A/N: So, you guys are amazing. It took me a minute to re-read all 75,000 (plus) words of this story that's already been created and that you all have dutifully read, and I'm still not 100% certain that I'm fully back in the saddle, but writing them feels right. Amazing. Like coming home again. I cannot express enough gratitude to fully cover how I feel for all the reviews, favorites, follows, Tumblr re-blogs, etc, etc, etc. I only hope that this resurrection will be worth your time reading (and re-reading, 'cause God knows I had to), and that your wait will have been worth it. Please, please, let me know what you think, send me a PM if you'd like, and leave your reviews. I read each and every one of them, and they are part of the reason I came back in the first place... it's good to know people out there care, that there are people who fell in love with this AU world as hard as I did so many years ago, and that I've got fans who will stick with me through to the end. Now, without further ado...
Rachel.
Though I knew so little of my programming and how it worked, every nerve in my body, every facet that made me a complete whole, made me strong, vibrated like a taut string that had been plucked for further instrumentation by the hands of a deft musician.
Instead of playing beautiful music, however, I lost control.
Quinn took the reins.
Whoever hurt her was dead.
"Rachel!" Quinn called, her voice loud and strong, echoing down the hallway as she ran at full sprint, feet propelling her strong legs against the freshly waxed floor as she bounded around a long row of lockers. McKinley High School was only so large, though I knew that Rachel could have been hidden on the other side of the world, in pain, and Quinn would have been able to track her down. Quinn paid no attention to the two athletes that flanked Rachel on either side, a few paces ahead, with empty plastic cups in their hands; since I was the more observant, the careful, calculating mind behind this operation, I saw everything and pieced the puzzle together when all my Primal half saw was red.
Red, dripping down the white blouse that Rachel had worn to school that day. Red, blotching her face and smearing the mascara she had painstakingly applied, likely so she could look beautiful for me. No matter how many times I told her that she didn't need anything more than a smile on her face to melt my heart, she made the effort, and I did my best to appreciate every minute detail simply because she tried. The globs of icy, sugary drink plopped onto the floor in a growing puddle at Rachel's feet, inches from her shoes - I had learned the proper name for them, Mary Janes - and another shriek came from the songbird's mouth. Cold, most likely, given the temperature of the foul substance I knew was a 'slushie,' because she had told us of these facials that had been doled out by these worthless sacks of meat in the past. Some of them were directed at other members of the Glee Club, but she took the majority of them.
The look of panic on her face was obvious, as if she could see something in Quinn that scared her, even though she knew she'd never be harmed at our hands. We were trapped inside, unable to pacify the situation, to rectify the damage, to either condemn her tormentors for what they'd done or take her into our arms so she might find warmth and comfort.
Quinn was in control now.
I feared for the consequences, for what would come of my weakness and inability to sustain the governing force when Rachel omitted such a sound of anguish.
"Quinn, I'm not hurt, you don't-"
Perhaps it wasn't a necessity because Rachel wasn't hurt, but the action Quinn wanted to take was violent and voluntary. Her fist struck like lightning, directly into the jaw of the jock on Rachel's left, a block-headed, blond with a scrunched up nose like a pig. The sound of the collision was wet, hollow, betraying that his bone had broken before the movement finished and the lower half of his face shifted to the far right. To most, the fight might look like it was some slow-motion battle, but I knew how fast Quinn was moving, how flawless each strike was, how deadly she could be with very little effort. The next sound was a low howl of the pig-faced boy as he crumpled to the ground, almost as if his knees had given out and were unable to allow for any sort of graceful fall. Quinn spun around and advanced on the other - he was darker skinned, with thin lips and a slighter build; I could only imagine what a single hit from Quinn would do to him.
"Do you feel like a tough guy? Every time you throw one of these in someone's face, do you feel like a man?" Quinn taunted, her shoulders low, her voice a feral growl as she continued moving forward while her adversary tried to walk backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so, because he feared to turn his back. If he did, would she latch onto him like she had before? Would she tear at his flesh and spill his blood all over the hallway, not caring that we had been given a mission to blend in?
