The First Sign of the Apocalypse

"Quinn, can you help me with this zipper?"

Rachel was bashfully poking her head out of her dressing room, one hand clutching at the half-opened door to keep it in place so that she could continue to hide her body behind it. Quinn had already stripped out of the blue jeans and donned her dress and cardigan once again, and she glanced around in search of Mercedes, or even Kurt, but they both seemed to have suddenly disappeared.

"I…ah, sure," she reluctantly agreed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She tried her best not to stare too blatantly at Rachel in that little black dress, or to notice the way the material molded to her breasts and hugged her tiny waist before flowing over her hips and kissing the tops of her thighs. Quinn could see why Kurt had been so insistent that she try it on—it was almost as if the dress had been made specifically for Rachel's body.

Rachel turned her back and pulled her thick, dark hair to the side, revealing a slender neck and flawless, creamy shoulders. Quinn reached out hesitantly for the zipper that was left gaping slightly short of closed and tugged it up quickly.

"Your hands are trembling, Quinn," Rachel observed as she slowly turned around to face her. "Are you nervous?"

"What? No!" Quinn barked out, taking a reflexive step back.

Rachel gazed up at her unflinchingly, carefully measuring Quinn for a long, tense moment before a knowing smile curved her lips and she stepped closer. "I think you are. I think I make you nervous. I've seen the way you've been looking at me."

"You're delusional," she hotly denied as the panic over being caught clawed at her insides, even while her eyes continued to betray her by locking onto Rachel's mouth. "I can't even stand being near you," she insisted weakly.

"You seemed fairly comfortable with it last week when you kissed me," Rachel pointed out evenly.

No! She wasn't supposed to mention that—saying it made it real. "I didn't! You kissed me," Quinn argued as she took another step and her back hit the dressing room wall.

"And I liked it," Rachel admitted huskily, her eyes dropping shyly and her small body trapping Quinn with its proximity. "I can't stop thinking about it." Her eyes lifted back to Quinn's and she confessed, "I want to kiss you again."

Quinn gazed helplessly into those deep, dark eyes. "You…do?"

"Don't you? Aren't you curious if it would be as amazing a second time?"

She was so close, and that tempting mouth only the barest inch away. Quinn unconsciously tilted her head down. "Oh, God, yes," she breathed without thinking, words getting lost against Rachel's lips as they closed over her own.

Just like had happened before, Quinn melted into the kiss, intoxicated by the taste and texture of Rachel's mouth. She ran her tongue along Rachel's lower lip and begged entry, and she wasn't refused. One hand cupped Rachel's head, fingers burrowing into thick brown hair, and her other hand flattened low on her back, fingertips brushing that perfect ass and pulling her closer. She had to get closer…kiss deeper…feel more. Arousal spiked, and she was moaning. She tore her mouth away from Rachel's for a much needed breath.

"I want you," she managed to rasp out before recapturing Rachel's lower lip, nipping and suckling the flesh in a series of tiny, desperate kisses.

"You can have me," Rachel promised in a sultry voice. "You just have to wake up first."

"Mm?" Quinn hummed into Rachel's throat, too engrossed with nuzzling the soft skin there to understand what she said.

"Wake up, Quinn."

Her eyes flew open, her body jerked and she moaned in frustration. The only thing in her arms was her pillow and she was twisted up in her bed sheets…again.

Shit.

Kicking at her covers, she flipped over onto her back and flung one arm across her eyes. The ache between her legs was begging to be attended, and she let the fingers of her right hand tease against the elastic of her sleep shorts for just a second before she remembered that she didn't do that and slapped it flat against the mattress.

"I hate you, Rachel Berry."

•••

Despite having slept until almost noon on Saturday, Quinn wasn't exactly awake and fully functional when she finally crawled out of bed. She felt tired and restless and distracted. Apart from the fantasy that her subconscious had chosen to torment her with repeatedly, she'd actually had fun Friday night with Mercedes, Kurt and Rachel, even if her real-life reaction to seeing Rachel in that little black dress had been frighteningly similar to dream Quinn's—well, barring the actual touching and kissing part.

And yes, Rachel had bought the damned dress, too.

Quinn frowned a little. For all her self-confidence and bravado, Rachel was dangerously easy to persuade. A little attention and some complements, and she'd do anything you asked her to do. Kurt had gotten his way on her wardrobe additions with almost no resistance. A more manipulative person could really take advantage of that—and oh, hey, Quinn had done just that on more than one occasion in the past. She'd just never felt guilty about it before, nor had she been suffering from this new, overwhelming urge to protect the girl. The whole situation was very worrying.

