A/N: I've been wanting to write a story like this for a while and I'm happy with how it's turning out, so here is the first chapter. I don't want to give too much away, or anything, so just enjoy it.
A/N2: The title, Hurricane, is based on the song Hurricane by Ms Mr. (you tube watch?v=brJozYDT0Ts)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Quinn walks the halls of McKinley with her head held high; her eyes – always cold and calculating – sweep the crowd, watching as people recoil from her gaze. Her lips are turned upward into a small smirk and her stride is fast. She's the head cheerleader and people fear her; they stay out of her way, just the way she likes it. She doesn't need to pretend to care about anything when she's alone.
She works her closed jaw back and forth when she sees Finn Hudson waiting near her locker. He looks upset and she doesn't feel like dealing with this but this is what teenagers do: they create drama.
She comes to a halt next to her locker and crosses her arms in front of her, staring up at Finn. She raises her eyebrow and sighs impatiently. "Yes?"
"You slept with Puck," he hisses, his eyes narrowing at her. "He told the entire football team. How could you do that to me?"
Quinn rolls her eyes and shrugs. "It's not a big deal, Finn. It's not like it meant anything."
"Then why did you do it?"
She doesn't know, not really. It really didn't mean anything. She had been drinking and Puck had been leering at her all night; he cornered her on her way to the bathroom and she let him guide her into his bedroom. It didn't make any difference to her, though she probably wouldn't have consented had she not been drinking. "I was drunk," she replies.
Finn rages on about how she was his girlfriend and that she ruined everything for him while she takes her books from her locker. When he shouts "Don't you feel anything?!" she slams the door shut and faces him. He shrinks back when she looks at him, she imagines her eyes are black and emotionless, and she lifts her chin. "We're done," she says before walking off.
She joined glee because Sue told her to but she isn't that invested in destroying it. It's a place where she can sit and read, if nothing else. She only pays attention when Rachel sings, because the girl's voice makes something stir deep inside of her, something primal that she can't repress.
When Rachel sings, she looks at Quinn. She's the only person who can look her in the eye without flinching. Santana pretends she can but Quinn can tell her eyes make her second-in-command uncomfortable. Quinn doesn't particularly care for feelings but she thinks that if things were different she could love Rachel.
When she enters the choir room Finn looks like a wounded puppy and Puck looks annoyingly smug. She ignores both of them and walks to the back of the risers, taking her usual seat in the corner. Rachel is in the front row but turns around to give her a smile and a wave. Quinn acknowledges her with a small, but genuine smile, before she opens her book and blocks out the world.
Only, after ten minutes, she can't seem to drown out the loud voices in the room and she looks up to find Rachel standing in front of everyone, which was nothing out of the ordinary. She quirks an eyebrow when she sees Rachel's lower lip tremble.
"You need to get it through that thick skull of yours that you're not any better than the rest of us," Mercedes says heatedly and Quinn sighs quietly. It isn't the first time that everyone is ganging up against Rachel but usually the tiny girl doesn't let it get her down. This time is different and Quinn briefly wonders why.
Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and stares down at her feet while taking the abuse from her peers. Quinn drops her book in the empty seat next to her and gets up. She stops near Rachel and looks at the girl, ignoring the stares of the others. "Are you okay?" she asks softly.
The other girl nods jerkily but continues to look down. Quinn's jaw clenches and she turns on the heels of her immaculately white sneakers to glare at the other club members. "What's going on?" she asks, her voice no longer gentle.
"Little miss perfect is under the impression that she's getting the solo for Regionals," Mercedes replies snarkily, her eyes still on Rachel.
"And, what about the rest of us?" Kurt supplies.
"You mean: what about you?"
Kurt shifts uncomfortably and shrugs. "Yes."
"When you start practising as much as Rachel does, you might have a shot. I wouldn't count on it."
Santana scoffs loudly, making her presence known. "Since when do you come to Berry's defence?"
Quinn shifts her gaze and looks at Santana. "Since she doesn't deserve this crap from any of you and clearly no one else seems to do something about it." She's not at all affected by Santana's sneer or the others' surprised expressions. "Rachel gets the solo because she's our best singer. If you want to beat her, you better start working hard," she says, giving Kurt and Mercedes a pointed look before returning to her seat.
Mr. Schuester enters the room, fifteen minutes late, and tells Rachel to take a seat. The way he says it makes Quinn clench her fists, he was a teacher, he was supposed to make sure no one got bullied and yet... She rolls her eyes when he starts talking about another 80s ballad he thinks they should perform at Regionals and tunes him out.
At the end of the hour Kurt and Mercedes have managed to convince Mr. Schuester to hold a competition to see who gets the coveted solo. Everyone storms out when the bell rings, except for Rachel. She remains in her seat.
Quinn stops next to the girl's chair and hovers for a second. "Rachel?" she asks, making sure her voice held some semblance of emotion.
Rachel startles slightly and looks up at the blonde. "Quinn..." she breathes.
Quinn gives her a smile. "I hate to sound repetitive, but are you okay?"
The brunette nods lightly and then shrugs. "It's nothing new, right?"
The question was rhetorical, so Quinn doesn't bother answering. "It got to you, today," she says instead.
Rachel nods slowly, regarding Quinn curiously. "You noticed."
Quinn shifts a little. "Yeah."
They fall into an uncomfortable silence for a minute before Quinn glances at her watch and straightens. "I have to go."
"Take care, Rachel," Quinn says and then she's gone.
She walks across the parking lot to her car, throws her backpack in the trunk and hops in. Half an hour later she arrives home. The house is quiet so she assumes her mother is out. Her suspicions are confirmed when she spots the bright yellow note on the fridge saying there is a plate in the microwave and that she'd be home alone for the next week.
Her mother is an overall nice person but she doesn't know how to deal with Quinn. Since Quinn prefers to keep to herself her mother leaves her alone most of the time, as long as she keeps her grades up.
She foregoes dinner and goes straight up to her room, where she puts down her bag and settles down on her bed with her laptop. She's been working on a plan for two weeks and tomorrow she'll finally be able to execute it. This night is reserved for hashing out all the details and logistics; failure is not an option when it comes to this. One slip up and she ends in jail. Murder is still frowned upon, even when the person you kill is a known paedophile and drugs dealer.