How could we complete the mission if we were removed from society? From Rachel?
Quinn, you must stop this immediately.
"You stop me," she taunted, and everyone around would probably think she was speaking to the terrified boy as he continued to shuffle backwards. The other whined and whimpered in pain while he tried to crawl away, hopefully fast enough that she wouldn't come back for seconds.
I can't, not when you're like this.
It wasn't a lie. So many times, I had tried to overpower her, to suddenly gain back control when I got jealous of her kissing Rachel, of their skin touching, of her being in the saddle for too long while I sat, stagnant, waiting for my turn like an impatient child.
"Then watch this."
Her lips curled into a venomous smile and she raised her hand, cracked every individual knuckle in each finger on her right hand and then swept it forward, as if she was batting at a fly that was hovering inches from her face and the dark-skinned athlete tumbled forward, unable to stop himself, and crashed into the floor face first. He was boneless during the fall and hadn't put arms out to break the impact. Quinn's laughter chimed, a hollow, menacing sound as she continued moving forward. I knew what she was doing, flexing her muscle to show me who was boss. Deep down, I always had known that Quinn was stronger, that she could take control and keep it, if she so desired, but Marcus' words had been something of a comfort when he explained that he'd made us the primary in this body instead of allowing her to reign supreme.
"That's about enough of that, Black Mamba," a voice chimed, and I couldn't help but wonder who was colossally stupid enough to touch Quinn when she was like this, who would dare try to stop a woman who had just done the things that had been witnessed by a crowd of at least six others, who had likely put the final nail in our coffin and any subsequent hopes that we might be able to maintain this facade at McKinley and stay close to Rachel during the most taxing hours of her day. As Quinn looked around, I saw Santana facing her, a hand on her shoulder, meaning to be steadying instead of dangerous.
"Excuse me?" Quinn spat, rising to our full height and glaring down at the woman who had been a bully to us, to Rachel, a terrorist to nearly everyone in the school as if she was an insignificant speck. To Quinn, she would be; after what had happened with the other Supersoldiers, I couldn't doubt her skills, couldn't lessen our belief in her abilities and how vicious, how efficient at doling out hurt and pain she could be, when such methods became a necessity.
"I said, 'that's enough.' You got hearing loss or something?" Santana was posturing, and my skillset allowed me to realize what she was doing before Quinn; she still saw her as threatening, as another hurdle between her and Rachel, something to be neutralized. I looked beyond that and saw past Santana's high ponytail to where Brittany was comforting Rachel, helping get the excess slush off of her face, warming her up and wiping her tears. "We'll help you out, this time, but you gotta play along for the kids at home. Can you fuckin' do that or not?"
Switch with me, Quinn. You've done enough.
"Yes," I replied, noticing the scowling demeanor Quinn possessed in the background while she settled and adjusted to her home in the back seat. "Thank you." The last of my words were whispered, a gracious nod of my head punctuating the sentence as Santana walked past where I was standing and looked at the jock who was now sitting up, holding a tooth in his palm and looking like the picture of wounded pride.
"You've done it this time, Marshall," Santana said, applauding his efforts with a slow clap that painted the halls with sarcasm each and every time her palms connected. "What will Daddy say when he hears that his son got his ass kicked by a girl? By the school freak show?"
What was she doing?
Maybe I'd made a mistake.
Get to Rachel, you need to get to Rachel.
I looked back and noticed Brittany leading her down the hallway while others still gathered, eyes wide, and watched the scene unfold like the horror show it was.
"And all y'all rubberneckers," Santana said, whirling around to face the crowd that was standing behind her as if she was the Ringleader of a hormonally charged, stupefied circus. "Tell everyone you know what you saw here today. Berry's got herself a pet Pit Bull. Doesn't that make things interesting?" Santana waved her hands, effectively shooing them away just as the bell rang for the next class to start. I looked on helplessly, still unaware of what was transpiring just before my eyes. Had I fallen into a trap? Had I just made things worse by trusting Santana Lopez?
How could I be so foolish?
