Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.
AN: This story is very AU. It's littered with several triggers. It rarely goes into explicit detail but, seriously, take care while reading. Please.
Chapter One
Quinn Fabray's knuckles are strikingly white as her grip tightens on the phone pressed to her ear, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. She's listening to words that aren't… surprising, but they definitely don't hurt any less because of that. As a result, she's pacing the length of her bedroom in order to keep her anger in check, just waiting for her mother to finish her completely unnecessary explanation.
"It just isn't a good time, Quinn," Judy Fabray tells her daughter, sounding distant and distracted - which is normal, Quinn thinks nastily. "Your father and I aren't even going to be in Hartford. It's just better that you not come home."
Quinn waits a beat, trying to keep herself from giving away just how hurt she is by taking a steadying breath. "Okay," she forces out, surprised by how even her voice sounds. Those breathing techniques actually seem to be working. Who knew?
"Okay."
Before Quinn can even get out her farewell, the line drops, and she's left with silence.
It's fine.
She's fine.
Everything is fine.
Despite what she tries to tell herself, she still throws her phone straight at the pillows of her bed in painful frustration, growling low in her throat in a vain attempt to stop herself from bursting into tears. No. Quinn Fabray is not going to break down over this. It isn't even anything new, and she refuses to give her parents the satisfaction of successfully affecting her.
Not today.
Not ever.
Quinn barely has a moment more to recover before there's a brief knock on her door. She doesn't even bother to make a move because the door immediately opens to reveal her best friend, Santana Lopez, who immediately moves into the room and commands the small space the only way a girl with a personality as large as hers possibly can.
"Good, you're dressed," Santana says, absently checking the time on her phone. "We don't have much time before we have to be in the dining hall."
Quinn frowns in confusion. "Good morning to you too, San," she says pointedly, to which Santana rolls her eyes. It's typical behaviour for them. "And, isn't it a little early for breakfast?"
"Well, yes, but also no."
Quinn waits, carefully moving to her closet to retrieve her red school tie.
"I know you said not to," Santana continues; "but I still filled in the form for you to run for Head Student, and you were approved as a candidate."
Quinn's head snaps towards her. "You did what?" she practically shrieks.
Santana looks suitably uncomfortable but she doesn't drop her gaze. She strongly believes she made the right decision, and she's going to stand by it. "Look, in my defense, I didn't do it for me, or for you."
"What on earth are you even talking about right now?"
"I did it for the school, Q," she says, as if that makes it all better. "I know I bitch about how much I hate this fucking place all the time, but we kind of owe it to them to make sure that bastard, Azimio Adams, doesn't win the election."
Quinn narrows her eyes. "Is he the only other one running?"
Santana shakes her head no, watching as Quinn expertly does the knot in her tie. She's always been a little jealous of the deftness of Quinn's fingers. The girl barely looks as she does the perfect knot.
"There's also the new girl," Santana says, blinking a few times to clear her thoughts. "Whatever her name is. She's been hell spent on flying under the radar until now, so the fact that she's running at all is totally weird." She hums in thought. "Or, she must recognise Adams for the tool he is, and she's taking one for the team too. At least you actually have a chance of winning."
Quinn can almost picture the girl Santana must be referring to, but the actual person evades her. Despite Quinn's obvious popularity, she doesn't really mix with other students. She's far too busy with her studies and extracurriculars to be friendly with anyone other than Santana Lopez.
Which, yes, is rather sad, and definitely wouldn't gain her father's approval.
"Whatever her reasons, it's doubtful she'll win," Santana says, somewhat dismissively. "Which is why we have to make sure that tool doesn't."
Quinn arches an eyebrow expectantly. "What do you have against him anyway?"
Santana shoots her a withering look. "Do you pay any attention to anything I tell you?"
"I try not to," she returns, somewhat coyly as she finishes with her tie and ensures it's perfectly in position. It has to be perfect.
She has to be perfect.
"It's just, well, hasn't it been years since that happened?"
"Q, seriously," Santana says on an exhale. "Believe me when I tell you the last thing you and I want is Azimio Adams having any control over this school."
Quinn presses her lips together, still unsure. She doesn't think she's the right person for the job of Head Student, whether she wants it or not. She's already too busy, and it wouldn't be fair to anyone if she were to take on even more responsibility and then fail at it. It's would break her if that were to happen. Failure is not an option.
"Tell me again why you're not running," Quinn says, checking her hair in the mirror on the inside of her closet door.
