Quinn came into school at her usual time the next morning, smiling when she saw Rachel by her locker.

Rachel, her sixth sense probably telling her that she was being watched, looked over her shoulder and returned Quinn's smile… just as an extra-large cherry slushie hit her in the face.

Quinn glared at the two freshman Cheerios that laughed as they walked past, but she was, for all her popularity, not one of them, and her expression was meaningless. Sighing, she grabbed her books and headed straight for Rachel.

"Want me to help you clean up?"

Rachel shook her head. "No. I kind of… want to be alone."

Quinn furrowed her brow. "Are you all right?"

Rachel smiled as best she could with cherry ice flowing down her hair and into her eyes.

"I'm fine, Quinn. You forget I'm used to this. I'll see you in Spanish."

"Okay," Quinn said uncertainly, as Rachel grabbed her emergency clean-up kit and headed for the bathroom.

She looked around, her eyes coming to rest on Santana, who was talking to Brittany at her own locker. Quinn made a beeline for her.

"Call them off."

Santana looked at her. "What?"

Quinn rolled her eyes; she knew Santana had seen. The captain of the cheerleaders knew everything about her squad, probably down to when they went to the bathroom.

"You're the head bitch in charge," Quinn said firmly. "And I want you to call your bitches off. Of Rachel."

"What do you care about Berry?" Santana said, a knowing smirk on her face.

"I.. I don't," Quinn said, momentarily flustered. "But haven't you guys tormented her enough?"

"I told you," Santana said in exasperation, "it's what we do around here."

"Well, you're going to stop," Quinn announced, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring down at the Latina.

Brittany just watched them, a small grin on her face that unnerved Quinn.

"And if I don't?" Santana returned, just as strongly, arms coming to cross over her chest.

Quinn smiled sweetly, a glint in her eyes. "Or I walk out of Sylvester's office later on today wearing a uniform. Where's your hierarchy then, Santana? Because trust me, it's always better when I'm on top."

For once in her life, Santana Lopez paled a little. She knew it was true. Tall, blonde, hazel-eyed Quinn, with her familial and societal connections, could dethrone her in a heartbeat. It hadn't sat well with Santana that Sylvester had wanted Quinn as Cheerios captain, when Santana had been right there the whole time, ready and willing to keep the mantle of HBIC.

She knew she was seconds for Sylvester; all it would take would be for Quinn to walk into that office, and Santana's position would be ripped from her in a heartbeat.

And she would not risk that.

"Fine," she said evenly. "From now on, no more slushies for Berry." She grinned then, leaning into Quinn.

"Now you have to do something for me."

"What?" Quinn asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"It's a simple thing, really," Santana said, examining her nails. She glanced up at Quinn.

"Admit that you have a thing for Berry."

"Of course I do, she's a friend."

"Santana doesn't mean that," Brittany pointed out. "She knows you like Rachel."

"And as more than a friend," Santana said, her grin expanding to a mocking smile. "Hell, the way you keep looking at her, I'd say you two have bumped uglies already."

"We have not," Quinn said hotly, her growing blush betraying the true answer. "That's a disgusting thing to say."

"She's just a friend, that's all."

"Uh-huh," Santana drawled, pushing herself off her locker with her foot. "Sure." She held out her pinky to Brittany.

"C'mon Britt, let's leave the Queen of Denial here alone with her dreams of a naked Rachel Berry."

Brittany giggled and linked pinkies with her girlfriend, waving at a flabbergasted Quinn as they walked off.

Days later, New Directions travelled out of town for sectionals – and straight into a disaster.

"You leaked the set list!" Kurt snapped. "You don't want to be here, you're just Sue Sylvester's little moles."

"It wouldn't be the first time that Coach Sylvester has spied on people. And we know how much she hates the glee club," Quinn said.

Santana had told her as much, with tales of how she and Brittany had been made to spy on other clubs. And so maybe the Latina huffed at her, but even she knew it was true. Sylvester's hand extended everywhere over that school, and if she perceived something as a threat, she'd stop at nothing to try to destroy it.

"Look, we may still be Cheerios, but neither of us ever gave Sue the set list."

"Well, I – I did," Brittany said, "but I didn't know what she was going to do with it."

Quinn – and the rest of the glee club – stared at the two girls, at Santana who was glaring back at them in defiance, and Brittany, who just looked uncomfortable.

She had reason to – the entire club had been looking forward to sectionals, to proving themselves, for weeks, and now it seemed as if Santana's dim girlfriend had screwed them all.

Since Sylvester had gotten the set list, she'd evidently leaked it to the other two competing schools, which had led to Jane Addams Academy busting out Proud Mary. And then they'd brought the house down with And I Am Telling You, which Rachel, albeit a little grudgingly, had agreed to let Mercedes sing. As if that wasn't bad enough, the Haverbrook School for the Deaf had just wormed their way into the hearts of the audience with their spirited rendition of Don't Stop Believin'. Rachel had seen tears, which had resulted in her screaming for a meeting in the green room.

And now there they were, with an hour to go before their performance… and absolutely no songs to sing.

Quinn glared at Santana, who just glared back.

