Expect badly written fics in the form of Glee, Desperate Housewives, House.. Crack ships, ships, and a fair amount of wishful thinking.... Oh and I should probably warn about spoilers, too.
So there you are. You're sitting at a bar, minding your own business. Your drink settles around the blocks of ice in the bottom of your glass, and you've blocked out the background noise that is the bar. You're oblivious to everything. That is, until she sits beside you. At first you don't notice her but then out of the corner of your eye you notice an elbow resting on the bar beside you, and you look up. There she is. Her chocolate hair falls forward, obscuring her face, and her voice is quiet - almost muted against the other voices in the room. You find yourself raising a hand, you want to touch her, to tell her "hello", hopefully see her smile and return the greeting. But something stops you and your hand just hovers between you and the girl. You never see her face and in a moment she has taken her drink and disappeared into the throng of people who are gathered around. You turn back to your drink and you close your eyes, she has gone and fate has passed you by.
Some days I look in the mirror and criticise everything. I'm not just talking about how my face is covered in spots and how my pores are huge, or even how I've gained just a little too much weight. No, I stand and I look at myself and I am disgusted by everything. Inside and out.
If anybody could project their minds twenty years into the future they may expect to see a very, uhm.. ‘futuristic’ land.
The averagely educated person, in the just over average area of town who got lucky and got into a comfortable, over-average job might see tall, white and sparkling skyscrapers - the tips of which literally scraped the sky – or perhaps hover-cars, gliding silently across smooth and perfect roads. But the one maybe most important thing a person looking into the future (a person from 2010 where the threat of global warming is made crystal clear to everybody, perhaps even made too clear) would envisage would be some kind of carbon neutral power source, one that has reversed anything that our ancestors had done, one that would fix our problems, forever.
What this person would be shocked to find out is that they’d be right. Completely right. But only if they were trying to predict what Washington, New York, London and Paris would look like. Anywhere else and they’d be completely wrong. These cities were beautiful, surrounded by huge translucent force-fields which sparkled very slightly if the sun, the sight of which was rare in this war-torn earth, shone on them at just the right angle.
Now, the details left out by our average participant would be as follows:
The Dome surrounding the ‘utopia’ that was London (now classified a country) was encircled by barren and muddy land which stretched as far as the eye could see.
Sure people lived in what had once been England but food was short, water was shorter, fuel was shorter than water, shelter was even shorter, in fact, everything was short, and therefore, people were short (not in stature, but number) too. There were few settlements, and dotted around what had once been a country where people had lived and thrived and built and expanded were wreckages; places where people could not live because of the dangers that lurked there but places where scavenging was plentiful.
The settlements had become smaller and smaller over the past decade - the decade since London had sealed its perimeter, locking out those who were not in the right place at the right time.
It was surprising how quickly people failed without the technology they had grown to depend on, even more surprising how long it took for the few survivors to realise that it was technology that they depended on, and even more surprising how quickly they turned on each other, how tribal they became.
Each tribe was fighting for their lives, and all were fighting to gain access to London.
Inside London was a different story. People lived in peace, for once, in an (almost) socialist society. Their ‘Leader’ was a true believer in equality (or not, hence him being their leader) and everybody was happy, that was the message that every single of the sheltered cities sent out to the rest of the world.
Alas, how dull it was in the beautiful gleaming city.
London was now a city whose river was the one thing that changed, the only change in this being the temperature. It was a city which was once, so long ago now that only those at the end of their short lives remembered it, was rife with crime, excitement, and action; things worth seeing, things worth doing, and things worth fearing.
Now everyone (if not for their hair and eye colour) was the same, nobody was different; everybody had to abide by a strict set of rules put in place for ‘their own safety’. These rules were not physically enforced but fear kept people in line. Or so they thought. However, anybody even a slight bit cynical may now realise that this could not be achieved without brute force, without a greater power than that of the people. The people actually living this pretend, synthetic life, were not in the least bit cynical. This was a land of denial. Anybody with views which weren’t considered to be the social norm was taken away in the night, taken to labs where they were used in experiments to 1. Find out reasons for their non-conforming and 2. To try and extend the life expectancy to beyond 40, if not taken to labs these ‘nonconformist’ people, these ‘rebels’ were simply executed, their bodies placed outside the cities’ protective field. These, of course, were only rumours, whispered and ignored…
On the bright side, they were wrong. On the other hand, the truth probably hurt more.
