Author's Note: Hi, guys! So this is the second part and the whole ensemble is back together. This part only follows two important details of the last two episodes and practically ignored the rest—Santana came out and she, Mercedes, Sugar, and Brittany are now in New Directions. Sectionals hasn't happened yet, Rachel was never—and will never be—suspended, and Sam isn't back yet. There are a few more parts to come. And sorry for such a late update, I've been cleaning around my fics and I've been really busy. Big thanks to Miko Akako. Also, thanks so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. I sincerely apologize that I don't respond to your reviews one by one, though. Real life has been such a pain, but your reviews always bring a smile to my face when I read them. So can I hug you all through the computer screen?
Of Inconsistencies and Continuities
Part II
"Hi, Mrs. Hudson-Hummel, can I speak to Finn Hudson, please? This is Quinn Fabray, his friend. I know. It's been long time since I last talked to you, too," Serial Killer Quinn said through the speaker of her cell phone, twirling her pendant between her thumb and middle finger as she ambled around the floor. "He's seriously ill? Oh, I see. So he can't make it at school today? Oh no. That's too bad. Oh, okay. Can you kindly just tell him then to get ready with the song choices for Sectionals? Okay. Thanks. Well, I hope he'll get better soon. Give Finn my best regards, then. Okay. Thank you again. Bye."
With a click, Serial Killer Quinn hummed a tune that sounded like "Keep Holding On" as she glanced at the list of numbers she had called before the boy. Everything was going according to her plan. And with that, she tapped her cell phone on her lips, a smirk threatening to come out when she walked over to her space.
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn blew out a trail of smog. "So the lumbering idiot is sick."
"Why the hell are you calling him anyway?" Dork Quinn, who was sitting Indian style on the floor, directed the question to Serial Killer Quinn, looking up from her 3DS with her stylus in her right hand.
"Sectionals is coming up. I want us to win." Serial Killer Quinn pocketed the portable device in her blue pinstripe babydoll dress before vaulting herself up to the operating table and crossing a leg over her left thigh.
"Okay…? Then how can you explain the guys all of a sudden, and it just so happens that some of them are sick?" Dork Quinn asked, lowering the volume of the game console, fixating more on Serial Killer Quinn than the game itself.
Serial Killer Quinn raised an eyebrow. "And why the third degree?"
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn stubbed out the cigarette on the floor with the bottom of her combat boot after she had hopped off the window sill where she had been sitting. "Something tells me you're up to no good."
"Now why would you ever think that?" Serial Killer Quinn asked, embodying an ingénue, complete with innocent eyes and an unoffending pitch in her utterance.
Lion Quinn even had to quirk an eyebrow towards her after she had uncurled herself from her light, peaceful slumber on her rock. "Lion Quinn thinks you did something to them, too."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't kill them, if that's what you're implying."
Dork Quinn tapped the stylus before she decided standing up and leaving her unsaved Legend of Zelda game on the floor. She went to her computer which was in the utmost left corner of the room to review the latest routes Serial Quinn had taken last Friday night after she had left the Berry house last night before she had arrived—and in turn waking them up from their sleep—back at home base in the wee hours.
"According to the coordinates, after you visited Rachel, you went back here to get the car, I suspect, without telling us and drove to Kewpee Hamburgers, and to a drugstore," Dork Quinn said as she stared at the computer monitor, a frown forming on her lips.
The other two squinted at the blonde shrugging at them. Serial Killer Quinn resisted laughing as she bit her bottom lip when Dork Quinn said, "You also went to the Hudson-Hummel house, to Puck's, to Mike's, to Artie's, to Brittany's, and to Blaine's."
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn shook her head, pinching the bridge of nose. "You did not just do what I think you just did."
Serial Killer Quinn raised her hands. "I'm just shaking them a little. Although I might have gotten carried away with Finn's triple bacon cheeseburger. But still, I didn't kill them."
"You and your ways of skirting around truths and lies." Dork Quinn buried her face in her hands as she leaned back on the swivel chair. "I thought the tracking chip would do the trick. And how the hell did you do all of that so quickly?"
"I have my ways," Serial Killer Quinn said, propping herself on her elbows as she swung her right leg back and forth. "And consider it as a catalyst. Now we can keep Finn's gargantuan arms from Rachel and the others at bay for a few days."
"While I do enjoy tormenting that hypocritical jackass the most, we should know better. You should know better. They did nothing. Mike, Rory, and Artie, especially. Finn's our priority one, but we need to do it as nonviolent as possible," Zombie Apocalypse Quinn said as she looked up. "This can possibly ruin our chances with Rachel.
"Again, I didn't kill them, if that's what you're insinuating."
Serial Killer Quinn might have said one non-denial denial too many, but she couldn't help it. She figured that since she already had apologized to all of them, she might as well take it to full advantage towards some.
So she had gone to Kewpee Hamburgers at almost closing hours to order a few burgers and had made sure they had been labeled by complete names so no one in their family would have the chance to take a bite of the burger. She had knocked a staff employee out cold in the bathroom when no one had been looking, and had gone to a twenty-four hour drugstore to buy seasoning and, well, over-the-counter drugs that would incite and provoke the human body. So she had exerted an effort in wearing their uniform and had proceeded to insert the drugs in the patty in the backseat of the car. So she had delivered them personally to their doorstep and had declared, in a southern accent, a wig, and sunglasses, and that this burger had been for so and so.
It had taken her an hour and fifty eight minutes to get to Westerville, Ohio and another when she had gone back. It was worth it, though, seeing not only Blaine's clueless but grateful face when he had accepted it when she had said that it was a promo and free of charge, but also the other guys before she had gone all the way there.
Puck had fist pumped in front of her and had whisper-shouted out a, "Yes!" at her face. She had seen Finn through the living room window break out into his usual dopey, gassy grin when he had received it from Burt, who Serial Killer Quinn had given the food to since he had been the one who had answered the door. Mike and Artie had been reluctant and had been the ones who had stared at her the longest, but had welcomed the burgers. And she also had made certain Brittany had given it to Rory and had made him eat it.
Serial Killer Quinn sighed. The glee boys were so predictable. They hadn't even questioned her as to why, all of a sudden, Kewpee Hamburgers were taking deliveries so late at night.
Someday, Jesse and Sam would be next.
Yes, she had promised Rachel, and of course, she had kept it. But she didn't vow not to mess with them a little—especially Finn—and again, she couldn't help it. It was a visceral trait. Innate and second-nature. She didn't even entertain the idea of considering her impulses on torturing the guys in Rachel's life, whether it was a platonic relationship or romantic, a perennial problem, unlike the three that were now judging her down to her deep, sadistic core.
