Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I definitely don't own Boys Over Flowers. I wish I could take full credit, sort of.
A/N: Quinn will be reminiscent of her Head Cheerio days. Just a warning.
A/N 2: This is a trigger warning. There will be a scene of attempted sexual assault. If this makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to move on to the next chapter. EDIT: Working on editing for milder content. Check back soon.
Girls Over Flowers
Summary: Dalton Academy—a school of prestige, refinement and the country's wealthiest students—houses the famous F3. When "commoner" transfer student, Rachel Berry directly offends F3's leader, Quinn Fabray, she becomes their target. Mayhem ensues.
Chapter 4: Final Blow
It had been six days since the commoner, Rachel Berry, was given a red card, and Brittany S. Pierce —choreographer extraordinaire, museum heiress, and third member of the ever exclusive, F3— was worried.
Extremely so.
Her legs continuously bounced to an erratic beat.
Her teeth gnawed unforgivably on lower lip.
Her hands wrung systematically at every tick of the clock, which—
Brittany paused her nerve-eating habits momentarily. Her eyes snapped towards the expensive looking timepiece on her wrist for the nth time in the last few minutes, and then shifted her vision towards her cell phone. The only things she saw on its smooth black surface was her own worried reflection. No missed calls or texts. No news was good news, right?
She sighed and began to bounce her leg once again, until she felt a warm hand move softly over her knee, successfully stilling her movements. Brittany glanced down as the tan hand gave her knee a gentle squeeze.
"Talk to me." Santana's voice was soft, and lacked the usual bite as when she was talking to one of her peers or…subordinates. Brittany knew Santana only spoke to a very select few—so filled with care—this way, and couldn't help the swelling of warmth within her chest at the sound of Santana's concern.
"It's, uh—" Brittany began to play lightly with Santana's fingers while avoiding her gaze.
Santana quickly hooked the index finger of her free hand under Brittany's chin. "Look at me Britt. I'm listening." Her voice was still soft. "What's the matter?"
Brittany licked her lips nervously as she stared into Santana's brown eyes.
"It's just—" Brittany's eyes darted momentarily as Santana nodded her head encouragingly. "The red-carded girl—Rachel—"
She watched as Santana shook her head and sighed. They've had this conversation many times before. "I told you, they're just a few silly pranks. Don't interfere, Britt."
Brittany huffed indignantly. Santana crossed her arms in response.
"I mean it. It's Quinn dealing out the punishment this time. As it was during my turn with Hudson, and as it was yours with that Jenny girl." Brittany rolled her eyes at the mention of her very own past targeted student, Jenny Sullivan. She most certainly deserved the Red Card for what it was worth, but even Brittany had to admit that Quinn's punishments were a bit harsh in comparison. None of the past students could usually handle more than just a few days of punishment. Rachel Berry, however...
"But San, it's already been six days—"
"We can't take it easy on her just because she's poor—"
"But no one has ever lasted—"
"What would people think if we let her off easy? They'd think we were going soft—"
"Santana—"
"Just let Q have her fun, Britt. She'll get bored with it eventually—"
"Santana!" Brittany's normally bubbly voice hissed her best friend's name with impatience. Santana stopped talking immediately and blinked owlishly at Brittany's unfamiliar tone of voice. "You said you would listen but you're not listening to me."
Santana could only nod in response.
"San," Brittany lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think the commoner broke Quinn." She pointed her chin as inconspicuously as possible to the corner of the room.
Santana furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, not quite sure what her eccentric friend was talking about. Brittany grunted in frustration and jerked her chin more forcibly in the same direction.
Santana finally got the hint and shifted her vision to the far corner of the room. Quinn stood—as stoic as ever, with both arms folded neatly over her chest—facing the window. She seemed to be deep in thought, though every few moments she would shake her beautiful head of shiny blonde hair with a chuckle and murmur something indecipherable under her breath.
Brittany did have point. Ever since that Berry girl made her presence known to the F3, Quinn's behavior had been strange, to say the least. And even though Rachel Berry was hardly their first victim…
"Quinn has been obsessed with her, especially because the commoner hasn't apologized yet." Brittany added solemnly. "I don't think Quinn has ever come across anyone that's given her this hard of a time."
Santana watched as Quinn checked her watch, and continued her steady gaze out of the window. Another grin crossed Quinn's features.
"I think she's planning something." Brittany continued. Santana's gaze snapped back immediately to her own. "And I think that things are going to get out of her control. Fast."
