Revenge is a dish best served as humble pie.
Glee
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Author: myIllusion
Rating: T for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters-no copyright infringement intended.
Rachel is getting a break in this chapter. She has had an exhausting couple of weeks so I decided to give her a rest and let some of the others carry the ball in this chapter. This is one of those in between chapters where not very much happens but "things" get explained.
Hope you all continue to follow along.
Chapter VII. Rule #9
Quinn, Santana, Brittany.
"Look Quinn, I'm a Hubba Bubba."
Brittany squealed with delight, she twirled into a spin before grabbing Quinn and squeezing her so hard she started to cough.
"Air...Britt... need air..."
Quinn was pleading but also laughing as her tall and deceivingly strong friend finally released her from the hug of death.
"What exactly is a Hubba Bubba Britt?"
Santana slipped into Quinn's bedroom right behind Brittany but chose to let her girlfriend take the lead in greeting their friend. Brittany was what Santana referred to as a "Blurter". Meaning she might actually suffer emotionally if forced to refrain from immediately sharing the thoughts that hovered on the topmost layer of her brain.
"It's a piece of bubble gum."
Santana explained blandly, as though Brittany's greeting was exceptionally routine.
"And San is a Big Blue Popsicle."
Brittany, wearing a pink peasant blouse, shoved up the long sleeve and pointed at the skin on the inside of her forearm - it was decidedly Pink. 'Bubble Gum Pink.' She snuggled Santana from behind, yanked up the front of her black tee shirt and patted the trim tummy - which was decidedly, 'Popsicle Blue.'
Quinn didn't know if that was a real color but she knew what Brittany meant when she called Santana a Popsicle. Both of them had faded. They all had. It had been two weeks since the "Rainbow Shower" and for some reason today, Brittany took notice of their change in saturation.
"Alright then... uh...lets get on with this meeting."
Quinn really didn't want to hear Brittany's take on what type of edible treat she thought...
"You're a Big Banana!"
Quinn groaned and turned a shade of peach with the blush that was creeping all over her. All she could think of was how amusing this would be to Rachel.
Santana snickered and then started to chuckle.
"Nice try Q, you know Britt could never exclude you..."Nanner."
The chuckles turned into full blown laughter, which set Brittany off and it wasn't too long before all three girls were pointing and giggling, stumbling onto Quinn's bed to wrestle, tickle and smother one another with pillows.
"Bubba, Poppy and Nanner were the impromptu nicknames tossed at one another during this formal gathering of " Sogima." Santana's mother dubbed the inseparable trio, "The Three Amigos" at the six year celebration of Santana's birthday. There is something about a formal naming which imbues an entity with the power of understanding it has significance. I am. We are. It is. And so, the girls came to understand that the three of them together were, indeed, impressive.
In time they became the "Tribe of Sogima (soggy ma)" Of course the secret of the name was layered in the deepest of meanings. Not. They simply spelled the word 'Amigos' backwards. The use of 'Tribe' was inspired by Survivor but none of the girls would admit to that. They thought that having a "club" sounded dumb and childish, whereas being a member of a Tribe sounded wild and dangerous.
A list of rules developed over the years. Rule #1 was: No boys allowed. Quinn laughed with that current thought because she had recently come back to really appreciating that rule.
After several minutes of general goofiness they settled themselves comfortably on Quinn's bed. Brittany and Santana snuggled up near the headboard while Quinn sprawled across the foot propped up by her elbows.
"I'm invoking rule # 9."
Silence...
Santana's face was stricken with fear but Brittany tilted her ginger blonde head at Quinn while wearing an expression that could only be called smug.
"Please tell me you are not pregnant again." Santana begged and there was real pain mixed with a sadness and concern few people would ever see from the macha Latina.
"She's not!" Brittany declared confidently, she paused for a moment but couldn't possibly contain what she was thinking to herself.
"She's in loooove... right Quinn?" Brittany flashed her a knowing grin.
That exasperating, wretched, hunka Hubba Bubba! Quinn stewed. This is why she invoked rule # 9 before she said anything else. Brittany always knew on the deepest levels what was going on emotionally with people. She was truly gifted, greatly misunderstood and Quinn thought - grossly underestimated. But not by the people in this room.
Rule # 9 : No Questions asked, Never Tell, Never Judge, Never Turn Your Back, No Matter What. Unconditional Support.
In all of the years the girls had been together, from pre-school to the current date, Quinn had invoked Rule #9 only twice.
The second time was when she got pregnant.
The first time was to bully Santana and Brittany into helping her bully Rachel Berry.
Brittany nearly abandoned them because she knew what Quinn wanted was wrong and... bad. But her natural, intuitive gift of knowing what people felt made her understand that Quinn was scared. She was afraid of Rachel. People got mean, sometimes, when they were frightened if they didn't have anyone to show them a better way. And Quinn didn't, because her parents were mean and scared too.
Santana solved the problem for her sensitive girlfriend. She pulled Britt aside and encouraged her to be nice to Rachel on the sly - explaining that she would be mean enough for the both of them. And that was pretty much how it worked out. Quinn and Santana were really, really mean to Rachel while Brittany tagged along but didn't participate.
