Alex (arishako) wrote,

What is this Feeling (No, Really, it's Loathing)

Title: What is this Feeling (No, Really, it's Loathing)
Fandom: Glee
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Quinn, side Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language
Length: 3248
Spoilers: 2x01, Auditions
Summary: Just because you hate someone doesn't mean you can't admire her legs when she wears a short skirt.
AN: I write slow.


It was the first week of school, and Quinn was drawing naked pictures of Rachel Berry. But not in a weird way or anything—it was just that she had reclaimed her title of Head Cheerio, and antagonizing Rachel just made everything feel right again. She was focusing on getting Treasure Trail’s left breast just right when the door to the girls’ bathroom burst open. Cautiously, Quinn peeked through the side of the stall door.

That new transfer student—the short one with the Hello Kitty bag—walked into the bathroom and started washing her face. And then RuPaul came in, too. (Quinn wrinkled her nose a bit.)

Quinn didn’t really care about any of the stuff they were talking about or anything, so she just went back to staring at the picture she’d drawn on the side of the stall (she was looking for errors, okay? Proper proportions are really important). But then—

Then they started to sing. And—though Quinn would never admit it—they actually sounded good. And, even though their voices sounded kind of far away and robotic for some reason, Manhands and New Kid just seemed to match. And Quinn kind of hated it.

Quinn tilted her head in an attempt to follow Berry with her gaze through the narrow space between the stall door and the wall. She wasn’t a stalker or anything, but Rachel’s face was actually really mesmerizing, and, God, Quinn would just die if she were caught staring at it. But she couldn’t get this one thought out of her head…

Rachel was looking at New Kid just like she used to look at her.


Quinn will admit it: she got a little behind in her “Torture Rachel Berry because She Sucks and is Ugly” schedule during the whole pregnancy thing. But really, it’s kind of hard to balance vomiting, rejecting Puck, tanning, stuffing her face, rejecting Puck, crying a lot, Glee Club, rejecting Puck, and making Stubbles miserable. Something had to go.

But, apparently, Rachel had moved on to greener pastures or whatever. Because now she was spending all of her time having bitchy sing-offs with Sunshine. (And what kind of name is Sunshine anyway? It’s not even a name. It’s a weather.)

And… it was just… the thing is… Quinn was maybe sort of a little hurt or something like that.

It’s not like it mattered or anything.


Okay, so it actually mattered a lot, but Quinn didn’t like to think about that.


“Hey, Manhands, nice outfit. Where’d you get it from? The dumpster?”

Silence. Quinn ground her teeth.

“Hey, Manhands, I’m trying to insult you. Pay attention,” Quinn whisper-shouted. However, Rachel did not move her gaze from the notebook on her lap, where she was scribbling notes and blueprints furiously. The words OPERATION: RAIN were written in large letters at the top of the page.

Rachel! Pay attention to me!”

“Quinn!” Mr. Schuester said, that same hurt look on his face that he always got when a student interrupted him in the middle of a very important life lesson. “Please don’t speak when I’m speaking.” He then went back to talking about the metrical analysis of modern rap. Quinn toned him out instinctually.

Two minutes passed.

“Hey, Manhands,” Quinn whispered. Rachel ignored her.


Okay, so maybe Quinn was just a little concerned that Rachel wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. It was a little depressing, actually. Like, Rachel used to be her mortal enemy, but now she was off being mortal enemies with some new girl, and Quinn was left all alone.

So, yes, Quinn missed Rachel. She did. She missed having someone to call a tranny. She missed having a target for her slushies. She missed having those disgusting animal sweaters in her line of sight. She missed that feeling deep in her chest that she got whenever she met RuPaul’s eyes.

No, wait, uh, not that last one so much—


Quinn had an idea. At first, this kind of freaked her out, since the last idea she’d had was to drink alcohol while in the same district as Puck, but this time Quinn made sure there weren’t any wine coolers or boys with pretty eyes around to distract her.

She was going to serenade Manhands.

Well… actually, serenade was the wrong word, since that would make it seem kind of freaky gay or something, but Quinn was going to sing to her. Just like when that Sunny kid sang Lady Gaga to Rachel in the bathroom and then Rachel sang back at her and then they became best enemies forever. Why shouldn’t that work for Quinn, as well?

