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Chapter Text

"The city of Lima! Soon to be the home of a national champion glee club! I got a great feeling about this Emma," Will says. He stands just outside the front door of his home, taking in the fresh morning.

"You and the kids have been working very hard. I have every faith that it'll happen for you this year. And I, for one, can't wait to see them perform," Emma says as she joins him, locking the door behind her.

"Just one more day of dress rehearsals. I have a feeling we'll be practicing late tonight so you'll probably want to drive separate," Will says, offering his arm. He escorts Emma to her car and opens the driver's door.

"I'll take care of dinner then," Emma says. "See you at school."

As soon as he leans in to kiss her, pink, baby blue, and light green zoom overhead. The speed brings a gust of wind, ruffling clothes and hair, and a faint zip of noise accompanies the rush. Will pulls back from the kiss and watches as the green streak suddenly veers off from the formation. Green rushes headlong back toward him, a girl with long dark hair visible in its halo of color. He groans slightly, but stands his ground.

Just as he thinks she actually won't stop this time, Santana pulls up on a dime. She hovers in front of him, hair in disarray.

"Mr. Schue, its much too early for me to see you macking on anyone. Actually, it's always too early for that. Get a freaking room."

"Good morning Santana, good luck out there," Will says with as much patience as possible.

"Yeah whatever," Santana huffs. "See you in glee."

Then she's off again, a trail of green in her wake.

Emma is smiling as he turns his attention back to her. "She's always charming isn't she?"

"She certainly has her moments,"

"Will, you need to give her some more credit. I know all three of them are you students, and you feel the need to teach them all the manner of lessons, but they're out saving Lima before 7:00 a.m.."

"Yes, I know. Santana's…abrasive at times."

"Will," Emma says, scolding.

Will sighs, wishing not for the first time that he had superpowers. He likes to think he would be quite good at saving the day, but Lima's fate instead rests on the shoulders of three high school girls under Sue Sylvester's thumb no less. Emma's right though, he needs to give them more credit. Quinn, Brittany, and Santana have proven their abilities time and time again…

Brittany watches herself deliver an uppercut, admiring her streaking blue form. "Bam! Pow!" She adds for effect because the video recording is silent. Or Coach Sylvester put the television on mute. (One time, Brittany left her TV on mute for a whole week. Her favorite show had been making no sense, and she found she enjoyed it much more on mute where she could make up the dialogue. She has since turned her sound back on, but she still watches that particular show on mute in order to ensure the characters are acting the way they should.) Her opponent, a mutated ape, falls to the ground completely stunned.

"Nice job Brits," Santana says. Brittany smiles in return, pleased. She then frowns as the video shakes and blurs before focusing amid chaos on Quinn.

Video-Quinn absolutely wrecks her monster opponent. Real-Quinn, sitting beside her, looks impassive, but Brittany knows she's actually super upset. (The thing with Quinn, Brittany has long since realized, is that she's sometimes backwards. Fortunately, Brittany is really good at telling when Quinn is being backwards). It's telling in the way her shoulders tense and in the slight flexing of her fingers. Brittany focuses back on the recording in time to see the monster thrown into the air. Quinn chases after it, delivering a pink roundhouse that sends the creature crashing right into an unaware Santana.

Real-Santana mutters in Spanish under her breath. The only understandable word is "puta."

Brittany winces as the rest of the footage unfolds the end to their battle that morning. Well, her battle at that point. Santana gets up and immediately starts shouting at Quinn who responds accordingly. It doesn't take long for the two's squabble to escalate into something physical. Off-screen from Quinn and Santana's silly fight—and it is really silly because neither of them put even a margin of their strength into it—Brittany knows she was busy cleaning up the rest of the bad guys.

"Sloppy! Absolutely sloppy! I am disgusted," Coach Sylvester says. She takes a sip of whatever strange mixture is in her glass today and then sneers at them. "Q! What are girls made of?"

"I don't know Coach," Quinn says tightly.

Brittany frowns. Everyone knows what girls are made of. She raises her hand.

"Brittany, go," Coach Sylvester says, pointing at her, but not taking her eyes off Quinn.

"Sugar, spice, and everything nice!" Brittany answers. Santana shoots her a smile from the other side of Quinn.

"Which is absolutely an abhorrent recipe! You can't make national champion cheerleaders out of that! Much less Nazi hunters!," Coach Sylvester says. She slams her glass on the table. "Three years ago, you three were lucky enough to be selected onto the varsity squad, despite only being freshmen. As such, you ended up doing all the dirty work, washing the laundry, participating in experimental diets, and the like. One day, late spring, I asked you into my office and what happened?"

Silence. Coach Sylvester glares at them over her desk. Brittany fidgets.

"We drank—" Santana begins.

"Santana!" Coach says sharply. "Was I asking a question?"

"Y—" Santana begins again.

"No, I wasn't. It was rhetorical. The silence was meant to make you uncomfortable so that you would sit there until those sweet, sweet tears of apology would start to roll and begin to make up for the travesty that was this morning. Now, back to my monologue… That day, I had decided that you were the chosen ones. You three would rule the Cheerios for the next three years! That was a stupid decision, by the way, made in ignorance of your true idiocy that you so finely put on display this morning. That day, in celebration, I had you try my newest diet—the concoction I had finally perfected—in an attempt to make you the perfect little girls, which, as I've drilled into your thick skulls time and time again, is synonymous with being the best cheerleaders this country has ever seen. So unbeknownst to you at the time, I had finally perfected the mixture into making my vision of the perfect little girl. But I accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction… Chemical X! That day was supposed to be the birth of the ultimate cheerleaders! Girls who would use their ultra-superpowers to dedicate their lives to fighting crime, the forces of evil, and the last remaining vestiges of Nazis. Instead, I ended up with you three. With real superpowers."

This is not the first time Coach Sylvester has told this story. Brittany thinks they've heard it at least once a week since the incident. She remembers that day very well. They came to Coach Sylvester's office as commanded, wary of what was in store for them next from their temperamental coach. Coach Sylvester promptly informed them that Quinn would be the captain for next year and Santana and Brittany would take second and third command respectively. These positions were conditioned only on them trying one last experimental shake. Figuring it couldn't be any worse than anything else they've tried from their coach, they drank without worry.

Of course, when they collectively collapsed unconscious minutes later, it proved that belief wrong.

They were out for some time according to Coach Sylvester. Brittany remembers waking and, after shaking off the grogginess, feeling like a unicorn must feel—brilliant and glorious and formidable. She also remembers Coach Sylvester being super apologetic. And that was strange. Very, very strange. (She knows now that Coach has a lab in her home devoted to making experimental diets and that Chemical X had been stored in that lab. Apparently Chemical X, given to Coach by her mother who had confiscated it from a Nazi hideout, had fallen into the blender. Santana still wonders aloud at times if it was truly an accident). Santana and Quinn were not as thrilled at having superpowers, and, in the beginning, they fought all the time. Brittany understood their conflict even if she didn't agree with it. But Santana and Quinn were troubled in other ways without the presence of superpowers, and so they fought with cruel words and backstabbing but never using their new physical gifts (until this morning). Brittany had hated it. But Coach was with them every step of the way, and Santana and Quinn's hesitation and doubt slowly gave way…

And—Oh, Coach Sylvester is still talking.

"—Santana, Quinn, I'm absolutely sickened by that embarrassment this morning. I haven't been training you for a circus-act! Now get out of my office! I think I'll vomit up my protein shake if I have to look at you anymore."

Good, Brittany thinks, she definitely didn't miss anything important. They file out of the office, and as soon as the door is closed behind them, Santana whirls on Quinn.

"Whatever's going on Quinn, fix it. I literally can't look at your face right now. Brits, come on. Let's grab some lunch and leave Q to sulk," Santana says.

Brittany moves in close to Santana, who smiles at her. "Save me a seat? I'm going to talk to Quinn," she says.

"Yeah, I figured. It's probably about Berry and Frankenteen. Tell Q she's a loser for me," Santana replies.

Brittany kisses her on the cheek, purposefully grazing her lips against the corner of Santana's. Santana squeezes her hand and strides toward the cafeteria. Brittany quickly catches up to Quinn who is marching toward her locker. Her is chin up and shoulders back, but she can still tell Quinn is miserable about something.

"What is it Brittany?" Quinn sighs.

"Did you and Rachel get in a fight?"

"Why do you think Rachel's involved?"

"Because you've been super close this year!" Brittany says. She wants to say something in regards to the way Quinn looks at Rachel and how Rachel constantly seeks Quinn out. Also, how they've been obsessed with each other since forever but used Finn as a shield. She knows Quinn, with her current mood, would immediately shutdown if she brings any of this up. So she plays it safe.

Quinn huffs as her locker refuses to open at her first try at her combination. Brittany watches patiently as she tries the lock combination again. When Quinn gets it wrong a second time, she takes a deep breath, leaning her hand against the metal.

"Yes, we got in a fight," Quinn finally says quietly.

"You want to know what I do when Santana is mad at me?" Brittany says.

"Considering it probably involves a sex act, not particularly. Besides, I'm mad at Rachel too."

"What did you fight about?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe. You need to open your ears."

"Don't you mean eyes?" Quinn says. Once again, she can't get her locker open, and this time, her composure disappears entirely. "Are you kidding me!"

A flash of pink, and Quinn's fist slams through the locker. The metal crunches inwards, bending off its hinges. Quinn then rips the metal door off entirely, and it goes skidding down the hallway. The background noise surrounding them completely vanishes. Brittany shifts uncomfortably as the students loitering in the hallway look at them with open shock. Coach Sylvester and Principal Figgins had made it clear to every student, McKinley's PTA, and the school board that any display of their powers on campus would result in immediate suspension.

Brittany frowns at the locker door, crunched and bent beyond recognition. She then brightens, waving at students in the hallway. "No one saw that right?" Brittany says loudly. Silence. "No? Great!"

"Thanks Brit," Quinn says quietly. She shoves her books from her morning classes into her locker. She hesitates; hand poised over her afternoon books, and then drops her arms down entirely. "I think I'm going to skip lunch and fly around town. I'll be back for my afternoon classes."

Quinn wants to be alone. She's like that, Brittany knows. It's always been her way of coping with her problems. She just wishes sometimes Quinn would depend on her and Santana too. Brittany calls out to her as she's presented with the back of a blonde head. "Open up your ears. If you're both mad at each other, it's probably because you're not really listening."

Quinn walks away showing no sign that she heard her, but Brittany knows she did.

Brittany strolls over to the twisted locker door and picks it up. With little effort, she bends it back into at least a discernible shape and sets it in the opening of Quinn's locker. She winces, as it still falls in onto Quinn's books, but it's good enough for now. Maybe it'll magically get fixed by the janitor (she'll have a word with him later; he's a nice, harmless man). Smiling cheerily, she heads toward the cafeteria, ready to relax with Santana over the remainder of lunch hour.

Rachel is not the first to the auditorium. In fact, she's late because even Mr. Schuester is here. She absolutely hates being late—but the zipper on her Nationals' dress had gotten stuck and she left her shoes for the performance in her car. They had to wear their costumes today as part of their last day of dress rehearsals. The whole day had been awful really, and they're leaving for Nationals tomorrow! Everything should be fun and excitement and maybe a few nerves. The last thing she wants is to be fighting with Quinn. Not now.

Not when Finn is finally behind them.

Not when Quinn has become her closest friend and confidante.

Not when she's starting to accept that Quinn makes her heart race in all the ways Finn never could.

Rachel takes a deep breath as she sees her. Quinn sits alone, legs dangling over the edge of the stage, reading a book, and ignoring the chatter of the rest of the club. She's as beautiful as ever, and their Nationals' dress is especially flattering against her pale, smooth skin. To the untrained eye, Quinn appears haughty and aloof. But Rachel can tell—she's always been able to tell Quinn's truths—that she's not even reading as she draws closer. Quinn's eyes are unfocused, her body rigid. A very small and petty part of Rachel is happy that Quinn seems just as miserable as she does. She's avoided Quinn all day—done her best to not even look at her in the three classes they share. It's impossible now, and Rachel's heart clenches at seeing Quinn so distraught.

"I apologize for my tardiness. Mr. Schue, we can begin," Rachel announces as she marches down the aisle, dress swishing. She sneaks a glance toward Quinn and is surprised to find her staring back. Rachel quickly looks down. She can't think about Quinn and their stupid fight from last night right now, not when this is their last chance to practice before Chicago.

"Finally! God, Berry, I'd thought you'd be here before the bell even rang," Santana sneers.

Rachel bites back a retort. Santana's probably angry with her too by virtue of being mad at Quinn. Since growing closer and closer to Quinn, Santana oscillates between friendly and hostile quickly enough to make her dizzy. Rachel hadn't seen Quinn and Santana's fight on the news, but she couldn't help but overhear about it in the hallways. But Santana's not being too terribly cruel, so Rachel resolves to just ignore her.

And hopefully she can keep ignoring Quinn too.

What Rachel didn't count on is the choreography of their first song getting in the way of her plans.

They aren't quite dancing with each other, but the song starts out with just the girls. Just having Quinn near her is driving her crazy. She misses her cue the first time Quinn brushes by her, and they have to start over. Rachel's ready for it the second time, but even she can tell her voice is wooden and lifeless as she concentrates on ignoring Quinn instead of the song. Mr. Schuester cuts the music off.

"Berry would you freaking get it together! We can't even get through half the first number, and I don't want to be here all night because you and Pinky over there had a spat. Yeah, don't give me that look Quinn, Brits told me. Unlike you, dwarf, some of us aren't excessively compulsive to the point of separating our animal sweaters from our polka dots, and still need to pack for tomorrow," Santana snarls.

"And who's fault is that," Quinn says coolly. Her arms are crossed, her facade icy.

Rachel wishes her heart didn't leap out of her chest at seeing Quinn jump to her defense. But she doesn't want Quinn championing her right now. She's still mad.She is. Even if she has to keep telling herself that she is. "Quinn, I can fight my own battles. Besides, Santana is right. I'm being unprofessional."

"Yeah, so back off Quinniepuff. Or do you want to go again?" Santana says lowly.

"Get over yourself Satan," Quinn says, closing in on Santana's space.

Rachel gasps and feels the unease echoed in the others as Santana shifts into a fighting stance, fists clenched at her sides and Quinn following suit.

"Girls," Mr. Schuester says. He seems like he's trying to sound stern, but Rachel thinks he just sounds nervous.

There's a moment of tense silence and then a flash of light blue. In a blink, Brittany is between Quinn and Santana. Her hands press into each of their chests, putting distance between them. "Stop it San," Brittany says. "You too Quinn. And people think I'm stupid."