Lion Quinn's growl vibrated against her throat, before readying herself on her rock, looking like some kind of a pouncing stance, itching to strike at her at any moment now. "Lion Quinn doesn't like you at all. Not at all."
"Oh, here we go." Dork Quinn rotated away from the computer screen and ran over to the hooks that were attached on the door, intent on untangling the leash hanging over the sea of belts.
"Easy there, tiger." Serial Killer Quinn slid off the table, a combat knife in hand.
"How dare you insult me? I'm a lion. I am the Lion Quinn!" Lion Quinn catapulted herself towards the direction of Serial Killer Quinn.
Everything moved all at once; Dork Quinn lassoed Lion Quinn's ankle with the leash and speared her down to the ground with a dull thump when she was just a few mere inches away from the tip of the blade all the while Zombie Apocalypse Quinn intervened as she disarmed the knife from Serial Killer Quinn's grip and grappled her before taking her down with a shoulder throw.
"Nice move," Zombie Apocalypse Quinn said, locking Serial Killer Quinn's arm on the latter's upper back. With the ruckus they were making, Zombie Apocalypse was relieved Judy wouldn't sleep without splurging herself with a few bottles of vintage wine.
"I was actually aiming for her neck." Dork Quinn grunted as she struggled with Lion Quinn, straddling her to pin her in place. "I think we need three more leashes."
"You two are overreacting."
"Pot calling the kettle black," Zombie Apocalypse said.
Serial Killer Quinn all but chuckled, her cheek pressed against the floor as her hazel eyes bore through Lion Quinn's angry ones. "And why are you mad, anyway? I didn't do anything to Rachel. I will never do anything to Rachel."
"You will ruin Lion Quinn's chances to mate with Jewfasa." Lion Quinn snarled in response at her, baring her teeth when Dork Quinn had tied both of her wrists and ankles together up in the air. Dork Quinn released a sigh of relief, lying down on the floor.
"More importantly, it's abusive and immoral."
"Such strong words." Serial Killer Quinn rolled her eyes. "And this is coming from someone who kills zombies for a living and wears inverted crosses printed across black muscle tees."
"Don't tempt me to break your arm."
And to prove how serious Zombie Apocalypse Quinn was with her words, she bent Serial Killer Quinn's arm further and higher, until the back of her hand brushed along the nape of her neck.
"So now you're threatening me? Isn't it abusive and immoral?" Serial Killer Quinn asked, a smirk gracing on her lips as she shot her a side-glance, her eyes turning into slits.
"Enough, alright?" Dork Quinn sat up when she caught her breath. "Just please, don't do it again. And you." She turned to Lion Quinn. "Stop attacking everyone whenever you feel like it." She glanced up at Zombie Apocalypse Quinn. "And don't break her arm."
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn scoffed but released Serial Killer Quinn, but not without pushing her down. Three pairs of eyes followed her every move as she approached the bedside table and acquired her Ducati key.
"Where are you going?" Dork Quinn asked when the pink-haired girl grabbed her leather jacket from the coat rack. "You're not going to leave me here with these two, are you?"
"Not so tough now," Serial Killer said, brushing the dust off of her dress after she had stood up.
"I'm going to Rachel's. I'm picking her up so she can go to school." Zombie Apocalypse twisted the doorknob. Without looking, she said, "You take care of them."
With that, she was out of the room, the sounds of her footsteps going further and further away. Dork Quinn gulped as she cast her gaze on a grinning Serial Killer Quinn and at a still restrained Lion Quinn growling at him.
God help her.
Rachel tapped her right foot to a nonexistent beat on their front porch as she waited for Finn to come by and pick her up. It was seven forty-eight in the morning and three minutes and twenty-two seconds past the time where she would do her scales in private in the choir room before her class would start.
Rachel uncrossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left foot, the sounds of her Mary Janes' incessant tapping and a huff a sign of her daily routine slipping away.
Where was Finn? She hadn't seen nor had heard from him since Friday night.
And he always arrived on time when Rachel requested him to do so. He knew that she was very partial to punctuality and timekeeping. And of course, fate had chosen the perfect time for Finn Hudson be nowhere to be found and her car in need of repairs.
Rachel sighed as she pulled on her sweater sleeves to warm her cold hands up. She was supposed to feel deathly distressed right now, but instead, she was getting frustrated and she didn't know why.
Okay, maybe she did know why.
Last night, safe to say, was weird.
Not only had Kurt professed his undying yet unfathomable love for a relationship that would never—and Rachel would forever stress that word—going to happen and had proceeded fangirling all the way to Rachel's bedroom, she had been bombarded with questions upon questions of how this and that had happened.
Rachel had been in the hot seat. A very, very hot seat.
She didn't know how to explain it to Kurt, didn't want to even explain it to Kurt, only that she had said they should had just let the current topic at hand go and be shoved into the deepest, darkest closet or else...well, she didn't have anything to add after that but Kurt had agreed nonetheless—not without a pout, though. And with that, she had dismissed him and had told him that they would have to have a slumber party next time, aware that Kurt would never stop sighing and giving her the evil eye throughout the night if they did.
It was fair in her mind that she wouldn't share the FABRAYS situation to Kurt since she didn't even share the fact that there were four Quinns to Finn. And to say that the trait of Rachel keeping a secret was unlikely in most situations, Rachel would have to agree with that. She would either spill everything out like word vomit in the heat of the situation or give too much information than what was needed.
She was verbose. She needed attention. She needed applause to live. So it was natural that talking would be one of the ways to express herself and her feelings. And just by looking at her friends—except Quinn—and Finn, and not say anything at all and would have to deal with the situation by herself, it killed her. She was guilty, but at the same time, she was innocent. It was confusing, but at the same time, it was clear.
She didn't know why, but she felt that whatever was going on between her and Quinn was private.
Personal, even.
And the flowers. And Serial Killer Quinn being so sweet to her. And how she waited for her. And even before that, she remembered, there had been her with a picnic basket and a smile gleaming underneath weak interior lights.
The fact that Serial Killer Quinn didn't even bat an eyelash at her and nodded when it was appropriate when she had gone into spontaneous yet uncalled-for accounts about Finn after the blonde had put the empty picnic basket on the back seat of the car and had talked about life in general.
In retrospect, the red Volkswagen Beetle had felt like an escape at that time. The view of Lima, Ohio was something otherworldly. Serial Killer Quinn had stared at her, her hazel eyes glowing underneath the dimmed surroundings and never had Rachel found banal eye contact so spooky and so… connecting.