Quinn had gotten things all cleared with Mr. Schue, she’d memorized all the words to the song, she’d even practiced.

She packed some condoms in her purse, just in case.


“Alright guys,” Will said, awkwardly clapping his hands together one time to try and get the attention of his students. “Quinn’s prepared a song that she’d like to sing for the class.”

The students all clapped supportively—except Rachel, who was using Artie’s phone to look for ways to subtly tar and feather transfer students; Santana, who was busy not giving a shit; Puck, who was leering at the girl sitting next to him; Mercedes, who was slapping Puck upside the head for staring at her boobs; Matt, who had randomly disappeared for whatever reason; and Brittany, who… Quinn didn’t even want to know. Instead, she stood and walked to the center of the room.

“So, uh, this song is for the troll.” That was enough of an introduction. Quinn started to sing. “I wanna hold ‘em like they do in Texas, please…”


Okay, even though Quinn was only singing to make Manhands notice and hate her again, it was still pretty rude of Rachel to run out of the room in tears in the middle of the song.


Quinn was out of ideas. Once she got home from Cheerios practice that day, she googled ‘how to make a girl have feelings for me again.’ The results were not what she’d expected.


“Santana, I need your help,” Quinn said after Cheerios practice the next day.

Silence. Really, Quinn Fabray was being ignored all too often as of late.

“Santana? Brittany? I know you’re in there,” Quinn called again, knocking awkwardly on the door separating the sauna (only the best for Sue Sylvester’s internationally-ranked Cheerios) from the rest of the locker room.

She turned and looked around nervously. She didn’t want anyone to see her right now; people might get the wrong idea if she hung around the locker room (especially if she was calling for Santana and Brittany) for too long. “You guys, I kind of need some help, okay?”

She heard a muffled affirmative response from inside (actually, it was Santana saying “too bad, bitch,” but Quinn tended to have selective hearing). Sighing in relief that she could get out of sight, Quinn pushed open the door to the sauna.

“Hey, guys, thanks for offering to—” Quinn paused, blinked once, closed the door swiftly, and decided to never speak of that moment again.

“Okay! Bye, Quinn,” Brittany said, after pulling her mouth away from Santana’s armpit.


A few days later, Quinn forcibly cornered Santana and Brittany. During school. In a wide open space. Where two teenage girls could not conceivably get far past first base without getting detention.

“Ugh, stop manhandling me, Queer Fabray,” Santana pulled her arm out of Quinn’s grasp only to link it with Brittany’s.

“Don’t even start with me, Miss Plastic. I’m trying to ask you for help here.” So Quinn may hate Santana, but even she had to admit that there was pretty much nobody better at making enemies.

“Coming back to me with your tail between your legs, are you? It’s about freaking time.” Santana rolled her eyes (it would have been more intimidating if Brittany hadn’t leaned her head on Santana’s shoulder at that exact moment, but nobody was going to point that out). “So what do you want from me?”

“Come on, San, can you just lay off for a moment?” Quinn’s voice was suddenly quiet. Sincere. Her eyes met Santana’s.

“Okay,” the other girl said, relaxing. “I’ll help you, Quinn. You know you’re, like, my best friend, right?”

Quinn smiled. “Yeah. You’re the best, San.”

“So, girl, what do you need help with?”

“Well, it’s about Manhands. She’s not paying attention to me anymore. It’s kind of pathetic, but I miss her, you know?.”

Santana nodded sagely. “I know just the thing.” She freed her arm from Brittany’s grasp and got out a pen. “Here, give me your arm.” Quinn held out her arm for Santana to write on.

“Go here Monday before school. You’ll get what you need,” Santana said sweetly, smiling at her best friend ever.

“Oh my god, thanks, San!” Quinn said, lowering her arm and then raising it again to give Santana an awkward hug (awkward because Brittany immediately threw her arms around them both and called for a group hug). “I have to get home now, but I’ll be there! Thanks again.”

Santana bit her lip (hard) as she watched Quinn walk away, but goddammit she couldn’t help herself: “I love you, Quinn!” she shouted at the head Cheerio’s retreating figure.

A minute passed in silence between Santana and Brittany. Finally, the two girls broke out into loud laughter.