Santana took a deep breath and looked back at a now chuckling Quinn. She couldn't help but to feel that Brittany might actually be right.
Day six of Rachel's red-carded status had been relatively uneventful. Of course, it didn't come without a few scathing glares from her classmates (and the kicked-puppy-dog looks from one Kurt Hummel, but she still blatantly ignored him). She did note, however, that another brand new uniform arrived on her doorstep over the weekend, though Rachel was a lot less enthusiastic about its arrival this time around.
It probably meant that there was more torture to come.
But school —Rachel ducked behind one of Dalton's many pillars as a group of students wandered by—seemed to be rather tame. Well, as tame as being a red-carded victim could be.
No missing desks.
No smelly manure.
No slushies.
No eggs...
She shuddered at the phantom feeling of the gooey substance running beneath the collar of her uniform. It was something that she most certainly did not want repeated.
And F3—or better yet, Quinn Fabray...
She hadn't really seen them—her—since she shoved a frozen sorbet into the F3 leader's perfect face. Rachel couldn't help but to smirk at the memory. She wasn't violent by nature, but the look on Quinn's face made her feel…exhilarated.
Not that she had been actively looking for them. She was just merely looking out for her own safety by running in the opposite direction every time the infamous triumvirate strutted though the same hallway that she happened to be in. The farther away she was from The Heartless Three, the better.
The sound of the lunch bell caused Rachel to jump in alarm, but she quickly recovered. She needed to make her way to the choir room before the rest of the students began to stampede their way to the cafeteria.
Who needed an elliptical when one could get their exercise by running, dodging and diving away from their tormentors on a daily basis?
She hid behind half open doors, as Noah Puckerman and his flock of football-jocks—F3's self-proclaimed personal guard —guffawed loudly down the halls.
She dove into an itchy row of hedges to successfully avoid the F3 and their giggling, starry-eyed harem of students as they haughtily swaggered through the courtyard.
And finally, she performed a risky combat roll through the music building doors to dodge the high-pitched laughter of Sugar and Harmony just as they turned the corner.
Though she was relatively safe (since hardly anyone ever seemed to be in this particular area of the school), she still jogged cautiously towards her beloved choir room while dusting off bits of leaves and dirt from her person.
Rachel screeched to a halt the moment the familiar door came into her view—
And her heart began to pound almost painfully against her chest. Something didn't feel right.
Rachel stood for a moment, simply staring at the door. A sudden bout of nervousness had begun to assault her senses. She glanced around the hallway with narrowed eyes, searching for danger that she could not see, but most certainly sense. Her gaze returned to the door in front of her.
With a steadying sigh, her hands slowly and shakily pushed open the already slightly ajar door. And what she saw—
What she saw made her fists tremble with fury.
God—these people were idiots.
The first thing that she noticed about the choir room—her choir room—was the large piles of trash littered all over the floor.
And then she noticed the piano. Rachel's heart broke at the sight.
A beautifully polished, Louis XV Steinway, was now vandalized. Vandalized with obscenities and crude drawings that she would rather not repeat etched into the wood. Rachel sighed in exasperation. She hadn't even had her first kiss yet, for goodness sake; a lot less than what the drawings dotted all over the furniture so grossly implied.
The piano's normally proud stature was now crumpled, with two of its legs completely shattered. She slowly walked to the center of the room and ran her fingertips reverently over its scarred surface.
"I'm sorry." Rachel whispered miserably to the once beautiful instrument. "I know you didn't do anything wrong."
Rachel sighed as she turned around and continued to take in the state of the room. Chairs and music stands were tossed about, with obscenities spray painted across their surfaces; the very same words and inaccurate pictures etched into the piano. Even more piles of trash were littered among the risers, and what looked like blue paint, was splattered across the walls.
It was a gruesome scene.
She stomped her feet in pure resentment for her classmates. She couldn't believe that they would really vandalize their own school in order to—to—
Bully her. It made no sense. McKinley High students would give their left arm and leg in order to have an amazing choir room such as this. And the piano…
Rachel looked over to the vandalized instrument as if it were a fallen comrade in battle. To have such an exquisite piano just…wasted. The wealthy were some of the most ungrateful, wasteful people that she had ever had the displeasure of knowing. Except—
A boy with messy, blond hair and sparkling, green eyes handing her a handkerchief quickly swam into her vision, but she almost immediately swept it from her mind. Sam Evans was the mysterious exception to the rule.
