Title: First Name

Author: CobaltBlue94 (aka H.J. Lewis)

Rating: Probably pretty PG, there's really no violence and I don't think there's any strong language in here.

Summary: After Rachel is slushied by a group of jocks and cheerleaders, Quinn sets out to get revenge for her new 'kind of' friend. Rachel doesn't exactly approve of her tactics.

Timeframe: Definitely sometime between the S3 Sectionals performance and Yes/No.

Warnings: There's no Finn-bashing per se, I'm not a huge fan of character-bashing in general, but this is definitely not a pro-Finchel fic. It's all for the Faberrians! Probably won't be precisely canon either.

Author's Note: This is just going to be a progression of one-shots detailing moments of Quinn and Rachel's friendship (and maybe more later).

The day actually started out pretty normal, which was strange for Quinn these days, considering how her life had been going recently. Although, her mother had been particularly easy to live with and amazingly supportive of her decisions since she'd stopped being such a psychopath—a part of her still credited Rachel for showing her the light.

She smiled at the thought as she fixed her mascara in the mirror of the bathroom. Rachel. She wasn't quite sure if they were 'friends' friends yet, but she'd have been lying had she said that the pint-sized diva hadn't grown on her.

In a perfectly Twilight Zone-esque fashion, the aforementioned brunette burst into the bathroom. She was completely drenched in blue, green, and red slushies; her hair, face, top, skirt, and even her shoes were soggy with the icy corn syrup. Her eyes met Quinn in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, and she came to a sudden standstill, though her eyes seemed to continue shifting between anger, sorrow, and confusion.

Quinn, however, was just shocked. She knew that people were still throwing around slushies, but she'd had no idea that Rachel was still being hit so hard. She turned to face the soaked and sticky girl. "My God, Rachel," she breathed, looking the girl up and down. Her eyes connected with those brown orbs again, and this time she saw hostility and betrayal in them.

"Please, tell me. . . that you didn't have anything to do with th-this," Rachel pleaded as tears began to well in her eyes.

The blonde took a step back like she'd been slapped. "What? Of course I didn't!" Quinn took a few steps closer to the girl, and Rachel didn't back away. "Rachel, I haven't slushied anyone this year, especially not you. I don't even have the kind of power to make that happen anymore. Santana- but, Santana wouldn't either. Well, maybe to Finn, but. . .."

Quinn grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under the faucet before turning back to Rachel. She looked at the girl cautiously. "Can I. . .?"

Rachel nodded hesitantly, and Quinn stepped forward to wipe the melting slush from Rachel's face. There was a weighted silence between them for a few minutes as Quinn continued to clean slush from every part of Rachel that she could reach without making the girl uncomfortable.

On the other hand, she herself was very uncomfortable. She couldn't recall ever standing this close to Rachel Berry, and now that she was, Quinn could see more than she ever had before.

The Roman nose that had always seemed to everyone like such a downfall, was really just a strong and striking feature up close. It seemed almost. . . kissable. Whoa, hey! That is not something that friends think about other friends!, Quinn thought. But then her hazel eyes fell to Rachel's lips and she had to close her eyes and force her breathing to remain even, because they were just so. . . full and graceful, like the melodies that often fell from that mouth. Kissable, the thought echoed through her mind again. When Quinn's eyes fluttered open again, they looked directly into kind, soulful brown orbs.

Quinn cleared her throat and stepped away as soon as the last trace of slush was gone. "There's not much I can do about your hair, unless. . . I mean, if you want me to, I can wash it out in the sink," Quinn stumbled, cursing herself for the slip-up. "And. . . your, um, your clothes?"

"I have a change of clothes in my bag, and I can wash my hair out, but thank you," Rachel replied quickly. "It was very nice of you to help me."

