|Reach Out to the Truth
Author: Bvv31389 PM
Persona 4/Glee crossover. Quinn clenched her jaw and her fists. She was the modern day Sherlock Freaking Holmes and some impostor who had stolen her face was not going to reduce her to a whimpering mess with her weird mind games.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Quinn F. & Rachel B. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 6,503 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 7 - Updated: 12-05-10 - Published: 11-15-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6479330
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N : A big thank you to cressdreiser, who gave me the idea for this, made a manip of Quinn wearing Naoto's hat for inspiration (link in my profile), and agreed to be my brain-buddy and beta reader. This is going to be a two-parter, but I'm not sure when the next part will be up. First part is an angstfest of epic proportions, but the second part should be fluffier.
Quinn didn't know where she was, how she got there, or (and she was angriest at herself for that) who kidnapped her. She remembered opening her apartment's door, and then a chloroform-smelling cloth being pressed against her mouth and nose, and the next time she opened her eyes she was in this room.
The slight feeling of satisfaction she had felt at the relative success of her plan to set herself up for abduction to expose the serial murderer had dissipated after she had taken a look around. She was in a large room with high, stained glass windows, rows of pews, pillars, and what looked like an altar at the front of the room. It reminded her all too much of a church, and it made uneasiness bloom in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't been to church in years.
A strange, thick fog was drifting around the room, impairing her vision and making her somewhat dizzy if she breathed in too deep. There was only one door that seemed to be locked from the outside. Even Quinn's best lock-picking skills were useless. She was effectively trapped inside, and her uneasiness grew. This was an unexpected setback, and she was suddenly grateful for the comforting weight of the Derringer pistol in her ankle holster. It had taken great pains for her to legally own one in Ohio despite her age, but her line of work and the perilous situations it put her in had been a strong enough argument to sway a judge. Twelve hours of training and a few tests later she was armed.
She turned back around and swept her eyes around the room once more. She had spent enough time training her observational skills that she knew she had not missed anything, but there was little else to do. She was fairly convinced that the group of teenagers she suspected were involved in this affair would find her eventually, probably sweeping in dramatically like heroes on a rescue mission. They were just kids, but if her conclusions were accurate (and they usually were) they had been the ones to save all the other victims. Regardless of any romantic illusions they had of themselves, she could give them that.
She took a few steps towards the front of the room, the sounds of her footsteps reverberating against the walls and ceiling seeming strangely enhanced by the sheer silence of the place, and stopped cold. A chill had suddenly gone down her spine, and a bizarre sensation had swept over her – like something had been ripped from inside her and left her breathless and strangely light-headed.
She shook her head and blinked hard to rid her vision of the black spots. Whatever just happened had made her feel warm and her limbs feel slightly tingly. She unbuttoned her vest and loosened her tie, taking deep breaths to try to get herself back under control. Just as she started thinking that the oppressive silence and the strange fog were getting to her, a voice coming from behind her made her whirl around in shock.
"Well, look at you. Aren't you just handsome?"
A girl about her age stood there, dressed in a light summer dress with a pale cardigan and ballet flats. Her blonde hair was held back by a pretty headband and her eyes were a gleaming, cruel yellow and she had Quinn's face and fuck, Quinn couldn't breathe.
"What's the matter? Forgot what you used to look like? Well, I guess I'm a bit more grown-up than you were the last time you wore a dress, hm?" The doppelganger's voice was light and smooth, its register higher than Quinn had let herself use in a long while. It felt like a punch to her stomach and she instinctively took a step back.
"What the hell? Who are you? Are you the one who kidnapped me?" Quinn's voice was shaking a little and the person wearing her face seemed to pick up on it. Her lips – Quinn noticed she was wearing lipstick, a shade pale enough to make it seem like her lips were just naturally that pink but make-up nonetheless, and she remembered being ten and spending the night at Mercedes' house, giggling as they secretly experimented different ways to apply lipstick with the bright red one she'd swiped from her mom's purse – curled up in a smirk and she practically purred the next words.
"I am not. Can you really not tell who I am? I think you already know." With a speed that made Quinn's right hand reflexively jump to her holster where her handgun was, Not-Quinn found her way to a dais to the left of the altar at the front of the room and threw her arms out. "Do you remember when you used to sing for your church's choir? Your dad would watch you with a proud smile, and when the service was over he would introduce you to all his important friends, warmth in his voice as he said your name." Not-Quinn raised her hands palms-up towards the ceiling and spun around a few times, an ecstatic smile on her face and her dress billowing around her thighs. "Of course you remember. It felt so good to be daddy's little girl."
Of course she remembered. She remembered so many things, good and bad. His proud smile, the warmth in his voice, the times he took her to baseball games, his strong arms carrying her to her room after she'd fallen asleep on the couch watching TV, his adamant refusal to get a dog, the way he spontaneously danced with her mom in the kitchen when their song came on the radio, the nights he came home from work so late she didn't even see him, his laughter, and she remembered his cold, unforgiving eyes on that awful day.
Who are you? I don't recognize you at all.
As if reading her thoughts, Not-Quinn threw her head back and let delighted laughter spill from her lips. Quinn clenched her jaw and her fists. She was the modern day Sherlock Fucking Holmes and some impostor who had stolen her face was not going to reduce her to a whimpering mess with her weird mind games.
Just as she opened her mouth to tell her doppelganger she was wasting her time trying to play tricks on her, she suddenly found herself inches away from her own face, yellow eyes peering up at the few strands of hair escaping Quinn's blue hat. Startled, she stumbled back a few steps and crashed into a pew, falling down onto it. She sat up as Not-Quinn started talking again.