Brittany capitalized on every opportunity she was given to do something good or nice for Rachel. Most times Rachel wasn't aware that Brittany stepped in to ease the way for her. Not that Rachel ever had it easy, but there were many occasions when Brittany created diversions so the tiny diva could slip away unnoticed.
Finally. Yay. Finally, Quinn figured it out.
"Did you tell her Quinn? Does she hate you a lot still?" "Or..." Brittany batted her eyelashes at Quinn. "...have you been sharing the lady kisses? Is she going to let you help her with her game? School is so much more fun now since Rachel started playing the game. Do you think Rachel will let me help her? I would love to try another color when I'm done with this one. I absolutely do not want to get Skunked. Maybe Rachel has a pretty smell she could use on the Cheerios to go with the pretty colors?..."
Santana patiently waited out Brittany's "blurt spurt", there seemed to be quite a few this time - each inspired by the one before. This had been pent up in Britt for quite some time so she decided to watch Quinn's face while Brittany's mind erupted through her mouth.
The golden Cheerio was simply astounded by Brittany's litany of perplexing questions, acute observations, and eager wishes for new colors and pretty smells - but not the bad ones.
Oh. My. God.
Finally, it all stopped. Brittany wound herself down while Santana sat beside her girlfriend gently stroking a well shaped thigh, wearing a terrifying grin.
"Wow...uh...Britt, I don't know how to answer half of what you just... whatever..."
"...I'm still invoking rule #9. I want you both to help me...um...what's the stupid word? You know, when you want someone to like you but you don't know how to make that happen? Especially since you've been torturing them for years and they don't trust you. But you really like them. And... uh... I want... I want..."
Santana interrupted her stuttering friend.
"Woo, Q.,... is the stupid word you are looking for. Are you saying you want us to help you woo Treasure Trail?"
"Don't call her that!" Was shouted by both of the blondes in the room.
"Alright then..." Santana smirked. "Lets start with that... no more nasty nicknames." She paused for a moment before continuing her line of thought.
"Although I am really pissed at the little dwar... uh... at Berry for the dye job. And the whole vinegar thing. And the laughing...and... and...that little smur...sneak, had the gall to sell us all nose plugs!" Santana snorted out loud before exclaiming. "Holy Fucking Wow!"
"She's kind of scarily, brilliantly, evil. Are you sure you want to go there with the midg...um, Berry, Q.? I mean, with a mind like that who knows what she could get up to in the sack?"
Santana guffawed wildly while Quinn throttled her with a pillow.
Brittany nodded sagely.
School Board Meeting
"It's abundantly clear after today's ah... um... event that it is time to get the police involved with an investigation." The School Board Chairman exclaimed with icy authority.
Mr. Harley Everson owner of the local Twin Flix Movie Theaters, several arcades and father to Mickey Everson - one of the nine football players who had been "Skunked" during the football game.
"My son was poisoned with Skunk venom, his girlfriend looks like she's been dipped in guacamole and now, the teachers, administrators and staff of this school have been assaulted with frozen corn syrup. The football game was cancelled before the end of the second quarter, school was closed for half a day and the cheer leading squad looks like they belong in a fruit of the loom commercial."
"What the hell is going on in this school Mr. Figgins?"
The flustered principal was still a little twitchy from the shock of having a Slushie facial. He kept peering over his shoulder and glancing side to side as though he expected that 'black robed figure' to appear at any moment for a repeat performance.
"Well...er... yes, that is something we have been trying to determine over the course of these past two weeks. Coach Sylvester brought in a private consultant, an investigative professional who believes an outsider is responsible for these practical jokes. Someone who is invested in the failure of our Championship Cheer leading Squad. "
The meeting was being held in the auditorium at the request of the two hundred parents who showed up at the hastily scheduled meeting. The board would have preferred a closed session but it was apparent that would never be tolerated by the mob of angry parents.
"Really? Everson snarked. " Please tell me how throwing corn syrup in the faces of half the teaching staff at this school has anything to do with Cheer leading? Or, how does stink bombing the entire football team equate to the sabotage of pyramids and pompoms?
I want the police involved. I want to catch this jokester and set an example. Neither the students nor the staff deserve to be viciously targeted within the halls of their own school. I want to get to the bottom of this insanity."
At that point a very tall distinguished black man stood up among the group of parents who were seated in the front of the auditorium. He cleared his throat, smoothed the soft cashmere of the cardigan sweater he was wearing and addressed the School Board Chairman.
" Hello. My name is Dr. Hiram Berry and I would like to make a comment in regard to your suggested police investigation. If you plan on moving forward with such, I would hope you will include the 146 Slushie assaults upon my daughter as part of this investigation. I know of six other parents in this room who also have children who have suffered similar assaults on school property. I have documentation of the dates, as well as photos of the damage done to my daughters clothes, including dry cleaning bills. I have seven separate reports of medical treatment from the Optometrist and one detailed documentation of severe damage to the cornea in Rachel's left eye."
The room was completely silent. Most of the board members couldn't look him in the eye and Mr. Everson was moving his jaw up and down as if he might say something but had forgotten how to make his vocal chords work.
