A/N: I've actually had this idea bouncing around in my head for a good eight months or so, and I FINALLY got around to writing it. Many thanks to Spookykat! Hope you enjoy!

Cell Block Tango

Kurt immediately knows that he's dreaming, because he's wearing a dress, and contrary to popular belief, he does not wear women's clothes. He's in a dark room, sitting on a cold metal chair, and he can barely see the outline of a raised platform about twenty feet in front of him. Somewhere off to his right there's the echoing sound of a slowly leaking faucet, a steady drip… drip… drip… that he's certain will drive him crazy before long. He fingers the edge of his dress and looks down to try to see through the dark what exactly he's wearing. By the feel of it, it's made of gingham, and he thinks it's grey. He doesn't like it.

There's the sound of machinery clanking high above him, and a fat beam of light slices through the darkness, landing on the raised platform. He realizes that the platform is a stage just as the figure of a man in a '30s-style suit steps into the spotlight.

Mr. Schue?

For a moment, Kurt thinks that his Spanish teacher looks good in '30s clothes, but then Mr. Schue speaks and distracts him. "And now, the six merry murderesses of the Allen County Jail, in their rendition of the Cell Block Tango!"

And just like that, Mr. Schue vanishes from the spotlight, and Kurt begins to realize what's going on. The drippy faucet has changed to a rhythmic tinny drumbeat, and a woman's voice comes from somewhere on the stage. "Crunch."

"Splash," says another.




"West Side."

Kurt listens as the six different voices snowball into one and chant, "He had it coming! He had it coming! He only had himself to blame… If you'da been there, if you'da seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!"






"West Side!"

Kurt nearly laughs out loud when Quinn appears in the spotlight, dressed in a soft yellow baby doll dress that doesn't fit the mood at all. "You know how some people have these little habits that get you down?" she asks. "Like Sam. Sam liked to work out."

Another spotlight clanks on to Quinn's left, shining down on Sam, who's clad in his usual flannel-and-jeans combo and lifting a large weight in each hand. Quinn slinks over and drapes an arm around Sam's neck. He doesn't notice. "All he did ever was exercise, so concerned with his image that he didn't even notice that I was all he needed to look cool."

Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk. Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk.

"Well, I wanted to go out to a nice dinner with him, just the two of us. But he said he couldn't because it would upset his routine," Quinn drawls, rolling her eyes. "I told him that he had to choose – me or the gym." Quinn covers her mouth with her hand, grinning as if she's stifling a giggle. "And he chose the gym. So I chose a lovely 100-pound dumbbell, and when he needed someone to spot, I was there. And then it slipped, right on top of him."

She snatches the weights from Sam's hands and bashes them into the sides of his head. Kurt didn't think Quinn could ever lift even one of those by herself, but, hey, he was dreaming.

As the five other voices join Quinn's to chant, "He had it coming! He had it coming!" Quinn seizes Sam's arm and yanks him into a rather violent dance, kicking at him to keep him in motion. Her movements are almost predatory. "He only had himself to blame! If you'da been there, if you'da seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!"

Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk. Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk.

They move from the first spotlight into the second, and another figure steps forward. Kurt recognizes Mercedes. She's sauntering forward with one hand on her hip, her eyes shadowed by the brimmed hat she's wearing, and she looks fabulous.

"I met Noah Puckerman in high school about two years ago," she says, and Kurt's eyes widen when he sees Puck circle around her. "And he told me he was single, and we hit it off right away," Mercedes continues as Puck snakes his arms around her waist. "So we started dating. He was Top 40, I was rhythm and blues, and we were in perfect harmony." Mercedes smiles, her white teeth flashing in the shadows as she runs a hand down Puck's arm. Then her smile vanishes and she winds her fingers into the front of his shirt. "And then I found out that he was in perfect harmony with every cougar who had a swimming pool in Western Ohio! So the next day, I went to visit him at work."

Kurt has a hard time not flinching when the smile creeps back onto Mercedes' face. It's more than a little unsettling, especially when her hands are reaching for Puck's neck. Her fingernails dig into the sides of Puck's trachea. "And, it really wasn't my fault he slipped and fell in the pool. I just made sure he stayed there." She yanks her hand back as if she's ripping his throat out, and Puck spits up a mouthful of water.

"He had it coming!" the voices chant, and Mercedes shoves Puck to his knees, pushing him backwards until they're standing under a third spotlight that has just clanked to life. "He had it coming! He took a flower in its prime!" Puck leaps to his feet and then, in unison, Quinn and Mercedes spin their respective partners around and clamp their hands around their necks. "And then he used it, and he abused it!" They yank back with a jerk of their shoulders, and Puck and Sam bend backwards until they're practically horizontal. Quinn and Mercedes simultaneously kick upwards so their knees slam into the boys' backs right between the shoulder blades, and Sam and Puck spin back around. The girls claw them across the throat. "It was a murder, but not a crime!"

Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk. Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk.