She lazed around the house all afternoon until it was time to get ready for her date with Sam. She contemplated wearing the new jeans and shirt she'd bought last night—apparently, Rachel wasn't the only one who had trouble saying no to Kurt—but eventually decided on a pair of black leggings, boots and an over-sized red sweater that appropriately camouflaged her hips and thighs. She pushed her hair back with a red headband and nodded approvingly at her reflection before skipping down the stairs.

Her mother was camped out on the couch watching old episodes of Desperate Housewives (something about identifying with the characters) and sifting through old photos (because she'd taken up scrap-booking as a hobby in an attempt to keep her hands occupied and away from the wine glasses.) Judy looked up at her daughter and smiled, putting aside her papers and getting up from the couch. "Quinnie, honey, you look beautiful."

"Thanks, Mom." Quinn shifted uncomfortably, anticipating what was coming next.

"Don't stay out too late tonight," Judy said, grabbing her purse and digging around inside.

"I won't, Mom. We're just going to dinner and a movie."

Judy dropped her bag and took Quinn's hand, pressing something into her palm. "I want you to take these."

Quinn glanced down at the fifty dollar bill folded around the strip of Trojan packets. Quinn flushed red and screeched, "Mom! Please, stop giving me condoms every time I go out on a date."

Her mother reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Quinn's ear. "I just want you to be prepared, Quinnie. After last time…"

"Can we please not talk about this?" Quinn cut in testily, jerking away from her mother's touch. She'd dutifully suffered through all of her mother's apologies and awkward attempts at talking about the pregnancy when she'd first moved back in, and it just got more uncomfortable every time. "Sam and I are not having sex."

Judy nodded, "I believe you, sweetie, but I want you to be safe if you…get carried away."

"That's not going to happen." Not with Sam, she silently added.

"Okay, okay. Just humor me."

"Fine," Quinn sighed and stuffed the cash and condoms in her own purse just as the doorbell rang.

"Have fun," Judy sang out.

"Yeah, we'll have a blast," she drawled, stepping outside and closing the door before her mother could start in on the safe sex lecture with Sam. She didn't need her boyfriend getting any ideas.

"Hey, babe," Sam greeted with a kiss.

Quinn flinched away after the briefest of contact. "Let's just go," she ordered, grabbing his hand and dragging him to his car.

An hour later, Quinn was sitting in a dark theater with her arms crossed while her boyfriend had one hand buried in a bucket of popcorn and another gripping a jumbo sized drink, his attention completely captivated by the movie screen. She was bored out of her mind. She didn't even really know what the stupid movie was about—some ridiculous aliens on earth, who somehow magically managed to look like underwear models and had numbers and lame ass powers, were being hunted by bad aliens. Sam told her there was romance in it, too, but the 'couple' looked more like brother and sister to Quinn. She so wasn't feeling it.

Wait…she glanced over at Sam and grimaced. The Ken and Barbie comment was making a lot more sense to her now.

After what seemed like forever, the credits finally rolled and Sam led her out of theater with a big grin on his face. "That was awesome," he gushed. "I can't wait for the sequel."

"Were we even watching the same movie?" she wondered.

Sam stopped walking, glancing down at her in disbelief. "You didn't like it?"

She raised a brow. "Seriously? The plot is recycled, the lead guy couldn't act to save his life, he had no romantic chemistry at all with his token love interest," Quinn left out the part about them looking like siblings, "and the special effects sucked. It made Twilight look like Masterpiece Theater."

"But…they were aliens," he whined.

Quinn huffed, and started for the car. "Just take me home, Sam."

"I thought we were going to Breadstix."

"I'm not really in the mood."

"Is it that time of the month, or something?" he asked.

"Oh, my God! Do you ever think before you speak?" she growled, jerking the car door open for herself when he unlocked it.

After an uncomfortable, but genuine, apology that Quinn grudgingly accepted, Sam drove her home in silence and walked her to her door. "Can I kiss you goodnight?" he had the foresight to ask, and she nodded, allowing him to move in for the obligatory kiss. Quinn tried to respond accordingly, even hoping that she'd suddenly feel some inkling of arousal as he held her, but she just felt empty—and the idea of kissing her brother just would not leave her head now.

She gently pushed Sam away and whispered, "goodnight."

Her mother was on top of her almost as soon as the door closed. "Quinnie, honey, you're home early. Is something wrong?"

Closing her eyes, she slumped back against the wall. "No, Mom. I'm just tired."

Judy frowned in concern. "Are you sure? You know, you can…you can talk to me, sweetie. I know I haven't always been there when you needed me to be, but I really want to change that."

"I know, Mom," she sighed. "It's nothing, really."

"I just want you to be happy again, Quinnie," Judy whispered, cupping her daughter's face gently.

