline," Mercedes affirmed beside her. "And prank them bad. What they did was cold."
"I made out with Mrs. Weene the lunch lady once," Brittany interjected. Quinn blinked and found her lip wrinkling in reaction, conjuring suddenly the image of the gray-haired chubby woman in the plastic hair net. "In the cafeteria freezer. It was really cold in there."
Brittany's eyes went back down to her book. Any remark Mercedes might have made was squelched immediately when Santana lifted her head and shot her a murderous look, daring her to make a comment.
Mercedes' mouth clamped shut, but her eyes to Quinn were wild. Suddenly exhausted, Quinn could only shrug.
"Anyway," she began.
"Anyway-" Santana interrupted, tone flat. "In case you're suddenly pregnant and deaf, I told you we're busy."
"You're actually reading 'The Art of War'." Mercedes voice was tinted in disbelief.
"I'm not reading it," Brittany admitted softly, tongue poking out of mouth in concentration as she etched. "I just like drawing between the spaces."
Currently, a small dandelion was forming in the margin of the defaced library book.
Inhaling noisily through her nostrils, Quinn crossed her arms and muttered quickly, "Coach Sylvester had us memorize it freshman year. She didn't make you?"
Mercedes frowned. "All she gave me was a stack of Aretha Franklin CDs and a copy of Jillian Michael's '30 Day Shred'." When Santana snorted, Mercedes glared. "Got a problem with that?"
Santana's answering expression clearly indicated the girl not worth her attention. Toying with the spine of the book delicately with her pinkie, she said to Quinn, "She's yours now, isn't she? Fix her."
"Fix me?!"
Mercedes' nostrils actually flared. Before the other girl could launch herself over the table to throttle Santana, Quinn quickly stepped forward, blocking Mercedes with her belly. "Santana, seriously, we have a problem. Vocal Adrenaline needs to pay."
"Wrong, Tubbers, you have a problem," Santana replied immediately, eyes flitting to Brittany, until the girl seemed satisfied with her drawing and nodded. Santana immediately turned the page, and Brittany pressed in again, scribbling with her pen. "We have work to do."
"Since when do you care about homework?"
"Since when do you care about Rachel?"
Santana's dark head finally rose, eyes locking with hers in a heated, unafraid gaze that suddenly caused Quinn's cheeks to burn.
"I don't," she said immediately, and said it so quickly and defensively she groaned inside. Santana's eyes twinkled with an evil mirth, and just the sight of it was enough to cause Quinn's spine to stiffen. Eyes narrowing, her mouth flattened. "It's a matter of honor. For Glee Club."
"Glee Club," Santana drawled, drawing the words out until they seemed superficial and ridiculous. "Right."
It was moments like these when she hated Santana with every fiber of her being. Moments when Santana suddenly looked at her with that stupidly smug expression, like she knew something Quinn didn't. Like she knew Quinn at all.
Months ago, Santana wouldn't have dared to look at her like that. Now the stare was given freely, and it was humiliating.
"Quinn, let's just go," Mercedes tugged gently at her elbow. "They're not going to help us."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Excuse me?"
"What's your big idea?" Santana settled back against her wooden chair, pushing the book towards Brittany and crossing her arms. "Your big revenge plan. I bet it's brilliant."
Glancing helplessly at Quinn, Mercedes' answer was weak. "We hadn't actually thought of anything yet."
"Of course you haven't." Santana's gaze never left Quinn's. "This is beyond the scope of someone whose worst crime was to draw highly inaccurate pornographic pictures of Rachel Berry on the women's bathroom wall."
Mercedes' gaze swiveled to her. "That was you?"
"She also slept with Puck when she was with Finn. And then she lied to Finn about the baby," Brittany added. Her smile to Quinn was friendly, as if she was just making a statement about the weather. "That's worse, right?"
"That wasn't a prank, Britt. That was just a lie. A big, fat lie." Santana's smile widened. "Quinn does deviate between extremes, doesn’t she?"
It was the baby hormones. It had to be. Quinn had never let anyone get under her skin this easily, but Santana Lopez of all people staring at her, judging her, like she was better than her? Like she had a right?
The tears sprung to her eyes before she could fight them. "Screw you, Santana."
"SHHHH!" Mrs. Mackey waved menacingly in their direction.
Sucking in a soldiering breath and holding to her belly in support, Quinn blinked rapidly to contain herself. Mercedes placed a careful palm on the small of her back. To Santana, she said, "You know, you might have more than one friend if you weren't such a miserable bitch."
"Who said I needed more than one?"