Anyway, Quinn Fabray must have put those mindless sheep up to this. No doubt about it.
Rachel suppressed a growl and rolled up sleeves to begin picking up the trash from the floor, remembering the words of the only person that seemed to show her kindness. F3 will not break her. She had promised this.
Rachel glanced around the room once again, mentally comparing the amount of trash on the floor to the tiny garbage bin sitting in the corner of the room. All of this mess would most certainly not fit. She just so happened to know exactly where the janitor's closet was, which held an almost infinite number of large garbage bags. She had spent many class periods hiding in there, after all.
But as she approached the choir room door—humming to herself in resolve—three tall bulky figures had suddenly blocked her exit. As she squinted upwards, she recognized them as part of the group that bumbled behind Noah Puckerman on a daily basis. Her stance automatically stiffened.
"E-Excuse me," Her voice cracked without her permission. Those boys were rather large. "I need to get through. A-And you're blocking my way."
When the boys did not respond (and only continued to peer down at her with lascivious smirks on their faces), alarm bells began to ring at the back of her mind. Something wasn't right.
She attempted to move past them, but was instantly shoved roughly back inside of the choir room. They continued to back her in further until she began to stumble onto the risers. At this point, her heart was beginning to beat rapidly, a sickening feeling swirling within the pit of her stomach.
"Think about what you're doing." Rachel began her attempt to rationalize with them as she unsteadily maneuvered around fallen pieces of the choir room furniture. "I swear, I'll scream if you get any closer."
One of the boys—Azimio Adams, she believed his name was—chuckled in response. "And who's going to hear you? You're the only loser who chooses to go to the music building during their free time."
It was at this time when Rachel began to really panic, because he was actually right. The music building halls were always deserted, hence why this place had become her solace…
She discreetly patted the pockets of her uniform, but the cell phone she had been searching for was inconveniently absent. The last time she saw her phone was when she had—
If Rachel happened to be in a not-so-dire situation, she would have dramatically smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. She had safely tucked her phone away in her backpack to avoid it getting any damage during any (highly probable) surprise pranks. Her backpack just so happened to be in her locker. Across the campus. In an entirely different building.
Terrific.
And then the panic, once again, struck like lightening. Rachel was by herself— in a secluded area—surrounded by three large boys with obvious ill intent. She couldn't think of a worse situation if she had tried. She glanced towards the door—her only escape—and thought that she had seen a movement within the shadows of the hallway, but it might have been the trick light.
Or maybe a side effect from her sporadic breathing. One could never be too sure.
"D-Did Quinn Fabray send you?" The thought caused a wave of nausea to flood her body. This was low, even for Quinn.
All of the boys laughed at her expense. "We were told you needed to be taught a lesson." One of them sneered. "We're going to show you you're place, commoner."
The moment the boy who spoke moved his hands toward his belt buckle, their ill intentions were solidified, and Rachel immediately made a mad dash towards the exit.
But Rachel was too much to slow. Or maybe they were much too fast. She felt a strong hand yank the collar of her blazer, and suddenly the world flipped its axis and the air was being pushed forcefully from her lungs, leaving her gasping for air. It took her a moment to realize that her back was slammed—hard—to the hard linoleum floor, and her eyes misted and blurred when the pain finally registered. She heard the scraping of fallen chairs and laughter from the boys currently surrounding her again, but she was still attempting to bring air back into her lungs and blink away the haze that crept into vision.
"I'll grab her arms." She heard distantly, which was strange. Weren't they hovering right above her? And why was the room spinning? Despite her incapacitated state, Rachel began to flail her limbs with all her might. She also let out a piercing scream for help, just for good measure.
"Coleman, pin her legs! Karofsky, shut her up."
Rachel felt a meaty hand clasp around her mouth, but her struggles continued.
Rachel Barbra Berry refused to go down without a fight. She swore it.
But she also hoped, with all her might, that someone—anyone with a heart—would come to her aid.
Because this couldn't be happening to her.
Please let this not really be happening to her.
Yet unknown to the occupants in the choir room, in the shifting shadows that Rachel thought she saw just outside of the choir room door, stood a boy with a mop of dirty blonde hair and absolutely furious green eyes.
Unknown to Rachel, the help that she so desperately requested had been keeping watch on her all afternoon.
"So you're saying that Sam Evans—"
Quinn paused her sentence as she swung a baseball bat and let out a low grunt of disappointment when she missed the ball completely.
