Chapter Text
Not that she’d expected any less, but Quinn was seriously frustrated when she found herself somehow transported to the front of Schue’s Shack in a brand new dress right as the party was about to begin.
“Awwh!” Kurt cooed, smiling at her orange and yellow floral knee-length dress pinched at the waist with a thick belt, a yellow scarf worn in her hair as a headband. Her eyeliner was drawn on in thick, neat swoops, and her brow bone was coloured with a soft shade of green. “You look so pretty!”
He had been changed into a new outfit too, and he was more or less pleased with his new look, despite his earlier fears. He was just trying to accept that as part of their long wait to be able to get home, he would just have to get used to being spontaneously changed into a new pair of dark jeans and a brightly coloured button-up in every… scene.
Still, behind his smiling eyes, there was still the same look of fear left over from their earlier conversation – not an argument – on the beach.
“Thanks, Kurt,” Quinn said, still not sure about the whole…involuntary outfit thing. She’d been thinking about it non-stop – how far would the changes go to make their aesthetics more fitting for the 60s? Would the pink tips of her hair be bleached out? Would her extra piercings close up? She felt around for jewellery - a pair of chunky, round earrings dangled from her lobes, and the nose ring that she’d gotten last summer was still there.
Still, it didn’t alleviate any of her stress - how could it? They were still stuck there.
“Are you alright?” Kurt asked, taking in the way that her brows were furrowed, deep in thought.
“No,” Quinn admitted. “You?” she asked, and Kurt chuckled.
“Not exactly,” he replied, “but I guess there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.”
Quinn nudged his side gently with her elbow. “Where’s that can-do, Hummel-brand attitude, huh?” she teased, but Kurt was no longer looking at her. Instead, his eyes were fixed on a spot not far behind Quinn, wide, round, and alarmed.
"I think it’s vanished,” he said, swallowing with anxiety as the colour drained from his face. “Along with your wetsuit.”
“What?” Quinn snapped, spinning on her heel to see what Kurt was looking at. “I don’t…I don’t get it, what do you mean?”
“Your top – the one you arrived in, I mean,” he explained, “it was hanging over that railing and then…poof!” he mimed ‘poof’ with his hands, expanding them and pulling them apart. “Gone.”
Quinn stared blankly at the empty wooden railing, the only evidence that anything had been there being a small patch of darkened wood where some water seemed to have dripped from her top. “I…I don’t… why?”
“I have a theory but,” Kurt swallowed, “you’re not gonna like it.”
“ Kurt ,” Quinn warned, crossing her arms. “Why are my clothes vanishing?”
“They don’t belong here,” he explained, “in the 60s, in this movie, on this beach…they don’t belong here.” If his face was merely pale before, it was now a particularly sickly shade of green, his hands trembling as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
Quinn’s stomach churned uncomfortably. She felt as though she was about to vomit, her bacon sandwich from breakfast preparing for take off.
If her wetsuit didn’t belong here and had vanished into thin air because of it…what was going to happen to them?
*
Quinn was gripping her cup of soda with tight fists, trying exceptionally hard to look calm and collected as she listened to Tina talk.
“I really wanted us all to wear matching outfits,” Tina said, “but Santana refused, obviously. You know, sometimes I just feel like nobody ever listens to me. Is there something wrong with my dress?”
It was the only part of her sentence that Quinn heard, and lucky it was. Quinn shook her head as she took a meaningful look at Tina’s dress, a straight-fit mini dress with a black and white checkerboard pattern. “It’s cool, Tina. Promise,” Quinn reassured, even though Tina’s dress did feel like the least of her worries in the grand scheme of things at that particular moment.
“You think?” Tina double checked, fiddling with the straps on her fingerless leather gloves. “You don’t think I’ll stick out like a sore thumb on the stage? I mean…sometimes I feel like I’m a lot to look at,” Tina admitted with a soft chuckle. “You know, with this whole vibe I’ve got going on.” She motioned towards her outfit – all bold patterns and chunky boots, bright and exaggerated makeup.
Quinn turned to face her, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” she said, “you’ve got your own style, and it rocks, okay? You’re gonna do great up there.”
