FIC: The Avengers - Glee, Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana (2/4)
TITLE: The Avengers - 2/4
AUTHOR: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
GENRE: Glee
PAIRING: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany, Glee Girls
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: ~ 21700
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
__
II. She's Going to Smile to Make You Frown
Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance.
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War
--
"Not that I'm not flattered to be asked to join the girls in this little revenge crusade, because, let's face it, my fellow brothers are idiots about this sort of thing, but I'm not wearing this." Kurt Hummell stared at himself through the full length mirror they had stolen from the drama department, looking horrified. "There is never an occasion for moose knuckle."
Quinn frowned, head tilting as she inspected the pants. Kurt had a point; they were frighteningly tight.
"Santana said to go slutty," Tina said, stubborn in her choice.
Mercedes sighed, nodding sagely. "And boy does he look slutty. Hella slutty." She offered him a thumbs up.
His mouth puckered, vaguely offended. "Look, I'm all for being objectified, but there is something to be said for playing it coy and not giving away the farm. I'm not wearing this." He took a step away from the mirror and grimaced. "I'll find something that doesn't turn me into a soprano."
"You're already a soprano."
"I'm a counter tenor," he corrected sharply. "With fantastic range." He took another step and whimpered as he limped. "And I'm getting the hell out of these pants before I sprain something."
"Kurt-" Quinn began, fingers threading through her hair.
He waved his hand sharply at her, brow arched in warning. "I'll wear something out of my already fabulously diverse collection."
"No feathers," she said firmly. "And no corsets."
"And not that skort thing either," Mercedes added.
He faltered mid-step, looking crestfallen before turning his nose up at them both. "Hobble me, why don't you."
With as much dignity as he could muster in the tight jeans, he shuffled toward the privacy screen.
Quinn sighed, and carefully braced herself as she settled into a plastic chair. Mercedes eyed her, and quietly took a seat beside her.
"Look, Quinn," she began hesitantly. "I'm not trying to be a Doubting Thomas here, but… are we sure this is the best way to handle this?"
Quinn glanced at her sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… Santana and Brittany aren't exactly known for their brains," Mercedes said, shrugging as if she was sharing a well-known fact. "And we're banking a helluva lot on sex appeal and Kurt's flaming gayness."
"Hey!" came a squeak from behind Kurt's decorated privacy screen. "I heard that!"
"And we don't even know what Santana and Brittany are planning to do," Tina offered, coming forward. "… after they get in and do their seducing thing."
"It's better if you don’t know," Quinn found herself muttered, shuddering once. "Believe me." When Tina and Mercedes both stared at her, unsure and not at all confident, Quinn heard a sudden voice in her head. Manage them.
Biting in a sigh, she smiled. "Look," she said, straightening up slightly. "I know you don't trust them, but trust me, okay? I was a Cheerio too. I know how to think like them, and that's how I know this is going to work."
Mercedes' smile to her was bittersweet.
"You're like a daywalker." The statement was so odd, Quinn could only stare at Tina. "You know, a half vampire-half-human?" Tina nodded, as if this was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make. "Cause you know, they're half vampire powers but they're human too. So they can like, walk in the day time. Like Blade. You know." When Quinn could only stare at her, Tina flushed and seemed to lose steam. "I just meant… you know… that you have all of the powers and none of the weaknesses. Or something."
FREAK, Quinn felt herself respond intrinsically, and it made her wince. She forced a smile on her face, and to her surprise, it became genuine as soon as she said instead, "Thanks."
Tina brightened, but thankfully Quinn was saved from any other lectures about vampires when the door burst open, and Rachel Berry strode into the choir room.
God, it was almost scary how even the sight of Rachel made her want to curl her fingers and bite her cheek in distaste. And even with that kind of visceral reaction, it was impossible not to notice that the girl who walked in wasn't the same Rachel she knew and loved to loathe.
This Rachel walked with a slump, eyes cast downward, outwardly brokenhearted and dramatic as hell about it.
Seeing her bleed so openly, when not even Quinn's most vile quips could get more than a wince, was disconcerting.
There had always been something reassuring about Rachel's narcissic confidence, her ability to bounce back no matter what tragedy was heaped up on her that particular week.
"Oh!" Rachel's eyes were wide with surprise, taking in the group of them and the messy state of the choir room, piles of clothes on the piano and on most of the available plastic chairs. "What are you guys doing?"
Tina looked like a panicked mouse. "… Fashion show?" she squeaked.
"Yeah, Kurt and me went shopping," Mercedes responded as easily as she could. "He's trying to decide what to keep."
"Oh…" Clutching at her sheet music, Rachel glanced down, then back up. "I was going to practice, but..."
"But the room is being used," Quinn pointed out helpfully.
"Right." Rachel nodded mechanically, and looked at them all with those damn puppy-dog eyes, begging to be invited to stay. "Maybe I can help? I've always been very fiscally responsible. I had my first broker when I was eight."
"That would be fabulous," Kurt responded, finally coming out from behind the privacy screen, dressed in a slightly less tight pair of capris. "Except I don't know if you and I have quite the same taste."
Rachel frowned, insecurity leaking from every pore, and it was almost painful to witness. "Maybe I can just watch?"
Quinn lost patience. "Or maybe you can just leave?"
Rachel's head jerked up, eyes locked on hers, looking sad and pathetic and everything that used to give Quinn such unexplainable joy.
When Rachel's throat bobbed, her eyes shiny with unshed emotion as she turned to leave, Quinn felt her baby thump at her, give her such a kick she nearly winced.
"You know?" Mercedes said pointedly in the quiet that followed, "Maybe trying to avenge Rachel shouldn't include making her feel like a pile of crap."
"I agree. She's just so pathetic now it's just not fun anymore," Kurt said, but his eyes were somber.
They were all looking at Quinn with something that looked like disappointment.
It was maddening that she actually gave a damn. "What?" she spat. "We can't exactly include her in this." When Mercedes nodded pointedly to the door, she sighed. "Fine," she muttered, and pushed to her feet.
--
It had to be something like irony, to exit the choir room and discover Rachel Berry sitting morosely in almost the exact same spot that Quinn herself had been months ago, moments after Finn discovered the baby wasn't his.
She had been so overwhelmed, so damn scared and stung and relieved that the lie was finally revealed, that it didn't seem to matter that it was Rachel that had been responsible for the outing.
What seemed like a lifetime of unexplained loathing had been whittled down to a scared girl and another one beside her, trying to help and not knowing how.
It had been one of the most honest moments of her life, and in that place, Quinn had no room for hating Rachel.
The hate had come back quickly. When she had tried to do things on her own and discovered intentions meant nothing when you were homeless. When she had moved in with Puck and his mother looked at her with quiet rage and judgment, nothing like Finn's mother at all. When she traded one father, who was dumb but earnest, to another with a Mohawk who swore he loved her all along and wanted her and then when he realized that meant a big belly and gas and midnight cravings, grew bored and went back to his videogames and texting Santana.
Rachel Berry, so proud of snagging Finn, had been easy to hate.
Looking at her now, in Quinn's old spot, looking quietly devastated and so alone, Quinn wished it were that easy again.
Fingers curling, she bounced her fists against her sides as she took a tentative forward. Rachel's head lifted, and her shiny eyes caught hers.
The brilliant expression was so unexpected that Quinn was caught breathless.
When Rachel broke the stare to flicker her focus back down to her swinging feet, Quinn discovered herself quietly relieved.
Out of her element, she bit her lip and fought her grimace, taking the open spot beside Rachel.
She couldn't think of one thing to say, and it was damn uncomfortable.