"Okay, look, believe what you want," the Latina said, "but no one's forcing me to be here. And if you ever tell anyone this I'll deny it… but I like being in glee club."

She sighed, and even with all of her irritation, Quinn felt a tiny (very tiny) pang of sympathy for the head cheerleader.

"It's the best part of my day, okay? I wasn't going to go and mess it up."

Quinn could tell that no one really trusted the cheerleader, and it was even on the tip of her tongue to call Santana out, as the girl made her way to one of the empty chairs and sat down.

But she knew that Santana was telling the truth, knew that the Latina often got lost in the shuffle that was her family, and knew that the best part of her day would be when she'd get to sit back and relax, to be herself and never take her eyes off a tall blonde girl who moved like silver and water when she danced.

Quinn said nothing.

But Rachel surprised them all when she looked down at Santana and said softly, "I believe you."

Then Quinn was waiting for hell to freeze over or lightning to strike her dead, because Santana actually smiled and said "thank you," and instead of the pang of sympathy in her heart there was something like she felt every time she saw Rachel kiss Finn.

Finn, whose arm was now slung casually over Rachel's.

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

She had tuned out the discussion between Rachel and Mercedes, now, both of them trying to figure out what the solo should be, when she felt a sharp jab to her ribs.

"Ow," she almost yelped, and turned towards the source of her pain.

"You look a little green, Q," Santana smirked. "You're not jealous of Finn being all up on your girl, are you?"

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn snapped. "Stop sticking your nose in other people's business and keep a tighter rein on your girlfriend – and who she gives things to."

Luckily, Brittany was sitting with Mike on the couch and hadn't heard their exchange, but nonetheless, Santana stepped closer to Quinn, pinning the girl against the wall with the ferocity of her gaze.

"Listen to me," Santana said softly, and Quinn shivered in spite of herself, because only Santana could make softness seem downright lethal.

"I don't know what kind of game you've got going on with Berry—" She held up her hand when Quinn opened her mouth. "Shut up. Don't you ever say another word about Brittany. Because I don't care how long we've been friends, I will knock your fucking nose off if you say something like that again."

"Fine," Quinn said through gritted teeth. She glanced over and saw that Finn was still snuggling Rachel, his hand rubbing her back as they tried to figure out what other song they could sing besides the solo – which, not surprisingly, had been given to Rachel. The diva's small smile seemed more like a grimace.

"Dude, just tell her how you feel already," Santana grumbled.

"I don't feel anything for her."

"You're full of shit. I think you want her."

"Yeah well," Quinn said, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "You can't always get what you want."

Her heart stilled, not only from what she had said, the casual almost-admittance that she might possibly feel something for Rachel Berry, but also from the remarkably familiar voice that suddenly accosted her from across the room.

"What did you say?"

Quinn opened her eyes to see Rachel staring at her. The rest of the room went silent.

"What?"

"What did you just say to Santana? Something about what you want?"

Quinn paled a little. "Nothing, we were just talking about… something… and I said that you can't always get what you want."

Rachel was quiet for a long moment, then let out an ear-piercing squeal as she rushed over to the bag containing her sectionals costume.

"It's perfect," she exclaimed, pulling out a black binder, stuffed with papers.

"What's perfect, baby?" Finn asked, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

Rachel flipped through her binder, eyes wide. "I always carry this notebook around, to make notes on performances and sometimes I have sheet music, just in case a producer or composer should see me and request an impromptu audition…"

She rifled through the papers, ignoring the snickers of her club members, then pulled out several sheets and held them aloft in triumph.

"You can't always get what you want," she said proudly. "But if you try sometimes… well, enough of that. Finn, go find a copier. We can sing this, and, along with my solo – which, I will remind you, I've been working on—"

"Since you were four," the club finished, and Rachel turned pink.

"Yes. With both of these things, we might have a chance at winning."

An hour and several hastily choreographed dance moves later, Quinn stood and watched as Rachel paced back and forth behind the curtains to the auditorium, talking (probably rambling) to herself. She watched, her skin prickling, as Finn came up to Rachel and hugged her, then kissed her gently.

She shook her head and tried to stop watching, tried to stop the feeling rising up inside her, the desire to punch Finn and carry Rachel away to… where?

She snickered to herself a little at the idea that she needed to rescue her friend from Finn.

Luckily the music started and Quinn was distracted by the smile that crossed her face when she recognized the exuberant beginning strains of Don't Rain on My Parade.

Leave it to Rachel to have been working on a Funny Girl number since she was four.

Rachel took a deep breath, pulled back the curtain, and proceeded to put her heart – and New Directions – on the line that was her voice.

As much as the glee club picked on Rachel, as much as they were constantly annoyed by her domineering (she would call it bubbly) personality, as much as Kurt and Mercedes bitched about Rachel always getting solos… Rachel was the star of glee club. And like it or not, Rachel's solo would be their make it or break it point; if her voice couldn't carry them through, they had no choice of even placing at sectionals and going on to regionals in Columbus.

But none of them should have worried, because her voice was nothing short of mesmerizing. Quinn lost herself so much in Rachel's voice, practically able to SEE Rachel in the role of Fanny Brice that she nearly missed her cue, a soft nudge against her back propelling her forward down one of the aisles.