The fear of their Leader was so deep within everyone one might assume it was written into their genetic code and this may have n fact been the case for many of the younger inhabitants of the city, those who had lived with it for their entire lives, or those who were too young to remember life before.
Unlike those on the outside these people lived solitary, lonely, but relatively safe and sheltered lives, what did these people want? They wanted freedom; they wanted to get to the other side of that barrier. What would they do to get there? Most wouldn’t do anything.
Britain was a divided land, but not only was Britain divided, the world was divided, all because of one silly little man, with much more power than he could manage, pressing one little red button. Who knew who started it -everybody blamed everybody else, who knew who finished it, all anybody knew was that it had happened.
The war that had lasted 100 days, only 100 days, 100 days and it had managed to ruin, to shatter, to completely destroy thousands of years work, because of that man, with that power, and the little red button.
Because of the person who made that button.
Because of the person who made the bomb.
Because people don’t feel safe without power.
Earth was in tatters, her body already abused was now broken, and just like that, what for her must have been the blink of an eye.
She stood and looked around the sorry excuse for a room.
Student accommodation – nothing more than a glorified broom cupboard with a desk, bed and sink crammed in. This is what she wanted. A position in a top university, maybe a little far from home but sacrifices have to be made to get what you want. This was where she had chosen to live, her very first choice. This is what she needed; a degree from this university in her favourite subject.
A chance to grow up, live alone, study.
She was investing in her future – Teachers, parents, most of her friends had said so. Even if that meant coming out with an impossible (but surmountable) debt at the end of it… It was the right thing to do and she was sure of it.
Then why couldn’t she stop crying.
The few personal touches she had applied to the lifeless cream walls included a Big Bang Theory poster, a picture her sister had drawn her, and a small collection of printed photos, all depicting her and her small group of close friends. It still wasn’t hers, nothing felt right.
Selena took her phone from the minuscule bedside table and scrolled aimlessly through the multitude of applications. Right on queue the thing buzzed and a (1) came into existence above the mail icon. She clicked it without thinking.
How’s it going? Moved in yet? Mum gone?
Love you – chin up xxx
Then returned the tears. The friend would know she had read the message, but she couldn’t reply yet. She couldn’t think straight.
She buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
20 minutes later Selena woke with a sticky face in her unfamiliar room and the phone had lit up again, this time with another message.
She picked it up and replied to the first with a lie:
I’m fine baby, how are you? Yeh mum just left and I couldn’t stop crying, but I’m okay now :)
Love you too. Xx
Before the brunette could open the new message, there came a knock on the door.
She froze.
There was some unknown entity out there – possibly another of her flatmates arriving. Selena stood up and smoothed out the front of her top, dropping the mobile on the bed. She opened the door tentatively to a wide grin. The door was pushed open by the boy on the other side, he lent against the frame, no doubt trying to look cool, and smiled an unusually large grin at her.
“Rich.” He said, and held out a hand for her to shake. She took it carefully and was met by a firm shake. It looked as though she was attempting to smile but could only manage a grimace.
“I’m from upstairs” he said, pointing at the ceiling. “And you are?”
“Selena” she smiled lightly and gave him a small nod, “From down here.” He gave her a small, appreciative laugh and made off down the corridor, waving over his shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, Selena.”
She sat back on the bed and then allowed herself to fall onto her side, tucking her legs up in front of her. Selena picked up her phone again and opened the message from her oldest friend.
The afternoon would progress in this way, but come 7 o’clock she would be dragged from her room and forced to socialise.
Rachel caught Quinn and lifted her back onto the bed with ease, clamping a hand over her mouth in order to stifle the renewed screams. “Please… Shush Quinn.”
For a moment Rachel stood over the blonde, one knee resting on the bed, hand still clamped firmly over her mouth. Once silence descended Rachel tentatively removed her hand and Quinn lay still looking at the ceiling with wide eyes, her breathing shallow.
“Quinn.” Rachel said softly. The blonde didn’t respond to Rachel’s voice, so she continued. “Quinn, it’s not so bad. Twilight is a misrepresentation: we don’t sparkle… Although clearly I shine in other ways…” She smiled broadly at her own comment, and Quinn’s eyes finally fixed on her captor.
Blonde hair haphazardly covering her face Quinn Fabray decided this was the time to escape. She pushed off of the bed and made a break for the door.
The brunette was on her before she’d even moved: “Please stop trying to run! I’m not going to hurt you!”
The cheerio struggled, but it was a useless effort – Rachel had her pinned down by the shoulders, her arms secured against the bed by her legs and, for good measure, Rachel was sat on Quinn’s lower stomach. There was nowhere to go.