"Tell your fellow jockstraps, too. We'll get Ellen and Company back later for this, but for now... bitch knows she's got us beat. Hope you got a good long game, dyke," Santana said, then shoved me in a way that looked fierce, but barely felt like a tap. Marshall picked himself up and ran away with every ounce of strength he had left, though I saw the sideways gait of his run as he made it toward the stairwell; he was in pain, and lots of it. "Girls' bathroom, near the Science building. Go to her. I'll make sure this seems like a crazy rumor the jocks started 'cause they're prejudiced assholes who think 'girl on girl' action only exists in porn. Now you owe me one, Fabray, and I always collect, trust."
I was uneasy about the notion of owing Santana anything, but she helped Rachel, and that endeared her to me, even just a little. There had been no ulterior motive, that we could see, but Quinn continued to growl in my head, manifesting her dislike of the situation with a need to break bone and shred flesh.
"Whatever you need, I'm in your debt."
"Cheers, now beat it."
That was all I needed to hear.
Less quickly than Quinn, I ran down the vacant hallways, glad that class was in session and hopeful that nobody would stop me on the way. I ran up the staircase that led to the school's third floor and bounded past the art classrooms, heading toward the Science building, just as Santana instructed.
Let her have fuckin' lied to us, I'll slit her throat.
My temple throbbed as I saw the doors to the women's restroom fast approaching and extended my hands to push the heavy door, then saw Brittany attending to Rachel who was perched on a counter near the sinks. She was wearing different clothing, articles that were a little tighter than what she usually wore, and lower cut. My eyes couldn't help but focus on the slight bit of cleavage on display in the baby blue polo with all the buttons undone; Rachel didn't have large breasts by any means, hardly enough to actually create cleavage, but what was there was beautiful, and maybe it was wrong to notice, but I just couldn't help myself.
She was so beautiful.
She was everything I wanted.
Even if I hadn't been made for her, made to complete her - or maybe even be completed by her - it stood to reason that I'd still find her not one iota shy of absolute perfection.
"Quinn," Rachel breathed out before hopping down from the counter and scampering across the bathroom to wrap her arms around my neck. I leaned down, cradling her in my arms, resting my hands on her lower back, and inhaled deeply. There was a lingering cherry scent, artificial and sickening sweet, but the undertones, the spiced floral scent, the inherent sweetness, was still all Rachel. "Quinn, you scared me back there, what you did. I know you're supposed to-"
Her eyes widened and I watched the realization dawn over her features when she remembered that we weren't alone together. Brittany was just behind her, blinking at us with confusion in bright, innocent blue eyes.
"Brittany, thank you. You and Santana both - you've been very kind to Rachel," I said, giving the blonde a small smile, a crack of my usually stoic features, a blank slate, until the brunette had started teaching me how to etch emotions onto it and feel. What need had I for more emotions that weren't directed at her? She was my purpose, my heart, and even though I knew the stakes were high - unspeakably high - where loving her was concerned, with Quinn happily in tow, I could have it all, or as close to it as Marcus would ever allow.
"Sure, Quinn," Brittany chirped, smiling and nodding her head. "Where's San?"
"Yeah, where is the she-beast?"
"Rachel, she helped you," I replied, giving Brittany a sympathetic look because while I couldn't even begin to understand the relationship between the two cheerleaders, there was love between them, incredible love with a depth not unlike what I felt for Rachel. I understood Rachel's sour disposition, her unwillingness to trust that Santana would want to help her, especially after all the bullying, all the insults and names, all the trouble she'd caused, but even though Quinn and I both worried about what 'favor' we might have to enact later, what she might ask us to do, we did owe her a debt of gratitude and rightfully so; Rachel was unspeakably precious to both of us, and Santana had seen to her quiet escape, to a fresh change of clothing, and a way for me to continue attending at McKinley. It was no small feat.
"Santana only helps herself, Quinn. I know her, she's slimy and two-faced and-"
"Hey. San's scared, too," Brittany said, opening up and speaking out in a way that seemed bolder than usual, though still not unkind in words or tone. "She wants Quinn on our side 'cause she's magic."