"Ahem." Mr. Berry continued. "Rachel will be very angry with me if she finds out I attended this meeting. She believes that the harassment and abuse would only get worse if myself or my husband Leroy made a complaint. She takes two spare sets of clothes to school with her every day and sometimes that isn't even enough. I am simply asking ladies and gentlemen.
"Why?" "Why now? Are Mr. Figgins eyeballs more important than my daughters? Your son will stink for a week or two, but smelling bad won't render him blind Mr. Everson. Coach Sylvester's Cheerleaders were highlighted on the evening news last week. The reporter gushed over the trendy and fashionable pigmentation of their skin. I must say this emergency Board meeting was a bit of a surprise to me. But it has opened my eyes to the double standard by which the students here are treated."
"Mark my word Mr. Everson. If you open a police investigation you will investigate all of these assaults... or 'practical jokes' as you like to call them. I have a very good lawyer who works with the ACLU. This school will make national news if it doesn't make and effort to treat all of the students with equal respect."
With those final words Mr. Berry nodded courteously to the board members, but just as he was about to take his seat...
Coach Beiste barged into the auditorium dragging, by their ear, two very reluctant young men. Azimo Adams of the football team and Jeremy Miller of the hockey team. Both of the boys were squirming under the firm fingers that had their earlobes pinched in a vice like grip.
"I've found your pransksters. Jeremy give the note to Mr. Figgins, she released the hockey player and shoved him at the table where Mr. Figgins was sitting with his mouth agape. He flinched as the surly boy stomped up to the table and slapped a wadded up piece of stationary onto the formica surface.
"These two and most of the hockey team were responsible for the Slushie attack today. I found them just now, in the old equipment room stuffing their black robes and ski masks into a trash bag... along with that note. They gave me the names of the other boys who participated."
Coach Beiste's face was flushed with rage as she turned to face Sue Sylvester.
"I hope you have a really good explanation Sue because I just don't understand. I've always thought you went a little too far with some of your motivational tactics but this? Sue this is just insane." She was shaking her head disapprovingly.
Coach Sylvester, wearing a bright Red Adidas track suit, was slouching in a chair on the side of the auditorium stage. Her expression was fixed with a sneer as she reflected upon Hiram Berrry's words. The midgets father was a formidable man. Not surprising, considering the moxie his pint sized prodigy seemed to have in reserves. This whole carnival side show was taking a journey into the twilight zone of no control. She would discover the yellow bellied, liverless, lowlife who dared to piss on every corner of her territory... and... huh? Why does everyone look like they haven't had a bowel movement for a week? And why are they looking at me?
"If you all need to relieve your bowels the facilities are down the hall and to the left, but please, spare me your eyebrow crunching, constipated, vapid expressions." She snarled.
"Sue Sylvester. You will explain yourself this instant."
Mr. Figgins was up and waving a crumpled piece of paper like a banner.
"Oh for the sake of insufferable stuffed shirts and pampered paper pushers what must I explain?" Sue marched over to the table and snatched the piece of paper from a very irate Mr. Figgins who had, unfortunately, begun to spittle as his self control evaporated.
"Next time, Figgins, remind your wife to pack you a bib. Had I known a wrinkled sheet of pressed pulp could reduce you to a drooling, inarticulate fool, I would have gotten you the special edition of "Origami for Dummy's" as your Secret Santa gift this year."
She placed the paper on the table, smoothed the creases, pulled her reading glasses out of her pocket, bent over the note and began to read.
This note was written on her personal stationary. The stationary she used for specific directives. Directives which Becky delivered on her behalf each morning. The ink was a rich, deep indigo that could only be found in her custom Dunhill fountain pen. The handwriting was distinctly hers, but the words... she did not write those words...
Azimo.
Today's assignment will seem odd but
has been endorsed by Figgins.
Recruit the hockey team to help you -
they have weights during 5th period
and Miller owes me - he knows why.
Prepare to leave from lunch ten minutes early.
Proceed to the old equipment room
behind the gym. You will find a trash
bag with 12 black robes and 12 ski masks.
Disguise yourself, the hockey players
and proceed with the usual duty.
The Flavor of the Day is Cherry.
Deliver the goods at 1:05 to the
following customers.
Mr. Figgins
Mrs. Bellpher
Mr. Shuester
Mrs. Ekstrom
Mr. Davies
Mrs. Castle
Mrs. Betson
Mr. Thompson
Mr. St. Pierre
Mrs. Hovel
Mr. Gannon
Coach Sylvester
Seriously. You will do this.
This is expected by each
and every staff member.
This is a sanctioned experiment.
Tell no one. Make sure Miller
explains this to his goons.
Once the goods are delivered.
Run.
Return to the equipment room.
Put the robes and masks back
in the bag. Go back to the
weight room.
Upon completing her perusal of the note that was penned in her concise handwriting, with her custom Dunhill pen, on her personal stationary - Sue Sylvester did the unexpected.
She fainted.
To Be Continued
I know a lot of you are eager for the romance to kick off. I promise in the next chapter to move that along - especially now that Quinn will have some support.
Thanks again to those of you who left me a note of encouragement.