"Jesse's an idiot," she blurted out, surprising even herself. Rachel's hair tented forward obscuring her face. Quinn's cheeks burned, unsure if she had been ignored or not. "He's going to get what's coming to him, trust me."
A small, bitter laugh emanated from the shorter girl. "No he's not," Rachel said, voice low, flat. "Vocal Adrenaline is going to win Regionals, then they're going to win Nationals, and Jesse St. James will go to UCLA and then Broadway, and he'll become a star. He won't even think about me."
It was so defeatist and depressed Quinn had an almost uncontrollable urge to grab Rachel's wrist and check her pulse, to make sure she hadn't been taken over by a brain dead zombie.
"You know, you could make this easier for me by not making me want to ram a sock into your mouth."
It was honest and that, at least, got her attention. Rachel's head jerked up, her eyes locked onto Quinn's face in surprise.
When Quinn unapologetically stared back, Rachel did something that was almost charming. She began to smile.
"That's funny to you?" Quinn asked, somehow frustrated and bemused. "Really?"
"I'm sorry," Rachel said, a chuckle escaping before she could help it. She slapped her palm over her mouth, and then lowered it. "It's just… in terms of people trying to cheer me up, that's definitely been one of the most creative."
Quinn's brow quirked, curiosity piqued. "There's been attempts?"
"Artie offered to film me doing a song from Wicked," she admitted. "Expressing my internalized rage through Elphaba's defeated struggle was quite therapeutic. Finn keeps offering me candy. I don't know if that's code for something. And Brittany…" Rachel trailed off, as the tips of her ears grew pink, her face flushed.
"What?"
"Brittany kissed me."
Quinn guffawed unattractively, unable to hide her surprise. Rachel's eyes twinkled at her, and Quinn found herself laughing in disbelief.
"You're kidding."
"No… she cornered me in the bathroom and quoted something about foraging the enemy and using a conquered foe to augment strength, and then stuck her tongue down my throat."
It was frightening that immediately, the reference quote came to mind in its entirety, drilled into her head by one Sue Sylvester: Bring war material with you from home, but forage on the enemy... use the conquered foe to augment one's own strength.
"Um…wow."
"It scared the crap out of me," Rachel commented. "But she was very sweet about it. And Brittany's actually a really good kisser. Santana and the entire male population of McKinley are very lucky."
The offhand comment, said with all the sincerity Rachel could muster, caused an unintended snort.
"Seriously?"
Rachel's brows came together in confusion. "What?"
"Brittany and Santana," Quinn snapped, before she could help herself. "Don't tell me you understand it."
Rachel looked just lost. "What's there to understand?"
"It's weird," Quinn insisted. "Not to mention, just a little bit twisted. They've slept with or made out with like… the entire school but everyone's acting like they're the most adorable thing since… Bert and Ernie."
"Well, they obviously care about each other," Rachel said, always diplomatic. "It's sweet."
"Sweet? Being a Herpes infested bicycle is sweet?"
Rachel shrugged. "They love each other. Like, really care about each other. And no matter what I think Santana's capable of, I can't ever imagine her doing to Brittany what Jesse did to me." Her somber eyes met hers. " Can you?"
Quinn stared at her, into dark eyes and a frank look, and suddenly her mind was dotted with images, stolen moments and obvious ones, where with linked pinkies and matching bracelets, and adoring smiles, Brittany and Santana made their devotion to each other clear and undisputed.
No, Santana would never betray Brittany. No matter what. Their friendship, or whatever the hell it was, was unquestioned, no matter who they made out with, who they 'dated', everyone knew that Brittany was Santana's, and Santana's was Brittany's.
Her head lowered, and though she didn't respond, she knew Rachel had seen her acceptance.
"And maybe…" Beside her, Rachel hesitated. "Maybe that's enough. Maybe… maybe that's what true love is supposed to look like."
She snorted before she could help herself. "True love looks like a pair of slutty cheerleaders?"
Rachel smiled, small and kind of beautiful. "Or a goth girl and a boy in a wheel chair," she said quietly. Quinn sobered, her eyes flitting to the choir room. "Maybe it's in the unexpected. " Her shoulders came up in a shrug. "Maybe the people you think you should love aren't the right persons at all."
Because Rachel had wanted that for herself. Quinn knew it. As badly as Quinn had wanted Finn for the picture perfect image of the homecoming king and queen, Puck for his image of the bad boy gone good, Rachel had wanted Jesse for their leading lady and leading man perfection, Finn for the exact same reason.
And expectation, Quinn realized, did have a way of screwing you.
God, it sucked to have something in common with Rachel Berry beyond mutual ex-boyfriends.
The hallway was quiet, and thick with self reflection. Quinn, sitting closer to Rachel Berry than she thought she could ever stand, felt fingers brush against hers, Rachel shifting in her seat.
When Rachel pushed off and away from her, Quinn felt oddly thrown. "Thanks," Rachel said, looking shy and sincere.
Quinn stared, locked in a sudden moment of introspection, amazed to discover that at this moment, Rachel Berry was just a girl.
A sad girl, lost and thrown by life's unexpected journeys and unfulfilled promises.
Just like her.
"So… listening to Kurt whine about the difference between cerulean blue and cobalt is giving me a headache," she found herself saying. "And my baby cravings have me really wanting an ice cream. Wanna join me?"
When Rachel smiled, nodded so quickly she looked like a bobble head, Quinn sucked in her breath.
She felt like a superhero.
--
That evening, standing in front of the mirror in Mercedes' spare bedroom, palms pressed against her stomach, a lump that seemed to grow both bigger and heavier with each passing day, Quinn wondered what it would feel like, when this was over.
Would she even recognize herself?
It had been months since there had been a life growing inside her, and pregnancy sucked, but there was also that other part of it. The part where this was her baby, and she read to her and talked to her, and when she was unsure, held her palms against her belly, soothing away the bumps and movement that told her that the baby was alive and responding and that Quinn wasn't alone.
A soft rap of the door alerted her to Mercedes, who poked her head in and offered a nervous, excited smile. "Artie and Tina are here. You ready?"
Quinn's answering grin faltered when Mercedes opened the door, and she saw her chosen outfit.
"What are you wearing?"
Mercedes glanced down at her ensemble; head to toe black, with a black ski mask in her gloved hands. "What? I gotta blend in."
"You realize you're going to be sitting in a van the whole night. You'll have to blend in with the carpet."
"Whatever. Let's go."
After another glance in the mirror, and a slow exhalation, Quinn grabbed her purse and followed Mercedes downstairs.
In the foyer, Kurt smiled at her, arms thrown wide to his sides as he struck a pose. "Tell me I'm gorgeous."
The tailored black suit, elegant with the thin tie that hung from his neck, put together a picture of an absolutely stunning Kurt Hummel. Quinn's eyes flickered down the length of him.
"You're gorgeous," she repeated, a breathless smile overtaking her face. "You're going to blow those boys away."
He grinned back, preening like a well-dressed peacock. "Just call me a femme fatale. The suit is Calvin Klein, the tie is Ted Baker, and the cuff links," he tugged lightly at his wrist, letting the pink-hued studs twinkle at her. "Are Mont Blanc. Bought at a consignment store," he winked and placed his finger playfully against his pursed lips. "Don't tell anyone."
"Our lips are sealed," Mercedes said, throwing Quinn an exasperated look as she shoved him toward the door. "Come on. They're waiting."
Kurt glanced back at her and winked. Quinn found herself laughing despite herself.
The laughter was cut short immediately when the door to Artie's old van opened and she discovered the boy staring at her with dark-rimmed eyes and what looked like black smudge coloring his cheeks.
Beside her, Mercedes gawked. "Oh, hell no."
Quinn stared in astonishment. "Seriously? We're not robbing a bank."