A smile stretched across Tina’s face, dimples forming in her round cheeks. “You’re just the sweetest, Quinn!” she cooed before continuing, “I know I said your outfit was a little surfer chic earlier, but you actually pull it off pretty well,” she said. Quinn didn’t know whether to be flattered that Tina was willing to overlook her contempt for surfers, or whether to interpret her compliment as slightly backhanded. She took it anyway.
“You know, maybe the surfers aren’t as bad as you think,” Quinn suggested, sipping cola through her red plastic straw, the fizz going straight to her nose as she spluttered slightly.
Tina laughed, both at her soda-mishap and her comment. “You’re a laugh, Quinn! All the surfers are bad,” she declared.
“Except for the ones that are really bad,” Santana cut in, having appeared suddenly beside Tina, throwing her arm over her friend’s shoulder. “Those ones are even worse ,” she finished, and Tina laughed, grabbing Santana’s hand.
“C’mon! We’d better go get ready for our big performance,” Tina said. “See ya, Quinn!”
Quinn waved as the girls dashed away across the dancefloor, the distinct smell of hairspray and sweet, half-chewed bubblegum drifting away with them. Or maybe the hairspray was Quinn - she must’ve been wearing a pretty impressive amount of product herself. She’d thought that having to touch up her pink tips had been a pain, and couldn’t imagine how much work went into getting these styles just right everyday.
Movie, Quinn, she reminded herself, it’s all automatic.
“Standing around all on your own?” Kurt’s voice appeared behind Quinn as ‘Let’s Twist Again’ began to play and the shindig-attendees all dashed to the dancefloor. Now these songs Quinn could deal with. At least she didn’t have to watch the singers perform them in front of her – at least they weren’t cheesy, non-autonomous, and designed to clunkily progress the already ridiculous plot.
“What else is there to do?” Quinn asked with a sigh. Her feet twitched, like she really needed something to do to take her mind off of…well, everything going on in her life. “Come on, let’s just go dance,” she ordered, grabbing Kurt by the hand and leading him onto the floor.
“As much as I'm enjoying all of the dancing,” Kurt kept his voice low, hoping that the music would muffle their conversation, “I really am freaking out about this whole thing. Like, what if we're trapped, and eventually, we just vanish into thin air? I really thought that we could just wait, but your wetsuit. It just…what are we going to do ?” The way that his eyebrows creased down the middle, upturned with concern, was almost cartoonish.
At least he finally seemed to be taking it all seriously.
Quinn raised an eyebrow, facing Kurt as the two of them twisted their hips to the rhythm of the music blasting from the jukebox; she didn’t know that she knew how to do the twist, but the moves seemed to come as naturally to her on that dance floor as walking. Too naturally, even, and it didn't help either of them to convince themselves that things would work out in the end.
“I don't know, okay?” she huffed as the song came to an end, pushing herself away from Kurt.
“Quinnie,” he frowned at his friend, his concern evident in the crease of his forehead, “are you okay?” he asked again, as though her answer might have changed since he asked her earlier that evening.
“No, Kurt,” she snapped, tugging at her dress, the bright fabric making her feel like a particularly gaudy citrus fruit. “I'm not even remotely okay - this is messed up! I just…I want to go home, okay?”
“Me too,” he replied, his tone growing impatient. “But we’ve been over this, Quinn - we can’t!”
Before Quinn could respond, her shoulder was grabbed from behind by Tina. “We’re up next!” she announced. “Don’t you dare stop dancing!” she said with a grin before running to the edge of the stage where Santana was waiting for her.
As the live band started to play the intro to the girls’ song, Quinn watched as the jukebox girl from earlier on took the stage. Of course, she recognised her from the old, grainy tape that was always playing on Burt Hummel's TV; when she held the metal grate of the microphone up to her painted lips, the sound of her voice instantly sparked recognition in Quinn.
This was the girl.
Like, the girl.
Quinn watched as her spotted red dress swirled around her legs, her arms moving to the beat of her song as the drummer tapped out a beat. Her deep brown eyes were framed with perfect, flicked wings of eyeliner, and her dark skin seemed to glow under the warmth of the stage lights.
Her earlier conversation with Kurt was completely forgotten as Quinn watched, transfixed by the performance – it was one of Kurt’s all-time favourites. Quinn would always remember how he'd used her hairbrush as a microphone when they were kids, belting the words to the romantic climax of his favourite movie every single time.
Now, though, he looked as though he was about to be sick. His face paled as he dragged a hasty hand through his quiffed hair.
