Author's Note: I ship these two, that's right. Yeah. I didn't think there was much of a fan base but man. I was wrong.
This is third season stuff, but at some point when Mercedes is still in the group because she is one of their best vocalists outside of Leah Michelle's amazing (if not slightly melodramatic) musical-theatre voice and maybe Artie just because of his soulful, sweet boy-charm. Sorry, Kurt. You get no love from me.
Without further ado…
Staggered rows of plastic chairs and discolored ivory tile. That's home to Quinn. She would never admit it, but that was just her. For the past few years now she'd found comfort and solace in the fact that she was surrounded here by outcasts. No one in the club could say that more genuinely. The difference was that they were all more comfortable with their exile. Quinn was far less accepting of her position. Slowly, though, she was settling into the concept of being a member of a team. She was feeling less and less as though she needed to be the star. Especially since she quite enjoyed watching the star of this particular team shine. As of late, though, it had started to feel more like a prison, and that was just not something she could tolerate.
Quinn had long since given up repairing the damage to her relationship with Finn. It was beyond help now, and to be honest it was the last remnants of the old her. The one that wasn't accepting of anything outside what society had deemed 'the norm'. Trying to hold so desperately to the ideal had worn her down. She wasn't sure when the change had occurred, but somewhere between all the arguments, the snarky comments, and the teasing she'd discovered an ever present sense of jealousy. Not for Finn, but for the object of his affections. Rachel. She was sure it had something to do with the inescapable fact that Rachel would never truly be hers. Quinn was sure a majority of the affection she felt for the girl was as unfeasible as it was wildly inappropriate. There was no way she could have Rachel for her own. This thought propelled her to try her very hardest to work against that logic. Years of striving for perfection had given Quinn the will and resources to attain anything she wanted, or ruin herself trying.
"So, guys…regionals," Will Schuester beamed around at his little arsenal of misfits. The mound of sheet music he dropped hit the piano with a clap, waking Brad from one of his frequent little naps, and the club gave a little collective whoop and holler of excitement. "One duet, one solo performance, and one group number."
"We'll be holding auditions, right Mr. Schue?" Mercedes cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips at Rachel, who was leaning forward a little bit in her chair, fully prepared to leap up and offer her immensely gifted (if not mildly overused) voice for the solo and duet.
"That's right. And we're doing it a little differently this time. I know curveballs are your guys' favorites!" There was a resounding silence from his audience. "Oh, come on. A little enthusiasm would be good, guys."
"What's the curveball?" Artie asked, quirking an eyebrow in suspicion.
"Duh, Artie, it's a ball that's like…curved. Like round," Brittney offered with a hair flip and an eye roll. Mike couldn't help it, he turned to stare at her.
"Your naivety is still amazing," he told her earnestly.
"What? Like…not all balls are round, okay. Like footballs. They're sort of shaped like that kid from Hey, Arnold's head but everyone still calls them balls."
And if they were being honest with themselves, every single member of Glee club tried desperately to argue that logic. No one could come up with anything.
"So. Balls aside. Your assignments. This week I'll be putting you into groups—" as if on cue, several of the group members reached for their partner. Mercedes and Kurt, Rachel and Finn, Mike and Tina. "—That I chose. Because yes, I am still an educator and that means I have to be cruel to you guys sometimes when it comes to groups. Your groups will consist of people with contrasting voices. Your assignment is to pick a song that compliments your voice."
"Kurt and…Santana, pair up."
Kurt's eyes went wide. "Satan."
Santana just smirked devilishly.
"Finn and Mercedes," Shuester pointed at the two individually. Finn reached behind to give Mercedes a high five. She met him half way with her casual but always-sassy fist-bump.
"Quinn and Rachel."
Everyone in the club turned to stare. Even Rachel looked a little nervous. Quinn refused to make eye contact with her, just glanced at her out of her peripherals and flashed her a smile, toying with the ends of her hair in a way that she hoped wasn't too obvious. Santana tapped the back of her chair with her foot.
"What?" she hissed.
"We needs to talk," Santana told her sternly. She wasn't at all quiet about it, and Quinn shot her such a poisonous look she immediately backed up.
Quinn and Santana were standing beside Quinn's locker. Santana had cornered her there, arms crossed and her most business-like look.
"So. You and Berry…" Santana tried to sound flippant. She knew to tread carefully here.
"Working on a song," Quinn finished for her, tone slightly clipped.
"Yeah, and what was that look you gave her?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Quinn slammed her locker door shut with some force, but Santana either didn't notice the hint or didn't bother to take it.
"Babe, you're talking to the queen of eye-sexing," Santana smirked devilishly.
"I think you're imagining things."
"Calm down, Q. Tell Momma Santana what's goin' on."
"I…don't know."
"Oh, come on," Santana gave an exasperated sigh, all but collapsing against the lockers. "Don't give me that."
"No, I mean I literally don't know," Quinn hissed, her voice lower this time. Santana sensed a need for secrecy and took the opportunity to hook her fearless leader around the elbow and lead her away down the hall and out the double doors to the back of the football field. Much of their scheming had gone on here, as well as a few of Santana's more trilling acts of teen rebellion.
"So when did you realize you'd hopped on the lesbian bus?" Santana asked casually.
"I don't know. I just remember looking at her and thinking…"
"That you would totally do her and she's a little boyish but not exactly Puck or Finn status?"
"That she was exactly what I wanted," Quinn corrected, trying not to lose her patience. Santana's obsession with physical satisfaction was starting to grind on her nerves. She couldn't tell if Santana was taking this seriously nor not and she needed her to, if she was going to put Quinn through the trouble of explaining.
"She's perfect. Literally perfect."
"Let's not get carried away. She did steal your boy. Like…a few different times."
"And I was angry with her," Quinn admitted. "But I don't think it was for the reason I thought."
"Hm. Makes sense," Actually it made no sense at all to Santana, but she nodded anyways. There were more important things to worry about than the why's and the how's of Quinn's newly discovered affections. The more important question was 'what now?'. "So what are you going to do about it? Rachel and Finn are pretty steady about now. And then there's the fact that Berry is about as sexual as like…Big Bird. So how are you going to get her from hardcore virgin to sex-kitten lesbian?"
"I can handle Rachel."
"And Finn?"
"He can only put up so much of a fight. He knows I always get what I want." The look in Quinn's eyes was one of pure determination. She was on a warpath, more or less. The kind of warpath that made even Santana wary.
