Title: Four

Author: animatedbrowneyes

Pairings: Quinn/Rachel, Santana/Brittany, Tina/Artie, Will/Emma

Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, nor do I own "I Am Number Four".

For anyone looking for a little "what goes around, comes around" for our dear Finn Hudson, you'll get a little, with a twist. Enjoy! :)

Finn's dramatics were something Rachel wanted to laugh at, but in all truthfulness, the jock was completely right. One wrong implication from her and Finn would be tattling straight to Mr. Karofsky, who no doubt would find a loophole in the system and try to charge her. Finn's confident hubris that was his foil, however. Rachel was amused and surprised at the immediate conference, spearheaded by Santana, once Mr. Schue had vacated the room after glee club had ended on tense, uneasy note.

"I already called my dibs," Santana announced. "I'm going first with the pranks on Lurch. Bitch is going down."

"What are you going to do?" Puck questioned. "I've got plenty of ideas, too."

"You'll see."

The devilish gleam in her eyes did not go unnoticed, and while everyone else—including Rachel, to a grudgingly allowable degree—shuddered, Brittany simply beamed.

"She means business," Brittany declared proudly. "That's her thinking voice and her crafty eyes. Finn's gonna regret talking to you like that, Rachel."

Santana apparently did mean business. Over the course of two long weeks, Finn was subject to a wily, invisible prankster, who seemed to be not only all-knowing, but omnipresent. His clothes, upon returning from gym class or football practice, were found to be drenched in sour milk, stinking up the entire locker room. His homework was mysteriously spirited from his backpack, and later found to be torn to shreds in the hallway like confetti, and earned him a rare, cursory threat to his position as quarterback for grades even lower than his usual, a scant average. Several times, a fuming, stressed Finn equalled an exhausted Finn, and waking up from a necessary, study hall nap, found artfully depicted obscenities—including Santana's grotesque scribbles of genitalia, and Puck's comments about Finn's Spin The Bottle revealed story of no sexual experience whatsoever—on his forehead and cheeks, making him waste two classes cleaning off in the bathroom. His locker was rigged with slushie traps, his sneakers were tied together under his seat, eggs were hidden in his football helmet (only realizing so when he smashed the helmet on his head with boyish enthusiasm for a good practice), his chair was found to be coated in superglue, making his pants rip in the enraged effort to free himself, and recently, soda tipped into his open backpack, making it look like McKinley High's best football player had wet himself in public. Joke after joke, Finn could not find the culprit, and his attempts to blame Rachel were fruitless; the brunette always possessed a legitimate, reliable alibi, making it quite impossible for her to commit mischief without being spotted in the act or in hurried flight from it.

Needless to say, Finn's microscopic temper could only be held at bay for so long, before an eruption rivaling Mount St. Helens's would inevitably occur.

Except, when Finn confronted Rachel in the library, his anger was frigidly quiet and strained, not blustery, hot, and loud, like always.

"This has to stop," Finn told her. "I've had enough."

"What? Your trickster finally getting to you?"

"Look, I know you put them up to it," Finn hissed, towering over her. "Enough, okay? I said to stop it already, so do it, got it?"

"Newsflash, Finn," Rachel sighed calmly, finger sliding along a spine of a book before tipping the tome into her hands and opening to the index, "you aren't the boss of me."

"Yes, I am," Finn insisted, ripping the volume from her grasp and placing it high above her reach with petty contempt. "I can tell Mr. Karofsky about you."

"Tell him what?" Rachel asked vaguely, searching for another novel to examine. "That I've been innocent as an angel?"

"You haven't been innocent!"

"Incorrect, again," Rachel murmured, watching his eyes darken in fury, "I haven't done a thing, not once. You might want to ask Santana instead."

"I'll get her in trouble too," Finn snapped, triumphant. Rachel's lips curved in a disarming, knowing smile.

"Like Ms. Sylvester would let another Cheerio be suspended," the brunette drawled. "She just got the others back, remember? And Santana's one of her very best."