Quinn leaned back against the sink, her mind swirling and making her dizzy. What had happened exactly? She couldn't remember there being any slushie attacks since school had started. Sure, there'd been a food fight in the cafeteria and she herself had flicked a cigarette butt on a kerosene-drenched purple piano and Santana had slapped Finn across the face—hard— but no slushies being thrown. And who the hell would dare to hit Rachel? New Directions were closer now than they'd ever been and even Santana herself would have slapped the smirk off the attackers face had she seen what had happened. Not to mention what Quinn was now planning to do to the bastard who'd done it.

"Rachel," Quinn began, having to clench her teeth to fight the fury that was running through her now. "Who did this to you?"

"Um…" Rachel wringed out her hair and Quinn retrieved a towel from her gym bag to help. "The first one was Azimio, and I think the other three were Cheerios, that Cassie girl and her two ditzy lemmings?"

And suddenly Quinn's hands stopped wringing Rachel's hair out with the towel and froze. Rachel quickly glanced over her shoulder. "Quinn?"

"Azimio and three cheerleaders did this to you?" Quinn hissed in a very feline-like manner. "So there was a grand total of four of them?"

"Y-yes," Rachel stuttered, slightly afraid of Quinn's wrath.

Noticing that she'd startled Rachel, and that the girl probably assumed her anger was directed at the brunette, Quinn reigned her face back to composure. "Don't be scared," she told Rachel, putting a hand on the diva's bare shoulder. "I'm not mad at you, Rach."

Rachel's jaw dropped and her eyes widened all of a sudden, a perfect look of genuine surprise.

"What?" Quinn asked cautiously, eyeing the girl.

"You called me 'Rach'," the girl stated.

"You don't like it when people call you that? Because I assumed with Finn and Kurt that—"

"No, Quinn, it's fine. It's just. . . you called me by my preferred nickname, a-and that's never happened before," Rachel cut in calmingly. She touched Quinn's arm cautiously, waiting for Quinn to pull away but she didn't.

Quinn's eyebrows drew together in perturbation. "Then maybe it should happen more often now," the blonde replied casually, turning to wash her hands in the red-stained sink.

. . . . .

Quinn watched her mother flit about their kitchen quickly and gracefully, like she'd been born to cook or something. She could remember watching her grandmother act the same way when she was young, and she was somewhat mesmerized by the poise that the Quinn women could exude. It made her wonder if she would have that same self-assured manner someday.

Things had been easier since her mother had left her father and vice versa. Their new house was smaller, but it had an open and spacious environment and a cozy atmosphere. Three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a quaint antique fireplace and just the two of them living there. It felt more like home than Quinn could ever remember her father's family manor feeling.

The blonde had become accustomed to her mother's bigotry and holier-than-thou ways growing up, but without the enforcement of her father, Quinn had discovered a whole new side to her mother. Behind the imposing figure that had been Russell Fabray, was a more open-minded and accepting Judy Quinn Fabray; a woman that her daughter could overtly respect and admire and idolize, a woman Quinn could relate to on a closer level.

Even when Quinn had come home one night, her hair dyed pink and piercings marring her lovely complexion, Judy had held her temper and they had talked about it reasonably. Silently, the two had agreed that 'this too shall pass' and gone on living their lives – but Quinn had to keep her grades within average and wasn't allowed to wear her lip or tongue piercings to their nightly dinners, because it honestly grossed Judy out.

"You're quiet tonight, sweetheart," the older blonde observed. "Did your day not go well?"

Quinn shrugged noncommittally. "It was. . . school," she finished lamely. "I went, I learned, I suffered through." She smirked at her mother, "You know, the usual."

Judy shared a knowing look with her daughter. "Well, something is obviously weighing on your mind, Quinnie, but I suppose I'll let it alone and let you 'suffer through'."

Her mother had turned back to the stove before Quinn slowly asked, "Mom, . . . have you ever. . . felt a connection with someone? Someone that. . . you know you shouldn't feel connected to?"

