Chapter Text
If there is one thing Quinn Fabray is extremely talented at: it’s being perfect.
Now, she’s not going to say that she wasn’t always this way because why lie? She was born perfect and as such she was destined for greatness because perfection equals success and success comes from when you were born. That’s a statistical fact.
After all, it is exactly what her family knew her to be. Nothing more, nothing less. She is exactly what every parent hopes for in their child. Pretty, popular, and perfect . Not everyone could achieve these traits but for her it just comes easily. Of course, with grace comes rightly due praise.
For as long as she was made, Quinn was always the center of attention. Her older sister, Frannie, may have been the first born but Quinn was always the blueprint. She created trends, believe it or not. No one was rocking a pig-tailed pink ribbon beret like three year old Quinn Fabray was and, honest to God, her next door neighbor’s kid started wearing the same style just two days after their playdate.
This was the first of many similar occurrences where people have modeled themselves after Quinn. She likes to call it the “Fabray Phenomenon”. People can’t help to navigate towards her, especially losers. It’s only natural for the unfortunate to want what they can’t possibly have.
And what they want is to be:
petite...
adored...
beautiful...
to just become her. The destined prom queen with beautiful green eyes that entraps anyone who dares to stare at them.
Everyone knows that being pretty comes with a chance of being a bitch. It’s a packaged deal. So it should be a surprise to no one, that little Quinn Fabray came out of the womb: a total head-bitch-in-charge, or HBIC.
If she didn’t get her way, she would cry for it. If her sister got something she wanted, she would stomp her foot and immediately that very item would fall in her dainty hands. If Elaine Werchester took the seat she wanted on the first day of second grade, then you bet Quinn would have Elaine crying during recess. No one told her that the monkey bars were safe .
If there wasn’t conflict in life, then would anyone ever be truly happy?
That’s just how Quinn sees it. Life is simply a battle between the weak and the strong. She learned that years ago.
So you were born with eleven toes and six fingers? That’s weird and you should absolutely be ridiculed for it. Sorry, not sorry, Jane Anders. The girl was doomed from the start. Don’t blame Quinn for preparing you for what was no doubt coming your way in the future.
And lastly.. poor Rachel Berry. Well there are just so many words to describe her. Troll. Dwarf. Rupaul. Discount Streisand with a long range of insecurities that are just so easy to exploit. Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry. Say it three times and that demon would come running in her pleated skirts and high knee socks.
Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry is…
Well. Let’s just say, fuck Rachel Berry.
But, life is cruel and Quinn is on this Earth to save those who are unsavable and if that just so happens to be Rachel Berry then Quinn has no choice. It’s the Christian way. It’s what perfect people do.
And perfect people have no regrets.
“Lucy, can you pass the mashed potatoes?”
Except for one.
Quinn glares at Frannie from across the dinner table. It’s Friday night and her parents are hosting a “Welcome Back” dinner for a visiting Frannie and her husband, Gary. It’s one of few times she ever stays a weekend and of course, the first thing her older sister does is insult her. Typical Frannie. Jealousy never looks good with wrinkles.
Judy Fabray smiles thinly at her daughter, trying but failing to be placating. “She likes to be called Quinn now”.
Frannie snorts, “Okay. Quinn, can you pass me the mashed potatoes?”
It’s been two years, one would think she would get the memo already. But alas, Frannie was anything but bright or nice. Quinn almost doesn’t pass her anything at all and it must have shown on her face because her father sends her a stern look. Quinn hands Frannie the mashed potatoes.
There is a moment of silence. Just silverware scraping decorated chinaware as the family of four, well five including Gary, eat their presented food from various sides of the antique table. It’s all very formal. A normal evening in the Fabray household.
Russell Fabray puts on an award winning smile. He looks around the table, smug. He’s delighted that his precious brood is back together again. He directs his attention towards Gary.
“So Gary, what’s new with the business?”
Gary straightens up, “It’s going swimmingly, Mr. Fabray. I am currently in a deal to purchase two more stores.” Quinn just stops herself from rolling her eyes. Six months of marriage and this guy couldn’t be anymore of a douche. A rich douche, but still.
“Who knew USPS was such a lucrative business,” Judy smiles warmingly.
Russell rolls his eyes, causing Judy to silence herself by sipping her wine. He redirects, “So how many is that now?”
Frannie rubs her husband’s shoulder and proudly states, “Four.”
Quinn drinks her glass of water, leaning back in her seat. Judy looks over, noticing Quinn’s relaxed seating, “Fix your posture at the table, Quinn.”