"I'll find a way to get you caught," Finn swore. "You'll see."

"And I'll be one step ahead of you," Rachel promised coldly. "You can't prove anything, Finn. I might be of a less, inconsequential social status in comparison to you, but I am smarter than you'll ever hope to be. You being a stupid jerk won't account for anything important in the long run. You'll still be faceless jock in Lima, and I'll be..."

She paused, automatically thinking in uncertainty to the invisible death warrant slapped on her forehead by the Mogadorians, but ignored her hesitation and pressed on.

"...not here," she concluded, placing the book still in her hands in its proper place on the shelf. "Have fun with your remaining glory days, Finn as King of McKinley."

With a graceful, condescending curtsy, Rachel sauntered from the library with a smile on her features, leaving one dumbfounded jock and his spinning, bewildered mind.

When did Rachel get the upper hand again? And what was with the curtsy thing?

"You just left him there?" Mike questioned, impressed. "I approve."

"Thank you. He looked certainly confused about it," Rachel nodded, pushing her lunch tray from herself. "I'm only concerned about his tall tales to Mr. Karofsky."

"There's no basis," Quinn interjected, absentmindedly doodling in a notebook, balancing her free hand under her chin. "He can't say anything about pranks he used to do."

"He did those, too?"

"Yup," Puck interjected. "I used to help. We tortured the freshmen last year. Some even cried."

"And," Santana added, her tone boasting, "I have a signature calling card. It's pretty sick, actually. Finnocence might not have noticed it, but it's been around."

"It's a cursive, red 'S'," Brittany burst out, excited (as Santana looked unable to upset with her). "It's really fancy. Puck and Matt helped her. That means it can't be you."

"Sounds edgy," Mike mused. "Like Jigsaw making a puzzle piece with the human flesh of his victims. I like it."

Mike turned scarlet when the others eyed him in perplexed disdain.

"What? That's the only signature thing I could think of! I don't like...murder! God."

"You missed the Joker," Rachel pointed out teasingly. "Obviously, the deck of playing cards at every crime scene?"

"What about Holes?" Santana offered. "Kissing Kate Barlow?" Upon receiving incredulous looks, she frowned. "What? I read. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Stanley Yelnats," Brittany interrupted suddenly, delighted. "Backwards and forwards."

Santana sent her a warm smile.

"I don't know what I find worse, though," Mike remarked conversationally. "Finn's 'tude or Mr. Schue's endless tirades about Sectionals."

"Sectionals," Rachel and Santana huffed at the same time.

"Seconded," Quinn grumbled. "It's a singing competition, not the World Series."

"Aren't we facing a school of juvie girls?" Puck wondered, a lecherous grin on his face. "They're probably as badass as I am."

"Jane Addams Academy," Mike nodded. "And that Havenbrook School for the Deaf."

Santana voiced the quip no one dared say aloud.

"And Mr. Schue thinks we're going to lose?"

"He's been realistic," Quinn shrugged. "You can't get cocky."

"Don't get too cocky, kids," Mike reiterated seriously. "Han Solo taught me that at a very young age. Wise words were never spoken before."

Rachel giggled, Quinn looked amused, Puck smirked, Brittany looked bewildered, and Santana sighed, as if Mike's nerdy tendencies were a personal insult.

"Is there ever a day where you don't talk about anything to do with aliens?" The Latina burst out.

"No."

"I pity your future wife," Santana muttered.

"Santana, my future wife would be a Trekkie like you," Mike cajoled suggestively, waggling his eyebrows, "interested?"

"No, she's not," Brittany piped up, sending Mike a reproving glare.

While an argument exploded with Santana and Brittany vs. Mike with Puck as an enthusiastic, enabling bystander, Quinn leaned in Rachel's direction.

"Doing anything later?"

"Chores with my dad," Rachel answered, automatically conjuring another half-truth on instinct. "We're...cleaning out the...basement."

"Is it messy?" Quinn inquired, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, uh...it's really nasty, so it might take awhile," Rachel replied quickly. "But I could stop by your house later, if you wanted me to."