"What?" Artie plucked at his black sweater. "Mercedes said to be discreet."
"Turning yourself into a raccoon is discreet?" Kurt asked, voice dry with abject horror.
"I don’t know what you're talking about," Tina said from the driver's seat. "This is what I wear every day."
That was true enough. Even down to the ski mask, looking like a Harajuku-inspired thug was Tina's staple look.
Sucking in her breath, Quinn waved her hands. "Fine, let's just go. Santana and Brittany are waiting."
As she settled in a cramped seat, Kurt began fiddling with a snow white waist coat.
"Too much?" he asked.
Quinn mentally counted to ten, and said as patiently as she could, "Kurt, we're going to a house party. With teenagers. There will probably be beer. And finger foods. And no napkins. Stuff will get spilled."
The color drained off Kurt's face so quickly he looked like a ghost. "I see your point," he squeaked. "I should have brought hand sanitizer and a Tide Bleach Pen."
Battling a sudden headache, Quinn closed her eyes.
There was at least one upside to being surrounded by friends who happened to be freaks. The look on Santana's face when she saw their little rag tag band was bound to be priceless.
--
Upon opening the van door and getting a good look, Santana Lopez was apparently filled with so much horror, all that came out of her tramp-colored mouth was some kind of undignified squawk.
Brittany, hair down and tumbling down her shoulders in wispy curls, waved and smiled. "Hi guys. Artie, you've got something on your face."
Quinn bit down on her smile, lowering herself carefully out of the van. "Don’t ask," she said immediately, when Santana shot her an accusatory murderous look. "And they're not even getting out of the van."
"Kurt looks pretty," Brittany said, almost starry-eyed as Kurt hopped out of the van, rubbing Artie's lint brush down his trousers.
"Thank you, Brittany." Kurt wiped imaginary dust off his jacket, before inspecting the Cheerios. "You look… easy."
Only Brittany would ever take that as a compliment. The blonde girl smiled brightly, and smoothed her hands down her skin tight pants and halter.
"That's the point, Jack-Ass," Santana sputtered. In her miniskirt, stilettos and Planet Funk tank, she reminded Quinn of high class hooker. "Let's get going."
"Uh, hello?" Artie poked his finger out of the open door. "Not quite yet."
Santana's brow furrowed in confusion, but Artie didn't waste a second before holding up a small pin. "Mini video camera. It feeds directly to my monitor," he said, head jerking back to the pile of electronics placed on a small table behind him. "We can keep track of everything."
Santana stared at it like it was a bug, but after a moment, reached out and grabbed it. "Fine."
"And here." Tina held out a pile of small black trinkets. "Put these in your ear, and you can hear us."
"Why the hell would I want you guys in my head?"
When three sets of eyes flickered to Quinn, she found herself shrugging. "She's got a point."
"The point is to be in communication at all times," Artie said, surprisingly firm. "That's why you asked me for help, right?"
"Actually, we didn't," Santana felt the need to correct. "We asked your girlfriend."
He pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned at her. "Regardless, here- put these in your mouth. They set over your molar and then we can hear whatever you're saying."
"Especially if a cool jam starts playing on the radio," Mercedes added, and began to dance a little in her seat, chuckling softly with Tina.
"Oh, God. Where did you even get these?"
"Skymall."
Brittany grabbed hold of the small plastic chip and inspected it. "I feel like a Charlie's Angel," she whispered excitedly to Santana.
"Santana," Quinn interjected, quiet and calm. When the other girl looked at her, she arched a knowing brow. "You shouldn't go in blind."
The battle that waged inside Santana between the eternally lame and the practical finally settled itself.
"FINE," she said, eyes rolling dramatically as she snatched the items from Artie. "But you guys better keep your mouths shut when I'm in there. I'm good, but even I can't be sexy with you guys yammering on in my head."
"Deal, "Mercedes said, an excited smile illuminating her face."I can't believe we're actually doing this. Kurt, see if you can sneak us some beer!"
Santana's eyes narrowed. "Anyway, the plan is simple: Britt, Kurt and I go in. Kurt is our man meat. He distracts the boys and every little fag hag in there, Britt and I corner Jesse, get him drunk, get him alone, and get him out of the house before he passes out." She paused, and then turned to Brittany, who was struggling to get the angle of the molar mike in her mouth. "Britt?"
"Yeah?" Brittany asked.
"What are we NOT doing?"
Brittany frowned, and brought the mike out of her mouth. "We're not telling him this is a plan."
"And what else?"
She sighed. "We're not making out with him for reals."
"Right. And why are we not making out with him?"
"Because he already made out with Rachel and that's gross." Brittany frowned. "But Rachel's a good kisser." She stuck the mike back in her mouth, and immediately choked. "I swallowed it," she said breathlessly.
Mercedes snorted, and Kurt frowned, looking vaguely ill.
"Okay," Artie said, forcing a grim smile as he reached for Brittany. "Let me do the next one. And you owe me fifty bucks."
The night had quickly grown chilly. Quinn, in her sweater and jacket, shivered. Santana, bare armed, rubbed her hands distractedly over biceps, goosebumps visible under the light given to them from the street lamp. With her hair down, she looked like a different person.
The sight of Santana, alone on the curb, watching quietly as the group fussed over Brittany, was somehow sobering.
Sucking in a soldiering breath, Quinn moved to her side.
"What?" Santana asked, word sharp despite her chattering teeth.
Quinn's father had been a proud man. He had never apologized for one single thing. Even when he was wrong, he always found a reason for it. Someone else to blame.
Quinn didn't know who she was. Who she was going to be.
But she knew exactly who she never wanted to become.
"I'm sorry," she said, words choking as they came from her throat.
Santana stiffened slightly. Her head didn't turn, but her eyes did, flitting from her back to Brittany before she muttered, "Clearly." After a moment, she sighed. "Fine. What are you sorry about?"
Brittany, mouth open and saying 'ahhhh' like Artie was checking her tonsils, waved at them both.
"For not understanding about you and Brittany."
Santana's head whipped around, dark eyes wide and startled, staring into Quinn's face with something that almost resembled the Santana that had been her friend. For one quick second, the fear was there, of being judged, of being ostracized, of Quinn for having the power to do exactly that.
Just as quickly, Santana caught herself and the expression hardened; went cold.
"Whatever," she said, eyes floating back to the van. "It's not like we're looking for your approval."
Not anymore, was the silent addition. Quinn's smile was bittersweet. "I know. But … I did things. I judged you. I tried to keep you apart." A muscle in Santana's jaw ticked. "I shouldn't of. I didn't understand-"
"You know why you didn't get it?" Santana suddenly turned, dark eyes piercing hers in an angry stare. "Why you never will?" She stepped forward, voice lowered, but firm. "Because in your life, you've never loved someone more than you love yourself. Every relationship you've ever had has been about using someone. Seeing what they can get you." Her eyes floated meaningfully at Quinn's stomach. "That's why you're never gonna have what we have, Quinn." She shrugged, and stepped away from her, dismissing her. "That's why you'll never get it. Let's go," she said, voice louder now. "It's getting late."
Frozen in place, Quinn couldn't move, only watch in numb shock as Brittany scrambled out of the van and reached for Santana's palm, linking pinkies as Kurt followed them down the street, towards the large, imposing house that belonged to Jesse St. James.
--
The sounds of a party in full swing sounded almost fake and hollow when they drifted from Artie's tiny monitor speakers.
Images from the tiny pin Santana wore were full of noise and the movements were jerky, but the group in the van stayed glued to the screen as if it were a soap opera during sweeps.
Quinn felt fat, bloated. Her palm smoothed in a circle over her belly, but her baby stayed quiet, refusing to offer any sort of comfort to her frayed senses.