Automatically, Quinn adjusts her position in the wooden chair. Frannie watches her, barely concealing her grin behind her glass. Quinn clenches her jaw. A wicked thought crosses her mind. She blurts out, “When are you expecting Frannie?”
Frannie’s smile fades and Gary chokes on his drink. The air has suddenly turned uncomfortable. The couple hesitate to speak and Russell looks between them, confused.
“You’re pregnant Frannie?”
Frannie blanches. “No Dad. Not yet.”
Judy frowns, “You’re almost 25 Francesca, it’s about time to settle down.”
“Mom, I’m married.”
“Once you hit 27, your womb’s going to sink, you know. Complications are going to rise. Who knows what that poor baby would look like.”
“They could look like a deformed Danny Devito”, Russell quips, thinking it’s funny.
“Do you want a Danny Devito baby, honey?” Judy is deadly serious.
Frannie sighs at the tense questioning. Gary just lets Frannie do the talking. Quinn hides her smile, very interested in her sister’s responses. Frannie looks over at her, eyes narrowing. It’s like she is just now realizing how bitchy her little sister could be. Well, surprise bitch.
Frannie’s lips pursue. She turns back to her parents and tries her best to calm them down. She takes control of the conversation. “Gary and I are taking a pause on children so we could focus on creating a suitable home for when it’s finally time. We have been doing our own things. God is looking down on Gary’s business, blessing him with so much good fortune.”
With that, Frannie has successfully halted the baby talk with the Holy words of a Christian-raised housewife. 1 for Frannie, 0 for Quinn. Quinn tries another tactic.
“What have you been doing Frannie?” Quinn asks.
Frannie is unbothered. In fact, the little slut, she looks pleased. “Well, other than being a dutiful wife, I have also been applying for the Young Ladies Association in my region. So far the Chapter’s Vice President’s Secretary has mentioned me during a meeting.”
Judy claps in response, absolutely beaming. “Oh that is wonderful!”
Quinn is at a loss of words. She’s not sure where this conversation is heading but she sure doesn’t like it. Before she can even utter a word, her father speaks up.
Nodding, Russell asks, “I take it you are campaigning appropriately?”
“I’ve baked two dozen muffins and offered voluntary time every Sunday after Bible study,” Frannie replies.
“That’s my girl.”
Gary puts his arm around Frannie, who soaks in all the attention. “We’ve been watching this chapter for a while now. They’re the most American of the division. We heard Gail Collins used to be a sponsor.”
Judy gasps, “Oh, Frannie! You have to get in!”
“Mom, I know. We’ve been praying about it every night.”
Gary rubs her shoulder, adding in. “This and my expansion would lead us very comfortable lives so when we do decide to have a baby, they won’t have to worry for a while.”
Judy coos, enamored with the perfect husband and wife, and Russell leans back, proud with his daughter. Quinn observes the table, stunned. Somehow Frannie bested her. Again. For once, Quinn has no idea what to do. She’s not even sure what a “Young Ladies Association” is. She’s nervous to ask, unwilling to look naive but she has no choice. Her curiosity piqued. “Young Ladies Association?”
Her mother warms, alight with the possibility of her daughter becoming a socialite too. “It’s a women's club with bases all around the Midwest. The best of the best are members. Anybody who has worth is in YLA. I would have applied long ago but I was already committed with my Arizona State alumni organization and balancing raising you two.” Judy gasps. A new idea formed in her head. “Quinnie! You should see if there is a chapter here! It would help with your popularity.”
Her popularity does not need “help” but Quinn can’t say that because four heads have turned to look at her. Each of them showing a different expression on their faces. Judy and Russell are expectant, Gary looks nonchalant and Frannie…
looks pissed?
Her sister has never been good at hiding her emotions and when she does, Quinn could always see right through them and right now... right now Frannie looks infuriated. Quinn’s not sure why but then a realization settles in. Quinn could slap herself for not getting it sooner. It’s so obvious.
Just when Frannie was getting the attention, just when she was so close to being perfect, Quinn snatched it up. Quinn is walking on her turf now, she’s being asked to do something that Frannie had prided herself so hard on achieving just a mention. It’s not supposed to be a competition but it has just become one. And Quinn is going to win.
So with a wicked smile, Quinn says, “Why not?”
“Yay! We’ll go tomorrow,” her mother salutes with her wine glass, “My girls are somebodies!”
Russell and Gary laugh, Russell’s is full of pride and Gary is more unsure than anything. But the best reaction of all lies on her sister’s face. The mix of rage and forced faux indifference causes Quinn’s belly to flip in delight. That look on Frannie’s face is worth everything she is likely to endure tomorrow.
Quinn sips her water, vigorated. Frannie 1, Quinn: Victory.