Santana glares at Quinn one last time. Then she sighs dramatically, and her body relaxes. "Quit taking all your Berry problems out on me," Santana says with one last parting shot. She then wraps an arm around Brittany, leaning her head against her shoulder. She's just loud enough for Rachel to hear "you're not stupid Brit."

Rachel turns, looking to Quinn. But Quinn has already stalked back to her starting position, eyes fixed straight ahead.

They get through the first song on the third try, and Mr. Schuester only makes them go through it three more times. The next two songs don't present any difficulty for her, but Finn keeps messing up the choreography. Santana only huffs and puffs at him out of earshot though, confirming Rachel's belief that she took her frustration with Quinn out on her (and maybe in part, blaming her for Quinn's behavior too). After a number of run-throughs, Finn finally perfects the steps. They then do the complete program, all three numbers non-stop. Rachel allows herself a smile as they complete the final song. They're competition ready.

Of course, once through is not enough to guarantee success. Neither is twice or three times. Rachel would like to go for a fourth and a fifth even, but the rest of the club has reached their breaking point. Her argument falls on deaf ears. And Quinn normally—well it doesn't really matter what Quinn would normally do. Mr. Schuester calls it a night and tells them all to be at the school at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow so they can get on the road to Chicago.

Kurt walks over, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, as everyone else begins to collect their things. He angles his head toward Quinn. "You want to talk about it?" he says quietly.

Rachel hesitates. She shakes her head. Wait, no. She does want to talk about it. She nods. "We got into a fight last night," she says.

"I gathered," Kurt responds. "Does it related to my brother?" He waves Blaine off as he steps toward them.

"Yes… no. It was bad. I kicked her out of my house."

"She didn't scare you or anything did she…physically I mean?" he says reluctantly.

"No! She would never!" The thought, the idea, is unsettling. Quinn may have superpowers, but Rachel knows that she would never ever use them against her (As scary as it was at the time, Quinn punching the mirror in the bathroom at prom last year under that kind of distress instead of slapping her is proof enough, but even without that…). She knows this like she knows the sun rises in the East, that her fathers love each other, that her name will one day light up on Broadway.

"I know, I know!" Kurt soothes. "I just… I wanted to be sure. What with her and Santana and…"

"Quinn and Santana fight each other because they can. It's just what they do. It's what they've always done. Brittany explained it to me one time, but the most I understood out of it is that that is just how their relationship works. Granted, I don't believe they actually get physically violent with each other. Except, you know, today."

"Santana's stressed about Brittany's grades. Has been for a while," Kurt says. "Quinn's stressed about…you. Put them together, and it's volatile."

"She's stressed about the fight you mean," Rachel says.

"I meant what I said," Kurt says. He continues quickly before she can manage to interrupt. "They still shouldn't be fighting. Physical violence is not the answer to their problems."

Rachel watches Quinn as she exits the auditorium—no doubt heading toward the locker room to change out of the dress. "I don't believe in it either, but sometimes I wonder what it's like to have all that power on your fingertips and have to control it at all times…"

"They control it, all three of them, because they are good. Blaine would love this conversation—Sam probably too."

Rachel gives him a look.

"The repercussions of having power," Kurt says. "Never mind, that's not the point. The point is that you and Quinn got into a fight, and both of you are obviously hurt by it. Furthermore, my brother has been moping around all day, so no doubt this all stemmed from something he did."

Mr. Schuester is waving at them to leave—most likely so he can lock up the auditorium for the night. Rachel sighs and jumps down from the stage, Kurt following suit. All of her things remain in her car from when she ran out to retrieve her shoes before rehearsal so she doesn't have to worry about getting out of her Nationals' dress. She's kind of glad. It means she gets to avoid changing in the locker room and Quinn. Mostly Quinn. And mostly naked Quinn at that. And…Stop, Rachel tells herself. Just stop. It's not the time. It's not her right.

"It was a stupid argument. It got blown way out of proportion," Rachel says as they reach the doors to the auditorium. Kurt is silent, waiting for her to continue. "Finn did come over last night. While Quinn was there no less. We both finally had some free time. It was the first chance we've had to 'hang out' since Regionals outside of a school setting. Finn was…persistent about taking him back. I eventually persuaded him to leave. That's when things got out of control."

"Well, at least it wasn't while Finn was still there," Kurt offers. Rachel squeezes his arm in thanks, thinking back to last night. Quinn had been icy and unapologetic, but her eyes… Her eyes kept telling Rachel a whole different story.

"She asked me if Finn was being difficult about the breakup. I admitted that things haven't been perfect. And she asked me if I wanted her to scare him off! I told her, for one, that I hate violence, and, for another, I can deal with my own problems."

"Rachel, I know I haven't always been Quinn's biggest fan, but I don't think she meant it violently."

"I know that," Rachel says petulantly. And she did, but Finn had set her on edge.

"So what's the problem?"

"The second issue… Quinn said that she just wants to help. But she said it so defensively! I might have then made a comment about how if she wants to help me, she should be there instead of constantly chasing after monsters and criminals," Rachel says, wincing at that memory and the briefest glance of genuine hurt Quinn had given her before putting on her cool facade. Remembering that look breaks her now, but she had been too wound up thanks to Finn to tell herself that hurting Quinn was the last thing she wanted. "And she said something about me practicing all the time. You know I've been practicing Kurt. Constantly. Before the NYADA audition and after because—"

"Carmen Tibideaux is going to be at Nationals, I know," Kurt says dryly.

Rachel ignores his tone. They have talked about it repeatedly, but that one little detail means everything. "I can't disappoint. I can't. What if she changes her mind? What if I mess up in front of her? I can't overlook that detail. And don't say I'm being irrational because that is exactly what Quinn said last night! After telling me that I don't have to practice every hour of every day! It's my future Kurt! And she wants me to just relax? I can't!"

"You know she has all the faith in the world in you right?" Kurt says. Then so softly she can barely hear, Kurt says again, "She always has, I think."

Rachel's heart hammers angrily in her chest from reliving the argument, and she struggles to control her breathing. Kurt's words ring true, but it doesn't change the fact that they said some very hurtful things to each other. These past couple of months have been so busy. For Rachel, it's been the stress of NYADA auditions, breaking up with Finn, Regionals, then Nationals, and her future.

For Quinn… Coach Sylvester has been training Quinn, Brittany, and Santana nonstop, no doubt because her time mentoring them is coming to a close. The whole world knows about the three girls to some extent—it's impossible for something like three teenaged superheroes not to become public knowledge with the Internet—but Coach Sylvester has always intercepted the media and made it very clear to all that her three protégés would not be going anywhere until they had graduated high school. Then it would be their choice as to where they would take their superpowers. (Coach Sylvester is also to blame for their rather amusing nickname after mentioning it in a rant on media attention during a press conference. The Powerpuff Girls is cutesy and harmless sounding, and Brittany of course loves it. Quinn doesn't particularly care for it, and Rachel knows Santana puts up with it because of Brittany. Quinn confessed to her that she has designs to rebrand them once they move away from Lima.)

Between her practice schedule, and Quinn's training, they've hardly had time for each other and their relationship, whatever it actually may be. Whatever Rachel actually wants it to be. And during prom—when they went as friends—Quinn spent half of it having to beat up reanimated dinosaurs.

That was the crux of their fight last night, and she tells Kurt just so.

"It's not a bad thing to fight about, wanting to spend time with each other," Kurt says.

"I know," Rachel says in a small voice. "I was hoping that Nationals would be a fun diversion for us, and we could really spend some quality time together...as friends..." Kurt looks unimpressed at her addition of friends, but she ignores him, stating softly, "Now I'm afraid that we're going to be trying to avoid each other the entire time. Kurt, what if we go back to square one? I've never had a fight quite like that with anyone."

"Your relationship is not going to regress. And that fight felt different because you two are dancing around each other and have been for years."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel says but there's hardly any bite to her voice because Kurt's exactly right.

"You just need to talk to her," Kurt says. "She's as upset as you are. Word on the street was the she ripped her locker door clean off today."

"Oh I… I hadn't heard about that," Rachel says. "I know Quinn, and today, she…she really didn't seem like she wanted to talk to anyone." But especially me, Rachel thinks.

"Just talk to her Rachel. You might still be angry with her, and that's fine. But you've both had time to cool down from whatever you may have said last night. Hear things from her side of the story."

"Do you and Blaine ever fight?" Rachel asks. "You seem to have everything figured out."

Kurt mercifully ignores her comparison of her relationship with Quinn to him and his boyfriend. "We do fight. It's easier when you're the third party looking in. Speaking of Blaine…" Kurt trails off, smiling at the sight of his boyfriend waiting a little ways down the hall, out of his Nationals suit and back in his bowtie.

"Thanks for letting me keep him for a little while Blaine," Rachel says as they approach.

"Anytime," Blaine smiles. "Do you want to change before we head out Kurt?"

"It's fine. This suit isn't too terrible actually," Kurt says.

"It looks great on you," Blaine says lowly. Rachel ducks her head as they share a look and that last bit of pettiness and anger she holds against Quinn seeps out. She misses her. She really misses her. Maybe they haven't seen each other much lately, but Quinn's been a mere phone call or text away. She resolves to call Quinn as soon as she gets home.

"Let's get out of here," Blaine says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the exit.

They chat about Nationals as they head out to the parking lot. Sam and Mercedes are there, leaning against his beat-up sedan and talking intimately. And there's Mr. Schuester, hopping into his old car. Puck's and Finn's trucks are still there too, and, without them in sight, they're most likely still inside school. It's impossible to tell where Quinn is. Quinn, Brittany, and Santana typically just fly to school. Most of the other cars are gone, and the sky is just beginning to darken. Lima is calm and peaceful. Then—

She almost doesn't feel it at first. She wonders if it is just her imagination. Then it happens again.

Then again.

And again, the earth trembles beneath her feet.

"What the…?" Blaine says. He whirls around. "What is that!"

Rachel turns and gapes. She knows she should be used to the unusual—Quinn, Santana, and Brittany have ultra superpowers after all—but she can't help but be surprised at every new monstrosity unleashed by crazed supervillians and crime lords with enough money to purchase anything they could ever dream. This thing… it's a robot of sorts. It almost looks like a transformer from that awful movie Finn made her watch sophomore year. But it has a cockpit, and inside of it, she can make out a human figure. The closer the transformer/robot draws, the more detailed the figure becomes until…

"Jesse!" She spits out, shocked.

"Oh no," says Kurt.

"Oh yes," says Jesse. His voice is broadcasted out electronically, but it's still undeniably him.

"What are you doing!" Rachel shouts.

"Coming for you!" Jesse says jovially as he pilots the robot closer. "The wonderful thing about Vocal Adrenaline is that we have a very powerful alumni base. They'll do anything to ensure the continuing glory of our glee club. And this time, that means capturing you to make sure you don't perform at Nationals, which inevitably leads to New Directions demise and Vocal Adrenaline's victory. Now that I'm the director of Vocal Adrenaline, it falls on me to perform such unsavory duties. Though I'm not entirely opposed to keeping you tied up."

"Like hell I'll let that happen!" Quinn shouts, and Rachel's heart races to an entirely new beat.

And she knows, she knows, that it's not supposed to beat like that for just a friend.

Quinn stands at the school doors, knees bent, and battle ready. She's in jeans (too many perverts out there looking for upskirt photos when she flies, she has taken to wearing pants or shorts most of the time), ballet flats, and a flowery top, but she looks every inch the warrior.

"Quinn! I was hoping you would join the party!" Jesse says, turning the robot around to face her.

"Yeah? Say one more thing about Rachel and I'll end you permanently," Quinn says coolly.

"What? You mean how I'll be taking her back to Carmel, and keeping her there under careful watch for some time? I will have to go and direct Vocal Adrenaline to yet another national title, but I have a number of friends that'll occupy her attention while I'm away," Jesse says.

"Just letting you know, Jesse," Quinn spits, "I have no patience left today, so I'm sorry if this hurts."

Then Quinn is a blur, leaving pink streaming behind her. Rachel forgets to breathe as Quinn charges Jesse. The transformer/robot swipes at her as she enters its wingspan, but Quinn easily dodges and plows straight at the cockpit. The robot staggers as the force hits, but is otherwise impossibly undamaged. Quinn shoots off, flipping over the top of the robot and aiming for its back. But there is nothing but smooth metal for Quinn's punches to bounce off of. Whatever it is that Jesse is piloting, it's certainly meant for taking a beating. But Rachel allows herself to relax, because regardless of its tank-like qualities, it's far too slow to catch Quinn.

Even better, twin blue and green streaks of light zip forward from the school. Blaine cheers from beside her, egging them on. She catches a glimpse of Jesse in the cockpit, smiling maniacally at seeing Santana and Brittany. Her stomach sinks, dread wells within, and then…

The world explodes in her ears.

Rachel staggers, her body—her head—pulsating. She keeps the darkness away for a moment. Just a moment. But it's enough to see Santana and Brittany fall to the ground. And it's enough to see Quinn, ordinarily so effortlessly commanding and beautiful, crumple to the pavement. She tries to call out, but the darkness rushes in, overtaking everything.

Chapter Text

Her world begins grey and hazy. She tries to focus. She really does, but her thoughts keep escaping her. They fly, far and away, and no matter her efforts she can't seem to catch them. Slowly, she becomes more aware. Her stomach twists uncomfortably, and she wants to wretch but can't find the strength. The ringing in her ears is accompanied by a dull headache. Her body jostles uncomfortably, but her movement feels restricted.

She tries to think again. She starts small, and her thoughts stay with her a little better.

I'm Rachel Barbra Berry. I'm 18. I go to William McKinley High School. I'm attending NYADA in the fall. I have two loving fathers. I love…

A flash, a vision, of Quinn collapsing to the ground attacks her memory. Rachel startles into full self-awareness, eyes opening wide and taking in her surroundings.

"Jesse!" she demands. Her voice is raspy, and part of her immediately worries about performing at Nationals despite her current predicament.

"Good to see you awake Rachel!" Jesse says in front of her.

She can only see the back of his head and his stupid perfect hair. Quinn's hair easily rivals Jesse's though, and Quinn is hundred times better in all the other categories. And this is not the time to think about Quinn. She tries to move, only to realize she's restrained, her wrists tied together behind her back and secured.

"I swear on Barbra's life that if you hurt Quinn in anyway…" She grits out. She can't even manage to finish the words. The thought of having Quinn, so strong, so powerful, actually physically hurt frightens her more than she can express.

"Quinn huh? Don't worry, she only received the same treatment that you did."

"What was that? What is this for that matter!" Rachel demands. She shakes off the last remnants of fog in her brain. The ringing in her ears has subsided, but her headache has only grown stronger. She can tell she's in the cockpit of that…that thing—the robot transformer. She looks around, taking in the smooth electronic panels. The cockpit is not big. There's only one seat, and she's shackled to the back wall immediately behind it. The only view of the world outside that she has is that of the night sky. Why in the world is Jesse piloting this thing? Where did it even come from?