Her vision went blurry, and Quinn sucked in her breath with a hiss, blinking back the tears valiantly, trying hard to stop them before they spilled over onto her cheeks.
Beside her, Mercedes shifted, leaning into her. "I can't believe they're actually inside! Did you see the look on Jesse's face? He so thinks he's getting laid!" Her excited smile faltered when she glanced at Quinn's expression. "Hey girl, you okay?"
Quinn felt her lip tremble. She bit down on it to stop it. "Do you think I'm a horrible person?"
Mercedes frowned, thrown by the question. "Why would you ask me something like that? You know I don't."
Quinn rolled her eyes, huffing in exasperation. "Not now," she sniffed. "Before. Before all… this." Her hand waved to her pregnant belly, her maternity clothes, her hair, down and soft.
"What does it matter?" she asked. "You're not her anymore."
"What if I am?" she asked, insistent, suddenly terrified. "What if I am that person, and this baby is the only thing that's … making me human?"
"Then you'd be like Darla from Angel," Tina said immediately. "She was a vampire and had no soul, and then she got pregnant and -" At their blank stares, she flushed. "Sorry." Her eyes widened at the screen. "Oh, my God! Did that guy just give Kurt a beer?!"
Mercedes launched forward, shoving Tina out of the way. "Don't drink it, Kurt! It might have roofies!"
Eyes shutting tightly, Quinn sucked in her breath, hands wrinkling in the fabric of her dress.
"Oh my God, you guys SHUT UP." Santana's hiss spewed over the speakers like venom. "Kurt, drink the damn beer. You look like you just farted."
"It tastes bad!"
"It's BEER!"
"It helps if you chug it," was Brittany's advice. "Here, I'll show you-"
"Chug it!" Artie chanted. "CHUG IT!"
"Do NOT chug it-" Santana's warning went ignored, and through blurry vision, Quinn saw both Brittany and Kurt tilting brimming frothy glasses into their mouths. "Goddammit."
Around them, a crowd of Vocal Adrenaline kids began to hoot and holler.
The noise seemed overwhelming. Mercedes, Tina and Artie pressed together, shoulder to shoulder to watch the monitor and behind them, Quinn felt suddenly suffocated.
She was too big, too fat, too helpless, too selfish, too lost…
Eyes stinging, unable to breathe, Quinn fumbled against the van, stumbling until she could fall into the front passenger seat.
The windows were fogged over, the air was chilly, but Quinn didn't care as she muffled her sobs, wiped hastily at her tears, quietly devastated.
"Keg stand!" some random kid yelled. "Let's go!"
Quinn's arms crossed, hugging herself tightly as she leaned back in the seat and listened without focus to the noise from the back of the van.
"I bet I can do a keg-stand in a splits."
"Brittany, not now-"
Her eyes drifted to the dark street, gaze lingering on the dark house, until a figure passed the van, heading towards it.
Quinn sighed, barely paid it any attention until she felt her heart seize and she did a double take.
"Oh, crap!" she snapped. "You guys!"
"Maybe Kurt should stop chugging beers."
"Did you see the guy that gave it to him?"
"YOU GUYS!" she shouted, swiveling in her seat and snapping her fingers. "What the HELL is Rachel Berry doing here?!"
The commentary between the trio stopped immediately. They stared at her, uncomprehending, until she pointed frantically to the street.
It finally sunk in. "Oh shit!" Mercedes hissed, scrambling to the front, nearly tripping over Artie's chair. "It's really her!"
"Um… Santana? I realize you've got your hands full trying to get Brittany off the keg, but we have a mayday. I repeat, a MAYDAY! Rachel is here!" Artie shoved his glasses up his nose. "I repeat, the DIVA IS HEADING FOR THE BUILDING."
"What the hell is Rachel doing here?!" Santana hissed.
Heart in her throat, Quinn watched as Rachel tentatively moved toward the house, then paused and took a step back.
"We need to teach this girl some self respect!" Mercedes snarled. "What the hell?!"
"Santana?!"
There was a flutter of noise, almost indistinguishable now that the music was blasting and the beer was beginning to flow.
"Okay," they finally heard, increased aggravation in Santana's voice. "Brittany has swallowed her molar mike, AGAIN. And apparently she invited her."
"What?!"
Rachel straightened, smoothed out her pleats, and began to head up the walk.
"… Rachel found out we were all going to a party tonight, and Brittany didn't want her to feel left out." Tina sighed loudly. "Look, I know, okay!? Just STOP her before someone recognizes her and RUINS EVERYTHING. NOW!"
Quinn fumbled for the door, snapping the lever and nearly falling out of the passenger side door. Jogging caused entirely too much baby bouncing, so she quickly began to speed walk, pivoting up the driveway and moving fast.
She reached out and slapped her hand over Rachel's mouth, jerking back just as the other girl had reached out towards the door bell.
She got there a second too late. The gong rang, loud and intrusive.
Rachel's shriek was muffled, but covering her mouth did nothing to stop Rachel's panicked assault. Tiny teeth jammed into her fingers, biting down hard. Quinn hissed, but kept her grip, dragging Rachel back down the porch stairs and to the side of the house, slamming her tightly against it.
Holding Rachel against her with as much strength as she could muster, she ignored the struggling. "It's Quinn!" she hissed into Rachel's ear. The furious fighting ceased immediately. Dark eyes, wide with panic, immediately narrowed as the gagged head turned in her direction. Quinn only held her tighter, keeping Rachel plastered against her as she tried to blend into the shadows. "Shut. Up."
Rachel was panting hard, still not quite over her fright, but for once, she obeyed.
Quinn's heart beat fast, almost too fast. Her baby, sensing the adrenaline, poked at her, thumping against the weight of Rachel, and Quinn swallowed, willing her to calm down.
Light flooded the porch as the door opened, and with it came the sounds of music, spilling onto the street.
Quinn swallowed, and squeezed Rachel tighter.
"Jesse?" Santana, voice sweet and syrupy, drifted out. "Who was it?"
"Some kid pranker, I think." Jesse. Quinn felt Rachel stiffen against her, and she closed her eyes, tilting forward, mouth brushing against her as she quietly whispered at Rachel to stop. "There's a ton of little brats on this street who know they'll never reach my level of talent and react out of bitterness. Let's go back inside."
A long moment later, the door shut.
Suddenly dizzy, Quinn fell into harsh pants, eyes fluttering with relief, forehead falling against the back of Rachel's head.
Fingers pulled at hers, ripping her hand away from Rachel's mouth. Quinn jerked her head up, realized suddenly how tightly she had been clutching Rachel when the girl swiveled away from her. Rachel eyed her with wet orbs and a lost expression that quickly drifted into mutinous anger.
"What is going on?" she said, voice a fierce tremble, as if she was almost afraid to find out.
Devoid of adrenaline, Quinn found she hardly had the strength to push herself off of Jesse's house. Helpless, heavy, she rubbed at her fluttering belly and glanced back towards the porch.
"Quinn."
"I'll tell you, okay?" she said quickly in a rush of impatience and exhaustion. "But first we have to get away from the house before anyone recognizes us. Rachel," Quinn said when Rachel shifted on her feet, ready to argue. "Seriously."
The other girl's expression was half hidden by shadow, but Quinn could sense the heat in Rachel's body, anger and stiffness that indicated confusion and betrayal and not much else.
"Just trust me," she said, and knew there was nothing more than a shared ice cream that afternoon that Rachel could use as collateral behind that.
When after a moment, Rachel gave the slightest of nods, Quinn felt her chest constrict with unshed emotion.
Gathering her strength, she shoved against the brick. "Come on."