Ms. Quinn fixed her daughter with a very serious stare. "Is this about those girls you were socializing with? Or a boy? Oh, please don't let it be another boy, Quinn-"

"No! Mom!" she yelled, mostly to regain her mother's panicked attention. "It's. . . it's not about a boy. . ." She looked up at her mother, silently praying to a God that was probably preparing her place Hell as they spoke, that her mom would just take the hint and they could get it over with. The older woman would kick her out and that would be that, it wasn't exactly like she wasn't capable of taking care of herself.

Realization overtook Judy's face and Quinn braced herself for the torrent that was sure to come; for the lectures and the bible recitations and the calling of Reverend Baxter to perform an exorcism. Out of the many scenarios Quinn's mind had developed over time, the reaction she got from her mother was not even close to what she expected.

Because her mother smiled, and not a finally-snapped psycho smile, but a real genuine – perhaps even proud – smile.

"Oh, sweetheart, how long have you been feeling this way?" the mother asked sympathetically.

Quinn shrugged again, not really wanting to admit (even to herself) that she had felt the connection since she'd known the person. "Awhile," she replied evenly. Her gaze finally lifted again to her mother's face, "You're not mad? Or, like, planning an exorcism or intervention or anything?"

Judy laughed as if this were the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard, and Quinn had to admit to herself that it was pretty far-fetched. Even for her.

"Darling, you've always been a bit. . . unorthodox, at best," Judy stated plainly, "you've always learned things for yourself – trial and error, in order to discover what's best for you. But I'm your mother, and maybe I haven't given you reason to trust me in the past, but how could I ever be angry at you for being honest with me? And with yourself?" A devilish grin came over Judy's face, "So does she feel this way too?"

Quinn looked down and began angrily picking at her nails. "She's already with someone, she's. . .." Quinn sighed. "It doesn't really matter."

Judy reached across the table and lifted her daughter's chin. "Darling, of course it matters."

. . . . .

The day after her moment with Quinn in the bathroom, Rachel was standing at her locker and talking with Kurt. Their topic of that morning involved planning a trip to the mall that Saturday for a complete revamp of Rachel's wardrobe, which was greatly needed; especially after Kurt had secretly persuaded her fathers into letting him go through her closet and toss anything that wasn't fashionable or held emotional value to Rachel. Not that her dads had really needed to be put up to it. All three of them had been itching to throw away several hideous outfits for years.

". . . and we'll be doing a lot of walking around the NYADA campus, if not New York itself, so you're going to have to have at least a few pairs of jeans. The skirts and tights just won't do for a Manhattan winter," the boy went on, strategizing their list of apparel needs. "Besides, denim is making a huge comeback and it goes with virtually anything, so. . ."

The rest of his sentence, however, was lost to Rachel as she looked around the hallway just in time to see Cheerio Cassie and her sidekicks open their lockers synchronically, and have icy corn syrup fall onto them. They shrieked as their Cheerios uniforms began to stain with red, blue, and purple slushy.

Rachel glanced around her, just to make sure that everyone else in the hallway was witnessing the same thing and she wasn't just wishfully hallucinating. Then she caught sight of a head of short blonde hair, mischievous hazel eyes, and a satisfied smirk. Quinn nodded once to herself before starting down the hallway, her books clutched tightly to her chest.

The former HBIC paused briefly to regard the three livid and shivering girls with mock-sympathy. "Wow, guys, that must really suck," Quinn voiced, like she was truly horrified. Her voice turned mysterious and cool as she added, "You'll want to be more careful who you piss off from now on." Then, as if nothing had ever happened, the blonde continued down the corridor as the bell rang for first period.

. . . . .

That might have been the first incident of karma that Rachel's recent attackers faced, but it wasn't the last.

Rachel had walked into Pre-Calc, a class she shared with Tina, Mike, Mercedes, Quinn, Santana, and Brittany, and she was about to take a seat near the back, since someone else was sitting in hers, when Quinn grabbed her wrist and pulled Rachel into the vacant seat beside her.

"Hey," she said warmly, her face flushing just the slightest bit. "I know you've been sitting by yourself since your disagreement with Mercedes, but I thought you might like to sit with me today."