"That was a state of the art weapon. A grenade actually. Quite miraculous. Quite expensive too. I only had one, and I had to make it count what with the three supergirls. I didn't quite understand it either. Didn't really think it was worth my time to understand when I could be spending that time plotting and directing Vocal Adrenaline's eventual triumph. But it targets the brain through the vesti…vesti…"

"Vestibular system?" Rachel provides.

"Sure. Like a frequency that goes to the brain and tells it to shut off. Like that, but I don't really know how it works actually scientifically, technically or whatever. Don't really care. They told me it would work. And guess what? It did. And I was perfectly safe inside this sealed cockpit."

"And what happens when Quinn—and Santana and Brittany—wake up? They will come after me." Quinn will come after her. She hopes. She knows.

"Oh I know," Jesse says seriously.

Rachel ignores him for the moment. "And for another, I refuse to play damsel in distress!"

"Of course you do," Jesse mutters just audibly enough for her to hear before his voice picks up volume. "We're miles away from Lima and, if all went according to plan, the supergirls should only be waking up around now. I'm not stupid enough to take you to Carmel either, so don't count on them finding you so easily. Vocal Adrenaline is more powerful than you realize. Than anyone realizes. But Rachel…" Here, his voice softens and he turns in the seat to look at her. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore okay? Once Nationals is over, you'll be free to go. I won't let anyone else hurt you either."

"Anyone else hurt me? What kind of sick show choir is Carmel running?" Rachel says, perturbed. "I get the money thing, and I guess how you're able to afford something like this. I mean they had enough money to give you all Range Rovers. Range Rovers! Which, by the way, have awful fuel efficiency. You should tell whoever it is to give everyone a Prius instead."

"Rachel listen to me," Jesse says. His focus is entirely back on piloting the robot, but his words carry an edge. "This is the last I'm going to say about this—the last I can say about this. Let's just say the interests of Vocal Adrenaline and a third party—a party unrelated to show choir—aligned."

"What does that mean Jesse?"

"I just told you I couldn't say anything else about it!"

"Fine," Rachel huffs. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and immediately regrets it as a wave of nauseous washes over her. She groans.

"You okay?" Jesse calls back at her.

"No! You knocked me out, tied me up, kidnapped me, and are currently taking me to Barbra knows where so that I'll miss Nationals in two days! Do you know what Nationals means to me? On top of that, you hurt Quinn! Do you know what she means to me?" Her tone was clipped and indignant until that last sentence. The words came, but they were soft and tentative. Wary of voicing the truth that she holds close, yet needing it to be known.

"It's like I said, Vocal Adrenaline will do anything we can to win and if that means kidnapping a rival performer, then so be it."

"I'm not talking to you any more," Rachel says agitatedly. She wishes she could storm out of the cockpit. Her line delivery would have been perfect with a storm out. That trivial fantasy goes as quick as it came as her thoughts race forward. She wonders where Jesse is taking her. She wonders how long and fast they have been traveling. She wonders if everyone—if Quinn—is okay. But most of all she wonders about the mysterious third party. What would be its purpose? What would it get out of partnering with Vocal Adrenaline?

Jesse may have thought he was being vague, but unless the third party was NYADA organizing some secret audition to test her desire to perform, the most logical conclusion involved Quinn, Brittany, and Santana. And that made her dreadfully uneasy.

When Santana wakes, her first coherent thought is Brittany. Her eyes snap open, and she sucks in a breath. Brittany is lying beside her, unharmed, and she breathes out, relieved. Quinn stirs on the other side of Brittany. Seeing that Brittany is okay (and Quinn, she supposes, even if she's still mad), she quickly takes in her surroundings. The choir room. And practically all the members of New Directions are there. Safe for now, she closes her eyes again with a groan. Her head is pounding, and her stomach is turning circles like that one time she ate the mystery meat in the cafeteria. But she takes a deep breath, and events come rushing back to her.

Jesse St. James. Vocal Adrenaline. Giant robot. And watching it press something attached at its hip area. And then that shockwave of sound, deafening, ringing, and…

Her day had been shit enough already. This is just the icing on the cake.

"Where's Rachel?"

Quinn's voice, and Santana's eyes open back up. There's strain and a certain tightness to her words. And Santana's anger with Quinn and her stupid Berry problems dissipates.

Quinn is sitting up on the choir room floor. Santana follows suit, rubbing a hand over her face and hoping her headache goes away. Brittany groans beside her, and Santana takes her hand gently, raking her eyes over Brittany's form just to be sure there was no other harm. Mr. Schuester is lying a few feet away, as well as Kurt and Blaine, Sam and Mercedes. The remainder of New Directions is hovering around. Everyone but Rachel.

"Quinn, she wasn't there when we found everyone," Puck says slowly.

Quinn stiffens. It's hardly noticeable, but Santana has long since been able to pick up on her body ticks. Quinn shakily climbs to her feet, and Puck immediately jumps over to help steady her.

Quinn shrugs him off. "Did you see it?" She says coolly.

"The giant robot?" Puck says. "Yeah, in the distance."

Quinn's hand clenches around the collar of Puck's shirt. To his credit, Puck doesn't scare. "Hey, easy! I'm on your side here!"

Quinn's jaw tightens and then relaxes. She releases her hold and gives Puck some space. "Where was it going?"

"I don't know exactly. Away from I-75. Maybe up toward Route 30?"

"San?" Brittany groans and the hand in hers tightens.

"Right here Brit-Brit," Santana answers. "You okay?"

"I feel like Lord Tubbington probably felt the morning after he drank all my parents' alcohol," Brittany says.

Santana smiles, running her free hand over Brittany's hair, relieved that Brittany is mostly okay. She would lose it otherwise. Brittany catches the hand in her own and brings it to her mouth for a quick kiss. A sudden commotion, and she breaks her gaze away from those pretty blue eyes, catching Finn storming over to Quinn and Puck. Santana groans and it's not because of her headache or nausea.

"Come on Brit," Santana says softly as she climbs to her feet. She supports Brittany's weight with ease as she does, gently bringing her upright with her.

"What happened Quinn?" Finn demands. "Puck and I went outside and found you and Santana and Brittany all unconscious. What kind of sick joke are you playing?"

"Yes, clearly I am playing a joke right now Finn," Quinn says. And Santana recognizes the signs of Quinn fraying around the edges. She steps closer.

"Look all I know is everyone's on ground and Rachel's gone and you're the one with freaking superpowers alright?" Finn says, pointing angrily at Quinn.

"Chill out Finnept," Santana cuts in. "Though Blaine's brother would be proud of your pointing skills."

"I wasn't talking to you Santana!" Finn yells, whirling toward her.

"Christ, you are not helping my headache!" Santana groans. "Look we did what we could, and I have no idea what Jesse had, but clearly it knocked us all out!"

"Wait, Jesse? Jesse St. James is involved?" Finn says. He turns back to Quinn, demanding answers.

"Yeah dude," Sam says. He's sitting up now, Mercedes beside him. Santana quickly scans the others, seeing Mr. Schuester slowly picking himself off the ground and Kurt and Blaine showing enough PDA to deserve censorship. "It was like some sort of mecha from Gundam. Except maybe not as badass."

"Chill out for a second Finn," Kurt says before Finn can respond.

"Kurt, man, are you okay? I swear to God Quinn—" Finn says, stepping toward him, while simultaneously pointing back at Quinn.

"Just relax," Kurt interrupts. "Give us a minute to get it together first, and then we can figure out what happened. And right now, don't you dare go blaming Quinn, Santana, or Brittany for this."

Santana can see Finn's jaw clench, but he simply makes a noise of frustration and backs off, throwing himself into a chair.

"I need to find her," Quinn says lowly enough that probably only she, Brittany, and Puck can hear.

"I know, okay," Santana says as gently as possible. She draws in close. "Listen to me Quinn, we need to figure out what's going on before we go rushing off. I know you know that. You're the smart one."

"Santana," Quinn's says, hazel staring into her own intently, desperately. "Rachel is… I…"

"I know Quinn," Santana says seriously, clutching Quinn's arm and grounding her. To be honest, she guessed and mulled over the possibility because Quinn is just so raw around Rachel. Then she brought it up to Brittany, only to find that—according to Brittany, which might as well be the truth as far as Santana is concerned—feelings between Quinn and Rachel go both ways, and they just had to figure it out. Well those weren't quite Brittany's words, but without mentioning the unicorns or rainbows, it's close enough. Then Santana just can't help herself. She leans in to whisper into Quinn's ear and lets the words fly. "You can't keep it in your pants around her."

"Shut up," Quinn says, jerking back from her.

"Trying to keep things real Fabray," Santana smirks, eyeing the blush on Quinn's cheeks. She's kind of disappointed that the situation is what it is because oh my god she would be taking such a piss out of Quinn's little crush—okay it might not be so little if all parties are being honest—otherwise. There's time for that later though. Once they get Rachel back.

"San be nice," Brittany says. "Don't worry Quinn, Santana actually thinks Rach—"

Santana actually has no idea what Brittany was going to say, but to cover her bases she quickly presses her lips against hers, swallowing the words. She draws back unwillingly, but also not wanting to give Puckerman a free show. She smiles at Brittany and says, "I don't think I've told you that I love you today."

Brittany's lips quirk upward, and sometimes it still amazes Santana that such a smile is reserved for her.

"And you think you'll give me a hard time. Stop staring, Puck," Quinn says as she brushes by, marching toward Kurt and Blaine. All eyes in the room fall on her. "Kurt, you ready?"

"Yes," he says.

"And everyone else is okay?" Quinn says pointedly looking at Blaine, Sam, Mercedes, and Mr. Schuester.

Nods and mumbled affirmations are given in response.

"Mike, you mind taking some notes for us on the whiteboard?" Quinn says. Mike is already up and out of his seat before she gets to the next sentence. "I want to make sure we get all of our facts straight and I want to get out of here as soon as possible."

Santana pulls Brittany toward the chairs, and they settle down. Brittany turns toward her as Quinn talks, and whispers conspiratorially into her ear, "It's funny 'cause Quinn said 'straight.'"

Santana smirks and wonders how the world got so lucky as to have three hot gays (well bisexual in Brittany's case) as its superheroes.

"How about you tell us what you saw first Puck?" Quinn says.

"I was there too you know," Finn says, staring down Quinn.

Quinn's shoulders heave. "And you're welcome to add any additional, relevant information."

"Will you quit it with the attitude?" Finn says.

"If you will," Quinn says, eyes hard.

Finn squirms in his seat, but he doesn't drop his gaze. "I care about Rachel alright! I just want her to be safe!"

"I do too," Quinn says, tightly, keeping the reigns on her emotions. There's so much control to her words that Santana wonders how the rest of them can't see just how much Quinn means it.

"There's not much to say really," Puck says, filling in the strained silence. "So Finn and I walk out and you guys are all unconscious. And we get a little panicky because I mean—come on—you have superpowers. We call up everyone and tell them to get their asses back here because if this isn't an emergency I don't know what is. Once everyone got here, we moved you into the choir room."

"I wanted to call the cops," Finn says. "And we talked about it for a while, but we decided it would be best not to. We did call parents, and let them know we're practicing late. I thought it could buy us a little time to figure things out."

"Good decisions all around for once," Santana says. When eyes fall on her, she scoffs, "What? The Lima police are useless. Brits, Quinn, and I are the police."

"Santana, we are not—" Quinn says.

"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before Quinn," Santana interrupts, rolling her eyes. They've had this conversation with and without Coach Sylvester. Blah, blah, due process, blah, citizen's arrest, blah, blah. She could care less. They do all the work. Granted, it's not that it's necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it's nice on those days where she's pissed at the world to pummel on something. But… there's also the quiet discussion she's had with Quinn about the increased crime and threats they've faced over time. However, since she has accepted who she is now, she wouldn't change it for the world. Having superpowers is fucking awesome. Even with the increased responsibility and scrutiny. "Point is, we do all the fun stuff and they do all the paperwork."

Quinn rolls her eyes at her and sighs before turning to Kurt and Blaine. "You guys were with Rachel when I came out of the school…"

Blaine nods, "You heard most everything important. Vocal Adrenaline kidnapped Rachel to ruin our chances at Nationals."

"Okay, Mike, you got that?" Quinn asks.

Mike scribbles on the whiteboard, and everyone else watches Quinn with rapt attention, including Finn and Mr. Schuester. It strikes Santana a moment later why this seems so strange.

Quinn spends most of Glee club sitting in the back or to the side, ignoring the world around her. Even if she's not doing that, she rarely speaks up—unless something directly involves her or everyone is being especially ridiculous. The point is, Quinn never leads in glee club. That falls mostly on Rachel, and Finn, if not Mr. Schuester. But Quinn, for all her aloof haughtiness, (okay, Santana maybe isn't being so fair right now—she's lightened up a lot since their freshmen year, though she is certainly still quiet at times), is a natural leader. It's why she was named captain of the Cheerios and why she leads their crime-fighting trio, even if Santana resented it at the time.

And now she commands the whole club's attention. Santana's pleased she doesn't have to deal with it. She'll shovel off all the morons to Quinn to handle in the future.

"So here's what we have… Nationals takes place in Chicago in two days," Quinn says methodically. Mike points out each relevant piece of information as she speaks. "Around 6:15 p.m. this evening, Jesse St. James attacks. He does something—"

"He pressed something at his hip area right before we all conked out," Santana says.

"Thanks for sharing that very relevant piece of information only just now," Quinn says, shooting a Santana a glare.

"What? You were too busy yapping before," Santana says. Really, she only just now remembered it, but Quinn doesn't need to know that.

Quinn sighs. "So Jesse triggers something that knocks all of us out. He reportedly heads away from I-75 and maybe toward Route 30. It's now… 10:30. Did I miss anything Mike?"

"Nope," Mike says.

"I've been searching online, and I can't find any mention of anything strange or unusual going on tonight. So either Jesse's keeping it quiet, or people are keeping their heads down on this one," Artie says, raising his hand to draw Quinn's attention.

"Thanks Artie," Quinn says. She takes a breath, surveying the room. Quinn's gaze lands on hers, and Santana nods once, showing Quinn she has her back. "Here's what's going to happen. Santana, Brittany, and I will go to Carmel to check out any leads. Artie, and anybody else, you will keep searching online for any info. We'll keep our cell phones with us. Tomorrow morning, you guys are going to get on the bus, and head for Chicago. We'll meet you there, and we'll have Rachel with us in time for us to perform."

"What about Rachel's dads?" Kurt says.

"Leave that to me."