--
CHAPTER THREE
AUTHOR: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
GENRE: Glee
PAIRING: Rachel/Quinn, Santana/Brittany, Glee Girls
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: ~ 21700
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
__
II. She's Going to Smile to Make You Frown
Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance.
-Sun Tzu , The Art of War
--
"Not that I'm not flattered to be asked to join the girls in this little revenge crusade, because, let's face it, my fellow brothers are idiots about this sort of thing, but I'm not wearing this." Kurt Hummell stared at himself through the full length mirror they had stolen from the drama department, looking horrified. "There is never an occasion for moose knuckle."
Quinn frowned, head tilting as she inspected the pants. Kurt had a point; they were frighteningly tight.
"Santana said to go slutty," Tina said, stubborn in her choice.
Mercedes sighed, nodding sagely. "And boy does he look slutty. Hella slutty." She offered him a thumbs up.
His mouth puckered, vaguely offended. "Look, I'm all for being objectified, but there is something to be said for playing it coy and not giving away the farm. I'm not wearing this." He took a step away from the mirror and grimaced. "I'll find something that doesn't turn me into a soprano."
"You're already a soprano."
"I'm a counter tenor," he corrected sharply. "With fantastic range." He took another step and whimpered as he limped. "And I'm getting the hell out of these pants before I sprain something."
"Kurt-" Quinn began, fingers threading through her hair.
He waved his hand sharply at her, brow arched in warning. "I'll wear something out of my already fabulously diverse collection."
"No feathers," she said firmly. "And no corsets."
"And not that skort thing either," Mercedes added.
He faltered mid-step, looking crestfallen before turning his nose up at them both. "Hobble me, why don't you."
With as much dignity as he could muster in the tight jeans, he shuffled toward the privacy screen.
Quinn sighed, and carefully braced herself as she settled into a plastic chair. Mercedes eyed her, and quietly took a seat beside her.
"Look, Quinn," she began hesitantly. "I'm not trying to be a Doubting Thomas here, but… are we sure this is the best way to handle this?"
Quinn glanced at her sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… Santana and Brittany aren't exactly known for their brains," Mercedes said, shrugging as if she was sharing a well-known fact. "And we're banking a helluva lot on sex appeal and Kurt's flaming gayness."
"Hey!" came a squeak from behind Kurt's decorated privacy screen. "I heard that!"
"And we don't even know what Santana and Brittany are planning to do," Tina offered, coming forward. "… after they get in and do their seducing thing."
"It's better if you don’t know," Quinn found herself muttered, shuddering once. "Believe me." When Tina and Mercedes both stared at her, unsure and not at all confident, Quinn heard a sudden voice in her head. Manage them.
Biting in a sigh, she smiled. "Look," she said, straightening up slightly. "I know you don't trust them, but trust me, okay? I was a Cheerio too. I know how to think like them, and that's how I know this is going to work."
Mercedes' smile to her was bittersweet.
"You're like a daywalker." The statement was so odd, Quinn could only stare at Tina. "You know, a half vampire-half-human?" Tina nodded, as if this was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make. "Cause you know, they're half vampire powers but they're human too. So they can like, walk in the day time. Like Blade. You know." When Quinn could only stare at her, Tina flushed and seemed to lose steam. "I just meant… you know… that you have all of the powers and none of the weaknesses. Or something."
FREAK, Quinn felt herself respond intrinsically, and it made her wince. She forced a smile on her face, and to her surprise, it became genuine as soon as she said instead, "Thanks."
Tina brightened, but thankfully Quinn was saved from any other lectures about vampires when the door burst open, and Rachel Berry strode into the choir room.
God, it was almost scary how even the sight of Rachel made her want to curl her fingers and bite her cheek in distaste. And even with that kind of visceral reaction, it was impossible not to notice that the girl who walked in wasn't the same Rachel she knew and loved to loathe.
This Rachel walked with a slump, eyes cast downward, outwardly brokenhearted and dramatic as hell about it.
Seeing her bleed so openly, when not even Quinn's most vile quips could get more than a wince, was disconcerting.
There had always been something reassuring about Rachel's narcissic confidence, her ability to bounce back no matter what tragedy was heaped up on her that particular week.
"Oh!" Rachel's eyes were wide with surprise, taking in the group of them and the messy state of the choir room, piles of clothes on the piano and on most of the available plastic chairs. "What are you guys doing?"
Tina looked like a panicked mouse. "… Fashion show?" she squeaked.
"Yeah, Kurt and me went shopping," Mercedes responded as easily as she could. "He's trying to decide what to keep."
"Oh…" Clutching at her sheet music, Rachel glanced down, then back up. "I was going to practice, but..."
"But the room is being used," Quinn pointed out helpfully.
"Right." Rachel nodded mechanically, and looked at them all with those damn puppy-dog eyes, begging to be invited to stay. "Maybe I can help? I've always been very fiscally responsible. I had my first broker when I was eight."
"That would be fabulous," Kurt responded, finally coming out from behind the privacy screen, dressed in a slightly less tight pair of capris. "Except I don't know if you and I have quite the same taste."
Rachel frowned, insecurity leaking from every pore, and it was almost painful to witness. "Maybe I can just watch?"
Quinn lost patience. "Or maybe you can just leave?"
Rachel's head jerked up, eyes locked on hers, looking sad and pathetic and everything that used to give Quinn such unexplainable joy.
When Rachel's throat bobbed, her eyes shiny with unshed emotion as she turned to leave, Quinn felt her baby thump at her, give her such a kick she nearly winced.
"You know?" Mercedes said pointedly in the quiet that followed, "Maybe trying to avenge Rachel shouldn't include making her feel like a pile of crap."
"I agree. She's just so pathetic now it's just not fun anymore," Kurt said, but his eyes were somber.
They were all looking at Quinn with something that looked like disappointment.
It was maddening that she actually gave a damn. "What?" she spat. "We can't exactly include her in this." When Mercedes nodded pointedly to the door, she sighed. "Fine," she muttered, and pushed to her feet.
--
It had to be something like irony, to exit the choir room and discover Rachel Berry sitting morosely in almost the exact same spot that Quinn herself had been months ago, moments after Finn discovered the baby wasn't his.
She had been so overwhelmed, so damn scared and stung and relieved that the lie was finally revealed, that it didn't seem to matter that it was Rachel that had been responsible for the outing.
What seemed like a lifetime of unexplained loathing had been whittled down to a scared girl and another one beside her, trying to help and not knowing how.
It had been one of the most honest moments of her life, and in that place, Quinn had no room for hating Rachel.
The hate had come back quickly. When she had tried to do things on her own and discovered intentions meant nothing when you were homeless. When she had moved in with Puck and his mother looked at her with quiet rage and judgment, nothing like Finn's mother at all. When she traded one father, who was dumb but earnest, to another with a Mohawk who swore he loved her all along and wanted her and then when he realized that meant a big belly and gas and midnight cravings, grew bored and went back to his videogames and texting Santana.
Rachel Berry, so proud of snagging Finn, had been easy to hate.
Looking at her now, in Quinn's old spot, looking quietly devastated and so alone, Quinn wished it were that easy again.
Fingers curling, she bounced her fists against her sides as she took a tentative forward. Rachel's head lifted, and her shiny eyes caught hers.
The brilliant expression was so unexpected that Quinn was caught breathless.
When Rachel broke the stare to flicker her focus back down to her swinging feet, Quinn discovered herself quietly relieved.
Out of her element, she bit her lip and fought her grimace, taking the open spot beside Rachel.
She couldn't think of one thing to say, and it was damn uncomfortable.