“It’s really sinking in, Quinn,” he muttered. “This is just…I can't do this,” he continued, voice shaking as the girl on stage worked her way seemingly effortlessly through the first verse. “It's just too weird. I need some air.”
Quinn thought about going after Kurt, torn between watching the performance and stopping Kurt from leaving. But, as Kurt turned, charging forwards across the dance floor, the scene seemed to slow to a near-halt before Quinn’s very eyes.
As Kurt hastily spun on his heel with little regard for his surroundings, Quinn watched him crash right into the chest of that surfer dude from the musical number on the beach. The one with the teeth that literally sparkled every time he opened his mouth, the one with the curly dark hair and pastel striped board shorts.
The romantic lead who should’ve been on his way to rescue the damsel in distress as she took a wrong turn on the stage, missing the edge of the stage with her chunky heels and stumbling right into his strong arms.
But his strong arms were a little preoccupied; they were busy holding a very confused looking Kurt, eyes sparkling with wonder at the sight of the person he'd caught.
The wrong person.
Quinn quickly turned back towards the stage where the singing girl in red was about to complete her final twirl before the instrumental portion of the song ended, spinning on the toe of her black heeled shoes dangerously close to the edge of the stage.
No, no, no!
Quinn's eyes widened with horror as she realised what was about to happen - that surfer dude was too busy making goo goo eyes at her best friend and, as a result, the girl was about to take a seriously nasty tumble right to the hard wooden floors of the shack.
Quinn was barely thinking when she surged forwards as the girl began to tumble. Sticking out her arms, the world slowed down again, like someone was adjusting the playback settings on their VCR as Quinn - miraculously - made it to the stage just in time.
Suddenly, her arms were filled with layers of red and white fabric, one hand resting between the shoulders of the girl that had so gracefully fallen right into her arms. The girl had one foot on the ground, and the other was gracefully lifted in the air. Quinn felt a hand lift to her face, although she still hadn't quite processed exactly what was happening.
The heroine of Kurt's favourite movie musical gazed deeply into Quinn's eyes as she began the final chorus of her solo.
*
Kurt felt like he was going to be sick - he was actually going to throw up all over the thin cotton shirt that was half buttoned across Blaine’s chest, which he had somehow managed to find himself pressed up against. Blaine had caught him before he could be knocked down, resting his hand on the small of Kurt’s back as they collided.
“Nice of you to drop in,” Blaine smiled, flashing his bright white teeth and, oh wow, Quinn was right. They really did sparkle when he did that. Literally. It was the exact line from the movie, too – Kurt could recite it in his sleep.
“Sorry,’’ Kurt said with a nervous gulp. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. “I was in a rush, I…I wasn’t…I didn’t see you, sorry.”
“Now that you do,” Blaine replied smoothly with a line so cheesy you really could only get away with it in a low budget movie musical, “do you like what you see?”
Oh no.
Everything was wrong; Kurt had been watching and memorising this movie for long enough to know what this meant. If the star-crossed lovers didn’t fall for one another…there was no movie. There was no resolution to the turf war between the bikers and the surfers, and everything would go horribly, horribly wrong .
“Could I get up, please?” Kurt asked awkwardly as he tried to find a smooth way to straighten his posture. He was still tilted back into Blaine’s arms, and didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with his feet, or his hands, or…or his anything , really.
He’d never been caught like that before.
Blaine took his hand in his, linking their fingers together as he helped Kurt find his feet.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Blaine said, voice smooth and teeth still on show. Would it be rude for Kurt to ask him to put those things away?! They were seriously distracting.
“Nope,” Kurt answered, popping the ‘p’ with his lips, “you haven’t. New in town.”
“Well, I–”
“Hold that thought,” Kurt interrupted before he could finish. This was just typical; the one impossible thing that he’d been dreaming about for pretty much his entire life was actually happening, and he couldn’t even allow himself to enjoy it. In fact, it was turning into a certified disaster. “Great chat, really great, but I just have to - Quinn!” He cut himself off mid-sentence, searching for his friend on the dancefloor as Blaine kept their fingers tightly linked.
Kurt was suddenly very aware of his clammy palms, of the heat spreading across every inch of his skin.
“Quinn?” he called again.
But it seemed that she was a little preoccupied.