Brittany, who had been following the exchange with a look of concern, confusion and unease, seemed to brighten at that. Without reservation, she leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to Santana's cheek that seemed at once friendly and lewd.
"You don't," Brittany promised, so full of admiration and devotion that it once again touched that hollow place in Quinn, the part that seemed to scab and reopen and scab all over again. An unspoken jealousy and god-damn wistfulness that took hold of her chest and made her feel like choking, because Brittany may have been a Looney Tunes character brought to life, but no one, not Finn, not Puck, not even her parents, had ever loved Quinn the way Brittany seemed to love Santana.
"You're right, Britt." Santana's gaze broke from hers; her smile for Brittany was indulgent and almost sweet. "I don't."
"All right, we're out." Mercedes, tired of the whole dramatic farce of a conversation, pressed at her back. "We've got a prank to plan. Let's go, Quinn."
This time, Quinn didn't waste time in turning around, but their power exit was ruined when in doing so, they nearly collided with Tina.
"You found them!" Tina said, smiling brightly until she noted the mutual looks of exasperation and aggravation on their faces. "Oh," she sighed, putting two and two together when she glanced at the Cheerios sitting behind them. "You found them."
"Did you get it?"
A proud expression flitted on Tina's face immediately when Santana addressed her. Maneuvering around Quinn and Mercedes, she leaned over the table and deposited a slip of paper in Santana's outstretched palm. "Yeap. But we owe Artie big time. Nothing would distract her until he offered to videotape her rendition of 'No Good Deed Goes Unpunished' to cheer her up."
"Good God."
The mutual look of commiseration on Santana and Tina's face, coupled with the familiar way Tina settled at the table was unsettling.
"Tina." Left with little in the way of patience, and with an aching back thanks to a parasitic baby growing inside of her, Quinn's tone snapped like flint. "What are you doing?"
A look of confusion bubbled up in Tina's face. "We're getting back Vocal Adrenaline. Didn't they tell you?"
No, Quinn thought miserably, eyes jerking to Santana. The other girl simply gazed coolly back at her. They didn't.
"Say what?" Mercedes husked.
Santana rolled her eyes. "I was going to tell them."
"When?" Quinn found herself sputtering. "When you were going on and on like a villain in a James Bond movie?"
"I thought you said it wasn't your problem!" Mercedes said helplessly.
"No, I said you two had a problem. Cause you do. Clearly." When Quinn could only stare blankly, Santana huffed and began to articulate every syllable, as if she were speaking to children. "Do you really think we weren't going to do something?"
"Rachel's kinda annoying, but she's ours." Brittany shrugged, like this was a fact.
"Not to mention the fact that Vocal Adrenaline egged our Vegan captain and the only thing we did to get back at them was DANCE?" Santana looked disgusted. "It's humiliating. We're Cheerios, for Chrissake."
Brittany nodded resolutely."And Jesse deserves it, even if he is Mr. Schuester's son."
The impact of all of this seemed so out of left-field Quinn discovered herself gaping like a fish. Flushing, she shut her mouth and straightened her posture. "I want in."
"Me too," Mercedes said immediately.
Santana frowned. "No. You're going to come up with something lame like TP'ing Jesse's house, and embarrass us all."
"You let in Tina!" Mercedes' whine was almost embarrassing.
"Tina's goth," Brittany said solemnly, as if that explained everything. "Plus, all she had to do was get Jesse's number off of Rachel's phone."
Quinn blinked, then found herself fixating. "She still has his number in her phone?"
"We know. It's pathetic," Santana sighed.
"I deleted it as soon as I scribbled it down," Tina said helpfully. "Sometimes you have to help those who won't help themselves."
Quinn's eyes wandered down to the book Brittany had once again begun to scribble in. "That's why you were re-reading the book," she mused, a reluctant smile coming to her lips. "You were preparing."
"Preparing?" Mercedes head between her and the Cheerios. "Preparing for what?"
Quinn blew out her breath. "War."
From Santana, there was the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of recognition; animal instincts that had lain dormant inside her in favor of her maternal ones.
A sudden rush of exhilaration filled her, and she was once again reminded of her glory days, stalking the hallways of McKinley with Brittany and Santana, who had always been her enforcer. Her general.
She found herself smiling back.
"War?!" Mercedes' voice cracked, and this time, not even the librarian's increasingly aggravated 'shhhh' could lower her tone. "Tell me we're not gonna actually try to straight up murder Jesse St. James. Cause I may like Rachel, but I sure as hell ain't going to jail for her."
Santana's brow arched. "Brittany?"
