Description: Framed for murdering the President of the United States, Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry are on the world's top wanted list. Now they have to stay under the radar, figure out how to tell their side of the story, and get the hell out of the USA. Preferably without killing each other first. Faberry. Minor use of Santana POV.
Genre: Adventure/romance
Characters: Rachel B., Quinn F.
Pairing: Faberry (Rachel, Quinn)
Rating: M
Notes: I'm trying this out mostly as an experiment! This is slightly inspired by A Million Miles of Fun by Jade8devlin. I kinda wanted to make a "framed" storyline of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'll see where this takes me. Let me know if you want more.
Also, I have never been to DC or the east coast of the US or anything like that. I have probably made some mistakes in regard to everything around there lol
"COME ON, BERRY! THEY'RE GETTING CLOSER!" Quinn Fabray screamed at a struggling Rachel Berry. Rachel was flailing around, spasming and jerking around in panic. Quinn could hear the sound of guns being loaded, angry voices shouting instructions to each other, shoes hitting the ground with fervor. It sounded like an entire army was bearing down on them, and Rachel was being… unhelpful.
"Berry! We've gotta get out of here!" Quinn urged, pulling Rachel along. The police hadn't found them yet, but Quinn knew that it was a matter of time and she didn't know how helpful Rachel would be in a fight involving guns. "Rachel, move! Focus!"
Rachel shook herself out of her stupor and started running. Quinn guided her along, trying to be as quiet as possible, hearing the police sirens and officers scouring the building. The two teenagers crept quietly over to a window, and Quinn looked up when she saw a man run into the room, shouting "Halt!" and whipping out his gun.
Quinn rushed the man, throwing a punch across his face to wind him and then sending him unconscious with a simple jerk across the neck. As he slumped to the ground, she hurriedly snagged his gun and pocketed it. Rachel was shivering against the wall, tears streaking down her face; the girl was terrified. Of their situation, of what would happen… of Quinn.
"Come on, Berry," Quinn muttered, opening the window. "Let's get out of here."
Rachel appeared to steel herself, walking over to the window and sliding through. The brunette quietly landed on the ground outside, dusting herself off. After Quinn had executed a perfect tuck and roll and landed beside her, the two quickly took off, slinking along the walls. It was a beautiful day, and if they pretended for a minute, Quinn and Rachel could imagine that it was a normal day, too, and they weren't wanted for murder.
"Shit," Quinn breathed out, "they've got the place surrounded."
There was a line of police officers and military members encircling the White House property, each about twenty feet apart from the others. They had the barricades, shields, all of the above that Quinn had seen once. She had the gun now, but how was she supposed to break through an entire line of police officers?
"Quinn," said Rachel quietly, "I'm not going to pretend I'm not terrified, but we need to get through. I have an idea."
Quinn looked over at Rachel. "I'll do anything at this point."
"How well can you shoot a gun?"
Quinn regretted this, and would probably be put in prison anyway for what she was about to do, but there was not a whole lot else she could try. Rachel's side was ready, and for once Quinn was glad for her crocodile tears. If this works, it'll be a miracle.
Quinn cocked the gun. She had migrated from the wall to a sort of ditch a few feet away from Rachel, ready to execute her part of the plan. She pointed the gun at a glass pane, one specifically out of the sight of the police barricade, and pulled the trigger.
A massive boom echoed through the grounds of the White House and the glass shattered audibly. Quinn heard Rachel let out an ear-piercing scream and knew that was her cue, so she grabbed a piece of glass and stabbed her leg. Grunting in pain, she swiped some of the blood over the ground and ran over to Rachel as best as she could.
Rachel supporting her, the two did a weird sort of jog down to the police line, and when there was the sound of a "halt", the two stopped, and Rachel started crying.
"Oh please, officers, c-can you help us? We've b-been separated from our group, and t-then we heard the g-gunshots, and my friend got hit by g-glass shards!" Rachel sobbed, quite convincingly. Quinn did her best to look terrified, which wasn't too hard because she actually was losing blood quite fast.
"Miss, I'm Officer Smith," said a dark-skinned man near them. "If it's okay, we're going to take you and your friend down to the station. We're not accusing you of anything, we'd just like to ask you a few questions."
Rachel nodded shakily, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Just please, g-get her some medical help."
And that was how Quinn and Rachel found themselves in the back of a police car, riding side by side. Officer Smith had been kind enough to wrap Quinn's injury up, wincing when he saw how badly her leg had been hit. Quinn had too, to be honest, because she didn't really think when she stabbed it.