Serial Killer Quinn had nodded, waiting for her to continue, but there were no more words when Rachel had grown silent.
"Even if I have advice for that, Rach. I couldn't tell you. I wouldn't tell you. It's selfish, but all I want is for you to be with me and love me in return," Serial Killer Quinn had said to her after she had absorbed every detail from Rachel's mouth like it was gospel.
And when a conflicted Rachel hadn't offered any words of encouragement nor discouragement, Quinn had leaned in, the center console not an obstacle for the latter as her nose brushed against hers.
"I love your nose, by the way," she had said, just above a whisper. Chestnut eyes hadn't stayed still at that time, skimming the outline of the Serial Killer Quinn's right hand resting on Rachel's thigh up to the rising and sinking gold cross pendant resting on her chest. "I may be the only one who supported you in getting a nose job, but that didn't mean I did it because I hated your nose. I never did . I did it because I knew what it felt like, and I thought it would make you happy. It's your body, and I had, and still have, no right to fully decide on what to do with it."
"How about… how about you saying that I should wait? Isn't that your subjective decision about my body?" Rachel had whispered back as she pulled away just a tiny bit, only for Serial Killer Quinn to follow her.
"You were asking for my point of view. And I gave it to you." Rachel had that gut feeling that Serial Killer Quinn had wanted to add more, but didn't and instead, had changed the subject with an, "I'm sorry."
"…For what?"
"For all the name calling. For how I treated you. For everything. All except for what I'm about to do."
"For what… you're about to do…?"
And Rachel still hadn't turned away, couldn't turn away when she had felt Serial Killer Quinn's thumb tracing circles just beneath her jawline. And when Serial Killer Quinn had slanted her head ever so slightly and had pushed forward after another moment of silence, their lips had met.
Rachel was seventeen now, but growing up with musicals and unrealistic love stories, she knew that she would forever be a romantic. Not as immature when she had been a sophomore, but….
Wait, was she jogging down memory lane? Right now? Waiting for her boyfriend?
And why, of all people, was this happening to her?
Rachel frowned to no one. This was absolutely infuriating.
She had more important things to worry about than her current dilemma that felt more like it originated from a science fiction novel gone soap opera than some everyday cliché romance plot someone would happen to see at school.
Like how she should focus on getting into NYADA. Like Sectionals getting closer and closer and they still hadn't chosen a song to perform on stage. Like how they had no costumes or choreography yet. Like even though Santana, Mercedes, and Brittany were back with Sugar in tow, she was still neck-deep in the New Directions' endless hoopla. Like how Kurt was added into this one disastrous equation. Like how Quinn was exacerbating the whole situation.
Great, now she was back to Quinn.
It was like she was stuck in a comedy, a tragedy, even. Whatever this was, it was not good for her and her relationship with Finn. And she should tell Finn about what happened; playing with the idea that maybe it would cease and erase every thought of her and Serial Killer Quinn kissing because maybe, this was just guilt talking to her.
She needed to end this.
But how?
"Hi."
Rachel was pulled out of her daydream when the plastic's coolness seeped through the thin, carmine material of her reindeer sweater, a firm yet gentle press on her stomach. She looked down at the intruding object and at the person holding it out to her.
"Quinn." Rachel hadn't heard her arrive at all. The brunette was out of it.
She gave out a small smile, before prodding the full face helmet again on her. "Rachel."
"…What are you doing here?"
One thing she was certain of was that this wasn't the Quinn that had visited her last night. Seeing a pink-haired Quinn Fabray again in the flesh caught her off guard. She wondered if she still had that Ryan Seacrest tattoo on her lower back, but that was beside the point.
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn's head tilted towards the idle motorcycle out front. "I figured you could use a ride."
Instead of the usual "How did you know?" she asked a, "What did you do with Finn?"
Of course. Why didn't she see it in the first place? With the Quinns now around, red flags should be all over the place when it came to the now renewed, yet trite love triangle. Well, except for the fact that there were four of them now—a love hexagonal?—and they were pining after Rachel, rather than playing the tug of war on who would get Finn.
She shook her head. "I didn't do anything. I promise. But I really am sorry." .
Rachel nodded after a short gap of silence. She pushed away the helmet with open palms. "Thank you, but no thank you, Quinn."
The pink-haired girl frowned. "Why?"
"Just because."
Sighing, she approached her, invading the brunette's personal space once again. And before Rachel could even protest, she removed her white beret from her. She placed the helmet over her head and pushed it down.
"I'm sorry but you're going to be late." With that, she pecked the visor where Rachel's forehead was situated. She backed away and released another smile. "You're beautiful."
One thing that was advantageous about the helmet was that her embarrassment wasn't too apparent. It might ruin her hair after she would take it off, but at least it saved the brunette from letting Zombie Apocalypse Quinn see that she was downright blushing underneath it.
Rachel's cheeks flushed even more, almost imitating the color of her sweater, when Zombie Apocalypse Quinn took off her coat and slung it around the brunette's shoulders, saying, "Here. You're shivering. And don't worry, it's not made of animal hide or anything." And grabbed her by the hand with her free one, leading her towards the black vehicle.
Rachel was stuck in a daze. Now if only Rachel would admit that her reason for shivering wasn't because of the autumn breeze.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Rachel said in a frenzied pace when she registered the fact that she was side saddling a motorcycle, her front pressing up against Zombie Apocalypse Quinn's back. "I haven't ridden a motorcycle before. Are you certain that this vehicle is in perfect condition? Are there any precautionary measures that I should be aware of? Is this vehicle safe for two people to ride? Wouldn't wearing my beret be frivolous when it comes to protecting your head? Shouldn't you be wearing a helmet as well?"
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn smiled at the questions Rachel was barraging her. She was adorable.
"You have my helmet and I really don't need it that much. But," she said when she could hear Rachel take a gasp of air, knowing that she was ready to berate her in one breath if given the chance. "I'll wear it next time. Rachel Berry first, me second."
"But—"
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn twisted the key and when the black Ducati roared into life, Rachel was even more terrified, wrapping her arms around the punk's waist and holding on for dear life, the jacket still secured on her shoulders.
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God," she whispered as she ducked, the side of the helmet just against Zombie Apocalypse Quinn's neck.
She grew more and more concerned when Rachel's grip went tighter and tighter. It felt nice, though. But….
"Do you want us to walk instead?" Zombie Apocalypse Quinn asked, turning her head sideways. She was starting to feel remorse on not taking the car instead.
"No." The brunette shook her head and disagreed a little too quickly for her taste, still nudging her helmet-covered head against her. "No. It's fine. It's just… this is a new experience for me."