"Like anyone would vote for me," Santana mutters, and Quinn has to concede to that. Santana is 'likeable' on most days, but she's not personable or approachable enough to win any followers. "Please, Quinn."
Now, Quinn has known Santana for a long time, and the only time the Latina only ever asks for things is when she has no other choice. If she knows something about Azimio Adams, then Quinn is going to take her word for it.
"Okay," Quinn eventually says, doing her best to ignore the sudden shiver that runs through her body. "We'll run."
Santana smiles smugly, as if she knows Quinn was going to give in all along. "I'm your campaign manager, by the way."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I thought that was a given."
"So, did I."
Santana shakes her head. "Crazy bitch."
"Now, that's no way to talk to your future Head Student."
She rolls her eyes. "And… the power's already gone to your head."
Quinn's official campaign starts off slowly.
She and Santana almost fall into a routine, beginning with Quinn leaving her room early enough in the morning to station herself at the doors to the dining hall to welcome in all the students. She stays in position through the entire breakfast hour, chatting to everyone she can and trying to convince them to cast his or her vote in her favour. While she does that, Santana collects breakfast for her, which she's just able to consume before she has to be in homeroom.
From the response Quinn is getting, it's obvious to both girls that this ploy is working. Frankly, Quinn is enjoying being able to get to know the other students. They actually stop to talk to her, all of them pleasantly surprised to learn there's a actual, soft human being behind her seemingly cold, hard exterior. Coupled with the various campaign posters she and Santana have put up, everything is steadily progressing, effective and clearly going according to plan.
And, it's in that very position, stationed outside the dining hall, that Quinn Fabray officially meets one of her opponents.
It's a typical Wednesday morning when said opponent first shows up, choosing to stand on the other side of the main doors to the dining hall and attempting to do the exact same thing Quinn is doing.
The first thing Quinn thinks when she lays eyes on Rachel Berry is that she's tiny. Something about her just screams 'demure,' but she can't be sure what it is. Just, this girl is small and she should be protected. Quinn shakes her head the second the thought floats through her head, because what the hell.
This girl is her opponent.
She's the enemy.
But she's just so tiny.
"So, I see you weren't smart enough to come up with your own strategy," Quinn says the first morning, quirking an eyebrow in that way that's become synonymous with Quinn Fabray.
To her credit, Rachel fires back with a response immediately, not at all thrown off by the sheer presence of the other girl. "I don't see your name anywhere," she says, unable to keep the smile completely off her face.
Quinn can't help her own grin as she points to a poster on the wall just behind where Rachel is standing. "I assume you would have to be able to read to get into Dalton," she quips.
Rachel spins to look at the poster, flushing instantly at the sight of Quinn's name in big, bold letters. "Well, okay then," she says, turning back to look at Quinn. "You win this one, Miss Fabray, but we're just getting started."
"Should I be scared?"
"Deathly."
There's a flicker of light that dances in Quinn's eyes at the challenge. It's there for only a moment, but it's enough for Rachel Berry to stop and take notice. "I look forward to it," Quinn finds herself saying.
"Me, too," Rachel returns easily and, for the first time in such a long time, she finds she actually means it.
Quinn wouldn't go so far as to call it an outright war, but it is something of a battle.
She and Rachel arrive almost simultaneously every morning and attempt to outdo each other with the number of students with whom they engage. Even though Quinn would never admit to anyone – let alone herself – she actually finds herself starting to look forward to the morning hour she shares with Rachel. She enjoys the banter and the challenge, and Rachel Berry is the epitome of 'Challenge' to her.
It's all good, innocent fun, until it just isn't.
As the voting gets closer and closer, Santana gets more and more on edge. With the school paper, The Dalton Chronicle, claiming that Quinn and Rachel are both ahead of Azimio in the polls, Santana can't help voicing her concerns to her candidate.
"Why on earth are you worried?" Quinn asks her, as she laces up her running shoes in preparation for her late afternoon exercise session. "I would think this is a good thing, but forgive me if I'm mistaken."
"Don't get smart with me, Fabray," Santana grumbles, flopping down onto Quinn's bed. She lies back and covers her eyes with her left forearm. "Of course, I want us to be in the lead," she says. "It's just that Adams is probably, definitely, going to try to do something now that he knows he might not win."
Quinn sits up when her shoes are tightened and regards her best friend with careful, curious eyes. "What could he possibly do?" she asks. "As far as I know, he has nothing on me."
She says the words carefully, believing them to be true, but there's an irrational part of her that feels the fear. She has plenty of secrets she would much prepare remained behind lock and key.
