ADORED
Disclaimer:Even though this will be AU, I do not, have not, and will not own any of the characters unless they are an original character. All characters used belong to Ryan Murphy and FOX Company.
Summary: Rachel Berry and Quentin Fabray are shooting stars from two different worlds. One has her sights set on the stage while the other has his sights set on his latest challenge. We all know something big happens when two stars collide. Genderswap!Quinn. Rated M for mature language.
A/N: First time writing both Genderswap!Quinn and a story without a supernatural element. Go easy on me. And if anyone would like to be my beta, well, that would be awesome. Also, since this is slightly AU, Shelby and Hiram are Rachel's parents, Quentin's parents actually care, and Beth obviously doesn't exist. (But that last one isn't so AU is it?) Also, updates might be sporadic. I cannot promise an update on a particular day, although I usually update during the week.
A/N2: (apparently) Quinntana exists. Thusly, you should go read "Locked In and Loving to Hate It" by Quasi-Suspect. That fanfic made me ship Quinntana and fall in love with the author. Also, I had to re write this damn thing twice in one night. It's currently 4:30 am and I have approximately and hour and 10 minutes until I have to be up for school. Joy.
Chapter Two: Bury the Castle
Rachel's POV
It was embarrassing, to say the least. The pain, both emotional and physical, overwhelmed my other senses and rendered me unable to process my thoughts. The slimy, cold, blue liquid made its way down my shirt, and my subconscious was not happy with that fact. My fourteen year old self acted purely on instinct, lunging towards my oppressor. My hands made contact with Cheerio-clad flesh catching her off guard, sending both Santana and I to the ground. She had no reason to do that was the only thought crossing my mind. The presence of teachers and staff around us didn't occur to me. She hit me with all her strength, but I clung to her, waiting for her assault to weaken. I screamed some pretty lewd things at her while she replied in Spanish, and at that moment I was grateful for having taken French. The next thing I was aware of was hands wrapping around my waist and carrying my small form away from Santana and those around her.
"Put me down!" I had screamed, flailing my arms and legs.
"You'll get yourself killed!" a voice screamed, still holding on to me.
He held me while I tired myself out, even though the liquid assault had been dripping onto him as well. Eventually, it dawned upon me that I had just attacked Santana-freaking-Lopez, and my life was pretty much officially over with. Even after just a few months at William McKinley, it was evident that Santana was a force not to be trifled with.
"You can put me down, now." I told the person holding me. All the fight had finally gone out of me, but he slowly set me down as if expecting me to make a run for it.
I spun around, looking up at the person who rescued me from myself.
"Thank you." I told him, extending my hand. "I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry."
He shook my hand while smiling down at me. "Noah Puckerman, Lima's resident badass.'
For the past three years, Puck had been my best friend. Most people had no idea how we would even know each other, much less be friends. If he hadn't been there the day of my first slushie facial, our friendship probably wouldn't have happened. We attended synagogue and glee together, lived a few houses away from each other, and had each other over for family dinners. Our relationship has not always been strictly platonic, as always seems to be the case when two people become especially close. We had tried the whole dating thing for a few weeks before deciding that while having someone to call our own was nice, we were quite better off as friends. We knew too much of each other's secrets for our relationship to work, and we put the brakes on it before our friendship was destroyed. Even though he hung out with some of my tormentors, he still remained faithfully loyal to me, even when Santana bugged him about it.
Due to the fact that I didn't have my own car and that my mother was currently utilizing the family one, Puck drove me over to Quentin's house – but not without his round of questioning.
"Why do you need to go over to his place?" He asked as I climbed into the front seat, looking me over. "And why are you dressed like that?"
I raised an eyebrow and gave him a look, picking the fabric of my shirt between my thumb and forefinger. I was wearing a plain black v-neck, a pair of Almost Famous jeans, and my favourite boots. No make-up adorned my face, and my hair was in a ponytail. Not at all date material. This was more like an outfit for a night out with my friends.
"Firstly, this is my casual wear. Secondly, it's Quentin we're talking about."
"You never answered my first question."
"I'm going over his house to engage in sexual intercourse."
"Rachel."