"Just showed up." Quinn finished the question without really asking. She turned around with a raised eyebrow towards the three boys huddled nervously against the fence.
She had all but demanded that Azimio Adams, Josh Coleman, and David Karofsky meet her at Fabray Enterprises private batting cages after school in order to update her on what was supposed to be the final blow against Rachel Berry.
The update was not a pleasant one.
Quinn let out a humorless laugh. "Three against one, and you guys looked like you got your asses handed to you."
The boys shifted uncomfortably.
"It must run in our family," Quinn stated absently. "The capability to beat the hell out of mindless idiots, I mean."
Quinn turned to face the pitching machine when it began to noisily whir in warning. The baseball suddenly shot with a soft pop and she, once again, swung the bat, connecting it to the ball with a satisfying crack. She didn't notice that the boys behind her visibly flinched at the sound.
"Y-Yes." Coleman spoke up nervously for the group. "B-But we did what you wanted…"
Quinn slammed her palm on the button next to her in order to stop the pitching machine. Without its constant humming, the batting cage was now eerily silent. The boys gulped in unison.
"You did what I wanted." She chuckled as she repeated his statement, shaking her head in disbelief. Faster than lightning, Quinn whirled around, and the bat that was once held limply in her hands, painfully connected to Coleman's leg. He screamed in agony. Quinn couldn't help but to think that Santana would be rather proud of her if she were here.
"I didn't realize that I wanted three half-brained simpletons to attempt to sexually assault a defenseless girl!"
The two boys still standing, winced at the volume of her voice. Coleman was still rolling around on the floor in pain.
Azimio was the bravest one to speak up in their defense. "Y-You told us to teach her a lesson."
"I told you to scare her! How the hell does that translate to rape? You're stupidity is astounding, Adams." She raised the bat threateningly and smirked when the boys flinched in fear.
"If I see you—any of you—anywhere on or near my campus again," Quinn pointed her bat threateningly to Azimio and David. "I'll make sure that you will never be able to walk again. Am I clear?"
The boys nodded in mute shock, not quite absorbing just what Quinn was suggesting.
Quinn narrowed her eyes. "All of you get out of my sight." Quinn lifted her bat to rest on her shoulders and motioned to Coleman's writhing form on the floor. "And take him with you. His screaming is giving me a headache."
Azimio and David only continued to gape in shock. Had they just been unofficially kicked out of Dalton? They both knew that whatever came out of Quinn Fabray's mouth was basically law, but…
"Why are you still here." She snarled out. The boys wasted no more time in gathering up their fallen friend and scrambling out of the gate of the batting cage.
It wasn't until long after they disappeared from sight, did Quinn allow her shoulders to sag in quiet lament, the weight of just what could have happened to Rachel Berry if her cousin hadn't arrived, finally bearing down on her conscience.
She pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh.
Things most certainly did not go as planned.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Q. Please tell me this is a joke." Santana groaned with a roll of her eyes.
Santana and Quinn were in the lounge the very next morning, discussing the incident that happened the day before. Brittany was nowhere to be found.
"I did not order that." Quinn stated firmly with clenched fists. "I wouldn't order something like that."
"This is going to be a PR nightmare." Santana mumbled as she rubbed the palm of her hands over her eyes. "An absolute disaster waiting to happen if this gets out."
Quinn set her shoulder's back. "The plan was to only trash the choir room and scare her a little." She gazed steadily at Santana. "That's it. I swear it."
There was a short uncomfortable silence before Santana sighed.
"I think it was Brittany, you know—who asked Sam to look out for Berry."
Quinn's eyes hardened and Santana scrambled to explain before Quinn got too upset.
"I told her not to interfere—the rules, I know—but you know her. She's been worried about you, and she was scared that things were going to get out of hand."
Quinn took a deep breath in order to protest, but Santana quickly interrupted her. "But it's a good thing she did it, right?"
Quinn nearly allowed her shoulders to sag in shame. Nearly.
Santana hesitated with what she was going to say next. "You've been acting strange—damn near obsessive—for the past few weeks, Q."
Quinn was immediately on the defensive. "I have not—"
"Quinn!" The sudden outburst was a deep tenor; forceful and agitated. But it also didn't belong to anyone currently in the room. Everyone froze at the sound of shouts and pounding footsteps that filtered into the room.
"Get off of me!" The tenor voice continued over the shouts that sounded closer and closer at every moment that passed.
A mop a blond hair suddenly appeared above the stairway entrance.