"Was I ever?" Quinn asked in a small voice, tears of confusion and exhaustion spilling over onto her cheeks. She didn't even know what version of Quinn Fabray was real anymore: bitchy cheerleader, teen mom, or…pressed lemon. God, she couldn't even say the actual words in her head.

"Oh, baby," her mother gathered her up into her arms, and Quinn let go of her control and just wept.

•••

By lunchtime on Monday, Quinn was feeling antsy. She'd gone to church with her mother on Sunday and prayed for God to fix her. He didn't answer. Monday morning came and she had to face a dejected Sam, a scantily clad Rachel, and the nauseating sight of Finn Hudson fussing over his girlfriend's attire. Quinn had only caught sight of the couple briefly in the hallway before they'd gotten swallowed up by the crowd, but that glimpse had been enough for her to see that they were arguing, undoubtedly over Rachel's outfit if she knew Finn at all—and she did.

Now, Rachel was sitting at the diva table with Kurt and Mercedes, and Finn was apparently off working out with Sam, which left Quinn sitting across from Santana and casting furtive glances at the other table. She was in the middle of doing that when Santana's voice cut into her surveillance.

"So, Berry's looking fine today."

Quinn's head jerked back to her teammate. "Excuse me?"

Santana nodded in the direction that Quinn had just been looking. "Cute outfit, teased hair, sexy make-up—Hummel could really have a future as a personal stylist."

"He does have good taste," Quinn agreed neutrally.

"Yeah," Santana continued to study Rachel. "Hell, if she could keep her damn mouth shut for five seconds, I'd totally consider doing her."

Quinn's hand fisted tightly around her milk carton, sending the white liquid spewing out in all directions.

"Jesus, Q! Watch what you're doing," Santana growled, picking up her napkin and wiping the milk speckles off her wrist.

"What the hell do you mean you'd do her?" Quinn demanded incredulously.

The girl smirked at her captain. "Okay, I know you're not that repressed."

"You're so full of shit, Santana. You don't even like her."

She shrugged a tanned shoulder. "I don't like Finn either. Didn't stop me from sleeping with him." Santana smiled wickedly, "Hey, if I pop Berry's cherry, I could totally have a matching set."

It was the second time Santana had said something to that effect, and just the thought of her touching Rachel in that way made Quinn want to slap the smirk off her arrogant face, and then claw her eyes out just for the hell of it. "Stay away from her," she warned with a menacing rumble.

Santana's smirk just grew wider. "Why do you care, Tubbers?"

"I don't," Quinn insisted.

"Liar."

Quinn stood from her seat and leaned across the table, spitting, "bitch," in Santana's face before stalking away.

"Takes one, baby," echoed across the cafeteria.

•••

"Quinn?"

"Hi," she murmured as she slid into the empty desk next to Rachel.

Rachel glanced uncertainly over her shoulder at all the empty seats behind her. "You're sitting with me?" Quinn lifted an eyebrow at the girl, and Rachel clarified, "On purpose?"

She'd expected Rachel to be surprised, but it still bothered her more than it should have. She'd been trying to be nicer, after all. "Yeah. I figured we should go over our assignment. We never really finished discussing it on Friday."

"Oh, I was prepared to handle the presentation on my own," Rachel confessed. "We did agree on the theme for the most part." The subtle inflection at the end of the statement was the only indication of Rachel's insecurity.

"We did, and I know you've probably got it covered, but at least let me read the poem, or something," Quinn insisted.

Rachel flashed a wide smile. "Agreed."

"Good." Quinn nodded, pleased that they could be so amicable with one another. They fell into a comfortable silence—for all of fifteen seconds before Rachel's natural loquaciousness won out.

"I…I thought perhaps you chose this seat in an attempt to avoid Santana."

"It may be a contributing factor," Quinn admitted dryly. She'd been aware of Rachel's eyes following her as she'd stormed out of the cafeteria at lunchtime, and she waited for the girl to press the issue. When she didn't, Quinn's patience slipped. "Okay, out with it, Berry. I know you're dying to ask what she did to piss me off."

Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and unflinchingly met the Quinn's gaze. "While I will concede a certain level of curiosity as to the cause of your quarrel, I am aware that questioning you would likely be overstepping the fragile boundary of our tentative fr…acquaintanceship."

"Acquaintanceship? Seriously?" Quinn scoffed.

Rachel instantly turned defensive. "It's a word."

"A word no one but you would ever use in an actual conversation," Quinn pointed out good-naturedly.

"Do you have a better one?"

Quinn opened her mouth to say the word that Rachel had stopped herself from uttering, but it just wouldn't come. After another thirty seconds of awkward silence, she blurted out, "You look nice today, by the way."

Real smooth, Fabray.