"We're doing that duet thing for glee together, remember? We never picked a song."
Puck started the car then, seemingly placated by my response. We drove along for a while, talking about what had transpired during the day. He had been paired with Brittany, and they had picked a song – "My First Kiss" by 30H!3 featuring Kesha. He told me that even though Brittany had her moments when she seemed lacking in the brains department, she often spewed wise nuggets of wisdom. And even if she wasn't entirely all there, she was hilarious and kept him laughing.
"Don't have too much fun with her. Santana might go all 'lima heights adjacent' on you." I warned him, making quotation marks in the air. That girl lived in one of the biggest houses in the city. Most people called it a mansion. She was about as Lima Heights adjacent as I was.
We pulled up to Quentin's house as Puck slowed his convertible to a stop.
"You know," Puck began, gazing up at Quentin's house, then looking at me. "Even if Quentin was hard to get, I bet you could steal his heart away."
With a scoff, I undid my seatbelt. "I doubt it. Why would he want me when he has the entire cheerleading team pining after him, waiting to obey his every command?"
Puck shoved my shoulder with a laugh, his version of an amicable hug. "You underestimate yourself. Now get out of my car."
I did as I was told, getting out of his car and walking up to Quentin's front door. His 2013 Camaro was the only car in the driveway. Great, I thought. Now I'll be alone with him. Before my fist could make contact with the door, it flew open, halting my movements. Leaning against the threshold stood Quentin, looking down at me with a grin on his face.
"So you do own something other than sweaters and unflattering tops." He said, his piercing hazel eyes roaming over my body.
"Do you ever think with your brain rather than your genitalia?" I asked in annoyance as I walked into his house like it was my own. I'll be damned if his inability to focus made me lose out on a chance to showcase my vocal talent. We were picking this song tonight even if it killed him.
"Not when I'm alone with a pretty girl in my home."
"While someone with a lesser amount of confidence would be charmed by your compliment, I will not fall victim to your petty game. Now, do you have a place where I could dock my iPod?"
"Yes. I also have a place where you can dock your –"
"Quentin Fabray, I am perfectly trained in the art of martial arts and if you finish that sentence I swear to Barbra that I will make you regret it." The same way I was regretting ever setting foot inside his house. He held up his hands and chuckled, unfazed by my threat, and headed towards a staircase descending down into what I could only hope was a regular basement.
"Nothing funny about this, I promise. I do my best singing down here." Quentin said with sincerity in his voice. "It's soundproof, so I also write and play instruments."
With a wary look over my shoulder to him, I flicked on the light and began to head down the stairs.
Quentin's POV
When Rachel saw my basement, she seemed at a loss for words. And that was something, because she hardly ever stopped talking. She looked around the area a few times before realising that she was, in fact, in the same dimension. I had a mini studio down here, complete with a glass area for recording along with a computer hooked up to a mix board. My guitars were propped up in their stands, leaning against the wall. My drum set was in its corner, sticks on the seat. Other than my parents, no one knew how serious I was about my music. In fact, Rachel was the first person to come down here.
"I honestly did not expect any of this to be down here." Rachel said finally, turning to face me.
I walked over to my Mac without saying anything in return. Shaking the mouse to wake up my computer, I shrugged my shoulders. I opened up iTunes and clicked around a bit. "Now, I know you may have had something in mind, but I've been searching for a song for us to sing. It may be a little out of your comfort zone, but you'll sound fine." From the speakers embedded into the walls, "All to Myself" by Marianas Trench began to play.
With the opening chords, Rachel sat there and seemed to soak in the song. There was no immediate struggle as I had anticipated. By the second verse, she began to tap out the rhythm against her leg, drumming her fingers against it. I noticed that she was going to the beat of the drums of the song rather than the guitar, which was what most people did. Maybe there was a true rocker in the innocent Rachel Berry after all.
When the song finished, she flashed me a smile she kept handy for things that had to do with singing. "You know, it may not be one of the greatest songs ever written, but it could work for our vocal range." She clasped her hands together in excitement. "Could you please provide me with a lyric sheet?"
Before she came over, I printed out two copies of the lyrics for the song. I also gave us parts, but she wasn't allowed to know how much thought was actually put into this.