Sam Evans was breathing heavily and looked absolutely livid.
Puck appeared next, puffing at the head of the stairs and visibly out of breathe. "Dude," He gulped air greedily. "I said you can't just-"
But Sam wasn't paying attention. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Quinn's stoic form. Santana watched as he curled his upper lip and made a beeline for the F3 leader. Puck was quick to get a firm grip on Sam's upper arm to stop him from going any further. Quinn crossed her arms.
"Quinn," Sam pointed a finger at the F3 leader with his free hand. "You've taken things way too far."
Quinn arched an elegant blonde eyebrow at the boy struggling within Puck's strong grip. "This isn't any of your business, Sam."
Sam made a lunge towards Quinn, but was stopped when Puck wrapped a strong arm around his neck. If he made another attempt to move, his air supply would successfully be cut off.
"It became my concern when you sent your goons to rough up an innocent girl!" Sam wheezed out.
"Let him go, Puckerman."Quinn stated firmly. Puck stared at Quinn hesitantly.
"But he—"
"She said let him go, you idiot." Santana snapped. "He's family."
Puck released his grip immediately, more out of shock than anything else.
"I did not order it." Quinn stated for the third time that day.
"Those guys were a part of his crew." Sam pointed an accusatory finger at Puck. "Why don't you ask him?"
Quinn's eyes suddenly blazed in the mohawked boy's direction. His eyes widened instantly, then his jaw ticked. "I would never tell the guys to do something like that. Ever. Trust me on this one." Puck stated it with such vehemence that the truth of his statement could not be questioned.
"I believe him Q." Santana spoke suddenly. Puck's shoulders relaxed. Slightly. "I can smell a lie from a mile away, and the man-whore is actually being honest."
Puck grunted in protest at the insult. Quinn nodded in acknowledgment.
Sam's gaze landed on the floor. His jaw tensed and his fists clenched and released in deep thought. He shook his head and made a noise of frustration before raising his own green eyes to Quinn's hazel ones.
"Rachel is no longer red-carded." Sam said sternly. It wasn't a request. Quinn's eyes flashed in warning, since she most certainly did not like being told what to do. Sam blatantly ignored it. "You owe her that at least."
Quinn bared her teeth, but didn't respond.
"And those three assholes? Adams, Karofsky and Coleman. I want them gone. Period. Even though they deserve more…"
Quinn glared at him steadily. "I've already taken care of them. If they even think about setting foot on this campus again…" Her eyes then shifted to Santana, who was now sporting a dangerous smirk. The "Construction Company" heiress knew exactly what she needed to do in that highly unlikely scenario.
Sam didn't say another word as he spun around and made his way towards the staircase, but a firm hand on his upper arm halted his movements. Sam turned slightly to see that Quinn and Santana were immersed in their own private conversation, and then he turned to glare at Puck.
"Get your hands off of me." Sam snarled, but Puck still held firm.
"Is Berry—is she alone right now?" Puck's tone of voice sounded—worried?
Sam shook his head, but refused to elaborate.
Puck nodded his head and looked towards the floor. The silence almost reached the point of being awkward until Puck spoke up. "Look, I admit that I might be kind of a tool, but I'm not a rapist, you know. I mean, I don't—I don't approve of that sort of thing."
Puck lowered his voice so that Sam was the only person that could hear him clearly. "I—I've got a kid, you know?" Sam thought he saw Puck's eyes flick in Quinn's direction, but he wasn't too sure. "A little girl. And I have a baby sister. Just the thought of anything happening to them…" Puck trailed off.
Sam nodded his head solemnly at the statement, and also not nearly as surprised as he should have been about Puck having a child at such a young age. Puck's reputation preceded him.
"It's just—God, this really isn't badass right now—Berry is okay, right?"
Sam pursed his lips. "She's still spooked." Puck finally released his grip and rubbed the shaven part of his head awkwardly. "She was crying. She would hardly let me help her off of the floor."
Puck nodded as if he expected that type of reaction.
Sam moved towards the staircase again, but Puck once again gripped his arm. This time, Sam didn't react.
"No one deserves…that to happen to them. Even if it…didn't really happen."
Sam looked at Puck for a long moment, shook off his grip then descended the staircase without saying another word.
Puck heaved a sigh as he ran a hand over his mohawk. He honestly didn't know how to feel about the events of the past few days. And looking at Quinn—all furrowed eyebrows, worry lines and lip bites—
He was certain that he wasn't the only one.
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Very much so.