*
“You saved my life!” The girl in Quinn’s arms stared up at her with awe, her eyes wide and filled with admiration as the music changed behind them - soft and romantic…this was the first meeting. The first time their eyes would lock, the first time their hands would touch.
Quinn’s hands felt clammy, her face too hot; she might’ve taken a moment to appreciate that she'd accidentally given some weird, old movie a sweet sapphic meet-cute if she wasn’t so busy freaking the hell out.
It wasn’t meant to go like this.
“No, no,” Quinn replied, gently taking the hands of the recently rescued girl to steady her on her feet. “It was nothing, really.”
“Who are you?” she asked, not letting go of Quinn’s hand. The girls' palms were soft and warm to touch. “I’ve never seen you before - I’m sure I’d remember if I had. You’re some kind of…knight in shining beachwear,” she said with a small smirk of a smile, and Quinn was trying so hard to remind herself that now really wasn’t the time to feel flustered. She didn’t have time to blush and smile at the girl who was now upright but still holding Quinn.
“I'm Quinn,” she replied. “Definitely not a knight, just passing through.”
Not that it mattered, obviously, but she hoped that it was a cool, chill thing to say.
“Well, I’m glad that you did,” the girl replied, eye twinkling with interest as she scanned Quinn’s face. Quinn really should've paid more attention on movie night - maybe then she'd have been able to remember her name. “I'm Mercedes.”
Mercedes.
“Quinn!” Kurt's voice caused her to drag her eyes away from Mercedes. She watched as her friend approached her with nervous haste, reaching out to grab her by the wrist to pull her away for an emergency conference. “We have to go. Now!”
Quinn waved to Mercedes quickly, muttering her apologies as she allowed herself to be pulled away. Mercedes’ eyes remained fixed on Quinn, struck with love as she dashed after Kurt.
Unfortunately, Kurt’s boy wasn't just going to watch him leave.
“You're going so soon?” he asked, his voice smooth as butter, slightly pleading as he clearly searched for a way to convince Kurt to stay.
“I’m afraid so,” Kurt responded, barely casting a second glance to his new admirer as he pulled Quinn out of Schue's Shack and onto the soft sand of the beach. “Quinn, we have a serious problem.”
“Oh, really ? !” Quinn exclaimed, panic rising in her voice as she placed her hands on her hips. She attempted to pace on the sand, but her feet kept sinking as she walked. “Kurt - we've screwed up the entire movie.”
“Pretty much,” Kurt affirmed with a nod. Not helpful. At all.
“Well…” Quinn paused to drag her palms down her face. “What's meant to happen next? Like, what's the next scene?”
Kurt nodded, pausing to think for a moment as he brought his hands up to the sides of his head. “Right, okay - so, the head of the bikers, Mike, spots Blaine - that's the surfer boy-”
“The one with the teeth that kept trying to flirt with you?” Quinn checked, just to enjoy the way that Kurt grimaced, tugging at his hair as he dragged his fingers through it again. Luckily, the movie magic that had started setting in would stop them from getting greasy hair; they'd been running their hands through it a lot over the past few…hours? It must’ve been hours, but time felt different there somehow .
“Helpful, Quinn,” Kurt huffed. “Thanks for that. But yes, him . Anyway, Mike sees them together, and a whole fight breaks out between the bikers and the surfers. There's, like, a bunch of finger snapping and tap dancing, it's incredible.”
Quinn raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I'm sure it is.” She turned to peep through the window of the shack. Inside, there was no fighting, only two distinct groups standing on opposite sides of the room waiting for something to happen. “Kurt…” she said, staring at the confused faces of the ensemble inside.
“What's wrong?” he asked, seeming too nervous to look for himself. “What's happening?”
Quinn swallowed, her throat bobbing. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s like…they all look so… lost . ”
“What do we do?” Kurt asked, and Quinn could tell that he was about to spiral - she’d seen it happen before. His voice was increasing in pitch, and his breathing was becoming much less steady. “Oh, god, I think I’m going to have a panic attack, Quinn, I can’t–”
“There you are!” Quinn turned her head, finding that Blaine had joined them out on the decking. “I’ve been looking for you, I didn’t catch your name,” he said, smiling as he saw Kurt.
Quinn, making a split second decision, said, “His name’s Kurt.”