When they arrived at the station, a poultice was quickly applied to Quinn's injury, and the pain dulled enough that she could walk without trouble. Luckily, Quinn hadn't hit any major arteries when she had stabbed her leg. As Rachel and Quinn were brought in for questioning—together, because it hadn't leaked yet that they were apparently responsible for murder—Rachel gave a weak smile in Quinn's direction, promising that they would be okay.
Officer Smith sat across from them. He kept offering sympathetic glances their way, and while Quinn appreciated it for her injury, because damn that hurt, she couldn't help but feel guilty that they were lying. Even though they hadn't really murdered the President, once everything got out they would be the suspects. Poor Officer Smith might lose his job.
"So, girls," Officer Smith said, smiling weakly at them. "Let's start with this: what are your names?"
"I'm Rachel Berry and she's Quinn Fabray," answered Rachel with a bright smile, though her eyes betrayed her haunting exhaustion. "We're from Lima, Ohio. We're seventeen."
"So, what brought you to D.C.?"
As Rachel spun the tale of their eventful afternoon, which was mostly true, Quinn thought back to how this nightmare had started.
Three hours earlier...
Quinn Fabray was bored.
It wasn't that the bus wasn't lively, or that her fellow gleeks weren't causing all sorts of chaos, but… she was bored.
Mr. Schuester had decided that it would be fun if the Glee Club went on a field trip to Washington, D.C. Why, she had no idea; maybe there was some kind of rich musical history here? Though that sounded like a Rachel Berry thing, so maybe Mr. Schue just thought that the gleeks would enjoy it.
Though it was obvious that literally everyone on the bus except for her was excited. Most of them had never even been out of Ohio. So, she supposed, it was fun for them. Quinn, however, had been to D.C. more times than she could count. Her father had taken her with him on a lot of his business trips, and she knew the district like the back of her hand.
Quinn groaned and closed her book as Rachel burst into an incredibly loud song yet again. She squirmed and cupped her hands over her ears. "Tone it down, Manhands!" The insult was mostly just teasing now, since the two girls had developed a sort-of friendship. Quinn hoped that Rachel knew that.
If it was possible, Rachel just became even louder.
"OI, HOBBIT! SHUT IT!" Santana roared from the very back of the bus where she had been making out with Brittany. Rachel broke off, looking abashed at how loud she was.
"My apologies, fellow Glee members," said the diva primly. "I find that this song promotes a healthy psyche and wished to share it with you."
"Yeah, well, we can hear it on the radio," Quinn grumbled, removing her hands from her ears. "Just try not to be so loud next time, Berry."
Santana rolled her eyes. "I'm getting my macks on, hobbit, so you best be quiet if you know what's good for you." Rachel responded by sticking her tongue out, crossing her arms, and turning back to the front of the bus with a pout.
"Hey," Quinn said softly, "you know we like your singing, right? Just not so loud."
Rachel smiled at Quinn. "I am aware. I find it nice that you acknowledge that."
Quinn flushed. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," she grumbled halfheartedly, socking Rachel in the shoulder. The two laughed a little, and then returned to their individual activities.
Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.
She was wrong.
Of course the place that the Glee Club had to go the moment they disembarked from the bus was the White House. Pretty much the one place that Quinn hated. Though the rest of D.C. annoyed her, or bored her, or pretty much did the opposite of excite her, the White House was the one place she despised.
Some of Quinn's worst memories were here, when she was with her father. Right now, everything on their tour was triggering old trauma. Quinn excused herself to go to the bathroom, sweating bullets.
As she splashed her face with water, she heard the bathroom door open. Quinn went as rigid as a board and jumped back. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Rachel.
"Hello, Quinn," said Rachel with a smile. "Are you alright? I noticed you rather hastily separating from the group."
Quinn brushed her hair back nervously. "I'm alright. Just some bad memories, I guess."
Rachel's face softened with sympathy. Not pity, Quinn reminded herself. She needed to get better at that. "I'm sorry, Quinn. Here, let me help."
Rachel tore a paper towel from the dispenser and dampened it. She dabbed under Quinn's eyes, wiping away her tears—tears? When had she started crying?—and drying up her face. Rachel gave another smile, and Quinn was reminded all too much of last year's prom.
"Thanks, Rachel," Quinn murmured. Rachel only nodded and offered her arm. Quinn took it and together they walked out of the bathroom… only to find that there was no sign of the Glee Club.
"Uh… where'd everyone go?" Quinn asked. "I thought they were waiting for us."
Rachel only offered a shrug. "Perhaps Mr. Schuester forgot we were in the bathroom?"
Quinn groaned. "Let's find them, then."
The two set off down the hallway, looking through doors to see if they could spot any sign of the Glee Club or Mr. Schue. Occasionally they would ask a security guard if they had seen them, but the answer was always no. So Quinn and Rachel continued on their way.