The crowd was on their feet already, excited by their entrance and buoyed by Rachel's singing, but all Quinn could see was Rachel, on the stage with the lights shining down on her. Her hair was sticking to her face slightly, in little sweaty tendrils that curled and gave her the expression, almost, of a child at Christmas.

And in that simple black dress with its magenta ribbon, Rachel's skin tan and flawless, she was, for lack of a better term, gorgeous. (It was purely because there was no other term for Quinn to use. Not that she actually thought Rachel was gorgeous.) It was amazing to Quinn, really, how much energy and power could come out of a person that small, a person that she could probably tuck in her pocket and carry away forever, if she wanted to.

Of course, she didn't want to. But she could, if she did.

Now the crowd was going wild, almost as if they were at a football game rather than simply listening to a 17-year-old singing a song, even if she had killed that song, and hit a note to high and so long that for a brief moment Quinn was seriously afraid for Rachel's lungs. But the crowd was applauding and yelling bravo, and Rachel was gasping for breath and smiling, and everyone in New Directions knew they had this, the chance at something bigger. The chance to win.

And Quinn, staring at Rachel from behind with a little half-smile on her face, couldn't stop the pride welling within her, and the thought that crossed her mind.

That's my Rachel.

She tried to shove it down in the furthest recesses of her mind, but Rachel was beautiful, Rachel was amazing, Rachel was… there, with the spotlight shining down on her and Quinn chuckled to herself, knowing that that spotlight was as essential to Rachel as blood, as breathing.

She absolutely glowed.

And she glowed at Quinn, smiling at her as she took her place on the risers, and Quinn smiled back, the music fading and deepening at the same time, the devil and the angel were dancing a minuet in her brain and heart, and she…

She didn't care.

She didn't even care when, during You Can't Always Get What You Want, Rachel grabbed Brittany and Tina's hand – hell, she even grabbed Santana's – but didn't grab Quinn's even though she was, hello, right there.

It didn't matter, because even though Finn and Rachel were doing that ridiculous spin yet again, Rachel caught Quinn's eye on the last turnaround and smiled at her, that soft, special smile which Quinn was pretty sure only she had ever seen…

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Nothing, except Quinn.

Quinn and Rachel.

Until once again it was Finn and Rachel, hugging as the announcer proclaimed that yes, Rachel Berry had come through, and New Directions placed first.

She caught Santana staring at her as she scowled, and Quinn coughed, fixing a smile onto her face. Santana rolled her eyes, causing her blonde friend to blush.

She decided to make one last stop in the bathroom before the bus carried them back to Lima, and Quinn was at the sinks washing her hands when the door opened, and a breathless Rachel practically bounced inside, no longer clad in her costume, but wearing a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt.

Quinn thought she looked even lovelier, pink-cheeked and excited, looking as if she'd just won the entire world.

Maybe she had, Quinn told herself, as she remembered a solitary little girl, lonely and sad on the swing of an elementary school playground.

Quinn grinned. "Happy?" she joked.

"Is it that obvious?" Rachel asked, her smile growing wider when Quinn arched an eyebrow at her.

"You were fabulous out there, Rach," Quinn said, drying off her hands and tossing the towels into the trashcan.

"So were you," Rachel beamed, and practically ran forward to crush Quinn in a hug.

"We won, Quinn!"

She opened her mouth to say something, but her split second hesitation was just enough for Rachel to bring their lips together, her arms wrapping around Quinn's waist and holding her close.

"Rachel," Quinn managed to breathe, in between kissing her, "Finn…"

Rachel sagged a little, resting her head against Quinn's chest with her hands fisted in the back of her shirt.

"I know… I just…"

"You just what?" Quinn asked, unable to stop herself from cupping Rachel's chin with her hand, raising the girl's face to look at her.

Rachel shrugged, flushing pink. "I just wanted to kiss you. And we said… we said it was… just kissing."

Quinn tried to swallow around the peculiar lump that had risen up in her throat, and nodded a little. Ducking her head, she kissed Rachel softly, smiling into the other girl's mouth when she sighed.

"Rachel," Quinn said suddenly. "Come to my house."

Rachel broke apart, staring at her, eyes wide with shock and confusion. "Your house?"

"Yeah," Quinn laughed. "I do have one, you know."

Now it was Rachel's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I know that," she said. "It's just… your parents?"

"They'll be gone for the weekend," Quinn said, a little ashamed of the fact that she still had to hide her friendship with the little diva. "So we have the house to ourselves. We can even watch musicals."

She smirked when Rachel let out a little squeal. "I'll provide all the entertainment!"

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Quinn drawled, then blinked. "I didn't mean it that way," she added hastily.

Rachel stared at her. "I didn't take it that way," she said, "but of course now that you mention it…"

"There you are," Mercedes said, and Rachel and Quinn jumped apart as she came into the bathroom. "Schue says come on, it's time to go." She furrowed her brow. "You two okay? You look… weird."

"We're fine," Quinn said. "I was just talking to Berry."

She failed to notice Rachel wince, as she breezed out of the bathroom behind Mercedes.