Santana's eyes dart toward the choir room door. Coach Sylvester stands at attention.

"Sue, I don't know if that's—" Mr. Schuester begins to say.

"William, William, you are welcomed to accompany me as long as you stand downwind so I do not have to smell that sewage gunk you put in your hair. Not a bad plan Q, all things considered," Coach Sylvester says nodding toward Quinn.

"Thanks…" Quinn says hesitantly. Santana doesn't blame her. With Coach Sylvester, it's always better to play it safe and wait for the other ball to drop.

"How'd you know we were here?" Mr. Schuester demands, and Santana rolls her eyes.

"I know everything that goes on in this school William. I would have thought you would have long been aware of that by now," Coach Sylvester answers.

"Now, if none of the rest of you have any complaints? Good—"

"So we're just supposed to go to Chicago like everything's fine?" Finn says.

"What else do you want to do Finn?" Santana says, dropping as much acid into her words as possible.

"I don't know! I want to help alright! We may have broken up, but I want Rachel to be okay!" Finn shouts, standing up from his seat.

"You'll get in the way," Quinn says. Santana wants to applaud her for the self-control she's showing right now. Hell, she thinks she deserves a pat on the back for her own restraint.

"Look, you may be friends with Rachel now Quinn, but I still don't trust you! You'll always be that girl that looks out for herself first!" Finn says.

A pin drop could be heard in the silence that follows, and Quinn's shoulders slump, gaze falling to the ground. The agitation and frustration in her chest spikes at that sight, her headache sharpens, and Santana snarls. She flashes toward Finn, and he stumbles backwards over his chair as she gets in his face. So much for that self-control.

"Santana!" Quinn snaps.

"What?" Santana growls. And then she sighs, knowing exactly what. It's not… They don't threaten people who don't deserve it. Even if Finn is grating on her last nerve… he doesn't deserve it.

"Come on San," Brittany says gently, pulling at her arm. Santana allows Brittany's touch to cool the burning agitation. Quinn's anxiousness had spilled over onto her, Santana knows. She's long been protective of Quinn now, but damnit if she doesn't care about stupid Rachel Berry and this stupid club either.

Fuck. Things were so much easier when all she cared about was Brittany.

"Santana, Brittany, Quinn with me. You too William. Everyone else, proceed as normal. Or whatever you think passes as normal," Coach Sylvester says. Santana avoids looking at her because she has no doubt Coach will ream her out later for that little stunt.

"That's it everyone," Mr. Schuester says. "Again, be here at 10 tomorrow morning."

"And call us if you want to chat!" Brittany says. Santana allows her to escort them over to Coach Sylvester, taking solace in the arm wrapped around her waist. But she keeps her attention on Quinn, approaching the huddled form of Finn.

"I'll get her back, okay?" Santana hears, and, ugh, she's pretty sure she's going to spew at the sappiness. Finn is playing stupid if he doesn't see it. It's that obvious.

"Q, let's go!" Coach says, "You've spent enough time with this little powwow. I got something for you before you scurry off into the night!"

"We're going to fix this everyone. We'll get Rachel and win Nationals, okay?" Brittany says loudly. When Brittany says it like that, Santana has no doubt that everything will work out okay. And to hell with everyone else that doesn't believe Brittany. What her girl wants, she gets.

Santana doesn't pay attention to the talk they leave behind. She's got a job to do, and that's rescue Rachel Berry in time for Nationals so she can tease Quinn forever.

Quinn keeps pulling at her new uniform as they fly. It's just—damn it, she adjusts it again—it's just really short. When Coach Sylvester pulled them into her office, and told them she had a uniform for them, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. Definitely not this though.

"Quinn stop fidgeting. It's fine. You look great!" Brittany says. "Besides, I like them. They're easy to move in and sexy."

"I feel like a two-cent whore," Quinn says. That was one of her father's sayings. Normally she doesn't like to touch on anything related to her father, but he certainly had a colorful way of addressing his opinion.

"Quit whining, we look like the real deal now—all official in our nice, matching uniforms. Plus we're hot, we deserve something that shows off the assets," Santana says.

"It's no different than a cheerleading skirt Quinn," Brittany says. "You got spanks on and everything."

Their words still don't stop Quinn from feeling like she's been put on display—though she supposes she should be use to that by now and maybe that's Coach Sylvester's point too. The uniform is a short pink dress with a darker band of color wrapping around her torso underneath her breasts. Santana's and Brittany's are green and blue respectively. But Brittany is right, the dress is easy to move in, and at least she has spanks on with it. As short as it is, she's pretty sure she'll be flashing everyone.

And a not so tiny part of her wants to ask Rachel how she looks in it.

In the distance she spots the series of buildings that make up Carmel High School and takes a deep breath. She doubts Jesse is stupid enough to take Rachel here, but what she's really hoping for is finding a lead to where she could be. "You guys ready?"

"Yep!"

"Always!"

They dive out of the sky, landing silently outside of the building that housed Carmel's auditorium. This particular building, Quinn had learned sophomore year, was entirely dedicated to Vocal Adrenaline. Not only did it house the auditorium, but it also held numerous practice rooms, a costume department, band rooms, and God knows what else. Jesse rambled about it enough during his stint with them that she often stopped listening after awhile. She walks up to the main doors. "If there is anything for us to find, it'll be here."

"What's our preferred method of entry? Subterfuge? Full-on assault? Knocking politely?" Santana says, throwing the last option out dryly.

"Assault," Quinn says shortly and then punches through the glass doorway.

The wonderful thing about superpowers? Quinn's rarely, if ever afraid. And when she has the right kind of motivation, she refuses to allow anything to weaken her convictions. Right now? She's very motivated. Yet… she received a taste of mortality earlier. The first time she's ever been rendered totally helpless since gaining her powers. And that reminder, that hint of the frailty of the human body, sends a shot of nerves straight to her gut. If Vocal Adrenaline has whatever it was that knocked them out—and who knows what other toys they have… She'll just have to be quick, and shit… What if that's not enough?

Her heart jumps somewhere up into her lungs, but she thinks of Rachel. She thinks of the last time she touched her, the last time Rachel sang. She thinks of the last time Rachel smiled at her and the last time Rachel said her name. And that's enough for Quinn to take on anything.

She's a little surprised when an alarm fails to sound, but she knows there's the possibility that it's silent. If the police come, so be it, but now that she doesn't hear one she's banking on Vocal Adrenaline's powerful backers to have something else in mind for anyone breaking and entering. Plus, they potentially would want to keep authorities as far away as possible if Jesse's robot is sign of the kind of operation they're running.

…Yeah, something tells her that there's a significant chance whatever's going on with Vocal Adrenaline is not entirely illegal. She can almost hear Santana's snide voice in her head… and what tipped you off Sherlock? The giant, deadly robot? Pretty sure you need a permit for one of those.

Quinn kicks in the rest of the glass off the door and steps into the lobby. A few lights are still on, but none that indicate any signs of life. The doors to the theater are straight ahead and framing a concessions counter that is stocked halfway full.

"So what should we be looking for?" Santana asks as she follows.

"Oh! Junior Mints!" Brittany squeals before Quinn can answer, dashing over to the concessions. She turns back looking at Quinn and Santana with big blue eyes.

Quinn lets out the smallest of laughs out as Santana melts into a puddle beside her, a dopey smile on her face and nodding her acceptance.

"Just one Brit," Quinn says. Brittany cheers and immediately dives over the concession counter. Maybe on their way out, they'll raid the whole thing. Quinn has a certain fondness for Reese's Pieces. "We're looking for anything that could indicate Rachel's whereabouts."

"Do you think they have cameras?" Santana says lowly.

"Probably," Quinn says. "Based off that thing Jesse had though, I'm thinking Vocal Adrenaline would not particularly like to have the police investigate their practices so the most it could be for is their own security purposes…"

At that exact moment, the right side doors to the auditorium swing open. Quinn's jumps slightly in surprise, but turns and settles her weight on her toes, ready to spring into action. The figure that emerges is the lithe form of a Vocal Adrenaline female performer complete with a standard appearing competition dress.

The performer comes to a stop just inside the lobby and places her hands on hips. Silence.

Quinn exchanges a look with Santana. Damn… Is Vocal Adrenaline actually here right now?

Brittany jumps back over the concessions, a package of Junior Mints in hand. She edges closer to the girl and says apologetically, "I'm sorry for taking them, I just really like Junior Mints. Can I pay you for them?"

Quinn sucks in a breath. Brittany is testing the waters for them, but something is strange here... The hair on the back of her neck raises and Quinn shifts her weight on her feet, unsettled. Almost without thought, she threads the power behind her eyes, ready to release the deadly lasers at a moment's notice

The performer's hands move off her hips, and Quinn catches a faint buzzing noise. The girl's movements are jerky as if her body is stiff from pushing her muscles too hard or…

"Intruders recognized," the girl says, her jaw opening and closely with snapping jolts. "Identified as Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, and Brittany Pierce. Top threat level. Proceeding with automated defense." Then she raises an arm, a hand peeling back in a smooth swoop to reveal a glowing light aimed straight at Brittany.

The performer, whatever it is, doesn't get a chance to act before Quinn unleashes the power behind her gaze, giving a whole new meaning to if looks could kill. The twin lasers shoot right into the thing's gut, sending it flying right back into the auditorium. She snaps off the power with ease as Santana, with an accompanying scream of rage, flies after it.

Brittany drops the Junior Mints, and she chases Santana through the doors. "San, wait!"

Quinn takes a final glance around the lobby just to be sure their backs won't immediately be open to an attack, and follows.

The auditorium is half-lit. Santana is pinning the fake-girl to the ground in the aisles right in front of her, and Brittany hovers nearby. Her lasers have burned straight through the clothes and whatever passed for skin, revealing an underbelly of smooth metal scorched black. Seeing that Santana has the thing secured, Quinn's eyes move quickly to the stage where a number of performers stand, frozen in mid production. The girls are in the same outfits as the robotic creature that Santana is pinning to the ground. The boys are in matching suits. That is, if these boys and girls are actually human, which Quinn seriously doubts right now.

So focused on the stage, she almost misses the figure rising out of the stands.

"Ah, the Powerpuff Girls! We'd thought you might come for a visit!" The voice and figure belong to a man. He moves halfway toward the aisle in a way that is undeniably human, and definitely not…robotic. Moving under one of the lights, she finally gets to study his features. Dark clothes and hair. Stubble over his jaw. Handsome, she guesses, if he didn't have his head cocked back like something was rotting under his nose. He's vaguely familiar. She just can't quite figure out why.

"Oh! It's oh-what's-his-name?" Brittany says, squinting at him. "The Vocal Adrenaline coach from last year."

"Oh yeah! Shit, what was his name?" Santana says.

"Goolsby! Dustin Goolsby!" he shouts.

Ah yes, that's right. Quinn would laugh if the situation weren't so serious. As it is, too many things are on the line and she's pretty sure there's a room full of animatronic show choir performers ready to attack. "What's going on here?"

"Just a little practice," Goolsby says.

"What I'm seeing tells me that Vocal Adrenaline is suddenly composed of lifelike robots," Quinn says steadily.

"We're in the preliminary stages still, but yes! This is the future of show choir! No more smelly, pimply teenagers trying to find themselves or argue over who has the best voice or best moves. No more chance of imperfection while on stage! This is the future! Vocal Adrenaline is stuck with imperfections for at least another year—while that idiot St. James is the coach—but I'll take my place back once these final preparations have been made. You never really leave the fold of Vocal Adrenaline once you're invited in, you see—even if you are fired. So I made myself invaluable—with a little additional help—as a chance to retake my position of former glory!"

"Oh my god! When we talked about them having no soul we were right!" Brittany says, mouth agape.

"When did Vocal Adrenaline get on the train to crazy town because wow," Santana says.

"Jesse wasn't lying about their alumni support that's for sure," Quinn adds. But something still feels like it's missing. Like all the cards have yet to be played. "I take it you're not willing to tell us where Rachel is are you?"

"No way," Goolsby says.

"Why can't you just accept the fact that you're going to lose? Instead we get to deal with some desperate underhanded tactics that aren't going to work anyway. I'm trying to save you some time and money here!" Santana says.

"You know, it's good thing then, that while these versions you see on stage are not quite ready to perform, they're still perfectly capable of waging war," Goolsby says.

And then all hell breaks lose.

The androids attack as a singular entity, and Quinn flies, a pink bolt of fury weaving in out of her opponents and dodging both blasts of energy and physical attacks. She catches green and blue out of the corner of her eye, but she's got her own set of robots to deal with. And they're resilient. Their metal bodies hardly react to her attacks, whether lasers or punches, and ouch. They pack a wallop.

She still kind of can't believe she's fighting a team of show choir robots… The things she does for Rachel. The things she would always do for Rachel.

The dust settles eventually, and Goolsby is long gone. The remains of his robotic show choir scatter the auditorium, and she, Santana and Brittany are, for the most part, unharmed.

"I hope Berry knows the efforts I'm going to for her because, I mean, do you see this? We just fought off an army of glee club robots. I need a drink," Santana says.

Quinn sighs and kneels down on the floor next to one of the mangled androids, looking it over. Her eyes light on a patch of engraved characters on the back of its neck. The first line appears to be a serial or model number of some kind, and it's nerve-wracking that these things have been in development long enough to warrant such a number. But it isn't the numbers that gather her attention. Instead, she focuses on second line, which seems to consist of a source.

"Ever heard anything about Mojo JJ, Inc?" she calls out.

Brittany and Santana fly over to her. "Nope, but it's something to work with," Santana says giving Quinn a rare and honest smile.

Quinn smiles softly, an image of Rachel passes through her mind, and agrees, "I think that's our next lead."

Chapter Text

Sue doesn't pick up when she calls. Instead, a text message comes buzzing in almost immediately after she hangs up.

'Having midnight falafel with some delightful homosexuals. Schuester is being tolerable. DO NOT BOTHER ME AGAIN.'

Quinn sighs. Sue wants them to do this on their own. The problem is, Mojo JJ, Inc is not showing up on any cursory searches on their assorted smartphones.

She settles for sending out a mass text to the glee club. "You guys send everyone a text too. Hopefully someone is paying attention and will find some info," Quinn says to Santana and Brittany.

They wait awkwardly in the lobby of Carmel High auditorium. Remnants of their fight with show choir robots lie just through the doors. Brittany is raiding the concessions for more Junior Mints, but she takes a break from collecting her spoils to send a text as requested. Santana saunters over to Brittany as they wait for a response.

Quinn stands near the front doors, deliberating ignoring the flirting going on behind her. She searches and searches her phone for anything on Mojo JJ, Inc and hopes someone in the glee club can find something.

