SPOILERS FOR 3.07 - I just wrote this drabble quickly when I read the song spoilers for this episode!
Rachel stood at her locker, brushing her hair in repetitions of three. One. Two. Three. She tossed it over one shoulder and smiled proudly, unscrewing the top of her lipbalm and applying it, gazing at herself in the mirror hung on the door. She saw Quinn coming, and slammed the locker shut as Quinn's arm went around her shoulder forcefully and steered her, protesting weakly, into the choir room.
"You and I have to do something!" Quinn announced when they were alone, Brittany hot – or lukewarm - on the heels of the pair, as she followed Quinn at her own pace, ponytail swaying.
"What do you mean, do something?" Rachel asked, brightening considerably and smoothing her hair down once more.
"Brittany just told me those puckheads are harassing Santana!" Quinn exploded, arms flapping. Brittany nodded.
"Yesterday, I was changing Lord Tubbington's nicotine patch and I heard her crying in the bathroom." She added, dejectedly. Quinn blinked at her a couple of times before continuing her speech.
"Santana's out now. And we need to support her! We're a team, remember?"
"Why, what are they saying?" Rachel's good mood was deflating rapidly at the thought of a confrontation. A voice in the back of her head couldn't help but pipe up with a reminder of the Kurt/Karofsky debacle, which had proved that Finn was a lousy protector, and it had ended with the temporary loss of one of their most talented.
"Oh, the usual sexist, homophobic yarn. We need to help her." Quinn sighed. "So, what I propose is this: a musical number."
"For… Santana?" Rachel was incredulous, enunciating each syllable.
"Remember during Babygate, when you guys sang Lean On Me, and even though it gave me morning sickness urges in the middle of the afternoon, it was good at the same time?" Quinn battled a smile at the memory.
"Yes, and it was lovely, truly, but it's Santana we're talking about. She'll probably make some comment about how I belong in an orphanage for little ginger English kids and then walk out."
"That's why we should make it a public performance! Not necessarily to Santana. But for what we're fighting. You know when you guys had those purple pianos? People stopped and listened. And they learnt something… it's why I came back to Glee."
"I thought you came back to try and steal your baby back from Big Rachel," Brittany said aloud, tilting her head in confusion, while Rachel flinched.
"Well the point still stands!" Quinn said, her voice becoming higher and louder as she fixed Brittany with an icy glare. "This is bigger than that! Santana needs us. We're gonna show them they don't push the Glee Girls around."
"Brilliant." Brittany breathed, gazing at Quinn with wonder.
"But all of our assemblies end in sex riots… and the transfer of bodily fluids." Rachel stepped away from Brittany unconsciously, a hand flying to rake through her hair.
"That's why we're going to sing a song that nobody is gonna interrupt – that nobody will want to interrupted. Katy Perry. I Kissed A Girl." Quinn nodded decisively.
"Brilliant. Just. Brilliant." Brittany repeated. "I'll go get the others." She jogged off merrily.
"Shouldn't someone… chaperone her…?" Rachel asked, watching blonde curls bounce off into the distance anxiously.
"She'll be fine. San's in class for this period, so Britt can't spill."
Rachel smiled a little at the pet names that Quinn was so comfortable using, imagining herself as a "Rach" for a moment, then realising the situation at hand. She began looking apprehensive, and paced, thoughtful.
"What is your problem?" Quinn demanded before she could stop herself, the words spilling out harsher than intended.
"This song. I just… I don't think… is it really appropriate?" Rachel asked Quinn.
"More like is it going to damage your reputation? Or is it not in your range? Because if I can sing it – "
"No, it's not that, as if I care about my reputation… as if Katy Perry was out of my range! No, quite the opposite. I sing from the heart. How can I sing a song about kissing a girl and liking it when I've never felt that way?" Rachel implored, raising her eyebrows in indignation and folding her arms.
"Oh, for god's sake, stop acting like a child!" Quinn responded, flinching involuntarily at her own use of God's name. She approached Rachel gingerly, brown wedges clicking on the dusty floor of the choir room. Rachel shrank into herself, her eyes fixed upon the shoes that were drawing ever nearer, adamant not to look up until she could smell Quinn's perfume. As she dragged her eyes from the shoes to meet the taller girl's gaze, she couldn't help but remember the last time she had found herself staring at the same shoes.
Quinn had yelled at her then too, and she didn't really want to repeat the experience. Though, it did do wonders for her songwriting. Maybe this could help her write another song. She realised that she should probably say something, since they had been standing in silence for a fair few seconds now.
"Qu-" She was about to start a defence manoeuvre when Quinn's lips cut her off.
Quinn's kiss was angry and insistent and the surprise stole the breath from Rachel's lungs. Her mind filled with trivial things like the taste of Finn's kisses (chicken, generally, though he tried to avoid eating meat if he wanted to get past first base with her), and Blaine's stubble against her cheek and Puck's insistent seductive whispers and Jesse's cologne. Then Quinn was pulling away and stepping back and it was over too soon and Rachel closed the gap between them once more, her arms unfolding to grip Quinn's wrists, their breath mingling as Rachel kissed her, eyes fluttering shut.
This time all Rachel could think about was how Quinn (Quinn! She was kissing Quinn! She really hoped Miss Pillsbury had a pamphlet for this) tasted like mint and how her skin was soft against her fingers as they explored her arms and how she kept making little breathy noises as they broke apart. Quinn blinked, made a loud harrumph and left the room with a final click of brown wedges and Rachel sank into the nearest chair.