Taken aback, it was all Rachel could do to stutter out an, "O-okay. Sure."

As the rest of the class filed in, Rachel's mind began wandering to the blonde girl sitting next to her, and she had too many questions to contain. She looked over at Quinn to find the girl's hazel eyes staring right back, so Rachel blushed and ducked her head but kept her eyes on Quinn's gaze. "W-what?" she stammered nervously, noticing that the teacher had started the lesson.

Quinn gave her a soft, reassuring smile. "You don't have to be so nervous, you know," the blonde mumbled quietly, her hushed voice much more confident than the redness in her cheeks would imply. "We're 'kind of' friends, remember?" She took the hand that rested in Rachel's lap under the table and squeezed it, her gaze never leaving the brown eyes of her new 'friend'.

"I have a question," Rachel blurted suddenly, her voice nearly inaudible. Her first panicked impulse was to withdraw her hand from Quinn's grasp, but instead she squeezed the fair-haired girl's fingers to stop her own from shaking.

An amused but encouraging, radiant smile tugged at the corners of Quinn's rose petal lips. "Of course you do," she replied with a low chuckle. "What's your question?"

Before Rachel could do more than open her mouth and take a breath, the large figure of Azimio appeared in the doorway and the teacher stopped his lecture to say, "Ah. Mr. Adams, it's nice of you to grace us with your presence. What kept you from getting to my classroom on time today?"

Azimio didn't reply, but grumbled something unintelligible and slouched to his usual seat.

Rachel was about to return to her previous conversation with Quinn, but a loud clang followed by a deafening BOOM sounded, and everyone turned to see Azimio Adams sprawled on the floor with his chair in several pieces. Many of the students (especially Santana) laughed and snickered, and even Quinn had to hide and burst of laughter behind her hand. Azimio, looked around with a helpless and embarrassed look, and Rachel decided she had had enough.

"Knock it off!" she snapped at the class, standing abruptly from her chair. She walked over to Azimio and offered her hand out to help him up. As he accepted it, and she assisted in pulling him back to his feet, her steely gaze turned on the class again. "It's always funny when it isn't you, isn't it?" she growled out at them. "It's always funny when it's someone else, it's funny until you're that someone else, then it's not so funny anymore."

She looked disdainfully around, meeting the gazes of the students in the class, pausing on Santana before finally allowing her stare to linger on Quinn. "You know, I thought we had all grown up a little bit in the past four years. I thought we had matured, gotten over our differences and our egos, grudgingly decided to ignore those of our classmates who we don't particularly like." Rachel's eyes bore into Quinn's. "I thought we had learned to get along, but apparently I was wrong."

Rachel then slung her bag over her shoulder, picked her books back up off the desk, and walked to the front of them room. She paused long enough to regard their teacher, "I'm very sorry for my outburst, Mr. Clendening. If you could e-mail me the notes from today's lesson, I would greatly appreciate that. I think I'll be spending the rest of the period in the library, if that's alright." She, however, did not wait for his response nor his permission as she silently exited the class.

Quinn bolted up from her seat and gathered her things, tossing a quick, "Sorry, Mr. Clendening, I'll get the notes from someone and have the homework done next class," over her shoulder before sprinting off after Rachel.

. . . . .

It was lucky for Quinn that she hadn't been out of the Cheerios so long that she was unaccustomed to running, because man alive! For a girl with such short legs, Rachel could move awfully fast without even needed to run. Quinn was quickly running out of breath before she turned a corner to find Rachel walking away from her.

"Rachel," she called after the brunette. "Rachel, wait! Rach!"

At the sound of her nickname, the brunette spun on her heel and glared at Quinn harshly. "DON'T!" she screamed, pointing her finger accusingly at Quinn as her footsteps carried her toward the blonde. When she was directly in front of a very shocked former-head Cheerio she hissed, "You don't get to pulled a stunt like that, after years of ridiculing and doing things just like that to me, and then call me by my first name. You just don't, Fabray."