“Oh my god, S. You are, like, the worst actor ever,” Brittany managed to say through her giggles.

“I am not!” Santana responded with a large smile on her face. “I’m freaking awesome! People wish they could act as good as me.”

“Oh, please.” Brittany linked her pinkie with Santana’s as they headed towards their next class (well, it wasn’t really their class, but they usually hung out in the empty Spanish room during Algebra and fooled around on Mr. Schue’s desk). “They’re just jealous ‘cause you’re going to be Head Cheerleader again.”

“Hell yeah. That bitch be going down.” Santana pulled out her cell phone with her free hand and began dialing.


On Monday morning, Quinn drove to the address she had been given.

Apprehensively, she knocked on the door to the Hummels’ house.


Quinn was confident this would work. There was no way RuPaul’s head wouldn’t turn when she saw her today.

She stepped into McKinley High, walking confidently, her heels clacking against the ground with every step. Even if the dress fell a little—a lot—higher on her thighs than she was used to, Quinn could still see heads turning (and hear the sounds of guys breaking up with their girlfriends and girls transforming into lesbians) all around the hall. So maybe it was a little conceited, but Quinn knew it. She was hot. And black was definitely her color. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, bouncing slightly as she walked.

So, yeah. Quinn had no idea how this plan could possibly fail (even if she was a little sketchy on how it was even supposed to work; she trusted Kurt at least, if not Santana).

And she was right. She had been walking randomly through the halls without any real destination in mind for less than fifteen minutes before she heard it: “Quinn? Quinn! Could I speak with you please?”

Quinn kept on walking for a few seconds, because she didn’t want to seem desperate or anything, but finally turned to face Berry. “Why are you talking to me, Treasure Trail?” It was just like old times. Something about it just felt perfect. Like everything had fallen back into place.

But things quickly fell apart. “I was wondering if you had by chance seen Sunshine around campus today,” Rachel replied coolly. “It seems as if she has taken further steps to spite me by appropriating my unique fashion traits around the school. Her sweater supposedly has an animal on it, although I’ve yet to see it myself.”

Realization finally hit, and Quinn scrunched her nose in disgust. “Sunshine?”

Rachel huffed and had the nerve to look impatient with Quinn. “Yes, Quinn. Sunshine. She’s the exchange student in our grade. She speaks fluent English, however.”

“Whatever, tranny,” Quinn replied, already walking away to certainly not go cry in a bathroom stall.


During lunch, Quinn walked past the table where Brittany, Santana, and some assorted football players were sitting.

Santana laughed at Quinn’s clothing.

Quinn just fucking slapped her across the face.

Mr. Schue had to break up the ensuing fight.

(He totally copped a feel, too.)


In the middle of English class, Quinn’s phone started to ring. After shooting a quick look to the front of the class to make sure the teacher wasn’t paying attention, Quinn got her phone from her bag and answered it.

“Hey, Quinn,” Brittany said. She didn’t give Quinn time to respond. “I heard you slapped Santana.”

“Yeah,” Quinn answered, a little confused (and just a little guilty, since there was something in that creepy monotone way Brittany spoke that just seemed to make her feel bad about pretty much everything).

“I heard she pulled your hair.”


“That’s really hot.”

“Brittany!” Quinn yelled. She shot a quick look to the front of the class to make sure the English teacher still wasn’t paying attention. “Brittany, nothing happened.”

“So you don’t want me to tell Rachel you and Santana are having epic hatesex?”

“N—” Quinn paused and considered this offer. It would certainly get Stubbles’ attention. And maybe she’d even be jealous! (Later, Quinn remembered that she would actually be really grossed out if Rachel were jealous of that.) “Actually, yeah, do that.”




Finally, Brittany spoke again, “Hey, Quinn. You know how you said you were having trouble with Rachel? Well, I have an idea! I wasn’t allowed to say it back on Friday because me and Santana had a secret plan to ruin you and stuff, but now I think I can tell you.”

Quinn wanted to just hang up. She really did. She’d kind of forgotten this back when she was pregnant and friendless and all, but Brittany and Santana were actually really, really hard to tolerate in more than small doses. “What, Brittany?” She tried her best to keep her exasperation from showing.