Mercedes and Quinn drag the boys off to the sides of the stage, and Tina appears in the center spotlight. "Now Mike was dancer," she says, flipping her red-streaked hair out of her eyes. She's wearing blood red eye shadow, which isn't really her color and is kind of creepy-looking. "And he loved it. All he did was dance, dance, dance, and dance." Mike spins into the spotlight, his tap shoes clicking. "Of course, I liked dancing too, but I could never be good enough. He had to go and choose the cheerleader to dance with. Rat-bastard."

Mike grabs her around the waist, yanking her so that she's pressed up against him. "Finally, I just couldn't stand it any more." There's a pause as Mike wraps his other arm around her back, caging her against his chest. Tina smirks at Kurt over Mike's bicep. "So one night at dinner, he got a little rat poison in his dim sum."

She grins and pushes Mike forcefully away from her. Mike coughs a billow of smoke.

"If you'da been there!" Tina, Quinn, and Mercedes backhand their partners across the face, and the boys twist and crumple to the floor. "If you'da seen it!" The girls prop their legs on the boys' backs and press down hard, forcing them to lie flat as they strain to sit up. "I betcha you would have done the same!"

Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk.

Tina and Mike move backwards into a fourth spotlight, and then Brittany and Artie waltz together into the center. It's more than a little weird to see Artie dancing, but Kurt figures anything's possible when he's dreaming, so he just sits there and watches as Brittany begins to speak. "I don't get it," she said, her expression like a kicked puppy. "Artie said he'd meet me at Breadsticks, but he didn't show up. The police said I ran him over, but I don't even know how to drive. I tried to tell them that he was killed by the evil dwarf on the other side of the moon, but they wouldn't listen."

Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk.

As Brittany and Artie dance into the fifth spotlight, Santana materializes in the center, pulling Finn along by his necktie. "I took Finn's virginity in a motel room off of Rockford Avenue," she says. "He was plummeting to the bottom of the social pyramid, and I brought him back up. I saved him." She grabs Finn by the lapels of his jacket and wraps a leg around his waist. "And he just wouldn't appreciate it. You'd think a guy would be grateful to sleep with a Cheerio." Santana turns her gaze to Kurt. "But he wasn't." She shoves Finn away.

Tsk, tsk-tsk, tsk.

"He broke my heart," she spits. "So I broke his neck."

Kurt can't help but wince as she grabs Finn's head, wrenching it with an echoing crack, and the music practically explodes. "He had it coming!" Santana belts.

"He had it coming!" the girls echo.

"He had it coming all along!"

"All along!"

"I didn't do it!"

"She didn't do it!"

"But if I'd done it?"

"But if she'd done it?"

"How could you tell me that I was wrong?"

The music swells and vibrates over the stage as the five couples on stage tango in a circle around each other, the girls dominating the boys with every jerking motion. "They had it coming!" Santana cries.

"They had it coming!"

"They had it coming all along!"

"They took a flower in its prime!"

"I didn't do it!"

"And then they used it!"

"But if I'd done it?"

"And they abused it!"

"How could you tell me that I was wrong?"

The girls spin their boys into the dark, and Rachel appears in the middle of the stage. "Jesse St. James was the first man I'd met who was on my level of talent," she says, and Jesse pirouettes up beside her, running his hand over her midriff. "I loved him as much as I loved the spotlight, and he felt the same about me. Then he tried to steal the spotlight from me during a production of West Side Story." She smirks and gives a low chuckle. "He thought he made a good Tony. Idiot." She wraps an arm around his shoulders. "He wanted the spotlight, so I gave it to him. I dropped it on his head."

Jesse's head snaps back, and all six pairs spin through a web of footwork. "The dirty bum, bum, bum, bum, bum! The dirty bum, bum, bum, bum, bum!"

Tina, Quinn, and Mercedes broke off into one group while Santana, Brittany, and Rachel stayed together and they began to echo off each other.

"They had it coming!"

"They had it coming!"

"They had it coming all along!"

"'Cause if they used us!"

"And they abused us!"

"How could you tell us that we were wrong?"

Simultaneously, all six girls kicked their boys back into the dark and out of sight.

"Me or the gym?" demands Quinn, just as her spotlight shuts off and she vanishes.

"Perfect harmony," Mercedes smirks, and disappears.

"Rat-bastard," spits Tina, evaporating into the shadows.

"Evil dwarf," states Brittany, fading away.

"I saved him," snarls Santana, turning into the blackness.

"He thought he made a good Tony," giggles Rachel, and the last spotlight clanks off. Kurt is swallowed up by the dark.

"Crunch," he hears Quinn say.





"West Side…"

And just like that, Kurt's awake and staring at his ceiling. He shakes the sleep from his eyes and checks his alarm clock – it's 6:25 and he needs to get up in five minutes anyways, so he throws the covers aside and begins his morning skin care. His dream still echoing in his head, he decides that he needs to pitch the idea to perform Chicago to Mr. Schue later today. After all, Santana would make an awesome Velma.

A/N: So, what'd you think? Worth a review?