“Kurt,” Blaine copied, hazel eyes twinkling as he tested out the name. “Say, let me take you for a walk along the beach – it’s very pretty at night,” he said, winking at Kurt as he added, “just like you.”
“Oh, good god,” Kurt whispered, but Blaine didn’t seem to hear him, still baring his teeth in his brilliant white smile.
“Yes!” Quinn answered on Kurt’s behalf, an idea forming in her mind as she snapped her fingers. “Yes, Kurt, you should totally let Blaine show you the beach – you love the beach!” Kurt glared daggers at her, silently warning her to stop talking. Immediately. But she kept going. “If you just give him, like, five minutes he’ll meet you down there, right Kurt?” She pointed vaguely to a spot on the beach, somewhere beyond the little campfire that a group of bikers had started for marshmallow-toasting purposes.
Blaine watched Kurt hopefully, waiting for his answer. Through gritted teeth, Kurt eventually forced a smile. “Yes. Of course.”
“Perfect!” Blaine exclaimed with a bright grin, happily and obediently jogging away from them, heading further down the beach to where the surfers’ campervan was parked.
“You know, Quinn,” Kurt began, his expression stern, “you never cease to amaze me. I really am so amazed by how unbelievably stupid that was!”
“Excuse me?”
Kurt groaned, “We’ve messed up the movie, and your solution is for us to mess it up even more? Blaine thinks he’s fallen in love with me, and you’re encouraging him! He’s meant to be in love with Mercedes!”
Quinn rolled her eyes, “Yes, Kurt. I’m aware.”
“Well?”
“Blaine’s pretty much going to hang onto every word you say, right? He’s like…he’s like a little puppy – he thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread- wait…did sliced bread exist in the 60s?” Quinn checked. She was trying really hard not to say anything period-inappropriate, increasingly nervous about the potential consequences of a mishap like that, especially after the wetsuit debacle.
“Yes, Quinn,” Kurt answered, his voice laced with exasperation. “I’m still struggling to see how this helps us at all.”
“Seriously?” Quinn asked, one eyebrow raised with disbelief. “Come on, Kurt, it’s obvious! You have to get close to Blaine, and convince him that Mercedes is the love of his life, get it?”
“Oh.” Kurt’s eyes widened as he was suddenly able to see through the fog of his panic and frustration. “ Oh! Okay, okay so…and then you’re gonna do the same with Mercedes, right?”
“Yep.”
“Do you think it’ll work?”
Quinn shrugged. “I really hope so; it’s all we’ve got.”
Kurt groaned as he stared across the beach, shoulders slumping as he folded his arms across his chest.
“What is it?” Quinn asked, noticing his demeanour shift. “It’s a plan, isn’t it? Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
“It’s not that,” Kurt shook his head, sighing. “It’s just…as awful as this whole thing is, I’m really not going to enjoy trying to convince that ridiculously cute guy to hate me.”
“Same here,” Quinn agreed. “Mercedes is pretty gorgeous, even if she’s destined to fall in love with the guy that wants you .”
Despite herself, despite everything, Quinn giggled, snorting as she creased slightly, falling into Kurt’s side and resting her chin on his shoulder.
“You know,” she said, unable to hold in her laughter as she spoke, “I really don’t think that this could happen to anyone but us. Just our luck, huh?”
“I’ll say it again,” Kurt said, his voice softer than before, “just be thankful that my favourite movie isn’t Les Mis.” This set them both off into a fit of giggles, loud and obnoxious as they gripped onto each other’s arms, both sniffling as thick tears rolled down their cheeks. “Are you crying, Quinn? Kurt asked, not unaware of the hypocrisy of his question.
“I think so,” she giggled. “I don’t even know if they’re laughing tears or sad tears,” she answered. “I think…I think that the sun exposure might be getting to me.”
Suddenly, Kurt was still. “Wait,” he said, the anxiety returning to his voice. “Do you think we still need sun cream? Can you burn on a fake beach?”
Instead of trying to come up with a sensible answer to Kurt’s question, Quinn was overcome with another fit of uncontrollable giggles. It wasn’t long before Kurt joined in again, leaving them both propped up against the outside wall of the Shack, gripping each other tightly as they tried to regain some of their composure.
It was the kind of stressful situation that nobody in the history of the world had ever had to prepare for before, and if they didn’t laugh…well, they’d be left with nothing to do but sob with complete and utter despair.
Hysterical laughter would have to do.