A/N: I stopped watching Glee in S2, so this is canon-ok up through S1 pretty much. But future fic, which is secretly code for canonically-possible-AU, so.
When they're 25, they run into each other on the street because sometimes, Manhattan is that small; they run through the full gamut of small talk oh hey where you been how are you you gone back to visit lima yet i heard so-and-so is married, but it all feels a little stilted and clearly the best way to rectify that is to get drinks (plural, which then becomes drunk, as in state-of-being). It's when Mercedes is pushing Tina up the stairs to her third-floor walk up (stairs are so hard right now, mercedes, stop it, tina slurs, and mercedes has one hand on her back and the other on the railing and lord, stairs do feel incredibly impossible right now) that Tina gasps and turns around, her hair flying in Mercedes' face, with that crazed look in her eye - like the kind that told them that tequila shots were a good idea an hour ago - and says, "We should start a band!"
"Tina, get your ass up the damn stairs before we both fall and die," she says, but Tina doesn't move, just shifts back and forth on her feet, repeating the word band over and over again.
"You are a cruel, cruel person, Mercedes. Think of what we could do...together!"
This, Mercedes thinks, is what too much Broadway does to a person.
They trip across her threshold and land on her living room floor, managing to just close and lock the door and get their shoes off. Her head hits the floor a little harder than she intends to, but Tina just plops down right next to her.
"A band?" she asks.
"Yeah, come on! We could do, like, angry girl retro-sounding '60s girl-group callbacks."
Mercedes closes her eyes, laughing. "Those are words, Tina, but what the hell does that mean?"
Tina shimmies her shoulders with a laugh. "The Shirelles, Mercedes! Supremes! The Platters!"
"The Platters were dudes."
The room is spinning a little too quickly for them to have this conversation right now. Tina just rolls onto her side and pokes her in the arm. "We could rock some beehives," she says. Mercedes just shakes her head.
"Girl, that would not be a good look for either of us."
"Please?"
Mercedes tries to think about how she hasn't seen Tina in years, how they fell out of touch since high school, but this - this feels familiar in a good way. Tina just tilts her chin down, widening her eyes, when she starts to sing.
"Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, my mama said..."
She can't help but burst into laughter.
"Angry '60s girl group music?"
Tina nods. "Mhmm. Angry '60s girl group music."
Mercedes closes her eyes. "You haven't changed at all." Tina just throws an arm around her shoulders, giving her a light squeeze.
"The B-Sides with the beehives," she says.
In the morning, Mercedes thinks, this hangover is going to suck.
The B-Sides (without the beehives) is a thing for a little while.
They sing their favorite songs, make a mix CD, and altogether, Mercedes remembers how much she misses this - singing with other people, performing. They go out every few weekends, just for fun, and they end up with a very, very small following in the shady clubs on the Lower East Side.
Mercedes asks her once what they're really doing with their lives.
And in true fashion, Tina just grins and says, "Stickin' it to the man."