"I understand. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Rachel said. God, why was she making this more difficult for Rachel to not trust and like her? "And besides… I've always wanted to try riding one of these."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Really, really sure?"
"Yes!" Rachel laughed and it was music to Zombie Apocalypse Quinn's ears. "Let's go. I'm already five minutes and two seconds late for my vocal warm-ups."
"Yes, Rach. Just hold on tight."
Rachel nodded in concentration and Zombie Apocalypse Quinn threw another grin at her way, before realizing that she never smiled this much before. It felt corny and fantastic at the same time. And she didn't mind. She didn't mind at all.
That thought in the back of her mind, she wrenched the handlebar a few times for good measure and sped off with no fancy exhibitions this time. Because if she did, it was possible Rachel would have a heart attack before they even arrive at school.
"Release me at once," Lion Quinn said after the back of her head hit the floor once again when she tried to reach for the honda knot.
An entertained Serial Killer Quinn drummed her fingers on her white binder as she sat there on the bed, watching Dork Quinn, dual wielding the Kingdom Key with the latter's eyes darting back and forth between her and a squirming Lion Quinn, who was still tied up on the floor.
"Don't be scared," Serial Killer Quinn said with a simper. "I thought you weren't afraid of me anymore."
How the hell could she be not scared anymore? If it hadn't been for Zombie Apocalypse Quinn's speedy reflexes and Dork Quinn's fluke of a throw, Lion Quinn would have been bleeding to death by now.
"Don't judge me." Dork Quinn raised the weapon higher. "I have a Keyblade and I'm not afraid to use it."
Serial Killer Quinn tut-tutted, an open palm supporting her chin as she hunched forward, her eyes boring through her. "And what does it do? It opens doors?"
"No, well—" she was about to protest, but said, "…Yes. But don't underestimate it!"
"So you're possibly going to maul me to the point of internal hemorrhage." A nod. "With a key." Another nod. "That has a Mickey Mouse logo as a keychain." a third nod. "…Do you know how ridiculous I just sound right now?"
But before anything came out from Dork Quinn's mouth, the doorbell rang.
Kurt parked his Lincoln Navigator just out front, before checking his phone when another text came in.
He sighed. It was the tenth text he received from him since an hour ago. And it still was incomprehensible. He should be worried but he had other things in mind. He would have to get back to Blaine at school.
After what he had witnessed in the Berry household had him thinking—he was going to help Quinn win Rachel Berry's heart.
No, his stepbrother didn't know. No, no one was going to stop him from helping. And yes, it was because of points he mentally listed with one column of pros, and… he left the other side blank.
Number one, had anyone even took time to notice how they always end up sitting next to each other? And how they always seemed to have the most intense of eye contacts that could rival him and Blaine?
Number two, Finn wasn't right for Rachel, no matter how much she gushed about him. Kurt was living with the guy and safe to say, they didn't match. Like, at all. And the confession about him serving meat to a vegan didn't exactly give him brownie points. And for crying out loud, he prayed to a grilled cheese sandwich. Not the perfect boyfriend material to someone as intellectual and headstrong as Rachel.
Number three, Quinn had so much potential to give Rachel everything she wanted. The purple hyacinths just won him over more.
Number four, Quinn had finally asked Rachel to be with her and if he hadn't interrupted—and he still regretted to this day—he could have listened more to their exchange of words.
Number five, Quinn loved Rachel. Wasn't that reason enough?
His reasons were shallow, he had to admit that, but Kurt couldn't even begin to describe their dynamic and chemistry except that Quinn was like the typical, run-of-the-mill kindergarten bully who would insult their crush and caved in.
Now he was playing cupid with a girl who still had a boyfriend—his stepbrother no less—and another girl who would drive down a stake on his chest if he wasn't careful enough.
One would say that he was betraying Finn and he had no justification on his actions, the sole reason that this was for the best. Rachel would understand soon. Finn would understand someday.
Kurt unbuckled the seatbelt and slid out of the car, ignoring the annoying vibrations in his pocket. It was another message from Blaine, he knew.
With an exhale to steel himself, he rang the doorbell.
"Shit." Serial Killer Quinn peered into the peephole and finding Kurt rocking his heels back and forth. She brought the walkie-talkie near her mouth, pressed the button, and whispered, "It's Kurt."
Feedback resounded and Serial Killer Quinn pressed the speaker on her right thigh and she could hear the muffled sounds of Dork Quinn saying, "Why can't you say 'Alert status red'?"
"Are we going to argue about me not using military terms right now? Kurt's here and if you don't hurry up, I'm going to kill him," Serial Killer Quinn threatened and she covered the speaker with her left palm.
"Okay, okay. Crap. Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. Shitting fuck. Wait, wait. Give me a minute. Tops."
Another few seconds came a second ring, and if Kurt kept this up, Judy would wake up anytime now.
Serial Killer Quinn shook her head and rolled her eyes, heading upstairs as to what Dork Quinn was taking so long.
"What's taking you—" Serial Killer Quinn bit her lip, a smile threatening to come out.
"Now, answer the door!"
"Lion Quinn does not like to be bossed—"
"Go!" Dork Quinn pushed Lion Quinn out of the door after Serial Killer Quinn made way with a gesture of a hand like she was showing the messy blonde the way.
Serial Killer Quinn closed the door and locked it, vice gripping the knob until the pounding and scratching from the other side subsided.
Dork Quinn sighed. Serial Killer quirked an eyebrow at her.
"I don't want to talk about it." Dork Quinn took off her ripped shirt and chucked it at her computer, imagining that it was Lion Quinn.
This was for Rachel. Dork Quinn had to remind herself that as she rummaged through the hamper for clothes. She winced and cussed out a few swear words when she licked her lips, forgetting the fresh wound on her bottom lip Lion Quinn had scratched. Another string of expletives tumbled forth from her mouth when she realized that they hadn't done laundry at all.
"This is for Rachel, this is for Rachel, this is for Rachel."
Dork Quinn pressed her forefinger on the fleshy fold and retracted it, and sure enough there was blood. She straightened up, turned around, and closed her eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nausea hitting her as another batch of soft curses spewed out from her.
"Your labium inferius oris is bleeding." Serial Killer Quinn was still leaning against the door as she assessed her from afar, measuring her. She had never heard Dork Quinn sputter so much profanity within an hour. "You have hemophobia? You play violent, gore games but you can't handle the actual sight of blood. Fascinating."
"You're making it sound like I'm some kind of experiment. And no, I'm not hemophobic. It's just… it's bleeding too much," Dork Quinn said, her eyes still shut closed.