At least until she's ready to set them free herself.
Santana moves her arm away and peers at her friend. "What about Berry?"
Quinn raises her eyebrows. "What about Rachel?" she asks tensely.
"Before you go into some noble tailspin there, just know that I went digging because it's part of my job as your campaign manager," she says, sitting up to meet Quinn's gaze. "I – I found some… stuff about her."
As curious as Quinn is, she knows she wouldn't feel right winning that way. She might actually be noble. "San, no," she says firmly. "We're going to win this the right way, okay? Adams can hit us with whatever he wants, but we're running this campaign the right way or we're not running it at all."
Santana rolls her eyes. "God, you're no fun."
Quinn chuckles. "So you've been telling me."
Santana rises to her feet. "It's just a random article anyway," she explains offhandedly. "I printed it out for you to look at if you want to, but you're definitely right. I doubt it's something Berry would want us to know."
Quinn clamps down on her sudden interest. She's trying to be a good person, but Santana isn't making it easy for her. "Maybe just burn it," she says.
That's it. Get rid of the temptation. If only that worked in real life.
Santana shakes her head. "Q, you do know that if I managed to find it; Adams probably has too, and he's not as kind as you are."
"I'm not kind," Quinn immediately says, which may or may not be true. "I just know what it's like to want things of my past to remain in my past."
Santana stares at her for a long moment. Sometimes, her blonde friend says things that give the Latina reasons to pause and pay attention. Quinn has never been the most open person about... anything, so Santana takes note of these moments that Quinn offers. "I'll see if I can keep a handle on it," Santana tells her.
"Thanks, San," she returns, giving her friend a grateful smile. "Are you joining me for a run?"
"Oh, God, no," she immediately says. "I wouldn't willingly subject my body to additional pain, and you know it."
Quinn shrugs. "Doesn't mean I won't keep offering. You'll join me one of these days."
"Whatever."
Quinn just laughs lightly as she retrieves her iPod from her docking station and follows Santana out of her room. Quinn is one of the lucky ones in their year with her own room. Through her generally perfect behaviour (much to Santana's horror), impeccable grades and apparent 'positive' attitude (God, Quinn laughed so hard when she heard that), her Floor's Matron made the decision to award her and two other students with their own rooms.
It's been both a blessing and a curse for Quinn.
Too easy to hide.
Much too easy to lose herself in the silence.
"The entire summer?"
Quinn's voice is laced with bubbling frustration and obvious strain. She's generally a calm person when she speaks to her parents, but her patience is wearing thin. They're getting to that stage of the semester where the pressure to perform is starting to sit heavily on her shoulders, and the stress is making her snappy.
"I'm afraid so," Judy says, sounding much calmer than her daughter. "It's pointless for you to come all the way to Washington, when you could just stay home and enjoy your summer vacation." She sounds entirely too sweet, and it makes Quinn feel sick. "Of course, we'll visit," Judy adds, almost as an afterthought. "There are a selection of events we'll have to attend."
Quinn clenches her jaw, shutting her eyes tight. "Make the necessary arrangements then," she says. "I'll just do whatever you say."
"Good girl."
Quinn resists the urge to growl as she bids her mother farewell, doing her best not to give in to the overwhelming heaviness in her chest. She focuses on her breathing until it steadies, and her grip loosens on her phone. "You're okay," she tells herself, speaking the words out loud, because the mental mantra seems to be failing. "You're going to be just fine."
When the tension seems to have dissipated in her body, she's able to set down her phone, which is a feat in itself, because she's been making a habit of throwing it against her pillows.
If only Dalton Academy offered some form of boxing. Quinn Fabray has an abundance of aggression to work out.
She's also insanely tense with unease about the campaign and Rachel and Azimio and how much she actually wants to win the election. She's been very careful not to allow herself to want things because she's suffered one too many disappointments in her life, and she's all too aware what they can do to her general psyche and overall mood. So, she does all she can to remain in control of nearly everything in her life, but even she knows this campaign is completely out of her hands.
And, she's about to receive another reminder.
Quinn can tell from the hard, quick knock on her bedroom door that the person behind it isn't Santana. It's someone else, and the panicked knocking makes her move slowly and cautiously to open it and reveal one Rachel Berry.
The first thing Quinn notices is how… attractive she is when she's angry.
And, she is.
Angry, Quinn means.
In fact, Rachel is positively fuming, but Quinn can't even bring herself to register that over the fire in her eyes and the way Quinn's stomach flips at the sight. What the hell?