"Jesse's an idiot," she blurted out, surprising even herself. Rachel's hair tented forward obscuring her face. Quinn's cheeks burned, unsure if she had been ignored or not. "He's going to get what's coming to him, trust me."
A small, bitter laugh emanated from the shorter girl. "No he's not," Rachel said, voice low, flat. "Vocal Adrenaline is going to win Regionals, then they're going to win Nationals, and Jesse St. James will go to UCLA and then Broadway, and he'll become a star. He won't even think about me."
It was so defeatist and depressed Quinn had an almost uncontrollable urge to grab Rachel's wrist and check her pulse, to make sure she hadn't been taken over by a brain dead zombie.
"You know, you could make this easier for me by not making me want to ram a sock into your mouth."
It was honest and that, at least, got her attention. Rachel's head jerked up, her eyes locked onto Quinn's face in surprise.
When Quinn unapologetically stared back, Rachel did something that was almost charming. She began to smile.
"That's funny to you?" Quinn asked, somehow frustrated and bemused. "Really?"
"I'm sorry," Rachel said, a chuckle escaping before she could help it. She slapped her palm over her mouth, and then lowered it. "It's just… in terms of people trying to cheer me up, that's definitely been one of the most creative."
Quinn's brow quirked, curiosity piqued. "There's been attempts?"
"Artie offered to film me doing a song from Wicked," she admitted. "Expressing my internalized rage through Elphaba's defeated struggle was quite therapeutic. Finn keeps offering me candy. I don't know if that's code for something. And Brittany…" Rachel trailed off, as the tips of her ears grew pink, her face flushed.
"What?"
"Brittany kissed me."
Quinn guffawed unattractively, unable to hide her surprise. Rachel's eyes twinkled at her, and Quinn found herself laughing in disbelief.
"You're kidding."
"No… she cornered me in the bathroom and quoted something about foraging the enemy and using a conquered foe to augment strength, and then stuck her tongue down my throat."
It was frightening that immediately, the reference quote came to mind in its entirety, drilled into her head by one Sue Sylvester: Bring war material with you from home, but forage on the enemy... use the conquered foe to augment one's own strength.
"Um…wow."
"It scared the crap out of me," Rachel commented. "But she was very sweet about it. And Brittany's actually a really good kisser. Santana and the entire male population of McKinley are very lucky."
The offhand comment, said with all the sincerity Rachel could muster, caused an unintended snort.
"Seriously?"
Rachel's brows came together in confusion. "What?"
"Brittany and Santana," Quinn snapped, before she could help herself. "Don't tell me you understand it."
Rachel looked just lost. "What's there to understand?"
"It's weird," Quinn insisted. "Not to mention, just a little bit twisted. They've slept with or made out with like… the entire school but everyone's acting like they're the most adorable thing since… Bert and Ernie."
"Well, they obviously care about each other," Rachel said, always diplomatic. "It's sweet."
"Sweet? Being a Herpes infested bicycle is sweet?"
Rachel shrugged. "They love each other. Like, really care about each other. And no matter what I think Santana's capable of, I can't ever imagine her doing to Brittany what Jesse did to me." Her somber eyes met hers. " Can you?"
Quinn stared at her, into dark eyes and a frank look, and suddenly her mind was dotted with images, stolen moments and obvious ones, where with linked pinkies and matching bracelets, and adoring smiles, Brittany and Santana made their devotion to each other clear and undisputed.
No, Santana would never betray Brittany. No matter what. Their friendship, or whatever the hell it was, was unquestioned, no matter who they made out with, who they 'dated', everyone knew that Brittany was Santana's, and Santana's was Brittany's.
Her head lowered, and though she didn't respond, she knew Rachel had seen her acceptance.
"And maybe…" Beside her, Rachel hesitated. "Maybe that's enough. Maybe… maybe that's what true love is supposed to look like."
She snorted before she could help herself. "True love looks like a pair of slutty cheerleaders?"
Rachel smiled, small and kind of beautiful. "Or a goth girl and a boy in a wheel chair," she said quietly. Quinn sobered, her eyes flitting to the choir room. "Maybe it's in the unexpected. " Her shoulders came up in a shrug. "Maybe the people you think you should love aren't the right persons at all."
Because Rachel had wanted that for herself. Quinn knew it. As badly as Quinn had wanted Finn for the picture perfect image of the homecoming king and queen, Puck for his image of the bad boy gone good, Rachel had wanted Jesse for their leading lady and leading man perfection, Finn for the exact same reason.
And expectation, Quinn realized, did have a way of screwing you.
God, it sucked to have something in common with Rachel Berry beyond mutual ex-boyfriends.
The hallway was quiet, and thick with self reflection. Quinn, sitting closer to Rachel Berry than she thought she could ever stand, felt fingers brush against hers, Rachel shifting in her seat.
When Rachel pushed off and away from her, Quinn felt oddly thrown. "Thanks," Rachel said, looking shy and sincere.
Quinn stared, locked in a sudden moment of introspection, amazed to discover that at this moment, Rachel Berry was just a girl.
A sad girl, lost and thrown by life's unexpected journeys and unfulfilled promises.
Just like her.
"So… listening to Kurt whine about the difference between cerulean blue and cobalt is giving me a headache," she found herself saying. "And my baby cravings have me really wanting an ice cream. Wanna join me?"
When Rachel smiled, nodded so quickly she looked like a bobble head, Quinn sucked in her breath.
She felt like a superhero.
--
That evening, standing in front of the mirror in Mercedes' spare bedroom, palms pressed against her stomach, a lump that seemed to grow both bigger and heavier with each passing day, Quinn wondered what it would feel like, when this was over.
Would she even recognize herself?
It had been months since there had been a life growing inside her, and pregnancy sucked, but there was also that other part of it. The part where this was her baby, and she read to her and talked to her, and when she was unsure, held her palms against her belly, soothing away the bumps and movement that told her that the baby was alive and responding and that Quinn wasn't alone.
A soft rap of the door alerted her to Mercedes, who poked her head in and offered a nervous, excited smile. "Artie and Tina are here. You ready?"
Quinn's answering grin faltered when Mercedes opened the door, and she saw her chosen outfit.
"What are you wearing?"
Mercedes glanced down at her ensemble; head to toe black, with a black ski mask in her gloved hands. "What? I gotta blend in."
"You realize you're going to be sitting in a van the whole night. You'll have to blend in with the carpet."
"Whatever. Let's go."
After another glance in the mirror, and a slow exhalation, Quinn grabbed her purse and followed Mercedes downstairs.
In the foyer, Kurt smiled at her, arms thrown wide to his sides as he struck a pose. "Tell me I'm gorgeous."
The tailored black suit, elegant with the thin tie that hung from his neck, put together a picture of an absolutely stunning Kurt Hummel. Quinn's eyes flickered down the length of him.
"You're gorgeous," she repeated, a breathless smile overtaking her face. "You're going to blow those boys away."
He grinned back, preening like a well-dressed peacock. "Just call me a femme fatale. The suit is Calvin Klein, the tie is Ted Baker, and the cuff links," he tugged lightly at his wrist, letting the pink-hued studs twinkle at her. "Are Mont Blanc. Bought at a consignment store," he winked and placed his finger playfully against his pursed lips. "Don't tell anyone."
"Our lips are sealed," Mercedes said, throwing Quinn an exasperated look as she shoved him toward the door. "Come on. They're waiting."
Kurt glanced back at her and winked. Quinn found herself laughing despite herself.
The laughter was cut short immediately when the door to Artie's old van opened and she discovered the boy staring at her with dark-rimmed eyes and what looked like black smudge coloring his cheeks.
Beside her, Mercedes gawked. "Oh, hell no."
Quinn stared in astonishment. "Seriously? We're not robbing a bank."