Her thoughts flit to Rachel. She's going to kill Jesse St. James if Rachel so much has a scratch. Show choir is weird—robots, kidnapping, who knows what else Vocal Adrenaline has in store? Blackmailing the judges? Inducing a riot? Murder? Her heart skips at the thought. Rachel is in the hands of people who don't play by the rules. She just has to hope for the best. Freaking show choir. Who knew it could be so…strange? Then again, Quinn's the one who can fly and shoot lasers out of her eyes, so maybe she shouldn't be so quick to scoff at the things show choirs are willing to do to get an edge in competitions. For people like Rachel, who have a legitimate future in the performing arts, underhanded tactics aren't such a foreign concept. Not that Rachel would ever have to resort to such actions. Quinnknows Rachel is far too talented to have to scrape by undermining others. But she can certainly imagine how many people would feel threatened by her.

Rachel will achieve all her dreams. And Quinn will do all she can to make sure that happens.

It's not like underhanded manipulations are new to her either. A number of lesser cheer squads attempt unsavory acts, but Coach Sylvester would never allow her Cheerios to participate in such "base, elementary tactics." She's not ashamed to admit her and Santana have had their moments too.

…But robots!

Freaking robots! And kidnapping!

Show choir is a strange, strange world. And she just wants to get Rachel back and keep her safe and clear the path to her dreams. She wants to do that. She wants to be beside Rachel every step of the way. And truly knowing that about herself…

She…

God, she just wants Rachel back, and she wants to forget their stupid fight ever happened.

Her phone buzzes her out of her reverie. It's a call, not a text this time, and it's from her mother. She studies the screen, weighing whether she wants to talk with her. Figuring it can't hurt, that it's actually kind of nice to have her mother checking up on her, she decides to answer it. Just as her finger hovers over the screen, her phone vibrates again with a text. Quinn goes to her messages, thoughts of her mother already flying out the window. Tina.

'Mike found something on Mojo JJ, Inc. Along the shipping canal in Chicago. Sending you address ASAP.'

Yes. Quinn smiles. "You ready to fly?" she says loudly.

Brittany drops all but one package of Junior Mints and jumps over the concession counter. She grabs Santana's hand, dragging her toward Quinn.

"Where are we going?" Brittany asks.

"Up near Chicago," Quinn says just as her phone vibrates. She quickly opens the text and confirms the address. They'll need to GPS it when they get closer, but a general direction to Chicago will do for now. Quinn secures her phone to the outside pocket of her left boot—a nice addition to the uniform by Coach Sylvester.

"How convenient. I hope you know how to get there because I'm cruising with some Twizzlers for awhile," Santana says, waving a bag of them at Quinn. "You drive. It's your girlfriend we're getting after all."

"She's not my girlfriend," Quinn says. She tries to put some bite behind her words, but the effort is rather halfhearted. She's past trying to deny her feelings, and Santana knows it.

Brittany laughs, "Quinn, you're not being very smart."

"I know," Quinn sighs. Because she got into that fight. Because she let it effect her performance. Because she tried to not feel that way about Rachel. Because she dated Finn. And Puck. And Sam. Because it took her so long.

Because she loves Rachel.

It's late. Quinn is not answering her phone, and Judy worries. Even if her daughter has superpowers, she worries. It's her daughter, and things have been going really well with them lately.

She calls again, but she's met with Quinn's voicemail. She leaves a message this time.

"Quinnie, I know I normally let you go about without question, but you're supposed to go to Chicago tomorrow. I know you haven't packed. Please call me back," Judy says. It's all she can say.

She worries. But she can't bring herself to tell Quinn that. Quinn would only get defensive—she thinks. Things have been different this year. The tension hasn't been so exhausting. Judy's hardly touched alcohol in eight months. But their relationship is still far from perfect.

She paces the floor of the living room and checks the grandfather clock again. 12:30 a.m. She wets her lips, debating her next choice of action. She could call Maribel Lopez. But what if she's working? Or what if she's in bed? She would rather not disturb her. Judy thinks she should have called hours ago now. Her other option…

She decides to go for it. Though she never quite knows what she's going to get with Sue Sylvester. She picks the little used number out of her cell's contacts. The phone rings and rings, and eventually… voicemail.

She hangs up, defeated, only for her phone to chime loudly with a new text barely a second later.

'330 Farmshire Rd'

Sue sent her an address. Nothing else. Just an address. She knows where Farmshire is. It's a nice neighborhood about ten minutes from home. But why just the address?

"Screw it," Judy mutters to herself and grabs her keys and purse. The words, ones she never would have uttered with Russell around, send an odd thrill down her spine. She feels…daring. Brave. Like Quinn must feel all the time.

She makes it to the Farmshire neighborhood in less than ten minutes on account of very little traffic. There's not much for anyone to do in Lima after 10:00 p.m. She slows down, scanning the houses. 330 turns out to be nice two-story home with a well cared for front lawn. The floodlights are on, as well as a light over the front porch. Two cars are parked out front along the curb. A crossover SUV sits in the driveway leading up to the garage. She parks in the driveway behind the crossover, wondering exactly whose house this is. She knows it's not Sue's. She's actually been over there before.

With thoughts of Quinn running through her head, she gets out of her car and walks to the front door. She hesitates only for a moment and then presses the doorbell.

She waits anxiously. It feels like minutes before she hears footsteps finally approach the door. Judy puts on her best disarming smile and is very proud of herself for keeping it in place as she recognizes one of the Berry men when the door opens.

Of course she knows who Leroy and Hiram Berry are. Everyone does. Well, everyone at her old country club used to. She doubts everyone actually does. Orcares. Why, gays can get married in some states these days! Russell had a rather explosive rant at the dinner table the night Massachusetts—she's pretty sure it was Massachusetts that was the first—legalized gay marriage. Judy is… She's not entirely sure what to think about homosexuals.

She's well aware of Santana and Brittany's relationship. And also the Hummel boy in Quinn's glee club. And Quinn is…

Well, Judy knows that being a true Christian is to have your heart full of love and acceptance. Her new church likes talking about these topics and not so much the hellfire and brimstone of her old.

So it's easy for her to maintain her smile even amid her surprise.

"Mr. Berry, hello. I'm afraid we've never officially met. I'm Judy Fabray." She offers her hand. She's still Fabray. The divorce has not been quite finalized yet. Russell has been difficult to both contact and negotiate with. "Sue Sylvester brought me here."

Mr. Berry—she's not sure which one—stares at her unnervingly for a few solid seconds. Just when Judy is about to withdraw, convinced this was a bad idea, he breaks out into a beaming smile and takes her hand. She fights a charmed grin when, instead of shaking it, he brings her hand to his lips in a brief kiss. "Call me Leroy, please. Sue failed to mention that you would be coming, but please, come on in. Hiram made falafel. He cooks when he's stressed."

Judy follows Leroy through his home and back into the kitchen. She can't help but admired their cabinets, obviously recently redone. The Berries seem to have impeccable taste. Sue sits at a breakfast table in a nook in the kitchen with Quinn's glee club coach, William Schuester, and the other Mr. Berry, Hiram.

"Sue, you did not tell us you invited anyone else," Leroy says as they stride toward the table.

"Judy, you made it. You know William, I hope," Sue says nonchalantly. "Sit. Have some falafel."

"Hiram," Leroy says as Judy moves toward the table uncertain of what to think, "this is Judy Fabray."

"Fabray," Hiram says under his breath, standing. He casts a glance at Leroy, before meeting her gaze. He offers his hand and a smile, "Welcome to our home Ms. Fabray."

"Judy," She corrects, shaking his hand.

"Judy," he nods cheerily, "I'm Hiram. Now may I offer you a beverage or falafel or both?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Really, Judy, have some falafel. It's delicious," Sue says.

"Ms. Sylvester, what is going on?" Judy demands, tired of Sue's evasiveness. Quinn weighs heavily on her mind. "Where is my daughter?"

"Judy, it's fantastic to see you care." Sue smiles, but there is an edge to her voice that makes Judy uncomfortable.

"She is my daughter," Judy hisses with strength she didn't know she had.

The smile falls from Sue's lips, and her eyes bore into hers. A part of Judy knows she deserves the scrutiny, but she's not going to back down now. Quinn deserves her best. Judy will never be able to forgive herself for letting Russell kick out their daughter for being "unnatural" after the truth of Quinn's superpowers came out. But she can stand up for her relationship with Quinn now.

And a remarkable thing happens. Sue nods, with a small, genuine smile and gestures to a seat at the table.

She takes the offered chair, sliding into it next to Mr. Schuester. She gives him a polite nod. She's met him before, but she really doesn't know anything about him. Quinn has never really talked about him much.

"So Quinn didn't call you I take it?" Sue says as Judy settles.

"No, and she's not answering her phone," she says.

"Quinn is perfectly fine," Sue says. A weight Judy didn't even know was on her shoulders lifts, and it's much easier to breathe. "I heard from her just a short time ago."

"What's going on then?"

"We were attacked at school this evening after the end of practice by a rival show choir," Will says.

Judy blinks in surprise, and then glances toward Leroy and Hiram. She's very aware of Rachel Berry's talent after witnessing it herself. It's not too hard for her to deduct that there must be a reason for Sue and Will to be at the Berry home of all places. And that reason probably has to do with Rachel. "Just what kind of glee club are you running?"

"Let William finish the story first, and then we can handle questions," Sue says, not unkindly.

Judy impatiently gestures for Schuester to continue. It's strange how protective she feels over Quinn when her daughter is the one with superpowers.

"They triggered some sort of device that knocked us out. All of us including Quinn, Brittany, and Santana," Will says. Judy swallows heavily, not liking the direction this story is taking. She wishes she had a glass of scotch but clamps down on the desire. "We woke up a few hours later. Quinn was fine. Everyone was fine. Quinn was more than fine actually. She was angry at what happened."

Here, he looks toward Leroy and Hiram, lips pressed tightly together.

"At being knocked out?" Judy prompts.

"At Rachel's kidnapping," Will says, turning his attention back to her.

"Oh! Oh dear! I'm terribly sorry," Judy says to Leroy and Hiram.

"Quinn, Brittany, and Santana are currently going after them," Sue says. "I have every confidence that they will rescue Rachel and make it to Nationals with plenty of time to spare."

"You're sure?" Hiram says. "Not that I'm doubting your daughter's abilities Judy."

"I'm sure you've seen them in action recently. Not withstanding that embarrassing spat this morning, they have been nothing but professional, methodical, and efficient this past year," Sue says.

"What happened this morning?" Judy says, curious.

Sue waves her hand dismissively, "Some childish fighting between Quinn and Santana. But I wouldn't worry. They look out for each other first and foremost. What you need to know is that I have been carefully grooming them for heading out on their own next year, and they are going to be exceptional. This is a test. There is a lot riding on them succeeding."

"Like our daughter's life!" Leroy says. And Judy notices the cracks in his composure.

"William and I don't believe Rachel's life is in danger," Sue says seriously.

"Wait, Sue! I never said—" Will begins.

"Ah," Sue interrupts, holding up a finger in his direction. "From our understanding, this is show choir taken to the extreme. We're not dealing with murderers. After all, if we were, there would be a lot more dead bodies from the actual kidnapping event."

Judy finds herself nodding. Sue's logic is rather on point.

Sue continues. "The stakes are simple. Rescue Rachel, and New Directions wins Nationals. Rescue Rachel, and, if Quinn balls up, you guys might want to get used to the fact that Rachel and Quinn are going to be around each other for the rest of their lives."

"Well they are friends," Leroy says.

Judy is not all that surprised. Quinn has dropped Rachel's name more and more over the years when she's been on speaking terms with her daughter. And the tone of the namedropping has changed entirely.

Sue snorts. "Nothing, nothing," she says at the curious looks directed at her. "There's nothing that goes on in that school that I don't know about. Regardless, I have no doubt my girls will succeed, New Directions will somehow win Nationals despite being unprepared yet again, and everyone will be in New York next year."

"We are not unprepared!" Will protests. "We had a very nice dress rehearsal yesterday!"

Judy sits awkwardly as Will and Sue begin to squabble. She feels rather like a spectator watching a matador provoke a bull. She searches for a topic to interrupt the teachers before blood is actually shed, and instead has a whole new thought. She turns to Leroy and Hiram. "Quinn mentioned that Rachel will be attending a very prestigious art school. Congratulations."

"Why yes, and we are very thrilled! I hear that Quinn will be taking classes at Columbia?" Hiram says.

"In between fighting crime apparently," Judy says, but she can't keep the smile off her face.

"Ivy League. That's very impressive," Leroy says.

"They were very understanding," Sue says, not taking her eyes and sneer off of Will. "New York City officials are also very excited to have the girls there. Apparently there's been a spike in crime over the past couple of years."

"To New York," Hiram says resolutely, raising a glass.

"To New York," Judy echoes, even if she has no glass to raise.

"So, speaking of cities far and away from Lima, shall we still plan on traveling to Chicago for Nationals?" Leroy says in the silence following the cheers.

"I would. Sue's convinced me that there is no doubt they'll make it to the performance. Maybe bring by their things tomorrow morning to load up on the bus with the rest of the kids," Will says. Then he turns toward her, "Quinn really is remarkable, Ms. Fabray. You should be proud."

"Thank you. I've made a lot of mistakes, but I am very proud of her. I think I have you and Sue to thank for that," Judy says. Once again, regrets flit through her thoughts. A flash, a vision, of Quinn in tears, fleeing their home, a suitcase half full of clothes tossed outside after her.

"Quinn's done most of her learning and growing on her own," Sue says. "I was just there to shout random encouragement or threats at her when she was being particularly obtuse."

"Rachel, actually, has always had a very curious relationship with Quinn. I think they've learned a lot from each other," Will says.

"Oh?"

"Well, as long as they are not talking about Finn," Will says.

"Oh William, you once again show your naivety! Finn has never been relevant to them," Sue says with a chuckle.

"Sue, really—"

"I know everything that goes on at that school. Everything," Sue says pointing at him.

"Okay…"

Judy would have continued listening, but Leroy draws her attention. "Quinn is really something, Judy. We were at the wrong place at the wrong time a couple of months ago—"

"Oh the bank heist!" Hiram interjects.

"Yes, on Oak Hill. She came flying in through the window and saved everyone. Lima's been incredibly lucky to have her, Brittany, and Santana."

Judy smiles. Quinn is special even without superpowers. She just wishes she knew that earlier. She should have always known it.

Her phone chimes in her purse. "Excuse me," she says to Leroy. She takes out her cell, opening it to reveal a text from Quinn.

'Something happened. Don't worry. Heading to Chicago early.'

She catches the time at the top of her phone. It's a little after 1:00 a.m., but she finds she's actually content. So she's stays and talks. Even if Sue is a little crazy, Will a little oblivious, and Hiram and Leroy a little loud. Because it's fun, and her superhero daughter is fine, and she is fine. And her and Quinn? They will be fine.