Rachel shoves a yellow piece of paper against Quinn's chest, snapping the blonde to attention. "I thought you were a lot of things, Quinn Fabray," she says hotly; "but even this is beneath you."
Quinn's brow furrows in confusion as she traps the piece of paper against her body before it falls to the ground. "What are you talking about?" she asks.
"Of course, you would play dumb," she says sarcastically. "Just playing into the blonde stereotype, aren't you?"
Despite herself, Quinn flinches at the maliciousness in Rachel's tone. "I honestly have no idea what you're going on about," she says. "Did something happen?"
She stares hard at Quinn, looking straight through her. "That happened," she spits, poking Quinn hard where the piece of paper is still lodged against her sternum.
Quinn steps back at the force of Rachel's finger and, before she can get another word out, Rachel has stormed away, leaving Quinn confused and breathless. "What the hell?" she mutters under breath.
Simultaneously rubbing at her hurt flesh, she looks at the piece of paper and feels her heart drop right into her stomach. "Oh, fuck," she says, dropping the piece of paper and immediately rushing out to catch up with Rachel.
For a tiny person, she sure is quick on her feet, and Quinn has to break into a run to catch up to her. She doesn't even bother to call her name until she's within grabbing distance. As gently as she can, Quinn's fingers close around Rachel's shoulder and bring her to a stop in the corridor of their residence building, which is sufficiently full of students who are a little too interested in the confrontation they're certain they're about to witness.
"Rachel," Quinn breathes when the brunette spins to face her, tears in her eyes.
"What do you want, Quinn?" she asks, her voice trembling.
Quinn opens her mouth but the words are stuck in her throat.
"What could you possibly say, anyway?" she says, taking her shoulder back and wiping at her eyes and she tries to get a handle on herself. "Do you know what this is like? I came here to get away from all of that, and now everyone keeps looking at me like – like – " her voice catches on a sob, and Quinn feels it in the very depths of her dead heart. "What could you possibly say?"
"I'm sorry," Quinn says calmly. "I'm sorry this is happening to you; I am, but I didn't run this. I swear I didn't. You have to believe me."
Rachel blinks, unsure what to make of Quinn's tone of voice. "Why should I?"
"Because I don't need to use something like this to win," she says, being truthful.
Rachel recoils slightly. "So, what, you did it to be hurtful?"
"I didn't do it at all," she says through gritted teeth. It's all she can do not to give in to her emotions and yell at the girl in front of her. "Just, come to my room, okay? We can talk. I just – I don't want to make it any worse."
"How could it possibly get any worse?" Rachel asks tiredly, but she does follow when Quinn leads the way back to her bedroom.
For Quinn, everything suddenly feels heavy: her breaths and her footsteps. First, her mother tells her there's a strong chance she won't be seeing much of her parents at all over the summer, and now this.
The hits just keep on coming.
When they get to Quinn's room, the blonde ushers Rachel inside and gently closes the door. She takes a moment to gather herself, trying to stamp down on the flush in her cheeks and the rushing blood in her veins.
The two of them stand awkwardly, unable to look at each other, until Quinn breaks the silence and speaks. "Look, I'm not going to lie and say I didn't know there was possibly something to be used," she confesses; "but I swear I had nothing to do with any of this." She runs a hand over her hair, hiding her nerves and frustration in the simple action. Why does she want Rachel to understand so badly? "Winning like this is wrong, and I – I wouldn't want whatever happened in my past to come out this way. It's – it's not okay, and I'm sorry."
Rachel takes her time meeting Quinn's gaze. "It wasn't you?"
"It wasn't me."
"But you knew?"
She swallows audibly. "Not what it was exactly," she admits, shuddering as she recalls the content of the flyers. "Santana said she did some snooping, but we decided to bury it. I – she – we didn't – " she stops. "All I know is it wasn't us, Rachel. I didn't know what it was but, even then, girls don't do things like this to other girls."
Rachel is silent, looking smaller than Quinn has ever seen her. Since she met her, Rachel's personality has more than made up for her stature, and she's really larger than life. But, right now, she's quiet.
Rachel's not sure what to say, where to look or what to do. She was convinced she would be prepared for people to find out the real reason she transferred schools in the middle of her junior year of high school, but it was never supposed to come out this way. It was never supposed to be used to hurt her.
Rachel takes a tiny step back, deflating. She's never actually been in Quinn's room before, and she's a little bit mystified by how empty it is. It's insanely tidy, everything in its place, as if Quinn is determined to overcorrect this very aspect of her life.