"Yes, she certainly is," Rachel replied, her tone slightly darker. Her eyes traveled over my body, hovering over inappropriate areas that made me uncomfortably aware of every facet of my physicality, every limb, every slope, every curve before settling back on my face.
Quinn smirked.
Soon, I'd have to switch with her again.
My heart sank.
"I'm not magic."
Not exactly a lie.
Possibly the closest I could come to lying, and for a moment, I was unsure just how far I could stretch the truth. Could I lie at all, or just not to Rachel? Could I lie to others, or would I always have to lean on my Primal for the dirty work?
Whenever logic needed to be twisted, the truth bent and broken, just a little, would I have to sacrifice control?
"She's not magic. She's my superhero."
Rachel wasn't good at lying, either.
Brittany looked at me, head tilted to the side, as if she was trying to see through my body, to uncover some truth that she wanted to uncover deep within. It was unsettling, and I looked to Rachel for assistance, hoping that she would bail me out if the situation got out of my control.
I knew Quinn would; she was always too eager to be helpful in exchange for just a few minutes in the driver's seat.
"Do you have superpowers? You can't really be a superhero without them," Brittany said, arms crossed as she kept her distance. Things she'd seen, things she'd heard, that wasn't proof enough that I was different? Everyone called me 'freak,' and now Quinn had sealed our fate as an outcast.
At least as an outcast, I could be with Rachel.
You can't lie to her, 22. You can't lie to anyone. Let me help.
Quinn's voice got louder in my head, and I balled my fists.
Help me, Rachel. Please.
She didn't know the intricacies of my condition because I'd only told her the basics. She knew things, more things than Marcus had ever wanted me to tell her, and when he knew what we'd done, there was no doubt in my mind that reprogramming was in the future. Our Creator would take both of us to task, and we'd never see her again. So... what did it matter if I told the truth? Marcus would have to clean up our mess. It was only logical.
Are you gonna try to be a liar now?
"Brittany, I don't have-"
Pain.
Pain.
Pain everywhere.
Rachel gasped and rushed to my side as I crumpled against the bathroom floor. Before, Rachel hadn't seen the immediate weakness that overcame me when I tried to lie to her at my apartment. She had been there for the aftermath, and the burn of her had lulled me back into some sense of security, wrapping me in a spiked blanket that was so safe that it was worth the dull ache, the slow burn that covered every inch of my body.
In every situation I could dream up, in every possible outcome I could conjure up in my mind, every win/loss scenario I could play out, the outcome was always the same: Rachel was always worth hurting for, fighting for, dying for - every risk I could take, I would... for her.
"She's perfectly normal, just..." Rachel said, the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out how to explain what had happened when even she didn't have the answers, didn't know where to possibly begin. "Low blood sugar! Just... low blood sugar, happens all the time. You really should be more careful, Missy." Rachel scolded me like a parent and I furrowed my brow, grateful that she was on the ground with me, holding me, but still experiencing the bone-deep tear and twinge of misery that washed through my system.
"I keep a jumbo bag of gummy bears in my locker! They might have... melted... 'cause I forgot them over Spring Break..." Brittany drawled, though her face belied excitement with her willingness to help. With nothing further said, she exited the bathroom door and left me alone with Rachel.
Finally.
"The last time this happened, I recovered quickly," I explained, not wanting to give the brunette any further reason to worry. Her fingertips stroked my face, trailed across my cheekbones, and I absorbed the touch, embraced the burn and sting.
I couldn't tolerate her touch because I wasn't supposed to feel it.
Certain species of animals developed adaptation techniques to deter predators. The poison dart frogs of Central and South America had a poisonous exterior that would befoul their taste and poison predatory species who might attempt to attack them; beyond that, the colors were a deterrent to make them seem deadlier, a warning beacon.
Rachel's touch was something to warn me against touching her.
The pain was supposed to be immense, unbearable.
Sometimes, it was.
Most of the time, I wanted her touch more than I was bothered by the pain, and the need that grew in me from the first time our hands touched in the choir room had only become more ravenous since that moment.