"Okay," Quinn smiled easily. "I'll see you after then," the blonde decided, stealing some of an oblivious Brittany's lunch. "I'm thinking we need a Harry Potter marathon."

"Good idea," Rachel agreed with a little grin. "I'll be quick."

Rachel ran home after glee practice, where the majority of the time was spent theorizing a twelfth body to replace Finn for Sectionals. Mr. Schuester, staunchly on Rachel's side, wouldn't let Finn rejoin the club on the obvious point of his misogynistic leanings and repeated bullying incidents against the brunette. Puck voted for the draft option, which involved intimidating Jacob Ben Israel, the school geek, as the inconsequential, sway-in-the-background person for them to qualify. It didn't surprise anyone when Santana agreed, illustrating a one-two punch with her hands and the threatening grip on a shirt collar (Puck nodded seriously in total approval). Quinn suggested bribery— Lauren Zizes, the sole female wrestler at McKinley, adored Canterbury Eggs—and Mr. Schue almost looked like he was considering it before coming to his supposedly moral adult senses and vetoed it. Artie volunteered asking his jazz band friends, Matt muttered something about possible football players, and Tina mentioned her art classmates.

Rachel closed the front door behind her, peering around for Leroy, and spotted him through the window in the backyard, arranging three cinderblocks in a pile.

Elphaba Brice was kept inside, asleep on the couch.

"Did my hazmat suit arrive?"

"Today," Leroy told her, handing Rachel a mass of rubbery orange and a pair of goggles. "You're going to adapt to fighting under any condition. This case being on fire."

Rachel pulled the suit on over her clothes, and zipped it up. Leroy tossed her a pair of boots and once the brunette was completely clad in her protective gear, Leroy turned back to her with a gallon of oil, throwing it over her so the sludge slid slowly down her body like mud. Her Cêpan reached into his pocket, withdrawing a box of matches, and although Rachel knew she was fireproof, the sound of a striking match, a glowing flame, and the sight of the small wooden stick flying haphazardly in her trajectory and setting her suit ablaze made her heart clench in pure terror. The heat was swift and heavy, and the kindling licked up her arms like a dry brush in the middle of a forest fire.

She couldn't feel what should have been an intense, burning agony in the enclosing suit. It was only something she would relate to the sun's sultriness in an August day.

"Now!" Leroy shouted, barely discernible over the roaring of the sizzling oil above a layer of rubber on her ears. "Throw those cinderblocks around!"

Rachel lumbered—really, her body felt like it weighed several hundred pounds more—and stooped to pick up a cinderblock, hurdling toward a tree with all of her might.

Fifty miles per hour, at least, and the tree's surface smashed with a cinderblock-sized hole, before splintering in two and falling to the ground with a deafening crash.

Rachel ambled to the next few, spinning like a discus thrower and tossing the blocks away from her, all becomings blurs of gray until impact with sapling after sapling.

The fire still burned endlessly on her hazmat suit, engulfing her in an inferno of weight and making her goggles begin to crack, the reenforced plastic starting to shiver.

"Leroy," Rachel ground out in a panic. "The goggles—"

A sliver of torrid, sweltering air filtered through a new crack in the plastic, ruining itself under pressure, making her eyes water and sear as if being pressed against hot irons.

"Leroy!"

Leroy snatched up a fire extinguisher from the ground and spun the dial before gripping the handle and the conduit and releasing a forceful stream of carbon dioxide.

The brunt of the crystals made Rachel weak at the knees as the fire was slowly smothered, and little particles of ice clung to the hazmat suit, like bits of a snowfall.

Rachel, tired after only a small exertion, let her body go sideways and land on the ground, breathing heavily. She reached up, taking off the now partially melted goggles.

"Shit," she breathed.

"That went well," Leroy commented, as her eyes lifted to meet approving his. "You didn't feel the burn, did you?"

"Not on my skin, no. Just the actual weight of it. Pretty heavy, it was."