“Quinn I just want to-..” The blonde breathed heavily for a moment, dribble running down her chin, her spit coating Rachel’s cheek in a nasty salivary mess.
There was a pause where Rachel glared at Quinn, and Quinn glared at Rachel.
Rachel moved first, moving her knee to Quinn’s shoulder to replace her hand, she wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her mustard-yellow cardigan.
“If that’s how you feel, Quinn, then… Then…” She huffed, climbed off of Quinn and looked at the stunned girl for a moment longer. Keeping one fist clenched at her side Rachel Berry raised the index finger of the other, and her tone darkened somewhat: “Then I won’t-…” She paused, apparently unsure of what to say. Quinn had to admit to herself that even now, as cowered on her bed, fearing for her life: Seeing Rachel Berry speechless was a very amusing sight.
This moment of satisfaction wasn’t to last long, Rachel changed tact quite quickly once she realised her apparently dramatic speech had failed. She started again: “Quinn. I told you because I thought you would understand. We’re all outcasts in Glee club! You with your-…” She gestured wildly at Quinn’s whole body now “The pregnancy thing and-…”
“’The pregnancy thing’?!” She sat bolt upright, glaring at the shorter girl again now “Pregnancy is hardly the same as being a vampire, Rachel. At least it’s natural, and normal to be pregnant!” She stood up and moved towards said vampire, teeth clenched. “You cannot compare the desire to drain people’s blood from their body to quench your ‘thirst’-…. It’s not just a case of being an outcast!”
Now, standing over the smaller girl, Quinn didn’t feel so scared. Part of her – maybe her abs? – was telling her that actually, she could take Rachel in a fight. She didn’t have to worry.
Meanwhile Rachel, who knew Quinn couldn’t in fact defeat her in battle, was losing her anger fast, wondering if she might get angry or maybe even make-up sex out of it… There was something hot about the blonde when she got like this.
There was a silence while each considered their position, Quinn measuring the distance between them and the wall, Rachel considering an appropriate song for the moment.
“And anyway!” Quinn started again, rearranging the glare on her face “Why did you decide to do it then?! If I were telling you something that major I’d wait until we weren’t making out! I’d possibly do it before we-… Yeh! Not just slip into conversation one day, while lying underneath you: “Oh by the way, I’m a vampire.” …” She was panting now, and Rachel was looking at the floor trying to erase her inappropriate thoughts.
“Quinn there was a break! It seemed… Appropriate. I can’t explain it – I just knew to tell you… It was like a sign, I-…”
“Enough with the melodrama Rachel.” Quinn’s voice was shaky, filled with authority with a touch of anger. Rachel chewed her lip and allowed herself a small smile. She took a step back as Quinn took a step forwards, she did however see her girlfriend glance at her lips as she did this. “There was no sign. I don’t know why you’ve told me now but I want you out.” The cheerleader stepped to the side and allowed Rachel a clear passage out of her room.
The brunette looked at Quinn with an air of disbelief.
“Are you dumping me?” She noted the minuscule drop in the height of Quinn’s shoulders, the corner of her mouth microscopically dropping, her eyes flick to the ground.
Quinn was not giving off fear. Rachel couldn’t smell it. She could smell anger… And a touch of desire.
Rachel did step around Quinn, but she didn’t leave the room. She took Quinn’s face with both hands and risked everything in an overly self-assured manner. This would go one way or another. The brunette kissed her girlfriend hard.
“Give me a chance baby.” Her voice lowered and she looked up at Quinn through her eyelashes, her quickened reactions allowed her to see Quinn’s micro expressions, her heightened senses allowed her to gauge Quinn’s basic emotions.
Anger,
Disappointment,
Confusion…
… Desire.
Rachel had Quinn pinned against a wall in a matter of seconds.
“If you’d let me demonstrate my abilities…”
Quinn opened her mouth to protest but Rachel wasn’t taking no for an answer, she was tugging the taller girls jeans off.
She already knew she was going to make sure that she made this so good Quinn couldn’t possibly consider leaving her.
I've heard that after death there are roughly 7 minutes of unexplained brain activity. During this, it is thought, you re-live you’re entire life.
Laying here now, I consider this. Surely, theoretically, this could mean that right now - right this very second – I’m dead, merely recapping my life for the last time before my brain shuts down for good and my psychological being is surrendered to the abyss.
The reason I’m thinking about this is because I’m considering that life, or at least my potential next-action, might be pre-determined. I’m trying to decide if that makes it more valid... Or at least less scary.