"Then stop talking."
"I will if you stop talking, too."
Right. Serial Killer Quinn was here. Alone with her. Someone who might whip out a manual of One Thousand Ways to Die and try it on her.
Awesome. Just freakin' awesome.
She could hear incoming footsteps and Dork Quinn moved backwards and the latter could hear her sigh.
"I'm not going to kill you."
"Yeah, right," Dork Quinn said. Her eyes shot open when she felt Serial Killer Quinn's hand gripping her left arm.
"Let me have a look at it." Serial Killer Quinn could see the fear in her eyes and she raised her arms up, backing away with a smirk. "Okay, okay. But that's probably going to be infected if you don't let me treat it soon."
Dork Quinn thought for a while. If she wasn't going to let Serial Killer Quinn treat it, she would have an infection. If she would have an infection, she would die. If she would die, she would never have Rachel. If she would never have Rachel, she would never forgive herself. Maybe that happening to her was farfetched, but she didn't want to show up on Rachel's doorstep with a busted lip.
"…Fine."
"Great." Serial Killer Quinn pushed herself off the door once again and went off to her space to find her medic kit. "…So after this, want to play Murder Mystery?"
"But there're only two of us."
Serial Killer Quinn peered over her own right shoulder, her back still on the former as she said, "Exactly."
A pause, and Serial Killer Quinn swore she heard a nervous squeak.
Lion Quinn growled at the door. They would soon pay. With nothing else to do but comply for now, Lion Quinn stomped all the way to front door and opened it with a force that had Kurt Hummel flinching out of his spot.
"What?" Lion Quinn asked.
Kurt's hand flew to his chest. "Jesus, Quinn. I don't know what's more horrifying right now, you scaring the bejeezus out of me or you wearing that Supergirl costume."
This was not the person Kurt had seen last Friday night because the sight before him came out from a rejected DC comic. The question as to why he had a bit of knowledge of superheroes, someone would have to blame that on one Blaine Anderson. And at this moment, he kind of regretted why knew Supergirl in the first place.
His endeavor to look anywhere but the costume was to no avail and he had the sudden urge to gouge his eyes out with a spoon just so he couldn't look at Quinn's abysmal choice of clothing. And no traces of blush or mascara on her face to boot.
Not that Quinn wasn't beautiful, because she was. Drop dead gorgeous, even. He was envious of her pores and she could even pull off a smokey eye look—which he could never achieve, but that was straying away from his point. Makeup was considered a staple in high school and seeing her with no foundation and chapped lips made him want to scream in horror.
And God, were those split-ends he saw?
Never would he expect to see the day Quinn Fabray not in a cardigan and a babydoll dress, only to replace Rachel, the one he always thought would forever relive one of his worst fashion nightmares.
Was there some kind of costume party so early in the morning?
Did he not get the memo of November and December being fused together?
Was this one of Mr. Schuester's weekly themed assignments?
"You're not Rachel."
Kurt sighed, a smile creeping up. How sweet. Quinn was searching for Rachel. Just from that thought, he wasn't in the least bit insulted. And Kurt's eyes widened.
Wait a minute.
Was she implying what he thought she was implying?
Oh God, were they already in the role-playing stage?
More importantly, did Rachel break up with Finn already?
No. That would be impossible, not to mention expeditious. Rachel may be a bit on the hopeless side of the love department, but she wouldn't do that.
Would she?
"Quinn, if you don't mind me asking, are you and Rachel…?" Kurt waved his hand over the costume.
Lion Quinn lit up when she heard her second most favorite name in the world. "Rachel? Is Rachel here?"
"Uh… no," Kurt said and Lion Quinn's shoulders sagged at that. "Rachel is probably at school by now. She is one of the earliest there."
"Then I'll go now."
"Wait! Quinn!" Kurt yelled when Lion Quinn got off into a sprint, the cape billowing against the autumn wind.
It wasn't unknown to other people that she hadn't ridden a motorcycle because of how unsafe it was and how there never had been an opportunity nor the excuse to ride one. It was not that she was against it; she was just not rather fond of the idea that it was an ideal vehicle for everyday purposes. Rain and snow were perfect examples to support her notion.
But to say that riding a motorcycle wasn't risky, exhilarating, and thrilling all at the same time was a blatant lie. She, forgetting to tell Zombie Apocalypse to go slow, was pretty sure that they were past the speed limit, but she didn't really care that much and didn't really talk that much, only that she was too engrossed at seeing Lima, Ohio in a new light, passing by her in such a blurring speed.
It felt good and Zombie Apocalypse Quinn, in her own caring way, once in a while would tell the brunette where they were now and would countdown as to when she would swerve left or right so she wouldn't be too alarmed.
And when Rachel sensed the Ducati Diavel slowing down to a stop in a hidden corner, just a block away from the McKinley High campus, she felt that the ride was over too soon. But she didn't need to tell her that. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to stroke Quinn Fabray's ego. She might get the wrong idea that she was interested or something.
"And can I drop you here? I can't afford to be seen." Rachel nodded against her back and moved back a bit, still under some kind of spell.
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn twisted around, face to face with Rachel as she bent forward. She grabbed both sides of the helmet and pulled it off from Rachel's head, dropping it down to the asphalt ground.
Rachel blinked when Zombie Apocalypse Quinn's arms slid underneath hers, her hands fisting around tail end of the bike. Rachel cleared her throat. "Thank you, Quinn. I have to go now."
The pink-haired raised an eyebrow. "That's all I'm going to get?"
"Um…." Rachel was lost in the sudden scrutiny. "If what you're implying is that I owe you one, how about some vocal lessons?"
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn shook her head. "I need something that can be claimed right now."
"…Like what?"
"A kiss."
"Quinn," Rachel said, scowling. "I don't have time for this."
"Come on. You know you want to."
It didn't escape the pink-haired girl that Rachel was giving her mixed signals here.
"No, I don't want to."
"…Alright." Zombie Apocalypse pulled away, still smiling as Rachel hopped off. Maybe next time, then.
Rachel straightened her blue jersey pocket skirt, looking everywhere but her when she exchanged the jacket for her beret. "Thanks again."
Zombie Apocalypse Quinn accepted it and spun around, facing once again the dashboard of her bike. "No problem."
"…Wait, where are you going?" Rachel asked when the pink-haired girl flicked the start button and kicked the sidestand, supporting the leaning bike with right foot. "You aren't mad, are you?"
"No, why would I be?" Zombie Apocalypse Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just going to the grocery story to stock up on food so we can avoid raiding the refrigerator and Mom finding out about us."