Handing her the sheet, I said, "Are you sure you can learn this in time?"
Rachel merely arched a brow and sang the chorus perfectly.
"Did you say 'Please just follow me'? I thought you wanted me.
'Cause I want you all to myself.
I can try and suck it up –
I just can't suck it up –
Make me feel like someone else.
Please just follow me. I thought you wanted me.
'Cause I want you all to myself.
I can try and suck it up –
I just can't suck it up –
Make me feel like someone else."
I let out an appreciative whistle in surprise. Marianas Trench was one of my favourite bands, and she managed not to disgrace them.
Then the most amazing idea struck.
"Berry, do you play drums?" I asked her. She looked over at me curiously as if wondering where my train of thought was headed.
"I am well versed in them, yes. I took lessons."
"Do you want to make our performance the best damn thing they've ever seen?"
"I'm listening."
THE NEXT DAY
There was no other way to put it, no way around it: I was excited for glee club.
My adrenaline amped me up and kept me on an emotional high ever since I woke up this morning. Football practice was at 6, and my performance was even better than usual. Coach usually placed me in more than one position during practice, in case I wanted to do something other than be quarterback. Even the plays that I wasn't perfect in – the man-to-man and the zones – seemed slightly better. Showering off, I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from belting out our song. This may not be common knowledge, but singing while showering with about twelve other guys was never a good idea.
I couldn't focus much in class, however, but that was fine. Being one of the smartest kids in my grade had its advantages. I could slack off for a day or two and still be ahead of the teacher's lesson plans. But I didn't let on about that often.
When the last bell rang signifying the end of classes I practically raced my shadow to glee club. As my luck would have it, the day I actually wanted to sing, I was scheduled to go fourth. After patiently listening and politely clapping to Artie and Marley's "Give Me Love", Finn and Blaine's "Another One Bites the Dust", and Kitty and Kurt's "Misguided Ghosts", it was finally time for Rachel and me to perform.
I went to a corner of the room and retrieved drumsticks and my guitar. Passing the sticks to Rachel and trying not to laugh my ass off at the expression of our peers faces, I got in my performance mode.
I don't patronize, I realize
I'm losing and this is my real life.
I am half asleep, and I am wide awake.
This habit is always so hard to break.
I don't want to be the bad guy,
I've been blaming myself and I think you know why.
I'm killing time, and time's killing you
Every way that I do.
[Chorus:]
Did you say "please just follow me?"
I thought you wanted me.
Cause I want you all to myself.
I can try to suck it up,
I just can't suck it up.
Make me feel like some one else
Please just follow me.
I thought you wanted me.
Cause I want you all to myself.
I can try to suck it up,
I just can't suck it up.
Make me feel like some one else
I'm under the gun, you're like the only one.
I just can't decide what I'm running from.
This isn't what I wanted, but
I can't keep my filthy fucking mouth shut.
It's not enough, it's never enough.
I wish I could breathe without getting it stuck.
Can't focus it, but I try it
over and over again.
[Chorus]
Na na, na na, na.
Na na, na na, na na.
Na na, na na, na.
Na na, na na, na na.
Please just follow me?
I thought you wanted me,
Cause I want you all to myself.
I can try and suck it up,
I just can't suck it up.
Make me feel like...
Did you say "Please just follow me"?
I thought you wanted me,
Cause I can't stay with someone else,
I'll try and suck it up,
I just can't fuck it up,
I want you all to myself.
Did you say "Please just follow me"?
I thought you wanted me,
Cause I want you all to myself.
I can try and suck it up,
I just can't suck it up.
Make me feel like someone else.
Na na, na na, na.
We were pretty damn amazing. During the song, some of those stragglers that are always in the hallways bet never seem to step inside to wonder where all the singing is coming from happened to walk in during our performance. The crowd grew in size and so did our showmanship. Rachel did some tricks with her sticks that were totally wicked, but she'd never hear that from me. At the end of our performance as I wiped sweat from my brow and flipped my hair back, I made eye contact with her, sharing a small smile.
Rachel Berry knew how to let out her inner rock star.