Of course this way of thinking doesn't make anything more valid or less scary. And that’s because you can’t know what’s coming next regardless of how many times you've lived it before. Instead I have to decide, whether it be again or whether it be for the first time, if I want to roll over and kiss my straight best friend, or if I should just pretend to be asleep for a little longer (convincing myself that this is all just a phase).
I stay still, faking my deep and unconvincing, sleep-breathing for a further 10 minutes before I feel the shift that tells me she’s finally asleep. Now I roll over.
She’s definitely asleep. Her dark hair has fallen across her face, her breathing is calm and quiet, her mouth slightly open and, the biggest give away: her eyes are closed.
I gently – so as not to wake her – push a few stray strands of hair from her face and I allow myself a near-silent sigh of appreciation. My fingers graze her ear and I tuck my hand under my head, just watching her sleep for a few moments.
There is a nagging doubt at the back of my mind, one that tells me should she wake up this is very suspicious and creepy, I have to drag myself away because now my whole being is overwhelmed with the need to kiss the girl opposite me.
If she woke up to find my mouth latched onto her sleeping one… Well. There is no doubt in my mind that she would find that beyond creepy.
Instead I roll over again, swing my legs off the edge of the bed and stand up, stretching my back as if hoping this might stop my mind from working.
When it doesn't I find myself standing in a dark room staring at a wall that I can barely make out, I realise I might still appear unusually weird. So I sit back down carefully on the edge of the bed and I drop my head into my hands, frustrated.
This is the problem, the overpowering regret I experience… Every time. So I lay back down. Again with my back to her, and I try and sleep.
Try being, irritatingly, the operative word.
When it becomes apparent that sleep is not on its way I roll onto my back and take a minute to gaze trough the darkness at the ceiling.
Being 18 is the most difficult thing I’ve done. Ever.
I have 2 weeks until my friends – including to one laying beside me - go to university and leave me effectively alone.
My thoughts are chasing one another in endless circles, and eventually exhaustion gets the better of me and I fall asleep.
So you’d be surprised, as would I at 18 - frustrated and 'in love' with my straight (and let me reinforce this: heterosexual) best friend, to hear that a year from now, not only is she not at university, but that we are having pretty-much constant, manic, no-strings-attached sex…
However this isn't a story of how 'love' can cause even the most seemingly impossible things to become possible, quite the opposite.
Give us a few weeks; I lean forward in the dim light of her bedroom and kiss her on the lips.
Faberry: If I didn't, I couldn't (WT) - A Zombie fic.
Part one of the already posted extract... Don't expect to see these very often :s
Faberry, Fabang - Later to include Samcedes, Brittana, Klaine, and an indecided amount of other ships.
With every swing she snarled: “I“ - thud - “didn’t” – thud - “have” - thud - “a” – thud - “chance” she squeezed her eyes closed, falling to her knees and dropping her weapon.
Quinn wasn’t alone in the room but she chose to ignore her companion… and she thought this completely acceptable, considering.
One tear was allowed to leak from her eye and slide down her cheek before the girl sniffed, wiped her face on her sleeve and walked away from her twice-dead mother.
Quinn Fabray pushed past the figure in the doorway. Grief wasn’t her forte, but anger was: “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Rachel caught her girlfriend’s hand as she passed, and gripped it tightly, following.
She hadn’t watched Quinn mash her mother’s face into the carpet but she had heard the wet, sticky thudding every time the makeshift weapon collided with what she figured must by now be nothing but a mess of… Brain.
Quinn seemed unaware of Rachel’s presence; the blonde was taking long strides and still visibly fuming.
“Quinny…” Rachel said carefully. “Quinny baby please, don’t be angry.” The pair had reached the street now; standing beside Quinn’s faded red Jeep. Finally the blonde stopped and looked at Rachel, she chewed her lip and glanced at her parents’ house.
“I’m fine.” She said defiantly before turning away and climbing into the car. Rachel followed quickly, sure she could hear the moaning of the mindless in the distance, and slammed the door shut as Quinn pulled away.
It was another 3 days before Rachel cornered Quinn in the choir room.
The school, with its fenced perimeter and lack of inhabitants had acted as a good base.. A good home. Now, in the midst of what was in effect a zombie apocalypse, the entire glee club – less Puck and Finn – had taken refuge here.
It was Quinn, with a little help from Mike, who had orchestrated the entire thing.