Quinn's eyes are beginning to get heavy, and her headache is back in full force. She pushes on through the night sky while unsuspecting citizens sleep on in their homes below. She doesn't think about her exhaustion. She just flies, a picture of Rachel holding steady in her mind. The fatigue isn't a problem until Brittany literally falls out of the sky.

Santana swoops down and catches her. Quinn pauses, hovering midair.

"Sorry," Brittany yawns in Santana's arms. "Thanks for catching me."

"Anytime," Santana smiles softly. Then, toward her, "Quinn we have to stop. You know we have to."

"We can keep going," Quinn says firmly.

"Quinn, come on!" Santana says, staring her down. "You're being ridiculous. It's 3:00 a.m.! We'll be no good to Rachel if we don't get a bit of rest!"

"We can keep going. But if you have to stop, stop. I'm going on."

"You'll be no good! Are you listening to me! No fucking good!"

"I'm listening Santana! Christ!" Quinn says.

"Shit Fabray, don't get all biblical on me—especially considering how much you used to shriek at me about using it," Santana says. "If you're listening, then you know we need to stop! And that includes you."

The thing is… Santana is not wrong. Their superpowers are exhausting on their bodies. The more they draw on them, the more energy they need. Food is good, and plenty of sleep is a must. Right now they've been up since 6:00 a.m., and, on top of everything else they've done today, they've been flying nonstop for the past two hours. It's no real surprise that Brittany just fell asleep. Flying is certainly fun, but it can be mindless too, like driving.

But she can push through. She knows she can.

"You'll be no used to her," Santana says. "Besides, you want to play hero with bags under your eyes? Rachel's not going to want to make out with you."

"I don't care! I just want her to be safe!" Quinn yells, her patience snapping entirely.

Well, she does care about the making out part. But, at the moment, her worry overrides anything else.

"Quinn, think for a moment," Brittany says tiredly. "Rachel would already be dead if they were going to kill her. Wewould probably be dead. They're not trying to kill her. There's not a time bomb set to go off. Not until Nationals anyway, and we have plenty of time until then. Jesse is not going to hurt her."

"Agreed. St. Douchebag is a douche but he's not a killer," Santana says.

"He kills baby chickens though," Brittany says, lightly. Her tone is completely different from just a second ago. "Which is another reason to beat him up!"

"Those kind of eggs didn't have chickens in them Brits," Santana says.

Quinn's whole body feels heavy. She feels weak. And she knows that can be fixed with some food and sleep. But she'll feel all the more weak for stopping. Rachel needs her.

"I can't stop," she says.

"Yes you can," Santana counters.

They're at a standstill, frozen midair in the cool spring night. She keeps her jaw tight, eyes hard. Show no weakness.

But her body is screaming at her. Now that she's merely hovering, she can feel the fatigue all the more. And…

They're right. It kills her, but they're right. She needs to rest. She'll be sloppy—useless—without it, and Rachel is depending on her. She can't just hope that she won't make a mistake. She has to be certain she won't, and without a little rest, she can't make that guarantee.

"We stop," Quinn gives in, shoulders slumping. "But only for a couple of hours."

Santana thankfully doesn't give her a hard time. Fortunately, they're near South Bend so a somewhat decent hotel is not too difficult to find. A swipe of Santana's "emergency" credit card (Quinn has seen Santana deem a lot of things an emergency before), a few strange looks from the receptionist working the night shift (who may or may not recognize them but definitely doesn't know what to think about them), and they're squared away.

Now that she's mentally accepted that she needs to rest, everything becomes kind of a blur. They more or less stumble to their room. Brittany and Santana claim the bed nearest to the door, and Quinn half walks, half floats to the other bed. She pulls the comforter off, but doesn't bother kicking off her boots. They're not here to get cozy…

Just a couple of hours of sleep…

She snaps awake with the blaring ring from the hotel phone, heart jumping into her throat. She takes a couple of calming breaths, willing away the shot of adrenaline coursing through her blood from being jolted awake. Sunlight peeks through the curtains, illuminating their generic lodging. The only bit of character in the room is a picture of Notre Dame Stadium hanging on the wall next to the TV. She catches the time, red and steady on the digital clock.

8:00 a.m..

8:00 a.m..

"Shit!" Quinn says, shooting out of bed. "Up! Let's go! We were supposed to be gone two hours ago!" Mumbled words come from the other bed, but Quinn rants on, incensed. "We told them a 6:00 a.m. wakeup! Why did they call at 8:00? You're freaking kidding me! I'm going to ruin them. Ruin them!"

"Quinn," Brittany says sharply, untangling herself from Santana. Quinn pauses in mid-rant, aware of the snarl playing across her lips. Brittany sits up and stretches her arms above her head. "They called at 6:00, but you didn't wake up, so I told them to call back at 8:00."

She bites down on the burn of rage inside her, clenching her teeth together. Her hands find their way to her head, fingers burrowing through mussed hair in irritation. But she maintains control.

Brittany meant well, and what she did was probably for the best, but it doesn't change the fact that Rachel is out there, scared and captive. Actually, she thinks, Rachel probably won't let anyone cow her. She's probably more worried about making it to Nationals than her own wellbeing. Rachel's got too much spirit and—Quinn's getting distracted. There will be plenty of time to think about Rachel after she's—they've—rescued her. An already unwanted stop has become hours worth of a layover, and all Quinn wants to do now is get going as soon as possible.

On cue, her stomach rumbles.

And get some food. She doesn't even care if the hotel has nothing but cardboard for breakfast. She'll eat it and get on her way.

If Santana and Brittany will ever get out of bed. At least Brittany is halfway up. Santana is only burying herself deeper into her pillow. Quinn yanks Santana out of the bed and is out into the hallway before she realizes what she's doing.

Thankfully, a sleepy Santana doesn't put up as much of a fight as an awake one would. Quinn half pulls, half carries her along, Brittany following behind, carrying her and Santana's boots that, unlike Quinn, they took off last night.

It isn't anything special, but the hotel's breakfast does the trick. They get some odd stares, and whispers echo around the breakfast room as guests try to figure out if they actually are the "Powerpuff Girls." A little part of Quinn cringes every time she hears the term. She swears they're going to have a new name once they get to New York. It is strange, though, hearing the whispers, feeling the stares. It must be how celebrities feel. Everyone is used to them in Lima so they don't get much of a reaction around town. At least not since they first received their powers, but those stares had been made more of fear than of awe. The few times that they've been out of Lima they've been busy crime fighting or in a group so they've never really experienced such a reception.

She broods as she eats, thoughts lingering on Rachel and praying she's okay. She's busy gulping down her watered-down orange juice as quickly as possible when she feels the presence at her side.

"A-Are you the Powerpuff Girls?" a small voice asks.

A little girl hovers next to their table, hands clasped behind her back. She teeters on her feet, looking down at the ground.

"Yes we are!" Brittany says cheerily.

"C-Can… Can I get your auto-autograph?" the child says, shoving out a piece of paper and a crayon. The paper is a coloring sheet, half scribbled in with reds and blues. She blushes prettily, ducking her head again.

Santana perks up from across the table. "No problem!"

The girl beams as Santana takes the paper and crayon, scrawling her name before handing it off to Brittany to do the same. Quinn scowls as it gets passed to her, and by chance catches the eye of the little girl. The child's eyes are big and hopeful. Quinn does her best to wipe the distaste off her face as she signs her name, small and neat, on the corner of the coloring sheet. She manages a tight smile as she hands it back to the girl.

"Thank you!" the girl cheers, raising the sheet above her head in victory, and dashing back to her parents. The parents wave at them, mouthing their thanks.

"Come on let's go," Quinn says standing. She marches out of the breakfast room without bothering to see if Santana and Brittany are following. They catch up to her as she checks out at the front desk. The employee stares at them unabashedly for a moment before jumping back into her task.

Santana is all smiles, blowing a kiss at the employee as they leave.

"What's got you so happy?" Quinn says.

"Just knowing that we gave our autograph out before Berry. She's going to freak when she finds out."

"You're such a bitch."

"And you know you love it."

Quinn rolls her eyes, but her spirits are already lifting. It's a clear morning, and the skies are a piercing blue. She's not happy, but she's hopeful. Determined. Rachel is waiting, and she'll save her.

"Let's fly," Quinn says. "Try to keep up."

"That won't be a problem," Brittany says cheerily.

"Want to give our adoring fans a show?" Santana says, gesturing with her head.

Quinn looks behind her, realizing a number of people are looking out the front doors of the hotel lobby and still more stare at them in the parking lot.

She smirks at her friends. And then they're off, streaming pink, blue, and green, and a faint whoop of excitement echoing behind them.

Everything seems so much more promising in the light of day. She's still desperate to get to Rachel, but she's not as terrified at what might await her when they arrive. The world buzzes with life beneath them, and they're flying low enough to see individual characteristics of people hurrying about their day. Occasionally, they get a reaction—clusters of people stopping and staring, traffic holding off just a little bit longer after a light turns green.

Quinn can't help but let her thoughts stray to the future. Is this what it'll be like patrolling New York? Hopefully, of course, without Rachel being in danger. She's excited about what awaits them, and she feels more than ready. Assuming that everything goes well today.

They seem to cover the miles much faster than they did the night before. They hit Lake Michigan in no time, skidding across the water. Brittany squeals, diving down, grazing her hand against the water and leaving a white, frothing wake. Quinn knows that it would fastest to travel northwest, but she worries about losing her bearings over the water so they keep Indiana land visible on their left. It's not too much longer before the shore starts to curve north, leading to the city of Chicago gleaming bright and silver in the distance.

Quinn pulls up as they enter into the space above the breakwater near Navy Pier. She reaches down and loosens the strap on her boot to grab her phone. She pulls up Tina's text, finding the address and plugs it into the GPS. Unfortunately there is no "flying" option for mode of travel so she sticks with vehicles.

She studies the route. The address is along the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal, and a bit more searching reveals it's an industrial stretch. Regardless, it won't be long now.

I'm almost there Rachel.

And they're flying again. Brittany and Santana wordlessly follow, and tension flows a little thicker as they close in on their destination. Quinn repeatedly checks the GPS on her phone, and when her blue dot hits the end marker, she lands.

The area is sparsely populated with a few cars. It's impossible to tell if they are abandoned or merely parked, but there's no sign of actual life on the premises. The pavement beneath her feet is cracked, and weed and grass grow in spades. But what demands her attention is the giant, graffiti-covered warehouse resting next to the canal, and the black stamped letters across the large doors that read "Mojo JJ, Inc."

Quinn strides toward the warehouse, assessing their potential strategies. She eyes the doors, thinking and hoping that Rachel waits just beyond. Her gaze floats up to the windows opened near the roof of the warehouse. That might be a better point entry. Just because they can fight, doesn't mean they have to.

"What do you guys think? Should we take the direct route or maybe go unannounced?"

Santana shrugs. "Whatever."

"You decide. I'm just here for backup, and for remembering the story of how you finally told Rachel you love her," Brittany says.

"Brittany, I'm not going—it's hardly the time," Quinn says, struggling to keep the blush off her cheeks. It's one thing to be teased by Santana. It's another thing entirely for Brittany to make suggestions that she literally means.

"Are we going to go in and demand they give Berry back or what?" Santana says as Quinn fidgets.

"Yes," Quinn says with a bite. "We'll take the windows up there."

Quinn floats upward silently. She reaches the height of the window and peaks in. It's fairly dark inside—there are only a couple windows and none of the lights are on—but she can make out a ground floor and a lofted catwalk and pathway that travels on into the darkness. Shadowy objects rest on the ground floor, but what immediately grabs her attention is a light shining some ways down the warehouse, level with the catwalk. It looks to be coming from an office, looming in the center over the rest of the warehouse.

She pushes inside after gesturing to Brittany and Santana to follow, a faint sound meeting her ears. She strains to make it out. It's a single masculine voice, and as she draws closer, she realizes it's singing a melody. She sticks alongside the warehouse walls, staying in the shadows and hoping to mask her approach as long as possible.

She begins to make out the lyrics as the voice projects out of the office. "Sing once again with me our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet."

The voice abruptly cuts off as she closes in toward the office. She freezes, wondering if they've been spotted, but it speaks with annoyance a second later.

"Come on Rachel, just one duet before I go meet up with the rest of Vocal Adrenaline. It's an appropriate choice of song too," Jesse says. She can just make out the top of his head through the solitary window from her angle.

And then Rachel's voice, indignant and strong, and Quinn's heart thumps with relief and hope in her chest, "I'm not singing with you Jesse."

Quinn can't help but smile.

"I'll even skip toward the end so you just come in with that operatic Christine part I know you love," Jesse continues. He audibly clears his throat. "And in this labyrinth, where night is blind! The Phantom of the Opera is here…inside your mind! Sing my Angel of Music!"

Quinn continues floating silently toward the office door, wary of announcing her presence too soon. Santana and Brittany hover just behind her.

"I'm not singing," Rachel says.

Quinn creeps onward, reaching the edge of the window. And slowly, very slowly, she angles herself to peer through it.

Rachel sits, tied to a chair. Her hair is mussed and she looks tired, but she seems unharmed. She's still so incredibly beautiful that it makes Quinn's heart ache. She breathes a sigh of relief, and then tenses up again, ready to spring into action. Rachel's just within reach.

"Okay, one last try before I really do have to go. Don't worry, a friend of Vocal Adrenaline will be keeping you company. Now you know you can't resist! Our voices harmonize perfectly," Jesse says. He sits in an office chair in front of old computer equipment. Dusty boxes litter the floor.

Quinn sucks in a breath, raising a hand to signal to Brittany and Santana. Then, multiple things happen at once.

"Quinn!" Brittany's voice shouts.

"Quinn?" comes Rachel's hopeful echo.

She hears twin shrieks of pain as a blast of energy bullets into Santana and Brittany, sending them flying into the warehouse wall.

And she catches out of the corner of her eye a figure, moving at impossible speed just as it slams into her.

Chapter Text

Quinn is hit with what she imagines is like the force of a speeding train. Her back slams into the wall of the warehouse, metal giving way to her body as she's pinned there. She'd be dead if her body was normal. But even so, it's hard to breathe, and she knows she's badly bruised.

She growls away the pain, focusing on her attacker. Another robot. While humanoid in shape, this one lacks the fake skin and hair of the Vocal Adrenaline robots to hide its true nature. It's nothing but sleek metal smoothly pieced together and gleaming artificial light where eyes should be. It keeps a limb pressed into her, holding her against the wall. The other is pulled back slightly, and Quinn recognizes the hum of an energy weapon charging.