"Nothing to be done about that, I suppose. Come on, I'm going to have you practice a reverse roundhouse kick and a few karate strikes."

"But I just—" Rachel squeaked, indignant. "I'm exhausted!"

"It's a training afternoon, Rachel," Leroy interrupted patiently. "What, do you have a date or something?"

"Actually, yes," Rachel grumbled, wobbling unsteadily to her feet. "Quinn and I were planning to watch Harry Potter."

"He wins in the end, you know."

"Leroy!" Rachel screeched, stomping her foot and regretting it as a flash of tangible fatigue shot up her leg. "What would you ruin it like that? What is wrong with you?"

Leroy shrugged. "I looked it up online."

"Wikipedia?"

"Yes."

"You need to get out of the house," Rachel observed, irritable. "I'll have to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Fabray as a new species...the Couch Potato Human."

"I go outside," Leroy retorted grumpily. "I watch the sun rise several times a week. I buy the newspaper."

"What about the stack of books on the table?" Rachel asked pointedly. "That'll keep you inside all day."

"I like to read and online shop, Rachel. Is that a crime?"

"Yes! First of all, you need to get out before you get cabin fever. Second, it is also a crime to restrict Quinn and I from a date."

Leroy raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Rachel crossed her arms, petulant.

"We're practicing for at least another three hours," Leroy insisted at last. "You managed to distract me, but it isn't going to work again, Rachel."

"Three hours?" Rachel repeated in disbelief. "No!"

"Do you want to make it four?" Leroy queried sternly.

"No."

"Good. I'll expect no criticism, either."

Rachel waited until Leroy was halfway across the yard before mumbling under her breath: "Asshole."

"I heard that. You just added fifteen more minutes."

Rachel growled.

Unfortunately, Rachel's annoyance couldn't be suppressed for long and she ended up working for four and a half hours until she was sweaty and sulky, completely worn out.

Not wanting to disappoint Quinn, Rachel nearly dragged herself to the blonde's house, where a dim flash of light could be seen from the sidewalk.

Quinn's bedroom was still lit up, so Rachel snuck through the backyard, and spotting a tree, climbed agilely and sneakily up to the window.

Rachel, poised like an acrobat, rapped her knuckles on the glass, hand trembling with dull exhaustion.

It took quite a few more tries until the window was pushed up and tired, hazel orbs glittering in the night finally appeared, brightening a little at Rachel's presence.

"Hey," Quinn smiled, helping the shorter girl clamber inside and pulled the window closed as quietly as possible before turning back to Rachel. "Whoa. You look beat."

"I...had to, um, scrub the floors," Rachel fibbed wearily, internally wincing at yet another lie to Quinn's gullible face. "It took...awhile. Sorry I...missed our movies."

"That's okay," Quinn said, drawing the brunette closer, and supporting her weight as she wound her arms around Rachel's waist. "Why don't you stay over?"

"It's a school night...isn't it?" Rachel questioned slowly, trying not to slur her words like an incoherent drunk. Quinn giggled, amused.

"Sure. But tomorrow you can just hide and I'll fake sick for my mom, and then we can play hooky all day together," the blonde answered, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Sounds good..." Rachel yawned adorably. "Maybe...I should...sleep...now?"

Quinn muffled her snickers and led a sheeplike Rachel to her bed, guiding her girlfriend to lie down and stretch out comfortably. Rachel kicked her shoes off and Quinn joined her, settling so she was facing Rachel, with only a few inches separating them. Quinn pulled the covers up and made sure they were spread evenly before sinking back into the position on her stomach. Rachel's eyes shimmered in the minimal light. Quinn likened them to a glassy, speculative mirror. Her girlfriend's gaze seemed to study her, like an x-ray, curious but sleepily appeased. Rachel's free hand (one not under her pillow) crept up to entangle with one of Quinn's, making automatic fluctuations occur in her heart. A drowsy smile appeared on Rachel's face and compelled Quinn to return it before shuffling forward to press a kiss to Rachel's lips, before settling again, now with less than an inch between the two. Quinn felt her heart swell again when Rachel's eyes drifted shut, too tired to wait any longer. The blonde didn't remember experiencing such easy happiness before, in such a small gesture as a sleepover, but Rachel unintentionally propelled everything to surge with tangible serenity, making Quinn feel peaceful.