***
The Jeep had pulled up outside of each of the members houses respectively only hours after the state of emergency had been deemed critical.
The first stop (after clearing out her father’s gun cabinet and taking her mother’s pistol) had been Rachel’s house. The Brunette was alone for most of the summer, as Quinn remembered, housesitting while her dad’s spent a few months in Paris.
While she had wanted to join them, Rachel had actually opted to stay home; reasoning that she should spend her last summer in Lima, with her friends. Quinn let herself into the Berry household without knocking and found Rachel collapsed in the hallway she was clutching a phone to her ear and sobbing.
“Rachel?” The tear-streaked face looked up - unfortunately thoughts of how ugly a crier the usually pretty Rachel Berry was were the first things to cloud Quinn’s mind.
“I… I just got through to my dads…” She breathed in and hiccupped, trying to stop herself from crying was only making it worse. “They can’t get back…” she started shaking, crying properly.
Quinn crouched beside her former rival and took the phone from her carefully “I know Rach… We’re – the entire country is – under quarantine” Rachel nodded and gasped. She then buried her face in Quinn’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around her. Quinn rolled her eyes impatiently. This was over-dramatic and typically Rachel. Yes, there was a virus on the loose which would turn you into what was effectively a zombie. But come on… Man up!
After 5 minutes of hugging and crying Quinn pulled her phone from her back-jeans pocket to check the time. The blonde patted Rachel sympathetically on the back
“Rachel we have to go… I’m behind schedule..” Rachel pulled away from Quinn reluctantly, nodding without looking at her. “Did you do what I asked you to?”
Without a word Rachel stood and disappeared into the basement. She reappeared before Quinn had made it to her feet and was carrying a huge backpack.
Still sniffing the diva made her way down the hall and left a confused Quinn in her wake.
The blonde found Rachel outside. She was attempting to open the back door of the jeep by tugging at it repeatedly almost as though trying to pull it from its hinges.
“Rachel! What are you doing?!”
“Trying.. to… open this…” Rachel was grunting with every tug, Quinn reached for the handle and pressed the release button. “DOOR!” the shorter of the two now fell back onto the tarmac, her rucksack breaking her fall. The door swung slowly open, squeaking on its hinges as though mocking her and Quinn caught it, looking mildly amused.
The backpack flew past Quinn’s head, literally missing it by an inch, and the surprisingly strong Rachel Berry was in the passenger seat in an instant. When she eventually climbed into the passenger seat she found Rachel, once again, in floods of tears. Apparently the anger and hulk-like strength had evaporated.
No time to console the weeping girl Quinn merely started the engine and dialled Mike Chang’s number as she pulled away.
A very late entry for Faberry week, I don't expect it to be posted now. I wish I'd done it sooner.... Ah well :S Here goes.
Faberry Week, Day Two, Zombie Apocalypse
The scream was deafening.
Quinn's head whipped around, and there was the source... Her protective instinct kicked into overdrive and in an instant the blonde was firing devastatingly accurate shots into the head of the zombie that had dare descend on Rachel Berry.
The ex-cheerio kicked the corpse from her girlfriend and even though it was more than certainly dead, she continued shooting, her face like thunder, until the magazine had emptied itself.
Rachel was sobbing and clutching her neck, eyes squeezed tightly shut from pain or from fear... Or from both. Quinn crouched beside her and pulled her into a tight embrace.
This particular attack had been worse than the New Directions had seen before in the 6 months since the breakout, and now that most of the carnage was over they were looking to each other, trying to regroup and gather their bearings.
Quinn didn't see Santana and Brittney hugging and kissing, both covered in zombie blood and dirt. She didn't notice the guys high-fiving and Blaine comforting a terrified Kurt. Sam crept up behind Mercedes and gave her a huge hug, and Mike was running back to the house to tell Artie and Tina that all had gone well.
Quinn Fabray was too busy watching her girlfriend's face lose its colour, and when she prized away the hand Rachel had so firmly clamped to her neck, Quinn was too busy preventing the tears from leaking from her eyes to join in with the celebrations.
Brown eyes met hazel ones, and at last Quinn spoke:"Rachel.. It.. It bit you."
The brunette's head dipped, fresh tears sliding down her face, and her body shaking with every breath. "Baby..." Quinn kissed Rachel's bruised and bloodied forehead gently "Baby it's okay..."
Rachel didn't look up. In between sobs, she managed a few strangled words:
"You... You have.... to kill me..." She met Quinn's eyes again with her own, and Quinn took her cheek gently, finally allowing a few silent tears to escape. She nodded very slightly, reluctantly.