"When did this happen before?" Rachel's eyes narrowed, as if I had been keeping secrets from her, as if she was the authority on every medical condition we had, on every biological change, on every symptom; she might have been the daughter of our Creator and perhaps the cure for many of our ailments, the relief to a great many symptoms, but I knew that she wouldn't be the one to solve every mystery that surrounded us, Supersoldiers, and all the questions I couldn't shake or ignore.
"At my apartment. I... I tried to lie to you, to keep you from seeing me. It was necessary, but you didn't listen," I explained, hoping it would be enough and she wouldn't press for details.
A smile split her face like clouds opening to release fresh rays of sunshine upon the world.
I smiled back, an involuntary reaction, a part of our programming.
"You can't lie to me?"
"I don't think I can lie at all."
"My, my, isn't that convenient?"
Quinn can lie to you.
Quinn was getting better about not lying to Rachel, and while I could have easily taken that moment to explain further, to give her more details about the split, about 22-B and the Primal Quinn that had scared her before, I opted to kiss her instead. All day, I had been thinking about her kisses, about how many of them Quinn would get, how many more than me. Rachel sighed and relaxed into my body, neither of us willing to move from the floor, even though we were in the middle of a bathroom and I knew Rachel was something of a germaphobe. My hands threaded through chocolate brown hair, silken in texture, and slid downward, cupping her jaw as my lips moved over hers softly, with hardly any pressure, no insistence, no obligation for her to continue, to push further.
Breath tore at her lungs, and Rachel shuddered in my arms, batting impossibly long lashes up at me when her lips separated from mine. Again, I smiled and brought a hand up to my lips, feeling the warmth that existed in them, remnants of her personal heat signature.
A flicker of light passed through her dark irises, and I narrowed my eyes in response. That was the distinct look of her planning something... but what?
"Do you trust me, Quinn?"
"Are you going to take advantage of this new information?"
"Are you going to answer my question?"
"Yes."
"Yes, you'll answer?"
"Yes, I trust you."
Rachel beamed.
"Do you really need the answer to your second question, then?"
I paused.
Damn her for being so smart.
"No, I suppose I don't."
Rachel placed her hands on both sides of my face and kissed me fiercely, enthusiastically, and the shot of heat that pulsed through my veins felt momentous, like I had bitten down on a live wire and somehow emerged unscathed.
"Come to dinner at my house again, tomorrow evening, promptly at eight."
"But Marcus, your father, he-"
"You said you trusted me, Quinn," Rachel reminded me in a playful, sing-song voice, though there was no possible way I could ever forget. I may have never had any choice but to trust her, and even though the notion was a bit unsettling, I couldn't help but feel safe regardless. Why would she have any reason to hurt me? Why would she have any reason to do something that would harm me?
However, if I had to endure another dinner with Marcus, it could very well be my last.
"I do trust you, Rachel."
"Eight o'clock, then. It'll be in poor taste if you're late, though, considering what I have up my sleeve."
I rose to my feet, then immediately extended a hand to help Rachel to hers.
"You lack in sleeves, currently."
She hopped to her feet, then brushed off the outfit that was definitely Brittany's - no plaid skirt, and the jeans that occupied the lower half of Rachel's body were ripped, stylishly so, and studded with rhinestones in the pattern of a sun - and placed her hands on my waist.
"I'm going to tell them - my dads - about us tomorrow. I don't care if they pitch the biggest fit. I'm their little girl, and they just want me to be happy. Even Papa. I know he was hard on you last time, but he's always taught me that love is love, and never to be ashamed of it." Her speech was impassioned, but I barely caught the tail end of it; my heart stopped when she said 'love.'
Did she really love me?
Or did she love Quinn?
"Eight o'clock. May I walk you to your next class?"
Rachel linked her arm with mine and confidently raised her head, focused on the door and whatever McKinley High had to throw her way.
"I'd be terribly cross with you if you didn't. After all, you're my girlfriend."
Girlfriend?
I didn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.