She didn't feel nervous about this. This should be a scary moment, sharing a bed with Rachel, but the sensation of total equilibrium with the brunette kept her at ease.

Finn hadn't kept her calm for long—she always managed to feel the dregs of anger boil in her stomach in irritation with him, stirring darkly until she could yell at him again.

Puck wasn't able to keep her tranquil either. He was a good listener, but she didn't require just a listener, but everything all in one. Puck only had one quality she wanted.

Rachel possessed all the quirks she desired in a suitor. Kindness, for one. Stubbornness, something that would normally turn her off, but Rachel managed to act determined when it was right, not when she wanted to be selfish, like Finn was. A sense of humor, too. Puck was funny but inappropriate almost ninety-nine percent of time, and Finn was achingly slow on the uptake when it didn't come to being openly manipulative. Best of all, Rachel could see—well, besides the glee club, of course, with recent events— past Finn's golden boy bullshit, and remembering the hayride blitz, Quinn knew Rachel wasn't really afraid of anything in Lima, especially a group of judgmental lemmings.

There was a catch, however. Nothing was ever perfect—that, itself, was impossible to gain and useless to try.

Rachel didn't share much about herself. Quinn wanted know about little things, like where Leroy and Rachel had been, besides the basic facts Rachel shyly volunteered.

To balance it out, Quinn supposed she could revert to old traits, if a situation presented itself and made her angry. She wondered if she'd ever snap at Rachel.

Quinn resolved to be silently patient. They were a new couple, after all, and she didn't expect the brunette to lay everything on the table to be understood all at once. The blonde internally questioned if there was something holding Rachel back, like an inability to open up or a hurtful memory keeping her secrets away. She'd just wait and see.

Listening to the gentle sounds of Rachel's breathing, Quinn let her eyes close and went to sleep, her fingers still interlocked in Rachel's careful grasp.

Rachel was very, very displeased in the morning to find herself being unceremoniously shoved into a closet, still blinking lethargy from her eyes.

She covered a yawn and listened to Quinn shuffle around, trying to generate a temperature and gulp down some water, gargling to make her throat scratchy.

She spied through the dividers, watching Quinn adorn a tight grimace and mess up her hair and jump into bed before Judy came in to wake her daughter up.

"Quinnie? It's time for school..."

"Mom?" Quinn croaked. "'M not feeling too good."

Rachel's mouth curled into a smirk. Quinn sounded pretty convincing. She heard Judy's heels wander closer to her daughter's bed, the clacking even and quick.

Her sensitive ears picked up on the whisper of pressure on Quinn's forehead, and assumed Judy was checking for a fever. Judy tutted quietly.

"You're a little warm, sweetie. I think you should stay home."

"But I need to take a test," Quinn protested weakly, and Rachel restrained laughter. That was the kicker. Offer a protest and the parents are sold on your dedication.

"Not today you aren't," Judy replied firmly. "I'll be right back—I'm going to bring some extra blankets and warm up some soup for you."

"Okay," Quinn fake-rasped, and Judy left, disappearing downstairs. Rachel opened the closet dividers a bit, grinning. Quinn winked, and Rachel pulled the doors closed again.

"Here," Judy announced, sometime later. Rachel peeked, seeing a pile of blankets on the end of Quinn's bed, and Judy placed a tray on Quinn's bedside table.

"Thanks, Mom."

"Now, I have to get to the office because I'm working for that promotion; your father's on that retreat until the weekend but I'll call and check on you during the day."

"Okay," Quinn murmured, and Judy kissed her forehead before vanishing from the room. Rachel heard the purr of an engine and later, fading, and then, silence.