"I'm sorry... I couldn't... I didn't... I should have protected you" She whispered. Rachel swallowed and shook her head defiantly, Quinn could see the pain behind her eyes.
"Quinn.. There was nothing you could do..." The brunette answered, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the jumpsuit she'd been issued, trying to appear strong. Although the crying had stopped, she was still shaking uncontrollably... Everyone was so wrapped up in their own little victory parties, or making their way back to base, that nobody noticed the quiet exchange between the two. "If anyone is going to do it Quinn... It has to be.." Her lips curled inwards, and her eyes narrowed as tears tried to surface once more "It's gotta be you.." She managed, before the floodgates opened and she buried her face in Quinn's shoulder.
The blonde gripped Rachel tighter than ever, closing her eyes and never wanting to let go. She lost herself in Rachel's quickly fading warmth, her smell, the feeling of her body against Quinn's own...
She quickly found herself again, though, when the brunette pushed her gun into Quinn's hand, the cold metal of the weapon breaking Quinn's thoughts. Rachel released her, placing a hand on each of her girlfriend's cheeks, her forehead on hers, and she looked into her eyes. Now it wasn't Rachel who was crying, but Quinn.
"Quinny... Baby... I love you." She smiled weakly, and Quinn nodded very slightly, closing her eyes. "Please don't cry" She whispered, her voice faltering again. Now the blonde sniffed and opened her eyes again to meet Rachel's
"I love you too Rachel... I love you so much" She breathed
"Make it count..." - Rachel's voice seemed quieter and more distant than ever. "Please make it fast..."
Quinn Fabray allowed Rachel Berry to plant one, last, kiss on her forehead before she stood up and took 6 paces back. As the blonde took aim, right between the brunette's beautiful brown eyes, Rachel looked up one last time, and she gave the love of her life one last half smile.
Quinn's finger tightened on the trigger, masked by the sound of the gunshot were her final words to the girl she loved more than any other:
"I'm sorry... I love you."
The only sound now was the thud as Rachel's limp body met the sodden, muddy ground on which she had been sat. After this, silence. Tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping from her face Quinn Fabray turned from the body of Rachel Barbra Berry and walked back towards base.
Now she was laying in the middle of the road, motorcycle blazing, covered in cuts and grazes, and, really, she'd done nothing wrong.
She'd pulled up, filled up her car, and walked in to pay; it should have been simple…
But no - This was when the whole horrible misunderstanding had begun.
Three people ahead of her in the queue was a familiar mohawk, a buff guy in a leather jacket. He turned his head conspicuously, checking the place out, and when Quinn caught a glimpse of Noah Puckerman's face she smiled:
“Puck!”
His head snapped around and he fixed his sights on the blonde. This was when he pulled the gun from his jeans and pulled his bandanna hurriedly over his mouth and nose.
"Everyone get down!" he snarled, swinging the gun around erratically, arm straight, finger poised on the trigger.
The people around Quinn did as there were ordered – with the occasional worried shriek - and a horrible atmosphere descended over the whole place as everyone (except Quinn) dropped to the floor.
"What are you doing?" Quinn Fabray took a tentative step towards her old school friend.
"This has nothing to do with you - get out!" Puck now moved behind the counter, pushed the cashier out of the way and took a small brown sack out of his pocket stuffing it full with notes from the register, and Quinn still hadn't left.
Puck finished and began to back towards the door - gun trained on the man behind the desk. As he passed Quinn he grabbed her arm roughly, and dragged her with him - on his way kicking a sobbing, cowering woman for effect. He thrust Quinn through the door, shouted something about the police at the terrified group of people, and then left the shop himself.
"What are you doing here?" Puck growled, his face inches from Quinn's "You might have totally blown that for me in there!"
"Me?!" She was completely dumbfounded. How dare he blame her "Puck, I was just filling up my car!" she gestured blindly towards the forecourt but he wasn’t looking “Are you the one who’s been-… Who’s done all of the robberies?!”
“I need the money Fabray, I’m in pretty deep.”
“If it’s money Puck… Why didn’t you just try and find me? I-…” Puck was glancing around; he didn't even seem to be listening at all and now as if to demonstrate this he grabbed her arm again, interrupting her, and lifted her slightly off the ground as he pulled her towards his motorcycle.
In an instant he'd flicked up the seat, revealing a nondescript black helmet. He pulled this out and roughly put it on Quinn's head, replacing it with the sack of money before closing the seat again. The bewildered blonde stood still for a minute before her old friend pushed the bike's keys into her hand and asked if she could still ride.