She unleashes the power behind her eyes before it can act, temporarily turning the world a reddish pink. The force is enough to give her breathing room, and she swings a fist, smashing into the robot. It goes spinning off her, crashing into the bottom of the warehouse.

She gulps in a relieved breath. Then shouts, "Rachel!"

"Quinn! Here! In here!" Rachel's voice echoes back, and she's so close. But Quinn takes a moment to scan the warehouse, searching for Santana and Brittany…

…And feels her stomach bottom out at the sight below.

Her eyesight has adjusted enough to make out the shapes on the floor. It also certainly helps her figure out what those shapes are when she sees unnatural lights springing to life, marking the presence of hundreds of robots.

"Shit."

"Try fuck," Santana says as her and Brittany rise into the sky to hover beside her, no worse for the wear. "Those things pack a wallop."

"You two okay?" Quinn says.

"Just pissed off," Santana says.

"It's definitely a good thing I talked to Lord Tubbington about what to do in the event of a robot invasion," Brittany says sagely. Her hands are on her hips, and she calmly surveys the scene.

"Quinn, what's—Jesse stop!" Rachel's voice comes. The only thing keeping Quinn from rushing in there is the exasperation in Rachel's voice.

"Look Q, you get Berry out of here okay. We'll hold them off. Take her somewhere safe and then come back," Santana says.

Before Quinn can answer, the lights to the whole warehouse flicker on, and a shrill voice shrieks, "I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT IS AN ADVISABLE COURSE OF ACTION AND SUCH A COURSE OF ACTION IS NOT ADVISABLE I BELIEVE!"

"What. The. Fuck." Santana says disbelieving, and Quinn is inclined to agree with her reaction.

Standing in the middle of the warehouse, on top of a robot similar to the one that Jesse originally kidnapped Rachel in, is a young woman. She strikes a pose, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a large gun like object, lips pursed petulantly. Her dark hair flows dramatically behind her despite the lack of air circulating in the warehouse. She's maybe a couple of years older than them, but Quinn can't really determine for certain as her skin has a slight green tint and her eyes a faint purplish color. But the strangest thing of all—and what probably garnered Santana's reaction—is that she wears the familiar WMHS cheerleading uniform.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Santana says. A sneer plays across her lips. "And why the hell are you repeating yourself?"

"I am not repeating myself! I do no such repeating! But my name is Jojo! I shall tell you a story and you shall listen. You shall listen to my story as I tell it. Then, as my next course of action, I will destroy you."

"I think I remember you!" Brittany says. "You were a Cheerio when we started our freshman year!"

"Yes!" Jojo says, and she does a little fist pump. "I give you my sincerest thanks! But you shall still listen to my story!"

"Uh, no thanks. Can we just stick to the fighting part?" Quinn says. "I'd rather just go ahead and kick your ass, get Rachel, and get out of here."

"No! You shall listen or I will destroy that office and the loudmouth girl with my superpowered supersonic canon," Jojo says, pointing the rather large gun toward the office. "I do not enjoy your presence, but I will have you hear my story or the loudmouthed girl will be destroyed along with the office."

"Not buying it. St. James is still in there," Quinn says, inching forward.

"I do not care for him," Jojo says. "His locks are a distraction."

"Whoa, let's not get hasty!" Jesse calls out from the office.

Jojo ignores him and casts a dark look toward Quinn, a smirk stretching across her face. Quinn licks her lips nervously, furtively glancing toward the office as Jojo's finger begins to clench across the trigger.

"Alright fine," Quinn says, spitting the words out between her teeth. She's not going to risk it, and she's not going to charge in or use her laser vision when thatbitch could still get a shot off before she hits her. She'll listen to whatever stupid story she has to for Rachel to stay safe. "Let's hear it."

"I was not always like this," Jojo says. "My appearance used to be quite different. In truth, I possessed skin that was pale, eyes of blue, and hair that was blonde. You see, I am different in appearance from what I once was. I was also, it is my vague understanding, lacking of intelligence. I currently possess great intelligence. Intelligence of such magnitude that you should tremble. Tremble! For my intelligence is currently great! But in that time that has since past, I ruled the William McKinley High School. I was Coach Sylvester's chosen one. The chosen one was me."

Quinn blinks in surprise, faint memories of the Cheerios captain from her freshman year flitting across her mind. She remembers, images and sounds fleeting like a stone skipped across water briefly leaves a ripple in its wake. Nothing particularly permanent, but something still there. And she is pretty sure that the captain then was called Jojo and that she was filthy rich from her father's software empire. What she was doing in Lima when her family had that kind of money, Quinn has no idea.

"Holy shit if she repeats one more thing I'm going to strangle a bitch," Santana mutters.

Brittany shushes her. "San, you know I like stories."

"I may not have been fully evil then, but I am now! I am the evilest supervillian in existence! There is no one more evil than I! But that was not always the case! No! Coach Sylvester lost all interest in me once you three appeared! And once you got your powers, I was left in the dust. Figuratively. Because Coach Sylvester does not care for dust, and I remember having to dust her trophies many times alongside others bearing the uniform. So one night, when she was late at school with you three, I snuck into her home and found the last vestiges of Chemical X! I found the last vestiges of Chemical X because of you three. I spent years building my robot army, and then my interests matched with the show choir of Vocal Adrenaline. You've done well so far, but now is you're your downfall! You're nothing but incompetent girls, and I am an evil genius! I built these robots with my evil genius, and you are incompetent!"

"Is that the best insult you got? Because if you want to throw those down, I'm more than willing to go," Santana says.

"You insult my insulting!"

"Damn right I do! You're a loser still wearing a cheerleading uniform out of high school. And you're green! Are you sure you wanna go because I could insult you in my sleep?"

"Quinn, go," Brittany whispers as Jojo begins to rail back at Santana. Quinn nods, slinking a little to the side in hopes that the self-proclaimed supervillian won't immediately notice her approach when she charges. As much hot air as Jojo seems to have, Santana should keep her occupied. She'll have to thank Santana for the distraction later.

She hovers, weighing the repercussions of a physical charge versus just using her laser vision. She settles on the physical charge—if something goes wrong, at least her body will be there to distract Jojo from firing on the office. She breathes deeply, knowing once she goes; there will be no more hesitating. And then, just as Jojo opens her mouth to retort again, Quinn charges.

She's colliding into Jojo before the villain knows what's happening, sending them from the top of robot to the ground. The sonic gun goes spinning out of her grip, and Quinn is flooded with relief that Rachel is out of immediate danger. Her relief last no longer than a heartbeat as Jojo manages to unleash a scream of rage as they hit the ground. "Attack!"

Around her, the robots hum into activity, and Quinn, on instinct, shoots upwards, leaving Jojo behind on the floor. Robots lunge into the space she just vacated, crashing into each other and on top of Jojo's body instead. Quinn winces at the sound, but doubts that's the last of the "supervillain." (A Coach Sylvester lesson: never assume an opponent has been dealt with unless you've personally dismembered or restrained them, and even then you just never know. Sometimes Quinn thinks Coach is insane and paranoid, but she's seen enough movies to know she can't let her guard down around villains.) She has no more time to dwell on Jojo's fate, however, as the warehouse has turned into a deathtrap. The buzz and hum of electricity and machines pervade the air, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she sees the multitude of glowing eyes settle on her.

Protect Rachel—is the only thought she has.

It's the only thing that matters.

Santana and Brittany will be fine. And she will be fine as long as Rachel is.

She finds herself staring down the robots, daring them to approach the office, daring them to challenge her—before realizing exactly how worthless that is. Quinn knows she has a wicked glare, but she doubts a bunch of wires and electric impulses appreciate it. She settles for making her glare deadly instead, reddish pink coloring her vision and sizzling through the metal of the nearest robot. She loses herself in the fight as the robots come, a veritable mountain of them. She punches and kicks. Flies and charges. Her body is a weapon.

Her body is a shield.

For not one robot gets close to the office.

When the waves finally stop, Quinn is exhausted and bruised, but Rachel is safe.

She catches Brittany and Santana's eyes—they look just as exhausted and beat-up as she feels and at their collective nod, she swoops into the office, Rachel's name playing across her lips.

Words die in her mouth instead. The office is empty. A door is open on the other side. Quinn's hands clench into fists.

"Quinn… She can't be far," Brittany says from behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"The freak isn't out here," Santana calls. "The big robot is still here though."

Quinn deflates. It doesn't matter if that robot is there. The one Jesse piloted has to be somewhere too, and there could be any number of others. Failure—

"Stop that," Brittany says, immediately halting her thoughts. The hand on Quinn's shoulder squeezes tightly. "Jesse was still in here. You were awesome Quinn."

She breathes and then turns around to see Brittany's soft smile. She could have been better. She should have been better. But this just means she'll have to work harder. "Let's go!"

She moves past Brittany and catches Santana's nod. Without any more hesitating, she shoots off toward the window they first entered in and back into the day. She quickly climbs into the sky for a vantage point, feeling Santana and Brittany at her back. She pauses a few hundred feet in the air, scanning the land below. As the seconds tick by, her heart grows heavier, but she doesn't have to wait for long.

Right below them, a black SUV pulls out from the warehouse and onto the street, tires squealing tread marks in its wake. "Girls?"

"Oh yeah, I see it," Santana says, and Quinn can hear the smirk in her voice.

They take off, and the wind roars in Quinn's ears as they quickly close in on the black SUV. It turns onto a more populated highway, merging with traffic. It's definitely a Range Rover, and it's definitely Jesse's. Without slowing, Quinn points to each side of the SUV. Brittany and Santana zip slightly to the side and ahead, flying alongside the Range Rover. Quinn flies straight over its roof, and hovers just above, making sure Brittany and Santana are ready.

"Now!" Quinn shouts over the wind and highway traffic.

And the SUV begins to fly.

Assisted by Brittany and Santana of course.

Before Jesse can realize what's going on, Quinn lands forcefully on the hood of the SUV. She makes sure to hit with enough force to dent the hood and maybe even do some internal damage to the vehicle, Quinn looks up and stares into the vehicle. Jesse is frantically jerking the wheel back and forth to no effect, eyes wide and panicky. Rachel is nowhere to be seen.

Quinn punches through the windshield as Brittany and Santana raise the Range Rover up far enough into the sky to pull to a halt without endangering traffic below. She reaches forward and grabs the collar of Jesse's shirt.

"Where is she?" she hisses.

"Jojo took her! I swear! Look, Vocal Adrenaline has a deal with her company Mojo JJ, Inc in hopes of fielding a perfect, robotic show choir! But everything was her idea! Everything!" Jesse says, spurting out words as quickly as possible.

"Where is she?" Quinn says, bringing him within inches of her own face. She sparks the powerful energy hiding behind her gaze, knowing he'll be able to see traces of it swirling in her eyes.

"She took her! I swear it! She got in the robot I brought her here in and took off!"

"Which direction?"

"Toward downtown! I promise! She said—she said it—she'll make you guys pay! She's got some serious issues with you Fabray!"

Quinn sneers and releases him. Jesse slumps back into his seat and then sits up, straightening his shirt. She jumps off the hood, hovering in front of the SUV. "Your call girls!"

"Wait! No—don't let Santana—" Jesse begins with panic, but his words turn into screech as Brittany and Santana (well probably Santana) literally throw the Range Rover into the air.

"You guys going to catch that?" Quinn asks casually, eyes following the slowing ascent of Jesse and his SUV.

Santana purses her lips, hands on her hips. "Yeah, I figure. We're not the bad guys."

"Besides, I like him," Brittany says, and smiles as both Quinn and Santana give her confused looks. "He's funny!"

Santana scowls and races upwards, meeting the Range Rover and catching it with ease. Quinn watches with Brittany as she places Jesse's vehicle down none too lightly beside the highway. They float over in time to hear—"I'm not kicking your ass now because it will be so much more satisfying to see you cry when we beat you tomorrow!"

Quinn crosses her arms and smirks as Santana turns around.

"What?" Santana spits. "Don't give me that shit. You like glee too! And losing to us at Nationals will mean much more than just kicking his ass. Now let's go track down your girl."

Quinn nods, and takes off into the sky. She faintly hears Brittany giving Jesse a cordial farewell and smiles. Downtown Chicago gleams bright with promise in the distance, and, with a general direction to follow, it shouldn't take much to track down Jojo. Not when she's piloting a large robot. Not when Quinn can already make out sirens in the distance.

Why Jojo decided to flee downtown and what she planned, Quinn doesn't know. What she does know is that this is it. She's getting Rachel back.

She'll kick Jojo's ass and rescue Rachel. She'll apologize and beg forgiveness for that stupid fight they had.

And maybe she'll even ask Rachel if she can stay with her always. Her stomach flips at the thought. That is by far the scariest and hardest task left for her.

"What are you even doing? You could have just escaped without kidnapping me further, and I could have convinced them to let you go. I'll have you know that Quinn is coming for me. And you should know that she is very talented and very strong and very attractive—fast—very fast. I feel very comfortable putting my life in her hands—"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

"I don't think I will. I demand answers!"

Jojo, already disheveled looking, seems close to pulling her hair out, and Rachel works to keep the smile off her face. It's good acting practice. "Ugh—fine!" Jojo says slamming her hands against the controls and sending an arm of the robot swinging into a police car.

Rachel doesn't have to work to keep the smile off her face now. Her heart drops, worried for the police officer inside. Maybe she shouldn't keep goading someone who is clearly unbalanced.

"I am orchestrating a show. It's a show orchestrated by me," Jojo says. "I want to put them in their place! I want the whole world to see me humiliate them! Then, and only then, will vengeance be mine! My vengeance and their humiliation, this is what I want!"

"Well you've certainly got people's attention," Rachel says. Her hands are tied behind her back, but Jojo didn't bother to restrain her against anything like Jesse did. She could attack Jojo…maybe. But not only does the villain have a height and weight advantage (and, okay, that's not entirely difficult given her size), she has one of her fancy weapons in her lap, and there's no way Rachel can get to it with her hands bound behind her back. So for now, she's waiting, biding her time. But she's not going to just depend on Quinn to be her hero. She can save herself if the opportunity arises thank you very much. Though Quinn makes for a very dashing heroine…

She is thankful that she can stand at least. She can see everything going on instead of just the sky like she could when she was sitting and restrained under Jesse's capture. So right now she can see they're in the middle of downtown Chicago, and Jojo is marching the giant robot through the streets, not caring about the fleeing citizens below.

They are quickly approaching the end of a block, and Rachel feels her breath hitch as police cars and officers close in at the intersection in an attempt to make a blockade. She's not worried about her safety, but rather theirs. Bullets bounce harmlessly off the robot's shell, including the glass windshield. She easily concludes that whatever glass it is, it's definitely not normal.