Immediately the girl beside her began to clap excitedly. "To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence," Brittany recited, like she was sing-songing a nursery rhyme. "Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."
After a moment of shocked silence, Quinn heard Mercedes sputter in her ear, "Am I the only one who's suddenly terrified?"
--
In a way, she was almost like a superhero.
Quinn could be a reformed bad ass. Use her powers for good.
Like one of those characters in those stupid video games Puck was always playing. The bad guy who used to be an assassin or hit man or something and then some even more evil guys killed his family or his dog or whatever, and now he was all bad ass and on a mission to avenge their deaths by killing everyone, ever.
Quinn frowned, palm smoothing over her round stomach, focus on Santana as her former friend punched the numbers from the slip of paper into her phone.
Even if that meant making an uneasy alliance with an ex-man-at-arms who might stab him in the back at the first opportunity.
And was it even worth it? She was achy and pregnant and homeless and when she thought about that, Rachel Berry getting egged in the school parking lot seemed … well… trivial in comparison. Even on an objective level, if Quinn could even BE objective about Rachel.
Which, apparently judging by the white hot rage that had flooded through her the moment Mercedes had told her about the egging incident, didn't seem to be possible.
Apparently, somewhere in her unconscious, Quinn had decided that SHE was the only person allowed to screw with McKinley's resident tranny, and it had evoked… this… scheme that rested on some diabolical plan concocted by Santana to win back Glee Club's honor, and avenge Rachel in the process.
It had been a long day, and a sweaty one. When the muscles in her back cramped in complaint, Quinn grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair.
"Tina, what the hell is this? An 8?" Quinn blinked, broken out of her thoughts when across the choir room, Santana shoved the paper at Tina, who squinted.
"That's a three."
"On what planet is that a three? You write like a kindergartner." A pat from Brittany seemed to soothe the Santana-beast, because that was the only insult Tina got, before Santana went back to dialing.
Quinn's eyes went down to the notebook in her lap, and she opened it to a scribbled portrait of Rachel Berry, with a monstrous nose and pimples sprinkled liberally around her face.
Even if Quinn was a cool superhero or something now, it wasn't like Rachel was her family or even her dog.
Though there was definitely a puppy-ish quality to her. Quinn decided she could easily picture Rachel as some sort of toy canine, dressed in argyle and pastel colors; relentless and annoying everyone by yapping all the time about perfect pitch, nipping at their heels.
A Chihuahua. Rachel Berry was a Chihuahua.
"Shut up!" Santana snapped, cutting her finger through the air and in the process silencing whatever chat Mercedes and Tina were in the middle of having. "It's ringing."
Three breathless moments later, the expression on Santana's face went from a snarl to a smile so seductive it was actually a little frightening to witness.
"Hey there, Jesse St. Superstar…." A voice smooth as honey husked out of her, and Quinn found herself arching a bemused brow at Mercedes at the about-face. "It's Santana. Lopez. From Glee. The CHEERLEADER," she snapped, before she glanced at Quinn and caught herself. "I was just here… messing around with Brittany, and we got to thinking about you." An olive-skinned hand reached out. Immediately, Brittany scooted forward, linking her pinkie and pressing into her side.
"Hi," she whispered in the general direction of the phone, and twiddled her fingers at it.
When Mercedes snorted, Santana's gaze swiveled, pinning her with a dangerous glare. The other girl flushed and shut up immediately.
"So I was just thinking… just because we're not on the same team anymore doesn't mean we can't thank you. " Santana listened for a moment, and offered a dry, velvety laugh in response. "For what you did to Rachel Berry, our perpetual pain-in-the-neck. It's about time someone took her down a peg or two… I mean let's face it, Rachel's good, but I think we all knew who the true star of that little pairing was. Right. Exactly. I just wish there was some way we could show our appreciation. Mmm… I like how you think."
As if unconsciously, Santana's fingers began to thread through Brittany's, tangling them with such deliberate finesse it looked almost sexual.
"What about this Friday? Well, we don't mind tagging along. Unless you think your Vocal Adrenaline buddies would mind if a couple Nationally Ranked Cheerios showed them how to have a really good time. Oh, a very good time."
"I can touch the back of my feet to the back of my head," added Brittany, loudly, for the benefit of the phone.
Across them, Tina crossed her legs tightly, looking so confused and uncomfortable and slightly intrigued it was almost amusing.
"Mmmhmm. Can't wait. See you then, Rock Star."
Santana hung up the phone and pressed it in against her cheek, looking absurdly pleased with herself.
"That was disturbing," Mercedes snapped flatly.
"That's your big revenge plan?" Quinn found herself asking dryly. "You're going to give him a threesome as a punishment?"