Quinn nodded, still in slight shock and without another word Puck took off. No doubt he was trying to disassociate himself from the entire thing… Rude considering she’d basically passed senior year for him, and he definitely still owed her for that. That and the whole ruining her body – and her abs – carrying his baby.
Standing with the keys in one hand, helmet haphazardly placed on her head and very incriminating evidence stored of the seat of the motorcycle in front of her, Quinn had no option other than to run.
It was not so long later that she was laying in the road, spluttering and coughing up blood. The figure standing above her had caused the crash by standing definitely in Quinn’s tracks. It was swerving to avoid this person that had caused the accident.
She manoeuvred the helmet of her head with difficulty, and there was an intake of breath somewhere above her.
“Quinn..” whispered a breathy voice.
Next thing the blonde knew she was propped up, against something (she couldn’t tell what exactly) and she could smell damp. In front of her was a face, slowly coming into focus as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Flawless skin was the first thing Quinn noticed about the person, dark and flawless skin. Dark hair pulled away from her face – yes, it was definitely a her – and wide, brown eyes… Eyes surrounded by a black mask.
Quinn now took in the entire face – well, as much as she could anyway - and from any distance she would have only been able to describe this person as the legendry ‘Masked Assassin ★’. This was something Quinn would have been incredibly excited about under any normal circumstance (“I mean honestly…. Who doesn’t like a well-toned woman in a tight back suit!”) despite her criticism that the name was misleading since she had yet to kill anyone. But as it was Quinn could only stare into her deep brown eyes, because these were more than familiar.
The face of the Assassin was wracked with fear and worry, not anger or loathing, and certainly not hostility. Suddenly Quinn understood why she recognised those eyes.
“Rach-..” She was cut off by Rachel Berry’s gloved hand and a sudden ‘shh’. Rachel stood up, quickly surveyed the area, and then crouched back in front of Quinn who made a mental note to stop looking, no, staring, at the shorter girls cleavage and to start explaining herself.
“This isn’t how it looks.” Quinn started in a hurried tone “It wasn’t me-…”
“How did you know?” Rachel interrupted, her usually confident voice now quiet and flecked with fear. Quinn’s defensive stance softened and she narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Know?” The shorter girl nodded, and her voice now quieter she answered with another question:
“That it’s me?”
Quinn looked at the girl carefully. How could she explain this without sounding creepy… ‘Oh yeh... Well... I spent my entire school career harbouring feelings for you, trying to not give in to my fantasies about you, and I actually recognised your eyes because… You know, I often caught myself gazing into them. And they’re just gorgeous… Have I ever mentioned?’ … no, the truth wasn’t going to work in this situation.
So, she decided to change the subject.
“Are you going to arrest me then?” Quinn chuckled weakly, and Rachel placed a hand on the blonde’s cheek, tilting her head upwards and meeting her eyes with those gorgeous brown ones.
“Quinn.” She said, in her normal, deep, emphatic… wonderful voice. “How did you know?”
Quinn’s already scrambled brain seemed now to lapse further into confusion, and before she could stop herself words were spilling from her mouth:
“There were times we were supposed to meet and we didn’t because you had a last-minute rehearsal, or whatever, and then some criminal or other would’ve been caught by the next morning… and at first I thought it was coincidence, and then it got more and more often… and then even when we weren’t in touch I’d follow your dates and stuff, and I had tickets for a few, and there was that time you were due to go to France and you didn’t and that whole gang got brought down, and when it’s written you insist even your alter ego’s name is followed by a star, and….” She paused for breath and in this instant spotted the terror on Rachel’s face… She knew what she’d done and suddenly the whole truth, the really true truth, seemed like it was definitely the best option. “.. Not so much those things… It was just now that I worked it out…. Your eyes…”
Rachel’s hand didn’t move as Quinn had expected it to. She didn’t flinch away from what was probably the closest the blonde would ever get to expressing her love for the girl she bullied and tormented for years. In fact her hand lingered for little too long and the aforementioned gorgeous eyes were telling Quinn without words that Rachel wasn’t unhappy with this answer. Almost as a reflex Quinn made a move to mimic the other girl, and place a hand on her cheek too. It was now that she found her hands cuffed behind her back, and suddenly she was all-too aware of the metal digging, painfully, into her wrists.
“You cuffed me?! This.. It wasn’t me! It’s…. It’s not how it-..”
