Chapter 7: Who Do You Think You Are?

Rachel slipped into the locker room to find Quinn bending over, one white sneaker on the small wooden bench, tying her laces. She tried to ignore the fact she could see right underneath the Cheerios skirt, red spanx on display. Almost as if she expected to be followed, Quinn stood up straight and turned to face Rachel, arms folded across her chest.

'What are you doing here Quinn?'
Quinn smirked. 'I should ask you the same thing.'
Rachel smoothed her warm hands against the skirt of her navy and white polka dot dress and paused before looking back up at Quinn. 'I was asked to return as a speaker for the career day today here at McKinley.'
'But that doesn't explain why you're in here, Rachel.' Quinn gestured to their surroundings. A little lost for words, Rachel ignored the statement. 'Well why are you in here Quinn?'
She shrugged with her hands planted firmly on her hips. 'I was Coach Sue's favourite head Cheerio. She said if I ever returned, I was allowed to use McKinley's exercise equipment.'
Rachel just simply nodded. 'Well, don't let me interrupt you. I need to find Will Schuester anyhow.'
Rachel turned to leave. 'Ask the girls with the shortest skirts in the school. Chances are, they've seen him.' Quinn retorted. Rachel simply ignored the blonde's not so subtle accusation and left the locker room, with Quinn still standing in the same position.

Santana emerged from behind one of the rows of lockers and high-fived Quinn.

When the lights are turned off, the halls of William McKinley High School look oh so very different. Rachel Berry stood by the double doors leading into the school. She never thought she'd be standing in those red and white hallways again. All those years of harsh ice cold multi-coloured facials and cruel nicknames were replaced by bright white lights and standing ovations laced with the feeling of perspiration on palms with the cast coming together for good luck hugs and chants before the start of every performance.

But now Rachel Berry's palms were perspiring for a whole new reason. She'd been caught. Quinn Fabray stood outside the doors to the Rachel Berry Auditorium with a raised eyebrow and a smirk plastered onto those pale pink lips.

Quinn's head began swirling with those photos she found on Google when her eyes caught the pint sized brunette standing in the dimly lit hallway wearing...a Cheerios uniform? The brunettes eyes widened, knowing that Quinn caught her in the unfamiliar attire.

Quinn eyed the way long toned tanned legs disappeared under the folds of the red polyester skirt that haunted her for so many years. Subtle glimpses of toned abs peeked out from underneath the red and white panelled vest, just calling out for the blonde's pale fingers to take a closer look. Defined collarbones winked from under the hood of those long chocolate locks spilling around the small woman's chest, begging for attention from the blonde's lips. Quinn new she had a job to do, but she struggled to settle the warmth slowly building in her lower abdomen.

'I never knew you were a Cheerio Rachel...'
Rachel interlocked her fingers in front of herself. 'I wasn't.'
Quinn cocked her head. 'Then why are you wearing one of the uniforms?'
Rachel swallowed. 'That's none of your business Quinn.'
The blonde smiled approaching the brunette. 'Oh, I think it is. Coach Sue would lynch you if she found you wearing one of the uniforms. And as head cheerleader, I'm the next best thing...' she walked around the smaller girl, lingering between her shoulder blades. She made sure she kept standing behind the smaller woman so Rachel couldn't see the way Quinn's pupils were dilating. She heard the brunette's short breaths become increasingly shallow and a smile played around her lips.
'It's exciting isn't it...' the blonde kept her voice low, just behind Rachel's ear. 'The feeling of knowing you're feared...that people want you...want to be you...'
Rachel almost shuddered, feeling Quinn so close inside her personal space. That if Quinn just slightly reached out, she could touch her...
She shook her head. 'I have to go.' she said snapping out of her almost-trance. She marched off and Quinn just let her go, watching her walk away in that familiar white and red uniform.

An unfamiliar feeling suddenly slammed into her, into her chest winding her. It grabbed her whole body, sickness began bubbling up and she felt weak, as if she may fall. Rachel was out of sight, but Quinn had a pretty good idea of where she would be. Her blood began to pulse, her heartbeat in her ears. Without a second thought, she took off running down the hallway and she knew exactly where to go.

Rachel slipped into the old choir room where she'd been giving her career talk just a few hours before. Noah was sat on the piano stool hunched over a Fender Stratocaster he found propped up against the wall, plucking at the strings. Rachel crept up behind him, thankful that the white sneakers on her feet didn't squeak against the floor. She slid her hands over his eyes.
'Good evening Mr Puckerman...' she purred behind his ear. She removed her hands from over his eyes and stepped around in front of him. His brown eyes nearly popped out of his head when she took the black and white guitar from under his hands and set it back down against the wall, deliberately behind over enough for him to see under the Cheerios skirt, her red lace French knickers on display. She turned to him again and smiled sweetly. 'Mr Puckerman, I've been struggling a little with a personal...problem...'
He looked up at her. 'Oh yeah? And what's that...' his voice was husky yet soft.
Rachel rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand, faking discomfort. 'This top is so tight, I think I need to take it off, but I need some help to do it...'
Noah reached out putting his hands on her hips, drawing her to him. 'I always like to be of assistance...' he growled. He pulled her down into his lap, forgetting the piano behind him as he leaned back against the ivory keys and they made an un attractive clunking noise. She smirked and swept her long dark locks over her right shoulder as his strong hands fingered the silver zip just below the left side of her ribcage.

Quinn's fingers curled around the red painted doorframe, fighting against the feeling of being suffocated.

When Quinn arrived back at Santana's house, she'd never been more glad that the Latina's family weren't home. She fished the spare key out from under the terracotta plant pot on the front porch and opened the door. She marched up to Santana's room, she didn't care if she was about to see something she shouldn't. She thrust open the door without knocking and slammed it behind her, looking directly at the Latina.

'I'm out. The bet's off Santana.'