"But you're not going to school. And I don't want you skipping your curricular activities just because I refuse to give you a kiss," Rachel explained after she had reached down for the helmet and had passed it on to a grateful Zombie Apocalypse Quinn.
"No. Well, not yet anyway." Zombie Apocalypse Quinn shrugged, passing a hand through her pink hair as she scanned the exterior of the campus before returning her gaze on her. "It's not my turn."
"Turn? So who's going to…?"
"You'll find out soon enough," she said. "And about the kiss…."
And before she knew it, a pair of soft lips grazed over her cheek.
"Just something to remember me by," she whispered and pulled away with a grin. She put on her helmet, winked through the fiberglass, and took off.
A still panting Kurt drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he glanced between a quiet Lion Quinn riding shotgun eating the last of his lunch that comprised his grilled chicken a la diabla and paella and on the road.
He thanked the lucky stars that he had been able to take hold of the cape while his other hand had been busy steadying the wheel without any major or minor accidents occurring. She was strong, he had to give her that. Like the Hulk kind of strong, and if it hadn't been the fact that the sudden pull of the spandex constricted Lion Quinn's throat, well, he would have been a goner by now. And his Lincoln's windshield would have been broken for the second time if he was the one being pulled.
What happened after that was a whole lot of bribing—ergo, the lunch—and a whole lot of pleading before Lion Quinn agreed to hitch.
This better be worth it.
"Quinn," Kurt said. "Are… Are you alright?"
Lion Quinn grunted in response.
Kurt sighed. What was wrong with her?
There must be a way to get through her somehow.
Rachel Berry did her usual psycho power walk when she was mad. And oh, she was mad alright. She didn't like being manhandled. Didn't like it at all. And there was enough manhandling to go around from the two Quinns alone. She bypassed her warm-ups and went straight to her locker, putting in her combination with a vengeance. All she focused on was how she was going to give whoever this Quinn would be going to school a piece of her mind.
She had enough of this. She had it all planned in her head now—find this Quinn and scold her to the point of bringing back the old Quinn, find Finn, have the set list proposal ready for glee, sing in glee, and have the peace she needed.
"I'm back," Zombie Apocalypse Quinn said as she catapulted herself through the window with ease.
"You're back!" Dork Quinn almost wanted to kneel before her boots and kiss the dirty leather as she took away the doggie bag from the pink-haired girl's grasp. Dork Quinn reached in for the open-faced bacon sandwich inside it.
"What happened to her lip?" Zombie Apocalypse Quinn asked as Dork Quinn tossed her one.
Serial Killer Quinn leaned on the footboard of the bed, already opening the plastic container. "I didn't hurt her. And don't worry. It only needed a couple of stitches. Also, Kurt visited us, by the way."
She was taken aback by the answer and the thought that the two had been getting along. But with Serial Killer Quinn, you'd never know.
Well the two steps of her plan didn't work, that was for sure—or more accurately, didn't even start.
Not only had she not seen Finn all day, she also had not seen Quinn in any of their shared classes. The universe might not be on her side today.
What was weird though was that Kurt had been fidgety during their second period, like he couldn't wait to get out of the classroom. And what Rachel had predicted came true—Kurt had grabbed his books and didn't even bother to spare a single glance or a blind wave of goodbye to Rachel when he jogged out of the classroom, heading to what Rachel had noticed was the direction of their cafeteria, which was even weirder since it had been so early in the morning.
Rachel pushed through the double doors with an exasperated sigh, and as always, was the most punctual out of all members of New Directions.
"Hi, Brad," she said with a chirp in her voice, trying her best to conceal her thoughts as she waved at him.
Brad nodded at her, a small smile gracing on his scruffy face as he sat there and waited for the others to come, letting Rachel have the time to organize her homework and music sheets and the privacy to go into reflection.
She didn't really go into deep with it since a husky, familiar alto yelled, "Rachel!"
She had time to catch herself from the initial shock that came along with the sound of her heart hammering in her chest as she looked up, ready to give whoever Quinn this was a verbal beating of the year.
"Quinn I—" Rachel's jaw slackened at the sight just by the piano. Just about every coherent word was lost in her throat.
"Oh, thank God." Kurt, who jogged towards Lion Quinn's side, slowed to a walk before doubling over as he tried to regain his breathing, his nonexistent dream of being a marathon runner dying along with him. "I thought I lost you."
"Hey! Kurt! Hey!" Blaine rammed himself into his boyfriend with a blinding smile, leaving both of them on the ground, one not amused and the other laughing at their own fall.
Puck groggily nodded to no one as he entered the room with his usual bravado before stumbling over the two bodies, his face rubbing against the grimy floor as he crawled on the ground.
"Go on without me…."
"'Sup, my peeps." Artie raised his fist in the air as he rolled to his spot, not bothering to rotate his wheelchair as he faced the risers, his head lolling back and forth.
Still flabbergasted, Rachel's eyes snapped towards Lion Quinn, who was stalking her with those rapacious eyes, and to a horrified Kurt, and to a hysterical Blaine, and to Puck and Artie, who seemed to be intoxicated or something. And to the rest of her glee club members piling in the choir room.
Tina, Sugar, and Mercedes circled around the madness that was before them and sat down to their usual places, befuddlement etching their faces. Brittany joined in with a grin and tackled the three boys. Santana looked at them with the expression she donned when nothing made sense.
"What the fuckery is this?"
With Kurt dragging Blaine up to his seat, Santana slapping Puck's grubby hands away from Brittany and hauling her up from the ground, Artie facing forward, Puck sitting properly, and a lecturing Rachel sitting on Lion Quinn's lap, everybody settled down.
Well, not really settled down.
"Rachel." Lion Quinn was purring and sighing all over the place, the material of her costume sliding against Rachel's thigh as she nuzzled even further in her neck.
"Quinn, I told you, enough is enough. This is not going to happen."
"No."
Well, her effort on talking was useless. This Quinn was the most stubborn yet.
"I told you it wasn't going to work," Kurt said, pressing his hands on both of his shoulders as he tried to restrain a bouncing Blaine to his seat.
"Are you telling me that you've been with her?" Rachel asked as she turned her head away when Lion Quinn's lips were a little too close for comfort for her.
"More like babysitting her." Well, that answered Rachel's question as to why he had been so antsy. "And Blaine, too." Kurt didn't know what was going on with Blaine. "Quinn's like that since morning. It's like her brain's downgraded to a Neanderthal's. She wouldn't even let me change her clothes."
"Wait. You don't have classes with her—" and it hit her. Rachel's head snapped to a sheepish Kurt. "You went to Quinn's house."