"What?" Artie plucked at his black sweater. "Mercedes said to be discreet."
"Turning yourself into a raccoon is discreet?" Kurt asked, voice dry with abject horror.
"I don’t know what you're talking about," Tina said from the driver's seat. "This is what I wear every day."
That was true enough. Even down to the ski mask, looking like a Harajuku-inspired thug was Tina's staple look.
Sucking in her breath, Quinn waved her hands. "Fine, let's just go. Santana and Brittany are waiting."
As she settled in a cramped seat, Kurt began fiddling with a snow white waist coat.
"Too much?" he asked.
Quinn mentally counted to ten, and said as patiently as she could, "Kurt, we're going to a house party. With teenagers. There will probably be beer. And finger foods. And no napkins. Stuff will get spilled."
The color drained off Kurt's face so quickly he looked like a ghost. "I see your point," he squeaked. "I should have brought hand sanitizer and a Tide Bleach Pen."
Battling a sudden headache, Quinn closed her eyes.
There was at least one upside to being surrounded by friends who happened to be freaks. The look on Santana's face when she saw their little rag tag band was bound to be priceless.
--
Upon opening the van door and getting a good look, Santana Lopez was apparently filled with so much horror, all that came out of her tramp-colored mouth was some kind of undignified squawk.
Brittany, hair down and tumbling down her shoulders in wispy curls, waved and smiled. "Hi guys. Artie, you've got something on your face."
Quinn bit down on her smile, lowering herself carefully out of the van. "Don’t ask," she said immediately, when Santana shot her an accusatory murderous look. "And they're not even getting out of the van."
"Kurt looks pretty," Brittany said, almost starry-eyed as Kurt hopped out of the van, rubbing Artie's lint brush down his trousers.
"Thank you, Brittany." Kurt wiped imaginary dust off his jacket, before inspecting the Cheerios. "You look… easy."
Only Brittany would ever take that as a compliment. The blonde girl smiled brightly, and smoothed her hands down her skin tight pants and halter.
"That's the point, Jack-Ass," Santana sputtered. In her miniskirt, stilettos and Planet Funk tank, she reminded Quinn of high class hooker. "Let's get going."
"Uh, hello?" Artie poked his finger out of the open door. "Not quite yet."
Santana's brow furrowed in confusion, but Artie didn't waste a second before holding up a small pin. "Mini video camera. It feeds directly to my monitor," he said, head jerking back to the pile of electronics placed on a small table behind him. "We can keep track of everything."
Santana stared at it like it was a bug, but after a moment, reached out and grabbed it. "Fine."
"And here." Tina held out a pile of small black trinkets. "Put these in your ear, and you can hear us."
"Why the hell would I want you guys in my head?"
When three sets of eyes flickered to Quinn, she found herself shrugging. "She's got a point."
"The point is to be in communication at all times," Artie said, surprisingly firm. "That's why you asked me for help, right?"
"Actually, we didn't," Santana felt the need to correct. "We asked your girlfriend."
He pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned at her. "Regardless, here- put these in your mouth. They set over your molar and then we can hear whatever you're saying."
"Especially if a cool jam starts playing on the radio," Mercedes added, and began to dance a little in her seat, chuckling softly with Tina.
"Oh, God. Where did you even get these?"
"Skymall."
Brittany grabbed hold of the small plastic chip and inspected it. "I feel like a Charlie's Angel," she whispered excitedly to Santana.
"Santana," Quinn interjected, quiet and calm. When the other girl looked at her, she arched a knowing brow. "You shouldn't go in blind."
The battle that waged inside Santana between the eternally lame and the practical finally settled itself.
"FINE," she said, eyes rolling dramatically as she snatched the items from Artie. "But you guys better keep your mouths shut when I'm in there. I'm good, but even I can't be sexy with you guys yammering on in my head."
"Deal, "Mercedes said, an excited smile illuminating her face."I can't believe we're actually doing this. Kurt, see if you can sneak us some beer!"
Santana's eyes narrowed. "Anyway, the plan is simple: Britt, Kurt and I go in. Kurt is our man meat. He distracts the boys and every little fag hag in there, Britt and I corner Jesse, get him drunk, get him alone, and get him out of the house before he passes out." She paused, and then turned to Brittany, who was struggling to get the angle of the molar mike in her mouth. "Britt?"
"Yeah?" Brittany asked.
"What are we NOT doing?"
Brittany frowned, and brought the mike out of her mouth. "We're not telling him this is a plan."
"And what else?"
She sighed. "We're not making out with him for reals."
"Right. And why are we not making out with him?"
"Because he already made out with Rachel and that's gross." Brittany frowned. "But Rachel's a good kisser." She stuck the mike back in her mouth, and immediately choked. "I swallowed it," she said breathlessly.
Mercedes snorted, and Kurt frowned, looking vaguely ill.
"Okay," Artie said, forcing a grim smile as he reached for Brittany. "Let me do the next one. And you owe me fifty bucks."
The night had quickly grown chilly. Quinn, in her sweater and jacket, shivered. Santana, bare armed, rubbed her hands distractedly over biceps, goosebumps visible under the light given to them from the street lamp. With her hair down, she looked like a different person.
The sight of Santana, alone on the curb, watching quietly as the group fussed over Brittany, was somehow sobering.
Sucking in a soldiering breath, Quinn moved to her side.
"What?" Santana asked, word sharp despite her chattering teeth.
Quinn's father had been a proud man. He had never apologized for one single thing. Even when he was wrong, he always found a reason for it. Someone else to blame.
Quinn didn't know who she was. Who she was going to be.
But she knew exactly who she never wanted to become.
"I'm sorry," she said, words choking as they came from her throat.
Santana stiffened slightly. Her head didn't turn, but her eyes did, flitting from her back to Brittany before she muttered, "Clearly." After a moment, she sighed. "Fine. What are you sorry about?"
Brittany, mouth open and saying 'ahhhh' like Artie was checking her tonsils, waved at them both.
"For not understanding about you and Brittany."
Santana's head whipped around, dark eyes wide and startled, staring into Quinn's face with something that almost resembled the Santana that had been her friend. For one quick second, the fear was there, of being judged, of being ostracized, of Quinn for having the power to do exactly that.
Just as quickly, Santana caught herself and the expression hardened; went cold.
"Whatever," she said, eyes floating back to the van. "It's not like we're looking for your approval."
Not anymore, was the silent addition. Quinn's smile was bittersweet. "I know. But … I did things. I judged you. I tried to keep you apart." A muscle in Santana's jaw ticked. "I shouldn't of. I didn't understand-"
"You know why you didn't get it?" Santana suddenly turned, dark eyes piercing hers in an angry stare. "Why you never will?" She stepped forward, voice lowered, but firm. "Because in your life, you've never loved someone more than you love yourself. Every relationship you've ever had has been about using someone. Seeing what they can get you." Her eyes floated meaningfully at Quinn's stomach. "That's why you're never gonna have what we have, Quinn." She shrugged, and stepped away from her, dismissing her. "That's why you'll never get it. Let's go," she said, voice louder now. "It's getting late."
Frozen in place, Quinn couldn't move, only watch in numb shock as Brittany scrambled out of the van and reached for Santana's palm, linking pinkies as Kurt followed them down the street, towards the large, imposing house that belonged to Jesse St. James.
--
The sounds of a party in full swing sounded almost fake and hollow when they drifted from Artie's tiny monitor speakers.
Images from the tiny pin Santana wore were full of noise and the movements were jerky, but the group in the van stayed glued to the screen as if it were a soap opera during sweeps.
Quinn felt fat, bloated. Her palm smoothed in a circle over her belly, but her baby stayed quiet, refusing to offer any sort of comfort to her frayed senses.