“Well, a while ago I was having trouble with Santana, too. Then I wrote her a poem. It was a Sudoku. Those are easy to write. You should write Rachel a poem, too. It really works.”

As Brittany continued to speak—quickly veering wildly off-topic—Quinn saw the light. This would work!

Quinn shot a quick look to the front of the class to make sure the English teacher still wasn’t paying attention, and then she stood from her desk and snuck out of the room.


So Quinn may have stayed up into late hours of the night writing poetry for Rachel Berry. No big deal.


Quinn liked this trashcan. It was a perfectly lovely trashcan. Like, it was such a great trashcan that Quinn had decided to just hang out behind it until school started.

Of course, this had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she could sort of see Rachel’s locker from this angle.

Quinn heard the sound of ugly shoes on the tile (no really, they make different noises from nice ones), and she immediately ducked down behind the trashcan. No real reason—she just wanted to appreciate that awesome trashcan up close.

So, of course, it’s not a big deal or anything when Rachel stops in front of her locker to read the poem taped to the door. Quinn couldn’t have cared less; she just didn’t have anything better to do. So she watched Treasure Trail with wide eyes, mouthing the words on the paper to herself, intensely.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

You have thick thighs

And I hate you.

And, really, Quinn knew that this time her plan had worked. Berry had ripped the paper off her locker and was now holding it up and frowning at it. However, just when Quinn was right in the middle of congratulating herself for succeeding in her goal, Stubbles had to go and ruin everything.

“Quinn, please come out from behind the trashcan,” she called, not moving from her spot beside her locker.

Yeah, Quinn was totally fucked.


“Quinn, what is this?” Rachel said immediately after the two entered the girls’ bathroom. She held up the poem accusingly. Quinn stared at her feet, guilty, like a kid caught writing mean poetry to some girl she didn’t like.

Quinn!” Rachel scolded. Quinn lifted her head. “Thank you. Now, Quinn, I feel as if you are trying to send me some sort of message with your behavior during these past few school days. Would you care to explain your motivations to me?”

Yeah, no. Quinn really wouldn’t. But for some reason she just started talking and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it.

“It’s just, I haven’t seen you all year, Manhands, and at first I was relieved, because all that argyle you wear was starting to damage my vision. But actually I just kind of miss hanging out with you. You know, like we did last year. That was really nice. But now you have some new girl and her fashion sense is even weirder than yours and I just don’t even know what to do anymore…” Quinn trailed off.

Rachel just gaped at her for a good minute. “What?

“I said I miss you, tranny. And I was thinking… maybe we could be enemies again?”

Rachel continued to stare wide-eyed, and then—goddammit—she got this huge, stupid smile on her face and she was all trying to hug Quinn and just ew. Quinn wrapped her arms around Rachel’s shoulders tightly, feeling oddly relieved. “Oh, Quinn,” Rachel said in this stupid dreamy-sounding voice that was just stupid, “I had no idea you felt that way. I would be glad to continue our previous relationship!”

Before Quinn could even figure out what had just happened, Rachel pulled back and made her way towards the bathroom door (she was still smiling, too, which made Quinn’s stomach twist). “Have a nice day,” she said. “And thanks for the talk. I had no idea you felt this way towards me.” And with a dramatic wave, Rachel left.

Quinn stood alone in silence for a minute, before suddenly absorbing Rachel’s words. She ran out the door, turning towards RuPaul’s retreating form.

“I don’t feel anything towards you, Berry!” she shouted.


So, yeah, Quinn’s life was pretty awesome now. That one girl (Quinn couldn’t even remember her name anymore, that’s how little she cared) had left William McKinley High forever, she was still Head Cheerio, Santana was on the bottom of the pyramid where she belonged, and Rachel was her mortal enemy forever once again.

Quinn bumped Rachel’s shoulder as she passed her on the way to English. “Ugh, get out of my way, Treasure Trail. You’re blocking the whole hallway with your ego,” she said, not pausing to look at her.

“I’ll see you during third block, Quinn!” The smile in Rachel’s voice was obvious.

And life was good for everyone except Santana and that one girl. Just how it should be.

The En-

Oh, yeah, and Quinn totally made out with Rachel in the girls’ bathroom during third block. It was epic.

The End.
Tags: crackfic, fanfic, glee, rachel/quinn, rating: pg-13
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