"Rachel, I," Quinn faltered, "I was trying to show Azimio and Cassie and those other bimbos that I wouldn't let them mess with you. I was trying to show you that I wouldn't let them mess with you! I was trying to defend you!"

"Well, I never asked you to defend me!" Rachel yelled loudly to Quinn's face. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have done like that," the brunette said in a quieter, defeated tone. She turned her brown head down so that her hair curtained her face. "I don't even know what would possess you to want to defend me in the first place."

When Quinn stopped to think about it, she had to admit that it really was a pretty stupid idea. She had tried to defend Rachel in the same way that she had attacked Rachel all these years, so of course the tiny brunette wouldn't have wanted to get revenge that way. I should have just blacked out their windshields with glass paint, let the air out of their tires, and covered their cars in corn syrup, Quinn thought in retrospect. Next time.

Rachel sighed heavily and went to sit on a bench in the hallway, and Quinn sighed and followed her. She reached out her hand and left it sitting palm-up on her knee closest to Rachel.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Quinn told her earnestly. "I didn't think. I guess that's kind of my issue, I just. . . I don't think. When I feel threatened, all I do is act, it's what I've always done."

The brunette turned her eyes on Quinn. "What was your excuse for me?" she asked in a guarded, still-hostile tone.

"The same," the blonde replied simply.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow, and Quinn almost smiled at the thought of where her brunette friend could have possibly picked up that mannerism. "You felt threatened even by me?" she asked dubiously.

Quinn sighed again and shook her head to clear it, picking up her 'kind of' friend's hand. "Rachel, I felt threatened especially by you," Quinn admitted finally. Her eyes scanned the smaller girl and another coy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I mean, you're intelligent, you're not afraid to be exactly who you are, you don't let anyone tell you what you can or can't do, you've got the voice of an angel, and you're an truly incredible actress. Rach, you're talented and you're bright and you're destined to make it out of this loser-town and into the lights of a Broadway stage. You had everything going for you, you have everything going for you. And I was so jealous."

"So what changed?" Rachel questioned more passively.

"You changed me," Quinn confessed honestly. At Rachel's lost expression, she added, "After everything I'd done to you, even when everyone else had given up on me. . . you didn't, Rachel. You came to me and you tried to bring me back, you. . . believed in me, and you stopped me from doing something I would regret the last time I acted without thinking." Offhandedly she added, "You kind of saved me from myself."

Rachel sighed and shook her head, bring her free hand up to run her fingers through her hair. "Look, I'm not condoning what you did to Azimio and those Cheerios," she began hesitantly, "but I'm grateful that you wanted to stand up for me, instead of standing against me. I'm really honored to be someone that you care enough about to do something like that, even if it wasn't exactly the right way to go about it." Rachel stood up and looked down to where Quinn remained seated.

"So. . ." Quinn began hopefully, "does this mean we're still friends?"

The diva smirked down at her. "Kind of," Rachel repeated ironically. She reached out her hand to Quinn, and pulled her to her feet when the blonde accepted it.

The two began walking down the hallway together, both of their respective arms around their books, but they walked close to one another. Quinn brushed her shoulder against Rachel's and Rachel bumped Quinn to the side with hers.

"So," the blonde began again, "were you serious about not wanting me to call you 'Rach'?"

Rachel looked sideways at her and shrugging noncommittally. "Well, it would be weird if you suddenly started calling me 'Berry' and 'Manhands' again," she reasoned.

"So I can call you 'Rachel'?" the blonde pressed, tone nearing impatient.

"My first name would be fine, Quinn," the tiny girl answered with a laugh. "And you can call me 'Rach' any time you like."

"Rachel."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," the blonde replied, shifting her books to one side so she could wrap her arm around her friend's shoulders. "I was just practicing using your first name. I have a feeling I'll be saying it a lot."

So I'm not particularly thrilled with the ending, but I think it brings it to a decent close and hopefully I'll get better at my end-scenes. Thanks for reading and I encourage you to hit that review button. Reviews= Love. Love= More chapters.