"It'd scare the hell out of me," her friend muttered in response.
Brittany's ponytail bobbed as she glanced toward them. "Santana and I don't have threesomes," she said matter-of-factly. "That's gross. You get them to buy you stuff and then just let them watch."
It was frightening how someone who came off like a Disney Cartoon could say things that made Quinn want to bathe herself in a tub of Ms. Pillbury's sanitizer.
"It's a hook, idiot," Santana snapped. "To trap a man, nothing's easier than the promise of sex." Her eyes floated briefly down to Quinn's baby bump, and twinkled. "You should know."
Quinn's palms pressed against her baby protectively. "And what, he fell for it? Just like that?"
"He more than fell for it. We have an invitation to the very exclusive, invitation only, Vocal Adrenaline pre-Regionals house party at Jesse's place on Friday."
Santana looked so damn full of her slut self Quinn almost wanted to wring Jesse's neck for being so gullible about it all.
He made it almost too damn easy.
"And what do we do when we get there?" Tina asked, leaning forward.
Santana's look back was withering. "YOU aren't coming. Brittany and I can take it from here."
"No way." Quinn's voice was flat, final. "I told you we wanted in. That doesn't include just sitting in the choir room while you have phone sex with a guy to get him to meet you. We're going."
"Quinn, you're pregnant, and we're slutty." Brittany shrugged. "It's better this way."
"Like hell it is," Quinn shook her head, astonished at their own stupidity. "Don't you think he fell for it too easily?"
"No," Santana said simply. "He's a guy. They never say no to me."
"They really don't," Brittany agreed. They both nodded.
The fact that Quinn couldn't think of one instance when that wasn't true was maddening.
Mercedes snorted. "Do you guys like, leak pheromones or something?"
"Look," she said hotly, "Even if you are slutty, Jesse's gotta be a little bit suspicious. How do you know they're not going to trap you instead? Think with your big head, Santana. You need back up, just in case. You need me."
And Santana did. Quinn knew she knew it, too, because the girl actually had brains. Often, her smarts were overshadowed by her sheer lust for… well… everything, but Santana did have logic. And she knew that even though Santana was smart, Quinn was smarter.
There was a reason Quinn had ruled even her. Quinn may have gone soft by Cheerio standards, but Quinn had played the game way too long not to be damn fantastic at it.
She knew what she was doing.
And on occasion, she had been crueler than Santana would ever think to be.
And Quinn wanted to be cruel. She did. She wanted to get that power back. She wanted to feel anything but helpless and alone and stupid and ignored.
More importantly, she wanted to be there when Jesse St. James got what was coming to him; what he damn near begged for the minute he shoved his curly hair into Glee Club and screwed with Rachel's heart, just because he was an entitled little bitch who thought he could.
He had no idea who the hell he was messing with.
Her eyes locked with Santana's, challenging and strong and everything she ever was.
"Fine," Santana said finally, like there was even a question. "But you're waiting in the car. You can be like… the back up."
"We can get a van!" Brittany said, suddenly excited. "Like in 'Chuck'!"
Quinn shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not going to wait in the car. I'm in this."
"You will if you're serious about this. Not one of those boys is going to be amped on banging Juno, Quinn." Dark eyes studied her pregnant form, before a small smirk worked itself onto Santana's pretty features. "But if there's anyone with a preggo-girl fetish," she continued, head cocking, "We'll let you know."
There was urge, a remnant of her old self, that wanted so badly to snark back to her that her charms had worked just fine with Puck.
A glance at Brittany, the way the other girl was so carefully smoothing her fingers up and down Santana's forearm, kept the words lodged in her throat. Quinn exhaled raggedly, and clenched her knuckles against the plastic chair, not wanting to understand why there was even an urge to censor herself.
"Oh, that reminds me. Mercedes?"
Quinn jumped when she felt Mercedes' hand suddenly clutch hers, as if bracing herself. "What?" she asked.
"Call Kurt. Take him shopping."
Quinn blinked, momentarily thrown at the random suggestion, until the logic of it fell into place like a puzzle piece.
Mercedes was still unsure. "Why?"
"It's show choir," Santana drawled, like it was obvious. "And they're dancers. Half those boys are going to be gay."
"It's true," she admitted, squeezing Mercedes' hand and nodding sagely. "Not even Brittany and Santana can seduce a gay guy. Though God knows, Britt tried," she added.
Brittany just smiled. "Kurt's a total twink, and he's got really soft lips," she agreed affectionately. "I bet the boys will love him."