Rachel opened the closet door and leveled a smile at the blonde, who beamed back, proud, sitting up on her bed.

"How's that for acting skills?" Quinn bragged. Rachel laughed.

"Oscar-worthy."

"Thanks," Quinn giggled. "Great! The house to ourselves! Let's watch some Harry Potter!"

Agreeably grabbing Quinn's waiting hand, Rachel smiled as they descended the stairs. "Enthusiastic?"

"Yes. Harry Potter doubles as the best book series ever and the best film series ever."

"I think you just like looking at Daniel Radcliffe," the brunette teased. Quinn scoffed.

"What's not to like about him?"

At Quinn's insistence, they had to watch the third, fourth, and fifth movies, because the first two were apparently slow-paced and not as exciting. Rachel didn't mind. The pair lounged on the couch, with Rachel's back lying against Quinn's front while Rachel traced nonsense patterns along Quinn's arm, draped over Rachel's waist. Halfway through the scene of Voldemort's return and the epic duel between the Dark Lord and Harry, Rachel dozed off, mind going blank and empty, until an old memory surfaced.

The screeching noise of ripped ozone and the terrified screams and yells of "Mogadorians" permeated her senses, anchoring her in the vision.

She stood still in the center of chaos, as bodies sprinted past her, some stooping to pick up children and others running to find their families as the fateful invasion began.

Her eyes saw her five-year-old self being snatched into her grandmother's arms, and a man stood beside her grandmother, eyes hard and mouth in a firm line.

She heard fragments of Loric, and her grandfather appeared, ordering something quickly and gesturing. Leroy, her grandmother, and herself followed, as the Garde arrived.

Adults in sleek suits ran to the scene as the black spaceship—the first of many—finally landed, spilling out a legion of Mogadorians, wielding spears and humming weaponry.

The Garde, a few with glowing hands like hers, one turning invisible, and the others, hands extended, yelled something together and charged.

She was a ghost here, and bodies and weapons sailed through her, and foreign curses and taunts mingled with Loric sneers and encouragements to their comrades.

Animals like the one who had played with her earlier, morphed into enormous lions and bear combinations, mauled Mogadorians before being slaughtered by spears.

Rachel watched, aghast, as more and more Garde fell, eyes going hollow and wounds sprouting with blood. One man, standing high, roared incentives to his fellow Lorics.

The brunette examined the man as he fought, tossing fire and earth with his hands and telekinesis forcing his enemies to their knees. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she eyed his features. Tan skin, darkened eyes...there was something familiar about him. Her gaze drifted from the man as he brawled, wondering where her little self went.

Angry exclamations of the Mogadorians and exhausted cheers from the Lorics dragged her eyes and attention skyward, as a gleaming, chrome missile—no, an impeccably assembled aircraft—zoomed into and then through the atmosphere, a trail of sapphire fire shadowed behind it. A sad smile lifted on Rachel's lips, as she just knew that the silver ship carried her five-year-old self, Leroy, the other eight Cêpan, and the eight other Loric teenagers, three of which would be dead in less than ten years on Earth.

She turned away from the still-happening battle and disappearing shuttle, hearing someone calling her name, right in her ear. Or was it whispering?

"Rachel."

Rachel—that wasn't her Loric name, that was...an Earth language, English, right? The brunette's eyebrows rose to her hairline, confused, until she heard it again.

"Rachel...wake up. Come on, I know you're really cute when you're asleep but now we need to get something to eat...up and at 'em, Rach..."

She blinked, and her mind went blank before her gaze cleared, and Quinn's hazy face beside her finally sharpened into clarity. Rachel blinked again.

"Hey, Sleepy-Head," Quinn smiled brightly. "You were out for a little while there."

"Hey," Rachel murmured, as Quinn planted a lingering, sweet kiss on her cheek. "What are we eating?"

"I'll make some grilled cheese sandwiches. You can stay here, 'kay?"

Rachel watched Quinn vanish into the kitchen before reaching over to the house phone, dialing Leroy's number.

"Leroy?"