Her vision went blurry, and Quinn sucked in her breath with a hiss, blinking back the tears valiantly, trying hard to stop them before they spilled over onto her cheeks.
Beside her, Mercedes shifted, leaning into her. "I can't believe they're actually inside! Did you see the look on Jesse's face? He so thinks he's getting laid!" Her excited smile faltered when she glanced at Quinn's expression. "Hey girl, you okay?"
Quinn felt her lip tremble. She bit down on it to stop it. "Do you think I'm a horrible person?"
Mercedes frowned, thrown by the question. "Why would you ask me something like that? You know I don't."
Quinn rolled her eyes, huffing in exasperation. "Not now," she sniffed. "Before. Before all… this." Her hand waved to her pregnant belly, her maternity clothes, her hair, down and soft.
"What does it matter?" she asked. "You're not her anymore."
"What if I am?" she asked, insistent, suddenly terrified. "What if I am that person, and this baby is the only thing that's … making me human?"
"Then you'd be like Darla from Angel," Tina said immediately. "She was a vampire and had no soul, and then she got pregnant and -" At their blank stares, she flushed. "Sorry." Her eyes widened at the screen. "Oh, my God! Did that guy just give Kurt a beer?!"
Mercedes launched forward, shoving Tina out of the way. "Don't drink it, Kurt! It might have roofies!"
Eyes shutting tightly, Quinn sucked in her breath, hands wrinkling in the fabric of her dress.
"Oh my God, you guys SHUT UP." Santana's hiss spewed over the speakers like venom. "Kurt, drink the damn beer. You look like you just farted."
"It tastes bad!"
"It's BEER!"
"It helps if you chug it," was Brittany's advice. "Here, I'll show you-"
"Chug it!" Artie chanted. "CHUG IT!"
"Do NOT chug it-" Santana's warning went ignored, and through blurry vision, Quinn saw both Brittany and Kurt tilting brimming frothy glasses into their mouths. "Goddammit."
Around them, a crowd of Vocal Adrenaline kids began to hoot and holler.
The noise seemed overwhelming. Mercedes, Tina and Artie pressed together, shoulder to shoulder to watch the monitor and behind them, Quinn felt suddenly suffocated.
She was too big, too fat, too helpless, too selfish, too lost…
Eyes stinging, unable to breathe, Quinn fumbled against the van, stumbling until she could fall into the front passenger seat.
The windows were fogged over, the air was chilly, but Quinn didn't care as she muffled her sobs, wiped hastily at her tears, quietly devastated.
"Keg stand!" some random kid yelled. "Let's go!"
Quinn's arms crossed, hugging herself tightly as she leaned back in the seat and listened without focus to the noise from the back of the van.
"I bet I can do a keg-stand in a splits."
"Brittany, not now-"
Her eyes drifted to the dark street, gaze lingering on the dark house, until a figure passed the van, heading towards it.
Quinn sighed, barely paid it any attention until she felt her heart seize and she did a double take.
"Oh, crap!" she snapped. "You guys!"
"Maybe Kurt should stop chugging beers."
"Did you see the guy that gave it to him?"
"YOU GUYS!" she shouted, swiveling in her seat and snapping her fingers. "What the HELL is Rachel Berry doing here?!"
The commentary between the trio stopped immediately. They stared at her, uncomprehending, until she pointed frantically to the street.
It finally sunk in. "Oh shit!" Mercedes hissed, scrambling to the front, nearly tripping over Artie's chair. "It's really her!"
"Um… Santana? I realize you've got your hands full trying to get Brittany off the keg, but we have a mayday. I repeat, a MAYDAY! Rachel is here!" Artie shoved his glasses up his nose. "I repeat, the DIVA IS HEADING FOR THE BUILDING."
"What the hell is Rachel doing here?!" Santana hissed.
Heart in her throat, Quinn watched as Rachel tentatively moved toward the house, then paused and took a step back.
"We need to teach this girl some self respect!" Mercedes snarled. "What the hell?!"
"Santana?!"
There was a flutter of noise, almost indistinguishable now that the music was blasting and the beer was beginning to flow.
"Okay," they finally heard, increased aggravation in Santana's voice. "Brittany has swallowed her molar mike, AGAIN. And apparently she invited her."
"What?!"
Rachel straightened, smoothed out her pleats, and began to head up the walk.
"… Rachel found out we were all going to a party tonight, and Brittany didn't want her to feel left out." Tina sighed loudly. "Look, I know, okay!? Just STOP her before someone recognizes her and RUINS EVERYTHING. NOW!"
Quinn fumbled for the door, snapping the lever and nearly falling out of the passenger side door. Jogging caused entirely too much baby bouncing, so she quickly began to speed walk, pivoting up the driveway and moving fast.
She reached out and slapped her hand over Rachel's mouth, jerking back just as the other girl had reached out towards the door bell.
She got there a second too late. The gong rang, loud and intrusive.
Rachel's shriek was muffled, but covering her mouth did nothing to stop Rachel's panicked assault. Tiny teeth jammed into her fingers, biting down hard. Quinn hissed, but kept her grip, dragging Rachel back down the porch stairs and to the side of the house, slamming her tightly against it.
Holding Rachel against her with as much strength as she could muster, she ignored the struggling. "It's Quinn!" she hissed into Rachel's ear. The furious fighting ceased immediately. Dark eyes, wide with panic, immediately narrowed as the gagged head turned in her direction. Quinn only held her tighter, keeping Rachel plastered against her as she tried to blend into the shadows. "Shut. Up."
Rachel was panting hard, still not quite over her fright, but for once, she obeyed.
Quinn's heart beat fast, almost too fast. Her baby, sensing the adrenaline, poked at her, thumping against the weight of Rachel, and Quinn swallowed, willing her to calm down.
Light flooded the porch as the door opened, and with it came the sounds of music, spilling onto the street.
Quinn swallowed, and squeezed Rachel tighter.
"Jesse?" Santana, voice sweet and syrupy, drifted out. "Who was it?"
"Some kid pranker, I think." Jesse. Quinn felt Rachel stiffen against her, and she closed her eyes, tilting forward, mouth brushing against her as she quietly whispered at Rachel to stop. "There's a ton of little brats on this street who know they'll never reach my level of talent and react out of bitterness. Let's go back inside."
A long moment later, the door shut.
Suddenly dizzy, Quinn fell into harsh pants, eyes fluttering with relief, forehead falling against the back of Rachel's head.
Fingers pulled at hers, ripping her hand away from Rachel's mouth. Quinn jerked her head up, realized suddenly how tightly she had been clutching Rachel when the girl swiveled away from her. Rachel eyed her with wet orbs and a lost expression that quickly drifted into mutinous anger.
"What is going on?" she said, voice a fierce tremble, as if she was almost afraid to find out.
Devoid of adrenaline, Quinn found she hardly had the strength to push herself off of Jesse's house. Helpless, heavy, she rubbed at her fluttering belly and glanced back towards the porch.
"Quinn."
"I'll tell you, okay?" she said quickly in a rush of impatience and exhaustion. "But first we have to get away from the house before anyone recognizes us. Rachel," Quinn said when Rachel shifted on her feet, ready to argue. "Seriously."
The other girl's expression was half hidden by shadow, but Quinn could sense the heat in Rachel's body, anger and stiffness that indicated confusion and betrayal and not much else.
"Just trust me," she said, and knew there was nothing more than a shared ice cream that afternoon that Rachel could use as collateral behind that.
When after a moment, Rachel gave the slightest of nods, Quinn felt her chest constrict with unshed emotion.
Gathering her strength, she shoved against the brick. "Come on."
--
CHAPTER THREE