Once they had reached the end of the hallway, all they saw was a rather large door. There wasn't really anywhere else that the gleeks could have gone, so Quinn held the door for Rachel and followed her in.
"Okay… the Glee Club is definitely not in here."
Somehow, Rachel and Quinn had ended up in a circular room with a desk. This would have probably been fine and they could have seen themselves out if the President of the United States wasn't sitting at the desk.
"I'm sorry!" Rachel squeaked out once they had gotten over their surprise. "W-we'll just see ourselves out…"
"No, no, that's quite alright," the President said with a chuckle; a deep, warm chuckle. "What brings you two ladies to my office?"
"We got separated from our group," Quinn explained nervously. "We've been looking for them for a while, and we didn't realize that this was a private area."
"Oh, I can relate," chuckled the President. "Anyway, I believe that all the tours scheduled for today were heading up towards the East Room. So just turn at the first door on your left and you should catch up to them."
"Thank you, sir," Rachel said with relief. "We appreciate your help and we're terribly sorry for intruding."
The President waved them off. "It's no problem. Have a good day, girls."
Rachel and Quinn turned to walk out of the room, but before they could take more than two steps, there was the resounding sound of a gunshot. "Holy shit!" Quinn yelled, jumping a foot in the air. She whirled around only to see the man slumped over his desk, smile frozen on his face.
Pressing one finger to his neck, Rachel paled and croaked out, "No pulse. He's not breathing."
Quinn could only stare in shock, but only seconds later did a pounding on the door shake her out of her thoughts. "Oh shit. Oh shit they're gonna think we did it." Quinn and Rachel's gazes met, horror etched upon both of their faces. "We gotta get out of here."
Rachel was still frozen in shock. Quinn grabbed her arm and tugged her across the room to the second door. Just as they opened it, the other door burst open and they met the gazes of the national security guard. For a moment, they stared at each other, and then Quinn pushed Rachel through the door and locked it.
Within moments, frantic yelling could be heard and Quinn knew that they had a matter of seconds. With that, she made a split-second decision and ran down the hall, Rachel in tow. Who cared if they were technically resisting arrest? They were fucked anyway.
"Quinn, w-what are we going to do?" whimpered Rachel, who was shivering uncontrollably. "I can't go to prison! That kind of thing stops any Broadway star."
"We'll figure something out," was all Quinn said. Because the way she saw it? They were going to be lucky to get out of this alive.
Rachel sat nervously on one of the interrogation chairs, twiddling her thumbs. Well. She was going to call them interrogation chairs, because pretty much everyone in the national guard and the White House staff thought that they did it, even if Officer Smith didn't.
Because he didn't know what had transpired in that office.
Rachel shuddered. She didn't even want to think about it. She figured that day would haunt her for the rest of her life. Which she sincerely hoped wouldn't end soon. Oh, shush, Rachel, she chastised herself, even if you're found guilty, they won't execute you, right?
Rachel didn't know. So she looked over at Quinn.
The blonde looked remarkably put-together and stable, despite the emotions Rachel knew must be raging behind her blank mask. She knew that Quinn had a lot of practice with disguising her emotions, but there had always been a way for Rachel to see through the cracks in her façade. Rachel knew she was a bit psychic, just like she knew that she'd turn into a mess as soon as they got out of here.
Officer Smith had left the room a while ago, right after she finished telling her mostly true story. She had kept the part about getting lost, but fibbed a little and described how Rachel and Quinn had hidden until the glass was shot and Quinn was 'hit'. Officer Smith had mostly been talking on the phone since then and was trying to contact Mr. Schue or their parents.
Rachel looked to Quinn nervously. They had been silently preparing an escape plan, just in case. Quinn was ready, at least, and so was Rachel. She hoped they wouldn't have to carry it out, but she figured it was only a matter of time before the guards contacted Officer Smith… looking for them.
Rachel had a feeling that something very bad was going to happen.
There was a shrill tut-tut-tut! from the other room. The sounds of Officer Smith fiddling with a phonebook stopped, and there was a click as he accepted the call. "Officer Smith, reporting."
Oh. Shit.
There was an audible crackle of static before a gruff voice started speaking. "Officer Smith, we have a code red. Subcode red-red-orange-purple. We're looking for two girls. A blonde and a short brunette."
Rachel couldn't help but feel slightly affronted at that, despite the fact that they were very much screwed at this point. She was not short. She was… petite.
Officer Smith was silent for a moment before speaking. "Do you have a witness?"
A rustle of papers. "Name's Corporal Jones. He was attacked and knocked unconscious by the blonde, but he got to see both of their faces. They looked about nineteen."
Rachel heard Officer Smith sigh, and she knew that he was about to tell the man their names. It was time to execute their escape plan, then. Rachel shot a glance at Quinn, who was already standing. She was ready, then.