Quinn regards her silence with a touch of apprehension, but she's just glad there are no more tears. She can't handle crying girls. It's probably the reason she and Santana get on so well; they're the same that way: painfully awkward when the tears start rolling down smooth cheeks.
Without giving it much more thought, Quinn scoops up her phone, quickly dials Santana, and barely lets the other girl answer before she speaks. "Come to my room. Now." She hangs up immediately, feeling that same irrepressible urge to hurl her phone across the room. She sets it down before she can do any damage and forces her breathing to stay calm.
"Why are you so determined to prove to me you had nothing to do with this?" Rachel suddenly asks, and Quinn snaps to attention.
In truth, the blonde can't say why she's so hell bent on having Rachel believe in her innocence. She hasn't cared about what people think of her this way before, and it's throwing her for a loop. "Because I didn't," she finally says, deciding.
"That's not really an answer," Rachel points out, turning her body to face Quinn fully. There's something about this mystery of a girl, and she's suddenly determined to know her.
Quinn takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "I don't know," she confesses quietly. "I just need you to know I didn't do this because that's not who I am. It's obvious you already think a lot of me, but I'm definitely not this. I wouldn't cheat like this; it's beneath me, especially as a Fabray, and I wouldn't stoop to such hurtful levels. I mean, why would I risk being disqualified from the race for something so – so – " she halts. "This is just so wrong on so many levels, Rachel. Nobody has the right to reveal something like this, and definitely not this way. You deserve better than this."
Rachel just stares at her for the longest time, even as Quinn tries to hide her panic at having revealed too much. Why did she say so many words? "You care, don't you?" Rachel asks softly, almost in wonder. "You care about me."
Quinn's eyes widen in alarm, suddenly wishing the ground could open up and swallow her whole. She just wants Rachel to stop looking at her like that. "I don't – no – that's – "
A quick knock at her door saves her from stumbling through more of a rushed explanation, and her bedroom door opens to let Santana slip into the room. "Cryptic bitch," Santana grumbles, and then freezes at the sight of Rachel. "What's this? Are we consorting with the enemy now?"
Quinn rolls her eyes, ignoring her questions. "Did you see the flyers?"
Santana raises her eyebrows in question. "What flyers?"
Quinn steps towards her door and bends to retrieve the yellow piece of paper from the carpet. "Somebody ran this," she says, handing it to Santana.
"Holy shit," Santana immediately says. "What a fucking asshole."
Quinn glances at Rachel, who looks slightly uncomfortable with Santana's cursing. "Adams?"
"Probably."
Quinn sighs. "Is there anything we can do?"
Santana presses her lips together. "There's little we can do," she eventually says. "The way I see it, Adams laid this out to make it look like we're the ones who did this to Berry, which is going to torpedo both our campaigns. We could get disqualified and Berry could lose votes."
Quinn bites at her bottom lip, visibly thinking, and both Santana and Rachel watch the action with unconcealed interest. "I think I have an idea," she eventually says, her eyes casting that flicker of light again. Rachel takes an unconscious step towards her, as if the spark of hazel is drawing her in. "It's going to involve a bluff and a possible meeting with Mr Schuester."
Santana nods without hesitation, willing to follow Quinn anywhere. For whatever reason, she's just sure the blonde won't lead her astray. "I'm in."
Quinn looks at Rachel. "For it to work, I need to know you believe me."
"I believe you, Quinn," she immediately says, and Quinn lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.
"Do you – do you trust me?"
Santana watches with critical eyes as Rachel straightens slightly, her head lifting, as if this question means so much more. "With this, I do," Rachel eventually says, which is all she's able to offer at the moment.
Quinn offers both girls a small, mischievous smile that makes Rachel's heart skip a telling beat and Santana's speed up. "So, this is the plan…"
"Do you think this will actually work?" Rachel whispers to Quinn as the two of them linger in the corridor outside their Headmaster's office. Santana is inside the reception with Brittany Pierce, Rachel's roommate and unofficial campaign manager, and they're attempting to make an appointment to meet with Headmaster Schuester.
Quinn meets Rachel's chestnut eyes, quietly taking in the way the brunette is vibrating. It's obvious to Quinn that she's been a little on edge, shifty and withdrawn. She can't even imagine what it must be like to have everyone know your business the way the school now does. "I think it will, yes," she says, trying to sound as confident as she can. "If it doesn't; we always have our backup plan."