It wasn't a question, and instead, it was accusatory.
"No I didn't."
"Rachel! Look at me, Rachel!"
"Kurt," Rachel said, ignoring Lion Quinn's pout and need for attention.
"Hey! Kurt! Look at my black manly bowtie, Kurt! Isn't it all black and manly?"
Kurt was also ignoring Blaine, whose brain was also decimated to that of a five year-old. "Alright, alright. I may have passed by the Fabray house to have a quick chat."
"About what?"
"Nothing."
"It's clearly not nothing considering what you witnessed—"
"Alright, that's it," Mercedes said after she had stood up, annoyed. "It's our first day back in New Directions and we really don't need some drama right now."
"Preach to Merc, y'all. True dat."
"And just when it was getting good." Santana rolled her eyes, intertwining her hand with Brittany's. Now that she thought about it, she missed the entertainment value of New Directions—there always seemed to be always happening.
"And what's up with him?" Tina pointed to Artie. She was missing her boyfriend, who was the most dependable and steadiest out of all the guys in glee. And without him by her side right now, the tolerance level she had with this group was dwindling down to nil.
"I don't know." Brittany shrugged, still watching Puck and his shit-eating grin. "But look at Puck petting his mohawk like how I pet Lord Tubbington."
"I'm going to name you Blitz and I want to hug you, and squeeze you, and love you forever…."
"I don't know why this group even won Sectionals and Regionals last year," Sugar said. "The judges must've been high choosing you to even go to New York."
Mr. Schue was on cue as always before anyone who was still sane could even argue with that.
"Bad news, guys. Rory and Mike have gotten food poison and Finn's got diarrhea." Mr. Schuester uncapped the marker and wrote on the whiteboard, his back turned to them.
"Jesus, Mr. Schue. We don't want the image of Shamu blowing anywhere besides his blowhole seared into our minds."
Mercedes was now focusing on the current problem at hand. "Great. Now what're we going to do?"
"We just have to wait until they get better. But we still got to practice, guys." Mr. Schuester turned around and registered what was going on in here. "Quinn, why are you in a costume? And Rachel, why are you on her lap?"
"Mr. Schue, I'd rather not you asking me that and instead, it would be more contributive of you if you would just help me."
Santana smirked. "Oh, no no no. She's just fine, Mr. Schue. Right there. Trust me. With the way Q's been acting all silent and stalker crazy on Berry last week, I think she's finally acting on her feelings."
Rachel glared at her. Lion Quinn nodded.
Mr. Schuester shook his head and decided to put his mindset onto the competition and not get into the drama, because nothing good had ever come out with him being involved.
"So, do you have any song choices? Solo ideas? Duets? Anything?"
"Why are you texting me, Blaine? I'm right here," Kurt asked, having the urge to berate him after he had received another one of his nonsensical messages.
"Oh! Right! Sorry!" Blaine stood and damn it felt good. No one was going to tell him to sit down today. So this is what standing for no reason felt like in the choir room. "Hey, hey, hey, guys! Guys! Mr. Schue! I've got the perfect, perfect song for Sectionals! It's currently got fifty-two million hits on YouTube and the judges are gonna love it! Love, love, love it!" Blaine's megawatt smile lit up the whole place.
Kurt kneaded his forehead. "I thought we're past the top forty choices, Blaine."
"Alright!" Mr. Schuester clapped his hands and motioned him to come to the front. "Take the floor, Blaine."
"How can anyone take the floor, San? Isn't it heavy, and like… on the ground?" Santana squeezed Brittany's hand and smiled at her.
"No, no, wait! Just listen, Kurt. I'm sure you'll all love it." He threw the music sheet to Brad, which landed on his chest. Blaine swayed his hips into a figure eight and the beat hadn't even started yet. Brad scratched his head as he read the notes but started playing after he had placed it on the music rack.
"Aw yeah… playas, this beat the bomb folks. No joke."
Puck bobbed his head, pumping his fist in the air before falling in his seat. Lion Quinn continued nuzzling into Rachel's neck.
"Nyan nyan nyan nyan…."
"Oh my God. That's me and Charity's jam right there." Brittany danced in her seat with the beat.
What the fuck have they been snorting?
The question loomed in Santana's head, quivering in restrained laughter as she pressed her free hand against her mouth as she tried to keep a straight face. Mr. Schue was tempted to just quit on the spot and give everyone a break. Kurt looked like he wanted throw himself out of the choir room window.
"Yup. Looks like they all finally gone bonkers." Mercedes shook her head.
"Tell me why again we disbanded the Troubletones?" Sugar watched the horror before her. "I mean, we were so awesome."
"Wow. It's even more annoying than the original," Tina said. She might have stuck through and through with New Directions, but this was just a whole new level of wrong. "And am I the only one who thinks that we're, I don't know… underreacting?"
Meanwhile, Rachel and Quinn were in their own little world. Rachel was too busy scolding Quinn that she didn't even care at how this song should be condemned for all eternity and Quinn too enamored to even care at, well, everything.
"Rachel."
"I told you, your attempt on winning me over is feckless, so you might as well release me."
"Rachel."
"And just so you know, I do not like to be controlled this way. It's abusive and offensive."
"Rachel."
"Not to mention it's incredibly rude and inappropriate of you to force me to sit on your lap."
"Rachel."
"What, Quinn?" Rachel's head spun around to meet Lion Quinn's face centimeters away from her.
"…Hi," Lion Quinn said. It was low, quiet, husky, with an enamored grin.
Rachel blinked, her cheeks reddening by the second as the last remnants of her anger dissipated into naught. It was undeniable—Quinn's indecisiveness was rubbing off on her.
"I-I need to go. If you'll excuse me." Rachel squirmed out of her arms—and this time with Lion Quinn relenting—and stormed off the way only Rachel Berry could. Lion Quinn looked on at the retreating figure, her posture shrinking.
Was the superhero costume too much?
Mr. Schuester slammed his head on the fall of the piano. Brad could only feel for him as he finished the last note of the song. Brittany, Artie, and Puck, who was still on the ground, whooped in chorus as Sugar, Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina awkwardly clapped for Blaine. Santana, who was filing her nails, smirked and arched an eyebrow at what she had witnessed.
"Thank you!" Blaine bowed thrice in record time, before he jogged to Kurt and spun the latter around.
"Looks like someone needs to get laid or something. I'm guessing Finn's still terrible in bed because of the jellyroll. Must be smothering her with his blubber," Santana said to herself, tapping the nail file on her wrist.
Brittany leaned towards her direction and pouted. "Rachel's sad. I think she needs to go on a date with someone she likes."