“Looks?” interjected Rachel “Really Quinn…. I did hope you wouldn’t lapse into the petty criminal-rant.” The moment was broken and the brunette sighed, seeming herself again.
She stood up, and began to pace back and forth across the room. Quinn could now see they were in an abandoned building of sorts. “I have to cuff you, its general practise. And since I’ve been on the tail of the small business robbing fiend for more than a short while now, I couldn’t risk a potential suspect becoming an escaped suspect.”
“Me? A suspect…?” – Well this was worse than she’d thought. Quinn might have to start admitting that actually Rachel Berry (no, the Masked Assassin) wasn’t going to accept an apology and an explanation… This was real. “Rachel, you’ve been after him for months.” Quinn looked up at what could now only be described as her captor –stop thinking about how hot that sounds, Fabray, pull yourself together – and smiled slightly.
Berry looked around, curiously “And you know that because…?” Quinn shrugged one shoulder
“I have a bit of a fascination for super heroes…” She chewed her lip, only too aware of how nerdy that must sound.
“Hmm…” Quinn couldn’t help but eye Rachel’s leather-clad body, as she thought.
“Can you please uncuff me now?”
The brunette wasn’t listening. Instead she continued to pace – infuriatingly – back and forth. “Hang on you said ‘he’” She stopped in the centre of the room. Tilting her head very slightly in thought Rachel continued: “You know who it is…”
Quinn blinked. “I said ‘he’ as in generic ‘he’.” She nodded to appear surer of her answer.
“Nonono… Quinn Fabray you listen to me.” Rachel was on her in an instant and she smiled, almost a little manically. “You’re going to tell me who it was, because if you don’t – if you don’t Quinn, I’ve failed. We’ve failed.”
Quinn couldn’t believe how little the brunette had changed; she was still as manipulative as ever.
“I’m not telling you.” She murmured, making eye contact with Rachel defiantly.
Rachel pointed at Quinn, her finger inches from the ex-cheerio’s nose.
“Tell me Quinn. Everything I’ve ever worked for depends on this.” It was definitely not the first time she’d heard those words spill from Rachel Berry’s mouth, and Quinn couldn’t help but laugh.
Rachel stepped back, fuming. “What’s so hilarious?!” Her eyes had darkened behind the mask, but still Quinn laughed. Classic Rachel-style she huffed and walked away, fists clenched at her sides.
“No Rach! Come back! I didn’t mean it!” When calling after her made no difference, Quinn made an effort to stand. She found her right leg had numbed underneath her, and looking down she saw it heavily bandaged. Suddenly she was aware of a shooting pain firing right through her body, penetrating what felt like every cell of her being. Before she knew what was happening tears were streaming their way down her face, making fresh tracks through the blood and dirt which coated it.
Impossibly fast a now-unmasked Rachel appeared at her side and was easing her back gently; she had removed Quinn’s handcuffs and was moving to rest the girl’s head on her lap.
“Oh Quinn… you need to stay still, you’ve broken it” a gesture at her leg and the brunette pushed the blonde hair from Quinn’s eyes.
She smiled slightly at the sudden change in Rachel, and took this opportunity to ask the question she’d been burning to for a while now
“Why didn’t you just turn me in when you found me with the money?”
After a moment of thought Rachel opened her mouth, as though she were about to launch into one of her long-winded explanations. It never happened; instead she leant down awkwardly planting a gentle kiss on Quinn’s forehead.
“Because seeing you after all this time reminded me how much I care for you Quinn.”
Quinn’s hazel eyes met Rachel’s brown ones and she smiled broadly:
“I knew there was a reason Santana called you ‘gay Berry’”
The diva sighed and lowered Quinn to the floor carefully before taking up a position beside her. Quinn moved herself closer to Rachel and rested her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes
“Quinn.” Whispered Rachel, tilting Quinn’s head upwards so she could take in her whole face; the blonde noticed the usually bright eyes looked sad… she gave a small nod.
“I know… I know that if I don’t tell you, you have to turn me in…” She closed her eyes again and pushed against Rachel’s fingers, finding her shoulder again. “But I can’t do that to him.”
Tears now snaking their way down her own face, the assassin nodded slowly and placed another kiss on Quinn’s forehead, holding her tight.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered, so quietly it was barely audible.
The last action Quinn made before she fell asleep was a gentle squeeze of the hand Rachel had so tenderly placed on her cheek.
A squeeze which told Rachel everything she needed to know: Quinn understood – she was doing only what she had to and it was okay.