Rachel just nods, involuntarily stepping closer to Quinn. There's just something about the other girl that makes her feel safe, as if Quinn is always going to be able to protect her, no matter the situation. Which, even she has to admit, is utterly ridiculous.
"There he is," Rachel suddenly says, and she puts out her hand for Quinn to shake.
Quinn rolls her eyes at the obvious display, but she's not going to miss out on an opportunity to touch Rachel… which is a thought that should disturb her to some degree, but she's too focused on the softness of the hand in hers and the role she has to play.
Azimio, predictably, comes to a stop when he sees them, his own fight or flight senses piquing when he realises his two opponents are conversing in front of Mr Schuester's office. "Uh, what are you two doing?"
Rachel Berry, ever the actress, fakes a startle and looks to the boy with her own confusion in her eyes. "Azimio, hi," she says. "We're just waiting for our meeting with Mr Scheuster. Maybe you'd like to join us, you know? It'd be a show of good spirit to have you in there when we inform him that Quinn and I are going to be running head to head from now on."
Azimio blinks in surprise. "Um, no," he says. "I'm in the race."
It's Quinn's turn to fake confusion, and Rachel is momentarily caught off guard by her acting skills. She's entirely too good at it. "Wait," she says, looking at Rachel. "He doesn't know, does he?"
"I don't know what?"
"I think you should tell him, Quinn," Rachel says. "We owe him that much after what we're about to do."
Azimio tenses. "What are you about to do?"
In a flash, Quinn's face drops all emotion and her eyes turn hard, catching both Rachel and Azimio off guard. "Quite the stunt you pulled with those flyers, hey, Adams," she says coldly, and both Rachel and Azimio feel the chill.
Azimio immediately goes on the defensive. "You can't prove it was me."
Until now, they've been working on the assumption it was Azimio, but this is the clarification they need. Rachel, suddenly feeling breathless, steps closer to Quinn, as if she can soak up something to make this entire thing easier.
"Or, can we…?" Quinn says, keeping her eyes on the boy, even as her hand rises to press her palm against the small of Rachel's back. She doesn't know why she does it, but it feels like the right thing to do in this moment.
Azimio huffs through his panic. "You're bluffing," he says.
"Maybe we are," Quinn says, shrugging. "It's not as if we have the name of the student who sent the document to the printers in the library something like one hundred times. No, none of that."
Rachel continues, gathering herself. "Quinn, isn't your Chemistry partner part of the Computer Club or something?"
Quinn cocks her head to the side. "He is, isn't he?" she says, smirking ever so slightly when Azimio visibly pales. "How convenient for us that he actually owes me a favour from that time he almost burnt off my eyebrows."
Rachel looks at her face, smiling slightly. "You would have looked hilarious without eyebrows."
"They're kind of my distinguishing feature."
"I can see why."
"Hey!" Azimio says, impatiently breaking into their banter. "That proves nothing!"
"Maybe not," Quinn says, sounding conversational. "But it does raise some questions, doesn't it? And, I mean, when we go into Mr Schuester's office and express our concerns as potential Head Students of this school, it's only fitting that he looks into it. I mean, why would we make up something like this?"
Rachel nods in agreement. "It's our duty," she says. "Publishing anything remotely like this about a fellow student – about anyone, really – is against the rules at this school, and I hear the punishment can be rather hefty."
"It can," Quinn agrees.
"If found out, that is," Rachel says. "I assume it would be entirely different circumstances if a student were actually to confess."
Quinn can't help but be a little mesmerised by her, so her next line comes after a lengthy silence. "But, then again, Adams doesn't think we can prove it, so what does it really matter anyway?" She looks at Azimio. "You shouldn't have any reason to worry – what are the chances Mr Schuester believes us anyway?" She looks at Rachel now. "We should just leave it, shouldn't we?"
Azimio is quick to agree, but Rachel is skeptical, thoroughly enjoying this back and forth. Azimio looks about ready to pass out. "I don't know, Quinn," she says. "I don't think people should be able to get away with stuff like this. It's not right. It's almost a hate crime, you know? We have to try. I mean, I would hate for another student to be subjected to something like this. We should be making an example and setting a precedence."
Quinn pretends to give it some thought, which is visibly agonising for Azimio. "I think you're right," she eventually says. "We've been waiting this entire time anyway, so we may as well. Nobody else should have to deal with what you have. We have to tell Mr Schuester."
"No, you can't!" Azimio rushes out, allowing his panic to show for the first time.