"You mean Finn the Incredible Bulk?" Santana scoffed at that. "Yeah. I think she gets plenty of that."
"No. I mean Quinn." Brittany watched Lion Quinn go into a dark corner and sulk.
Santana perked up at that and confusion crossed her features. "No, B. Finn's her boyfriend."
"Yeah, I know that."
"Then what do you—? Oh." Santana's eyes sparkled as they faced each other. "Oh."
"That's it!" Kurt donned a bright smile and looked at her as if Brittany held all the secrets in the world. Maybe that was why the hazel-eyed beauty was so frustrated and just down right ridiculous right now unlike the one he had seen last week. Brittany knew that maybe, just maybe, Rachel liked her but didn't act on it! Brittany was a genius. "Brittany, you're a genius!"
"Does everyone listen to private conversations now?"
"It's glee," Kurt said flatly to Mercedes. "Anyway, you two have got to help me."
"Stop right there, Hummel." Santana held up a hand, shaking her head. "Olvídate. No. Let's go, Britt-Britt." With linked pinkies, they grabbed their books and went down the risers.
"Come on, Santana. Please?" Kurt said and followed the inseparable pair all the way out of the room.
"Hey! Kurt! Wait for me!" Blaine raised his right hand midair, standing still.
Sugar looked at him funny. "You can move anytime now, you know."
Blaine sighed. He was going to miss standing up without Finn breathing down his neck. With that thought, he ran out of the room.
"So, I guess that means I'm out, too. See you, Mr. Schue."
"Yeah. Bye, Mr. Schue."
"My Strange Addiction is on right now anyway. Bye."
"Need to jet, too, Mr. Schue. Peace, I'm out, no doubt."
"Rachel…."
Puck rolled over, getting up. Like nothing ever happened, he strutted past him, saluting Will on his way out.
Will sighed for the umpteenth time.
"Santana, Brittany, wait, please!" Kurt weaved in and out of the crowd, finding any signs of swishing red skirts and raven and blonde ponytails.
Brittany peered over her own left shoulder. "San, give Kurt a chance. Let's hear him out. Please."
"But, Britt, I—" and with a pout and pair of adorable baby blues staring right through her, she knew she lost the battle before she even thought about fighting it. Santana slowed to a stop with a sigh. "Okay, okay."
With the smile once again on Brittany's lips, all was right for Santana.
"Finally. Thank you. Oh, God." His free hand rested on one of the lockers as he panted and clutched his white trench to steady his breathing.
"Kurt!" Blaine caught up with them, still perky and still beaming. Santana wanted to punch the grin off his face.
Brittany could sense the aggravation in Santana. She reached for her hand. "San… calm down."
"Yeah. I'm fine, B. I'm still trying… getting used to be nice," Santana said and noticed Blaine and Kurt's intertwined hands. Yep, this was so fucking gay. Gay diddy gay gay gay. The fiery Latina coughed, averting her eyes to Kurt. "So, just get on with it, Hummel."
"Well," Kurt said. With Santana, someone should know better than to skirt around the real issue. "You know I will never out anyone if they don't want to, but I think it's alright, since Quinn's been so obvious about it and you two are the only known lady gays around here…."
"And you think that Supergirl and Berry should get together."
Kurt nodded. "We know Quinn's more than ready. But maybe, with your help, it'll speed up the process with, you know, Rachel's denial, and as Brittany puts it, her infatuation towards Quinn."
Santana shifted her weight to her left foot. "So what you're saying is, you're going to betray Mr. Finncapable, who's your stepbrother, just so Q and Midget would elope and run away to gay land and vomit rainbows at each other's mouths for all eternity."
"Look, I know I sound like a backstabber here—"
"You are."
"—but we know Rachel's really not happy with him," Kurt said. There was a small tremor in his voice as the restless ball of energy that was Blaine Anderson bounced on the balls of his feet again. "Just one double date with them on Saturday night. I'll even arrange the itinerary for the four of you. I'll treat you two Breadstix for a week, even. All you need to do is convince them because I'm probably sure Rachel's still mad at me and I need to give her time to cool off. Quinn… well, just no. So please? Come on." Santana scoffed at the plea.
Santana had already been beaten down enough with her and Brittany's relationship and she really didn't want to get into the mix here. Sure, she was trying to be much nicer than before and made certain that Snixx was under control, but who was she kidding—she weaned on insults, and that trait of hers was never to come out of her system even if she wanted to. Transformations, no matter how small or big, just don't happen overnight.
But then again, they had helped her with that sophomore rugby pervert. Maybe she could start here….
"Come on, San. Rachel's not happy. Quinn's not happy. Negative and negative makes a positive, right?" Brittany said, nudging her on the ribs with a smile. "Come on. Let's help them."
Santana laughed and rolled her eyes. Oh, well. "Alright, alright." She turned her attention to Kurt, now serious. "Be ready with the cash, Hummel, 'cause we be getting our Breadstix on after this. And you owe us. Big time."
Kurt did his little shimmy dance. "You can bet on that."
With a terse nod, Santana tugged Brittany's hand, signaling her that the conversation with the boys was over.
"Bye, guys!" Brittany tossed them another smile and a wave before she walked forwards and interconnected Santana's arm with hers.
"You're amazing, Kurt! You did it!" Blaine scruffed Kurt's hair with pride.
"Oh, you did not just do that." Kurt looked like he was about to pass out anytime now as his hand paused near the side of his head, not daring to even touch and discover that it was now ruined.
Fast forward to another two days. Finn still wasn't present, so the pink-haired Quinn was still the one dropping her off and she wasn't protesting that much anymore. Rory, too—Brittany explained that his stomach was still upset, but he would be back by Monday. Mike had been back two days ago in Tina's arms. Glee was still crazy as ever but Blaine had calmed down, much to Kurt's relief. Artie had also regained his senses. Puck wasn't stumbling and steamrolling over everything like Tarepanda anymore. But still, the messy blonde….
"Rachel."
"Quinn," Rachel said as she stood there in front of the campus after school hours, the sun setting before her. She completely disremembered that she had no one to fetch her. She had too much on her mind than usual.
And with one swift swoop, Rachel was somehow now riding piggyback on Lion Quinn.
"You still don't have a ride." And Lion Quinn walked, securing the back of Rachel's knees with firm yet gentle grips. Rachel exhaled again, her forehead resting on Lion Quinn's shoulder blade as the light bounce of each step soothed her.
It was the third day now, and Rachel, with her arms looped around Lion Quinn's neck, wasn't even protesting that much to this Quinn either.