"...try Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray…"
The blonde quietly opened the window. With a quick glance at the door, she removed the window screen.
"...from Lima, Ohio…"
Quinn slid over the windowsill and onto the ground outside.
"...seventeen years old…"
Rachel followed.
"...field trip…"
Together, Rachel and Quinn ran away from the police station.
"...guilty."
Rachel, waving, hailed a taxi with Quinn next to her. They had walked, jogged, and run, but they finally felt like they were safe. After making a quick stop at the hotel they had left their stuff at, Quinn suggested that they get out of the city, because police were crawling everywhere looking for them. Luckily, no news had aired yet, because they had no doubt that any television would show their faces and any radio station would carry their names.
Throwing their baggage into the trunk, Rachel and Quinn climbed into the backseat side-by-side. As the taxi started moving, Rachel reflected on how different her life would be now. She'd probably never get on Broadway, never sing in Glee Club again, never argue with Mr. Schue about fucking solos.
Stop the presses, because Rachel Berry doesn't care about solos anymore. No, really. Stop the presses.
Rachel had always hoped that she'd get her name on the radio, get her face on TV, and get her name in big lights. Perhaps being framed for murder wasn't the best way to get two of those, she thought. But she was damn wanted for murder now, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She was famous now, but for the absolute worst thing.
Rachel stopped her own thoughts in time to hear Quinn sigh. She looked up at the blonde, silently offering her support.
"I just…" Quinn sighed again, looking nervously in the direction of the driver. "I can't believe that this happened."
Rachel nodded, pursing her lips. "Where are we going to go?"
Quinn looked out the window. "Out of this country, for starters. Maybe Canada. Or somewhere in South America. Somehow I doubt we're gonna get to Europe, though."
Rachel laughed quietly. "Well, you never know. Maybe we just need to go up to the Bering Strait, catch a ferry."
Quinn smiled weakly before falling silent again. They sat that way for hours, not falling asleep, but not talking, either. When the taxi arrived in some place called Altoona, Pennsylvania, Rachel and Quinn mechanically paid and removed their luggage from the trunk.
"Now what?" Rachel asked, shifting her legs a little bit. Quinn sighed.
"Now… we do something I'm not proud of. Something you're gonna hate."
And she was right. When Quinn returned, driving a stolen van, Rachel squawked in protest.
"Quinn Fabray! How could you? You know I do not condone theft, or violence, or any kind of illegal activity like this!" Rachel yelled. Quinn just rolled her eyes.
"Listen, Berry. Let me break it down for you. We're wanted criminals. Everybody will be asking for our heads because they'll think that we murdered the President of the United States. If we're caught, we're dead. We can't go to a hotel. We can't buy a car or a house. We can't just hunker down somewhere and we have to keep moving. Where are we going to sleep? How are we going to get around? This is really the only way."
Rachel struggled for a moment before the fire in her eyes died down and she slumped. "I suppose you're right, Quinn. I keep forgetting that we're wanted for m-murder."
Quinn's gaze softened, and she stepped forward and threw her arms around Rachel. For a minute, Quinn held her, and though the blonde calmed her breathing, she did nothing to ease Rachel's racing heart.
Quinn pulled away and cleared her throat. Was that a blush on her face? "Let's go, Rachel. I'll drive."
Rachel hesitantly got into the back of the van with their luggage. It smelled of new car and a slight bit of cologne. Made sense.
Rachel pulled an air mattress out of her suitcase, which she had brought along in the event that she had to share a bed with someone unsatisfactory. Her dads had also provided her with a generator, which she was endlessly thankful for. She sent a prayer up to the heavens that they were doing alright.
After setting up the air mattress and covering it with sheets and blankets, Rachel looked towards the driver's seat. Quinn had her eyes on the road, as desolate as it was. It appeared to be some sort of highway, but the surrounding area was remarkably barren. Oh well.
Rachel pulled her shirt off and began to undo her bra, pulling out a sleepshirt. After she had slipped into her nightclothes, Rachel stepped forward a bit. "Quinn? I've set up the mattress. Do you see anywhere that we can pull over?"
Quinn shook her head. "Not yet," she mumbled, and was it just Rachel, or were her cheeks glowing red? "I saw a sign for a campground up ahead, though, and I don't think we've made it to television or radio yet."
Rachel sighed her agreement. She pulled out her phone, which she just realized she had forgotten to check in the last—what? Twelve hours?—only to find that she had over a hundred texts and calls.
Shame filled her when she realized that she couldn't answer them.
As Quinn pulled into the campground, Rachel took one last look at her phone before turning it off for good. She dropped it out of the back of the van and held no regret as they slowly pulled away from it.
Bye.