"Thanks," Rachel responded, seemingly unfazed by the abrupt change in subject. "Finn didn't think so."

"Finn's an idiot."

Rachel frowned, "Don't be mean."

"I'm being truthful and you know it," Quinn told her sharply. Rachel's boyfriend should have been telling her how amazing she looked, not making her feel bad for wanting to look pretty. He could be so thoughtless sometimes. Rachel deserved better.

"What did Santana say to upset you?" she finally asked, interrupting Quinn's thoughts.

She chuckled, "I knew you couldn't resist." Rachel blushed, and Quinn offered her a half-truth. "She was just being her usual, crass self."

"You should learn to ignore her, Quinn. Nothing irritates her more than failing to get a reaction from someone."

"Does that work for you?" she wanted to know, because logically she knew that Rachel was right, but putting that into practice always proved damn near impossible for Quinn.

"Sometimes. Mostly not," Rachel confessed. "I take consolation from the knowledge that Santana Lopez is a deeply unhappy human being."

Quinn actually laughed at that. "Wow. You think she's human?"

A smile blossomed on Rachel's lips. "I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. After all, Brittany seems to like her."

"Brittany likes everyone, really, until Santana tells her not to," Quinn said offhandedly, studying Rachel's face a moment before finally asking the question that had been bothering her since lunch. "You'd forgive her, wouldn't you?"

"Brittany?"

"Don't be obtuse" she scolded the girl impatiently.

Rachel drew in a breath and seemed to think about how to answer. "If Santana ever offered me a sincere apology, which we both know would be the first sign of the apocalypse," they both grinned, "then yes, I would accept it. Why wouldn't I? Everyone deserves a second chance, Quinn."

"No, they don't," she muttered, thinking of her own sins as much as (probably more than) Santana's. "You shouldn't be so quick to forgive everyone, Rachel."

"And you shouldn't be so reluctant to…wait," Rachel said abruptly, looking at Quinn with widening eyes. "Did you just call me Rachel?"

"Yeah, so?" She was pretty certain she'd done it before once or twice.

Rachel shook her head in wonder. "It's just…you hardly ever do that without adding an insult to it somewhere."

Hah! Hardly isn't never. I knew I'd called her by her name before.

"It was a slip of the tongue. Don't get used to it, Berry," Quinn teased.

Rachel's smile was blinding. "I won't, Fabray."

•••

Quinn had to admit, having Rachel Berry for a partner was good for one's grade point average. No wonder Tina didn't really mind it. Ms. Fischer might dread the quantity of the girl's verbal dissertations, but there was no denying she adored the quality. An A++ and a ton of effusive praise (and was Rachel's vocabulary contagious?) on their poetry assignment contributed greatly to Quinn's good mood as she entered the choir room. She plopped down in the back row next to Mercedes and Kurt, and purposely away from Sam. She still didn't know what to do about their disastrous date on Saturday and her now glaringly obvious lack of attraction to him. Her already slipping mood dimmed considerably more when Rachel walked in with a happy smile and a hand tucked securely into Finn's.

"Good afternoon, fellow glee clubbers," she chirped.

"Woah, you are one smoking hot Jew, Berry," Puck called out, and Quinn watched Finn's face begin to color.

"Don't call my girlfriend hot!"

Puck held up his hands and tipped his chair back on two legs. "Hey, I'm just stating fact."

Finn angrily turned to Rachel and dropped her hand. "See! I told you," he flung his arm toward Puck. "This is why you shouldn't dress all sexy and stuff."

The girl's face fell, and she suddenly looked on the verge of tears. Quinn seriously wanted to get up and punch her stupid ex-boyfriend, then knee Puck in the balls for good measure.

"Get over yourself, Finnsecure," Santana sneered. "Berry's not your freaking personal property."

Quinn glared at Santana, unreasonably angry that she was suddenly defending Rachel. Finn ignored the comment, still frowning down at his girlfriend. "I just don't want guys drooling over you like you're a piece of meat."

"Not just the guys," Santana informed him with a smirk. Everyone looked at her dumbly, and she shrugged. "What? It's true."

"Totally," Brittany agreed, turning to rub Artie's shoulder soothingly when he squeaked in protest.

"Well, I for one think she looks fabulous," Kurt added haughtily.

"You would," Finn accused his step-brother.

"Finn, stop it," Rachel hissed under her breath. "Can we please talk about this later…in private?"

"Good afternoon, guys," Mr. Schue interrupted as he breezed in, impeccable timing as always. Rachel and Finn broke apart and sat on opposite ends of the front row, and Quinn smiled in satisfaction, her mood lifting just a little at the distance between them.

She really was a selfish person.

A/N: Yeah, so... Response to the last chapter was awsome, so I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this one. As always, thanks for reading.