"Rachel," Leroy greeted, sounding annoyed. Great. "How are you?"

"I'm at Quinn's. I just wanted to let you know."

"I assumed so, seeing as to that's where you went and didn't come home last night."

"Sorry," Rachel mumbled. "I just wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm not yelling at you," Leroy chided. "Next time, call, and just say so when you want to skip school, all right?"

"You'd let me?"

Leroy paused. "Maybe. I'd consider it."

"Thanks...Dad," Rachel concluded pointedly, when Quinn arrived, laden with sandwiches with soda, and smiled in thanks. She heard Leroy sigh.

"You're welcome, Rachel. I hope you know, however, that you'll be practicing with the hazmat suit again soon and intensive judo training as well."

"Fine. Sounds great. See you later."

Rachel hung up and settled back on the couch, accepting a lunch tray from Quinn.

"I forgot about Leroy," Quinn muttered guiltily. "Does he know you skipped school?"

"Yeah—he said it's fine, once and awhile," Rachel answered, nibbling on her sandwich. "I liked participating in truant activities with you, anyway."

Quinn grinned.

"We should be AWOL at school on the day of Sectionals," the blonde snickered. "Just to rattle Mr. Schue up. We can be fashionably late."

"I'm sure he'd have a heart attack," Rachel countered, amused. "Would you want that one your conscious?"

"No..."

"You hesitated."

"He's just so freakin' uptight," Quinn complained. "I don't anything but a heart attack would make him loosen up."

"Right," Rachel laughed. "Let's watch a movie and distract you from these homicidal thoughts, Quinn."

"They're not homicidal," Quinn grumbled crossly. "Forget it."

"Someone's sulky," Rachel teased, leaning over to place a kiss on Quinn's nose, making the blonde drop her pout and smile automatically instead.

"You're cute."

"You need a new endearment for me. That sounds repetitive."

"How's...shortcake?"

Rachel glowered.

"I don't want to send you out," Quinn whined. "We need to play hooky every day."

"Although that sounds like a marvelous idea and very tempting, I'll have to just see you tomorrow," Rachel smiled brightly, rising on her toes to kiss her. Quinn kissed her back eagerly, sliding a hand into Rachel's hair to keep her close. Rachel felt the usual electrifying spark zip speedily up her spine, unwittingly emitting a little sigh at the feel and making Quinn tighten her grip. The kiss possessed more fire and and more adrenaline and more danger than the actual physical inferno that Rachel trained with yesterday. The blonde was, metaphorically, the only fire that could really burn Rachel, with subdued passion and heat that could create more damage than a corporeal blaze.

Quinn's kisses were usually gentle, but tonight, she seemed to want more (not that Rachel cared) and drew Rachel closer, and the brunette's head began to spin dizzily. When Quinn bit her lip slightly, playfully, Rachel gasped aloud and the blonde pulled away, looking anxious and drawing her bottom lip to sit between her teeth, uncertain.

"I—"

"It's okay," Rachel blushed. "I've just never, I mean, you kissed me before anyone else and I didn't expect that—which was totally okay—and it just...surprised me—"

"Rachel," Quinn interrupted, smiling. "I sometimes forget you haven't kissed anyone besides me before or anything else beyond that. If you need to go slow, I will."

Rachel nodded. "Not too slow. I like our pace and spontaneity, though."

Quinn agreed.

Rachel's eyes narrowed after a beat of companionable silence. "I will be getting you back."

Quinn smirked. "Right."

"I will."

"Sure."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not," Quinn sang, dancing teasingly out of Rachel's reach. Rachel cheated and used some of her enhanced speed, catching up to Quinn and pinning her to the front door, a triumphant smirk on her lips as Quinn looked astonished and dumbstruck. Rachel pressed closer, keeping the blonde still with her own body, heartbeat to heartbeat.

"Got you," Rachel breathed pleasantly, making Quinn shudder.

"Got me," she conceded in a real croak, unlike the imitation this morning. "Now what are you going to do?"