"You know wearing that blue thing all the time isn't good for your hair, right? I know you're trying to pass off as something you're not, but that's kind of a stupid way to do it. Then again," her lips curled up again in that cruel smile, the barest hint of straight white teeth visible, and her silky-smooth voice seemed to caress the next words. "I do know why you don't want to cut your hair, and why you take such good care of it."
And as she actually danced away, Not-Quinn delicately ran her fingers through the long locks of hair elegantly falling around her shoulders, humming an achingly familiar tune. Quinn felt her insides twist as a rush of memories flooded her brain. Her mom brushing her hair before she left for school, softly singing the very song her double was humming. Her mom running her fingers through her hair while Quinn dozed with her head in her mom's lap. Exchanging haircare tips with her mom on lazy afternoons, mint tea and chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table. Her mom scolding her for cutting locks of her own hair when she was five. Her mom affectionately running a hand down Quinn's hair when her church friends complimented it. Her mom sitting stonily in an armchair while her husband kicked her daughter out and Quinn was begging her to say something.
In a surge of anger, Quinn jumped out of the pew she was still sitting in and rushed towards that thing who talked too much, who knew too much, and backed her up against the nearest pillar, hands coming up to rest on either side of Not-Quinn's face, the cold stone of the pillar rough against her palms.
"Stop it! I don't know who you are or what you're trying to do, but this has gone on long enough. How do you know all of this?"
Just as the impostor opened her mouth to answer, the door burst open and the group of teenagers Quinn had forgotten were comig, the ones she suspected of being involved in her investigation, ran in. She jumped back from Not-Quinn, somehow ashamed to have been seen so close to her, and felt her stomach drop. A bunch of strangers were seeing her look-alike wearing a dress.
Her doppelganger recovered from her surprise faster. "There you are! I was wondering what took you so long." She twirled once, showing off for the new arrivals. "How do you like my look?"
Confusion spread across the group's features, except for the blonde cheerleader, who grinned at Not-Quinn and answered, "you look really pretty."
The big, mohawked guy spoke up. "... Why is the guy's shadow dressed like a girl?"
"I don't know," piped up the small, flamboyantly dressed boy next to him, "but that hair is fabulous."
Not-Quinn grinned like the Cheshire cat, and abruptly turned back to Quinn. "Do you remember when you first started working on cases like this? You were ten, weren't you? Your father's family has a long tradition of providing the country with some of its finest detectives, and you had already shown signs of a prodigious mind. You snuck in your father's study one night and looked through the file of the case he was working on. You solved it all by yourself, and from then on you became an unofficial but very well-known consultant. Your name spread across the country, and in every police station everyone knew how brilliant you were, but no one had ever seen you." Her doppelganger threw her head back and took a deep breath, chest rising and falling, elation written on every line of her face. "For the next two years, you felt on top of the world."
Suddenly, Not-Quinn's face fell, and she cocked her head as she looked at Quinn. "And then your father caught you sharing your first kiss with your friend Tina in your room, and everything went to hell. You stood in the living room, begging your mom to help you as your father kicked you out of the only home you'd ever known, because no child of his was going to be like that."
"I don't get it. His dad kicked him out because he kissed a girl?" whispered the tallest teenager. Most of them still looked confused, but the leader and the tiny singer looked from Quinn to her doppelganger, eyes lingering on her summer dress and long hair, and comprehension dawned on their features. Quinn felt dread freeze her insides while the hot flush of shame simultaneously swept over her skin. They knew.
Not-Quinn ignored them and kept talking. "Your friend Mercedes and her family took you in, but it wasn't the same. So you decided to show your parents what they were rejecting. You come from a family of detectives, so you would become the best private detective that has ever lived! But there was a flaw in that plan. The detective world isn't very welcoming to... " She slowly dragged her gaze down Quinn's form. "... people like you. So you were fortunate that everyone had heard of your name, but never seen you. You took advantage of that, and changed your image. You modeled yourself after the literary heroes of your childhood. You would put Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes to shame! And look at you now. I guess you succeeded."
"I still don't understand. What is she talking about?" The shorter cheerleader asked, arms crossed over her chest. Quinn's double laughed, girlish giggles echoing in the cavernous room, and stalked towards Quinn. "Oh, Quinnie, isn't it adorable how slow they are?" She slinked behind Quinn, wrapping her arms around her original's waist and pressing herself up against her back. Quinn was so light-headed she felt as if her head was surrounded by cotton, about to detach from her shoulders and fly away, and she fought to stay conscious. "Quinnie, Quinnie, Quinnie. Quinn Fabray. What a wonderful name." She leaned her chin on Quinn's shoulder and Quinn felt Not-Quinn's cheek move against her neck as she smiled. She thought she might throw up. "Isn't it convenient? It's so... gender neutral."
And with a laugh and a flourish, she grabbed Quinn's hat and tore it off her head. Quinn felt her long, soft hair fall around her shoulders in light waves, felt the air rush over her uncovered head, felt her doppelganger step away, heard the gasps from the group of teens, saw their eyes widen, and felt her heart stop. They knew. They knew everything.
"But it doesn't change anything, Quinnie!" She heard her doppelganger's voice over the roar of her blood rushing to her head. "Just because you wear men's clothes won't change the fact that you're a scared little girl who wants her mommy and daddy back. I would know." She linked her hands behind her back and leaned forward a little, yellow eyes gleaming. "After all, I am you."
It was too much. Quinn's hands found her temples as she sank to her knees, an avalanche of thoughts assailing her mind.
This hurts so much why does it hurts so much I only kissed her once I'll show them I can be what they want they'll have to talk to me again I miss them so much no one will take me seriously if I'm a girl I'm better than all of them I'll show them I'll show them all I can do this I can't this hurts so much mommy daddy why don't you love me.
"YOU'RE NOT ME!"
And everything went black.