Her conclusion is only reinforced as a helicopter flies overhead, and a strafe of bullets is wasted in trying to penetrate the robot.

Jojo laughs. "I gave St. James a crash course in operating my creation. But he was an inferior pilot. I am capable and inferior is he. I can conquer Chicago, the world, the Powerpuff Girls in my creation. My creation conquers all!"

"You clearly lack rational thought. You might be able to handle a police force, but what about an army? And you certainly can't win versus Quinn, Brittany, and Santana."

Jojo looks over her shoulder at her, and Rachel feels a chill sweep down her spine. "Is that so loudmouth girl? Well, how about this?"

Jojo quickly presses a button, and adjust some controls. One of the robot's arms moves forward, its elbow joint locking to hold it straight. She hears the hum of energy and sees the police fleeing the intersection. Rachel knows they're not nearly fast enough and her breath catches in horror.

But a pink blur zips in front of the robot, swooping down from the sky, and colliding with the arm just in time to send it jerking off target. Energy explodes harmlessly against the empty asphalt of the road and concrete of the sidewalk. Rachel breathes in relief, just as her heart beats frantically in her chest at knowingQuinn is there.

This time, she can't keep the smile off her face as Quinn floats in front of the robot. She's in a short, form-fitting pink dress with a darker slash under her breasts. Boots climb up her calves, accentuating her figure all the more. She stares icily into the cockpit, gaze locked onto Jojo. But Rachel swears Quinn's eyes flicker to her for just a moment, her facade lightening with it, before resettling back into her glare.

Quinn is otherworldly. Not just because she can fly or claim super strength either. Quinn is beautiful and troubled, but she is also good. And Rachel loves her. She knows that. Because she thinks about Quinn. Because her gaze lingers on Quinn. Because she wants to connect with Quinn. Because she's happy just being near her, but her heart lodges somewhere in her throat anytime Quinn touches her.

And because wow…people don't want to do the things she's thinking about to anyone who is merely a friend.

"It's time to stop this madness. Release Rachel. Go home. And I won't tear you limb from limb," Quinn says resolutely.

And wow…okay. That sent all the right kinds of shivers down Rachel's spine (even if she doesn't believe in violence).

So focused on Quinn, she isn't even quite sure when Santana and Brittany arrived. But they're there now in matching dresses of green and blue respectively. Along with being aesthetically pleasing, Rachel finds that the uniforms add a certain… legitimacy to their front. They really look like a team of superheroes now.

"I still claim the advantage Quinn," Jojo says spitting Quinn's name. "The advantage is mine. I have the loudmouth girl. I have a robot designed with my genius. My genius, which is very brilliant! And you are but flesh that can bruise and bleed. Does my robot bruise and bleed? That may be a difficult question for you to answer so I will tell you that no, my robot does not bruise and bleed. Humans do bruise and bleed even when they have superpowers!"

Brittany says something inaudible, and Santana breaks into a full-blown laugh, while a smile quirks across Quinn's lips.

"What!" Jojo sputters, enraged. "What are you laughing at?"

The robot goes lurching forward, nearly sending Rachel tumbling off balance without the benefit of grabbing anything to stabilize herself. One of the arms swats forward, but Quinn, Brittany, and Santana easily dodge, and resettle in front of the robot. Rachel can see the police behind them, cheering them on. She looks around their surroundings as much as she can from inside the cockpit, and smiles as she sees citizens standing in the windows of buildings, encouraging her friends.

"Really, is that all you got?" Santana smirks.

"No, it is not all that I got! In fact, I would like to thank you for reminding me exactly what I can do in my creation!" Jojo says, fiddling with the controls.

Quinn quickly sends Santana a glare, but then Rachel is distracted by a new humming noise in cockpit.

And blasts of energy blaze forward, originating from somewhere around the shoulders of the robot. Quinn, Brittany, and Santana scatter, and suddenly it becomes much harder to keep up with anything.

Jojo is much better at operating this thing than Jesse was. Now that the villain is not reacting with blind anger, the robot moves impossibly fast, bounding and jumping, twisting and turning. It doesn't take long before Rachel is tossed off her feet. On the floor, stunned, with the wind knocked out of her, she tries to make sense of the world again. Slowly, she recovers. It doesn't help that the robot jerks and rocks continuously as the fight wages on. It's hard to get back up as the movement continues, much like a thrill ride at a theme park—but with much more at stake—and she still can't use her hands to help.

Pink, green, and blue keep flashing overhead, as Rachel tries to understand her friends' tactics—well hopefully, after all this, Quinn won't be classified as merely a friend. After all, Rachel can really appreciate the drama of getting together with Quinn after this harrowing experience—but this isn't the time to fantasize, Rachel thinks, scolding herself. Santana and Brittany stay farther back, harassing Jojo and the robot with quick charges, but Quinn keeps approaching the cockpit. She gets close enough, hovering just outside that Rachel can make out the determination in her eyes before she once again has to dart away in a dodge.

Quinn darts inside the swinging arms and energy blasts again, and this time, their eyes meet. Rachel's chest tightens as Quinn nods at her, her eyes soft and betraying all the manner of emotion. Quinn reaches out, running a hand over the cockpit glass, toward the edge where it seamlessly meets the metal panels of the robot's body. For a second, Rachel wants to reach forward too—she really appreciates the drama of trying to touch the one she loves only to be kept separated by a barrier—but then she registers what Quinn is trying to do.

Brittany and Santana are trying to keep Jojo distracted long enough for Quinn to figure out a way to break into the cockpit. With a thrill, she realizes she can help as Quinn levels punch and then a lasered glare into the window to no avail. Quinn is then forced to dodge away as twin energy blasts explode together in the space she just vacated.

Rachel saw Jesse open up cockpit when they first arrived at Jojo's proclaimed Mojo JJ, Inc headquarters. (She was not very impressed with the headquarters being in a derelict warehouse next to the canal, but she supposes that's what you have to do when running what is probably an illegal operation. Besides, the products speak for themselves. Rachel's never seen anything like Jojo's robots so there is some truth in the claims to genius.) It's nothing more than a simple lever, parallel to Jojo's seat, that releases the cockpit window from the metal body. The problem is… She has to raise her arms to get to it. With her arms tied behind her back, it makes her task much more difficult. Unfortunately, she's not one of those people who can dislocate her shoulders at will (and secretly being able to do that would kind of gross her out). She'll just have to get creative.

She struggles to her feet as the robot moves, awkwardly balancing herself using her body and shoulder against one of the side panels. She keeps against the panel as she moves forward, closing the distance to the lever, and hoping Jojo stays distracted enough with the battle until Rachel can get the cockpit open.

As she readies herself to attempt to pull the lever, she sees Quinn draw up at her bulleting approach, no doubt noticing her actions. Quinn then darts away, her pink form streaking around the robot, but staying near, no doubt waiting for Rachel to do something. Thankfully, the lever is nothing more than a simple pull-down mechanism.

… And it's a good thing she's fractionally as good of a dancer as she is vocalist and has recently taken up yoga.

She balances on her left leg, hoping the robot won't pitch violently and send her tumbling off balance. She wonders if she's imagining Quinn's eyes on her, ready and waiting to charge in as soon as the cockpit is open. Rachel raises her right leg, higher and higher, trying to go as quickly as possible, but also trying to maintain stability. So much can go wrong—a sudden movement, Jojo noticing, anything really. But then her leg is above the lever, and her foot hooks over the top. She pulls down with her foot, and several things happen at once.

There's a hiss as the cockpit glass disengages from the metal body.

Jojo turns to her, screeching something incomprehensible.

And Rachel falls, heart leaping into her throat as her body instinctually panics, realizing she can't brace itself with her arms.

She grunts as she slams into the floor of the cockpit, hitting Jojo's pilot chair on the way down, but gets no time to recover as hands aggressively latch under her armpits and haul her upright. She feels cool metal pressing against her temple and, with a start, realizes that the metal more than likely belongs to the gun that had previously been sitting in Jojo's lap. She swallows, soundly aware of the blood coursing through her veins and the pounding in her head.

There's a grating screech of metal being torn away, and Rachel looks up to see Quinn grip the cockpit windshield and yank it completely off. She tosses it away, leaving it to clatter uselessly to the road, teeth bared in a snarl. "Let her go."

"And you and your friends indicate that I am insane. You are clearly insane, and I am clearly sane. I will not let go of the loudmouth girl, and you will not attack me—"

A thud of impact, and her world tumbles forward. Jojo shrieks and scrambles as her grip loosens, but it's too late as the robot pitches forward, off-balance. Asphalt careens toward her, ready to crush her body on impact and Rachel forgets to breathe. Everything seems slow. She knows it's anything but.

Her feet lose their purchase.

A zip of lasers zooms over her shoulder.

Jojo wails.

The asphalt, cracked and broken, looms in a dark expanse.

Wind rushes through her hair

Then she's warm and secure.

"I got you. I got you. I got you," a voice, soft and husky, breathes into her ear, drowning out all sound of the giant robot crashing into the ground.

And she's flying, arms supporting her under her shoulders and knees and pressed tightly against a lithe body. She looks up into Quinn's eyes and throws her arms around her neck.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says, even as her grip tightens, "I'm so sorry—"

"Quinn—"

"I'm sorry about my part in our fight. I'm sorry about taking so long to get to you. I'm sorry you got hurt. I'm so sorry—"

"Quinn!" Rachel interjects more forcefully. Quinn's mouth promptly shuts, but her gaze falls away. "I'm fine. Thank you for saving me, and—and—I'm sorry too. About our fight. But that's all you have to be sorry for. Quinn, you… you saved me. You were worried about me."

"Of course I was worried about you!" Quinn nearly sputters. Then she draws a breath, her voice nearly breaking over her next words. "Rachel, you are so important to me. I'll always do everything I can to help protect you."

Quinn's eyes are dark and sincere, and, in this moment, Rachel's never been so sure of anything as she is in her love for Quinn Fabray.

It's amazing how far they've come.

"I thought I outfitted myself fairly well given my lack of superpowers today," Rachel says.

"You did," Quinn says. "You were amazing getting the cockpit open."

"But, I'm not entirely opposed to keeping you around. You would be very good at warding off stalkers once I become famous."

"Rachel, can I… Can I—"

"Q!" Santana's voice interjects loudly, and Rachel startles. She didn't necessarily forget about Brittany and Santana—they were no doubt the source that toppled the robot over—but Quinn so consumes her attention. "Unless you want to give everyone a show, I suggest you fly somewhere private!"

Quinn colors, and Rachel finally notices the world around them. Police are scrambling through the damaged block, securing the area. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people peer from the buildings around them and the street below. There's a buzz of a helicopter overhead, white news vans are parked amidst the police cars. And she hovers above them all (well except for the helicopter) in Quinn's grasp.

"Perhaps we should vacate—" Rachel begins.

"Let me know if you want me to let you down at any time," Quinn says, and then they take off.

Quinn maintains a gentle speed, and despite the ground, so far below, Rachel feels safe. She burrows impossibly closer, soaking in Quinn. They climb higher into the sky, and soon they are level with only one building. Rachel giggles and waves at the gaping tourists on the observation deck as they pass by.

Quinn lands on top of the Willis Tower. She gently places Rachel's feet down, but keeps her arms secured around her. She is grateful for the support. They're so high, and there's nothing to stop her from tumbling off. Granted, she's absolutely positive Quinn would catch her in the event such a thing happened, but it doesn't stop the fluttering in her stomach…

Which only picks up as Quinn stares at her, her features, normally so composed, soft and emotive and impassioned.

"It's funny, despite these powers, I've been such a coward for so long," Quinn says, bringing a hand to gently cup Rachel's cheek.

And Rachel can't stop herself from leaning into it. "You're anything but a coward, Quinn. I've been…slow to recognize my true feelings. Needless to say, I'm exceeding glad we'll both be in New York this—"

And then Quinn is kissing her, lips sliding together effortlessly. It's warm and soft, and everything she ever wanted. She's sure her heart is going to burst in her chest, and she's more than okay with it. She shivers even though she's warm everywhere. She's never had a kiss quite like this. She melts. And when Quinn nips at her bottom lip, Rachel tightens her grip, and she's the one to slip her tongue into the kiss first. Quinn sort of sighs, giving way to her, and Rachel is certain she'll be happy kissing Quinn Fabray the rest of her life.

She pulls back—eventually, reluctantly—and Quinn whispers, "Stay with me."

Rachel looks at her—the wind playing with her hair, the sun reflecting in her eyes, and the promise of something remarkable in the upwards turn of her lips—and the only possible answer that Rachel can give is always.

…But that might be a little much for right after their first kiss, even if she's sure of it, so she says "yes" instead.

Quinn smiles, and it's beautiful.

"Thank you for coming for me," Rachel says. "I admit, it was harrowing at times, but I always thought you would come after me so thank you for proving me right."

"You don't have to thank me for that," Quinn says. "Though, I imagine Coach Sylvester will find something lackluster about my performance so I do appreciate hearing it."

"She works you three much too hard," Rachel says disapprovingly.

"It's for the best. We're definitely ready for New York. I'm not sure if New York is ready for you though."

"New York won't know what hit it. But first we need to get through Nationals—and, oh my, Nationals is tomorrow! Quinn!"

"Relax," Quinn says, "It's tomorrow. We have plenty of time till then."

Quinn's right, she realizes, her panic subsiding as quick as it came. She casts a glance at Quinn, smiling coyly. "I think we can stay occupied until then."

"Yeah?" Quinn says breathily.

"Yes," Rachel leans up to say in Quinn's ear. Then she falls back onto her heels and gives her a serious look. "Though I do have to spend some time practicing, and tonight I have to follow my pre-performance routine!"

Quinn laughs, "I think we can work that in."

Will's cell phone rings, startling him from his daze—nearly a nap—at the front of the bus. He scrambles for it.

"H-Hello?" his voice rasps.

"William! What did I tell you?" comes a familiar voice.

"Sue?" he says askance.

"What? Have you finally put in so much hair gel that it's caused you early onset dementia?"

Yeah, it's definitely Sue. "Get to the point, Sue."

"I was just calling to inform you that my girls have successfully rescued the Berry girl so it appears your club might have it's two percent chance of winning back."

"Oh wow! That's great!" Will exclaims. He turns around, looking at his students messing around in the back of the bus. "Hey guys! Quinn, Brittany, and Santana rescued Rachel!"

"We already know Mr. Schuester," Kurt says dryly, holding up his phone. "It's all over the news!"

"Well great! Sue, you were right about them," he says back into the phone.

"Of course I was right!"

"Thanks for calling and telling me," Will says sincerely.

"Now I need you to say that catchphrase I taught you. Go on, you remember it."

Will sighs, but then smiles, happy. "So once again, the day is saved, thanks to... the Powerpuff Girls!"

End