Quinn regards him carefully. "Is something wrong?" she asks, all innocence. "I thought you said we couldn't prove anything, so you have nothing to be worried about, right?"
Rachel borrows Quinn's cold look when her eyes land on Azimio. Normally, she wouldn't be one to enjoy another person's obvious turmoil, but this situation is different. This is the boy who took something so personal about her and used it in such an ugly way. She has zero sympathy for him. "It's no fun seeing your campaign slip through your fingers, is it?"
Azimio squares up to her, but Rachel doesn't shy away. Quinn's hand at her back merely gives her that bit more confidence. "What do you want?" Azimio asks.
"Oh, no," she says, shaking her head. "I want nothing from you. I've always been perfectly fine with talking to Mr Schuester. I think you'll find that I'm rather adept at handling administrations and bureaucracy." She almost smirks at the bewildered expression on his face. "This is going to be a lesson to others, and I've always been about educating the masses."
All Quinn can really do is watch her. Really, she's sure that Rachel didn't even need her here for any of this. She could run the show all by herself.
Rachel looks at Quinn, her eyes lighter and her shoulders less burdened. "Are you ready?"
Quinn nods. "I find I'm actually looking forward to having only one person to beat now."
Rachel rolls her eyes in response, turning to lead the way into their Headmaster's office, only to be met by Santana and Brittany coming back out. "Did you manage to get an appointment?" she asks them.
"All booked up until four o'clock," Santana informs them, loud enough for Azimio to overhear.
Rachel pouts, which may or may not be part of the script. "I suppose we can come back then, or even try for tomorrow," she suggests, which is part of the script.
"We made a booking for ten o'clock tomorrow, anyway," Brittany says.
Santana nods. "We'll see you both then," she says, her eyes lingering on Brittany.
Quinn sees it, but she isn't sure what to make of it because Rachel has her hand on Quinn's forearm now, drawing her attention. "All good?" Quinn asks.
Rachel nibbles at her bottom lip for a moment, trying to find the words. "All good," she finally says.
"We should get going," Quinn says, wishing for nothing more than to stay right here. Still, somehow, the four of them start walking away from Mr Schuester's office, and away from Azimio, who seems to be caught in two minds.
"Do you think it will work?" Brittany asks, echoing Rachel's original question as they round the corner.
"I suppose we'll find out in the morning," Quinn says. "If he doesn't confess before our meeting tomorrow, he'll definitely face expulsion. He knows that, so we're about to find out just how smart Mr Adams is."
Rachel's spent a few weeks getting to know Quinn Fabray, but the girl is constantly showing her something new every time they interact, and this time is no different. She has to pay attention and catalogue everything she can, even though she refuses to acknowledge the reason why.
When they're sufficiently far enough from Azimio, she tugs on Quinn's jersey to bring her to a stop, which halts all four of them. Santana and Brittany are locked in a quiet conversation ahead of Quinn and Rachel, but neither blonde or brunette is paying attention to the other pair.
"Thank you," Rachel says softly, suddenly unable to meet Quinn's eyes. "I don't even know what I would have done if…" she trails off. "Just, thank you."
"Of course, Rachel," she says kindly.
"We better get back," Rachel says, her voice rising in pitch. "My election isn't going to win itself, and I've got to make sure I pass the year to assume my position."
Quinn can't help her laughter, and it practically bubbles out of her, forcing smiles on all three of them. It's such a foreign, yet pleasant, sound, and Santana is suddenly equal parts jealous and encouraged by the fact that someone can elicit that reaction from her best friend.
"Go on, then," Quinn says. "It's obvious you're going to need all the help you can get."
Before she turns away, Rachel gives Quinn the softest look, her eyes shining with understanding. And then, just like that, she's gone, pulling Brittany along behind her.
All Santana and Quinn can do is watch them go, both of them feeling a little lost.
The next morning sees Headmaster Schuester call for an emergency student assembly during third period.
Just in time, really.
Every student files into the Great Hall in silence and assumes his or her seat. Nobody so much as breathes too loudly as William Schuester moves to stand at the podium on the stage in front of close to four hundred or so pairs of eyes.
Mr Schuester isn't one to beat around the bush, so he greets them curtly and cuts straight to the chase. "It's come to my attention that something very unjust has occurred within this school during the race for Head Student. I can assure you that action has been taken to rectify what's been done, and I can now tell you that we now have only two candidates." He ignores the sudden burst of murmuring. "From this moment, your democratic vote will fall to either, alphabetically named, Rachel Berry or Quinn Fabray."