"Wait…" Tina raised a hand timidly. "… just so I'm clear… our big revenge plan is to offer Jesse St. James and his friends a threesome, and use Kurt as back up bait? Doesn't that seem kinda… wrong?"
"It doesn't matter," Quinn found herself answering. "This is war. We use every advantage we have. Including our token gay." When Santana chuckled, Quinn swiveled her head, catching her stare. "What?"
What she saw was that same stare that Santana gave her, the one that seemed both familiar and terrifying.
"Nothing," Santana responded. "It's just nice to see you again, Fabray."
Brittany leaned in, confused. "Where'd she go?"
Unnerved, Quinn couldn't help but wonder at the unexpected thrill, the validation at the words.
She wouldn't ever be what she was, she knew that.
But she was going to use what she knew, and she was going to do something good with it; avenge Rachel - what needed to be done. Like a superhero.
Damn, sometimes it felt good to be a bitch.
--
"I need your help."
Santana pressed against her locker, arms crossed and face devoid of any expression whatsoever.
Grabbing hold of her science book, Quinn arched a bemused brow.
"You're actually talking to me?" A sarcastic smile flitted across her lips. "In the hallways? People can see you, you know."
Santana's head lifted, her gaze flitting around the hallway for a half second, before she gave up and shrugged, settling back against the paint-chipped metal.
"Whatever, we won Nationals," she shrugged uncaringly, picking at a piece of lint on her uniform top. "Britt and I are untouchable right now."
The statement, said without thought and full of confidence that bordered on conceit, caused a bittersweet ache. Quinn was suddenly filled with the memory of a year ago; standing on a podium, confetti dotting her hair and her arms around Santana, squealing at the top of her lungs, exhilarated and excited and a god-damn winner.
Her smile faded, and her locker slammed shut. "What do you want?"
Santana studied her, before her breath rushed out and her eyes rolled. "Look, I get it, okay?" she said, frank and to the point. "I don't want you guys involved, but it's Glee Club and it's that 'one for all and all for one' crap. Whatever."
"Is that your incredibly weird way of saying you're part of the team?"
Santana's eyes narrowed. She ignored the question. "You used to be one of us. You know what's at stake. And Kurt? Okay, he's a Cheerio now so maybe he'll get it. But Mercedes and Tina? They'll screw this up in a heartbeat. You know it's true," Santana snapped, and Quinn, mouth open ready to defend her fellow outcasts, shut it again. "It's not that I don't like them," Santana said suddenly. "They're just… soft."
Back pressing against her locker, Quinn hugged her books against her. "I'm not kicking them out of this. They need this as much as we do."
They needed to feel powerful. To feel avenged. If Quinn had learned anything this year, it was that feeling helpless and unheard wasn't exclusive to Cheerios who lived in eternal fear of Coach Sylvester.
Santana, it seemed, had had no such epiphany. Instead, her gaze turned suspicious. "I don’t need this," she answered, voice hard, defensive. "But now that you've brought it up, why do you?"
Quinn felt suddenly cornered. "What?"
"Don't play stupid, Quinn. You may have fooled everyone with this new 'Saint Quinn' tripe you're spouting, but you and Rachel? It's like frenemies 101. So why the big campaign to avenge her?"
"It's not about Rachel," she snapped hotly. "It's about the honor of Glee Club."
"Oh, God, really? I'm already bored." Santana sighed, eyes floating up into her head dramatically. "Fine, whatever. Just… do me a favor and manage the freaks."
"Manage them?" she repeated, nearly a scoff.
"Unlike me, they don't seem to remember what a bitch you were to them." Quinn's mouth flattened. "So use it. Keep them in line."
The imagery that invoked was oddly of Quinn as a cattle rancher, on a horse with a whip, nudging Mercedes, Tina and Kurt along.
She grimaced. "Fine. But do me a favor and don’t underestimate them. Use them."
Santana's brow arched drolly.
"Come on, Santana," she snapped. "Tina's got Artie and his AV stuff. Mercedes knows how to keep her head. You want them to be a part of the team, then let them be a part of it. "
There was a moment of intense glaring, before the other girl finally sighed, and shrugged.
"Okay," Quinn said, feeling oddly winded.
Santana lingered, looking idly bored, until her attention moved from passing students to Quinn's belly.
"I heard you're still giving it up."
The statement, conversational and almost friendly, disconcerted Quinn. She glanced down at her belly, discovered that in her agitation, she had been rubbing at her daughter.
"That's good," Santana said, before she could respond. "It's better for the kid. And better for you." Pushing off the locker, Santana walked away from her.
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CHAPTER TWO