"Leave."

Rachel planted a rough kiss on Quinn's mouth and flounced down the front stairs, smile a mile wide. She was halfway down the street when Quinn called out to her.

"Not fair!" Quinn yelled, still leaning on the door for support with weak knees. "Cheater!"

Rachel simply grinned and offered a shrug and wave goodbye, leaving her girlfriend brooding and amusedly frustrated, still on her own front stairs.

After an afternoon of obligatory—hard as a fucking bitch, amended Rachel's disgruntled, usually silenced profanity filter—training and another night of necessary sleep, Rachel arrived at school, solo this time, and as soon as she entered the building, was unwillingly tugged sideways and smacked into a body.

"Oof," Rachel huffed, and the body echoed, and Rachel looked up to find a cheerful Brittany, smiling at her.

"Sorry," Brittany proclaimed contritely. "San told me to make you stay here until she gets to us."

"Why?"

"She says it's a surprise."

"Oh."

Brittany decided to hold Rachel's textbooks as a suitable apology, and within minutes, Santana appeared, stopping to kiss Brittany and then address Rachel.

"Santana, why am I—?"

"I set up another prank on the Jolly Green Giant..."

"Isn't that for veggies?" Brittany mumbled to herself. Rachel continued to listen to Santana's explanation.

"...and it's all going to just fall out. Nasty, right?"

"Sure," Rachel allowed. "When is it going to happen?"

"Now," Santana answered excitedly, pointing down the hallway. Rachel watched Finn materialize from around a corner, smacking high-fives with his departing teammates, grinning lopsidedly, and wander to his locker, whistling and earning a few glances from Cheerios passing by him. Rachel rolled her eyes in distaste as the girls and Finn flirted for awhile before the quarterback drawled a goodbye—and this asshole still wanted Quinn? Talk about double standards—and turned his attention back to his locker. Anticipation mounted in Rachel's brain as Finn's twirled the combination—Rachel expected a dramatic jump in invisible background music, rising to a crescendo—and finally, the locker door swung open, dousing the jock in a mountain of Sloppy Joe's, coating his belongings, sneakers, jeans, and half of his T-shirt in the greasy, sodden mess.

The corridor exploded with laughter and jeers as Finn's cheeks turned an ugly shade of burgundy, and Rachel felt a stirring of regret in her heart.

Finn was a dick, but this was just cruel. Finn whipped out his phone, dialing a number with shaking, enraged hands, and held it to his ear, speaking quickly.

Rachel met his stormy, angered gaze, holding it, and watched his lips move, only realizing then that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She didn't have an alibi.

She was at the scene of the crime.

She was next to a cackling Santana, who was an obvious perpetrator, and worse, she was on the watch list, according to both Finn and Mr. Karofsky.

Finn hung up, stomping to the bathroom and shoving giggling bystanders out of his path, and Rachel remained still, fear climbing into a dangerous, terrifying summit.

Now what?

Rachel didn't relax, several minutes later, when the hallway cleared and she was alone (Santana had tugged a confused Brittany away, leaving Rachel's books in her arms). How could she let it go this far? The pranks were justified, yes, but still...being pseudo-caught conspiring with the prankster was a hook, line, and sinker for the police, who would obviously choose to believe Finn. Finn would complain of harassment, Finn would whine about bullying, and in the end, Finn would win, just like he promised her.

Rachel's phone buzzed with two text messages.

Hey, where are you? — Quinn

The brunette choose to ignore the first (admittedly, regretful, she didn't want to ignore her girlfriend, but she didn't want to get arrested), and clicked to the next one.

Leroy's number displayed itself at the top, and with bated breath, Rachel scrolled to the composed message, biting her lip in trepidation.

Her heart plummeted.

Got a call from the sheriff. Something you did at school just landed us a police detail on the house. They'll be watching us around the clock. Come home, now.

Finn strikes again! He just doesn't know what to stop, huh?

(Ignore that lame joke.)

Hope I entertained you readers for awhile. Have a nice day/night!