There is an unquestionable, united gasp among the congregation. From where Quinn is sitting, she can just make out Rachel's profile. Her mouth is set in a thin line, her face completely expressionless. Despite that, Quinn can tell that her eyes are shining, which just makes Quinn think this entire ordeal must have affected her far more than she originally let on.
Mr Schuester continues. "This school has a very strong code of conduct and will not tolerate what I have now seen as bullying within the walls of this establishment. Consequences for such actions are detrimental to your school careers. I hope you all bear that in mind next time you even think about saying or doing anything hurtful to another student. Having said that, I wish our two candidates the best of luck. I'm sure this race will prove to be very interesting." He takes a breath. "You are dismissed."
And, it does end up being a very interesting race.
In fact, it turns out to be one of the closest elections Dalton Academy has ever witnessed, with both candidates splitting votes down the middle in the most recent polls. Voting is scheduled for one week before final exams are scheduled to commence, which Quinn is eternally grateful for. She would really like to get the election out of the way, so she can allow herself to focus fully on her studies.
In a few days, they'll take to the ballots, and then it will be over, and they can all go back to school life as normal.
Only, by now, Quinn should know better than to assume anything could go according to plan.
It happens on a Thursday while Quinn is at her locker exchanging her books for her next class. Jacob Ben Israel, a fellow junior working as a reporter for the school paper practically corners her by shoving a camera in her face and asking a question that changes… everything.
"How do you feel knowing your own camp is going to be voting for Rachel Berry?"
Quinn frowns, utterly perplexed. "What are you talking about?"
"We have your campaign manager, Santana Lopez, quoted as saying she is going to be voting for Rachel Berry in the upcoming Head Student elections. Care to comment on that?"
There's a moment where Quinn considers saying something… cruel. It's something she'll probably regret, and it definitely won't help with her standing in the polls. So, drawing on her Fabray charm, she offers the boy a polite smile and the most diplomatic response she can muster. "Each student is entitled to his or her own vote," she says. With that, she closes her locker, careful not to slam it. "If you'll excuse me; I have to get to class."
Quinn isn't sure how much truth there is to Jacob's questions until she gets to dinner in the dining hall later that night and finds Santana sitting with... Brittany and Rachel. It takes all the composure she can muster to fall into the food line without reacting. She expects the school wants to see a reaction from her, but she isn't going to give them the satisfaction.
Don't they know?
She's a politician's daughter.
That is all this is.
Politics.
It doesn't matter that she's utterly crushed inside.
Nobody will ever see.
Quinn greets students as she passes, and settles at the empty end of a table to eat her dinner. She's not particularly hungry but she forces herself to eat something. After the extended run she took that afternoon, she's going to need the calories, because she knows fainting isn't fun for anybody. When she's eaten all she can muster, she clears her plate and leaves the dining hall with the sole intention of sleeping away this horrible day... after she finishes her homework, of course.
It's when she hears Santana calling her name that Quinn's resolve weakens. The mask on her face is already slipping, and the last thing she wants to do is listen to whatever Santana has to say to her.
So, steeling herself, she just keeps walking.
It's futile, she knows, because Santana catches up easily enough and comes to a stop right in front of her.
"Quinn," Santana says. "Listen, I need - " she suddenly falters, and Quinn visibly bristles, her hackles rising in an attempt to protect herself.
"I don't have time for this, Santana," Quinn says, unable to look the Latina in the eye. "I have a lot of homework to do." She attempts to sidestep the girl, but Santana just blocks her path.
"Why won't you let me explain?" she questions.
"Because I don't need to hear anything you have to say," she says. "It doesn't matter to me. You're allowed to vote for whomever you want to."
"Quinn," Santana whispers. "It's not – you don't – " she stops, unable to get the words out. She absently reaches out to touch Quinn, but the blonde steps back, out of reach.
"Please, just stop," Quinn says, her voice strained as she tries to hold onto her emotions. "I don't even want to know what reason you're trying to come up with right now, because we both know the truth is you're actually a backstabbing bitch."
Santana closes her eyes, which is all Quinn needs to slip past her, only to be stopped by the other girl's hand closing around her wrist. Quinn is hit by a flashback that has her ripping her arm away in an instant, surprising them both.
"Q?" Santana asks, stunned.
Quinn shakes her head. "Don't," she says, her voice catching. "Just, don't. Please."
And, all Santana can do is watch her best friend walk away from her, warring with herself over whether it was worth it to pick one perfectly imperfect blonde over the other.