So real life grabbed me by the hair and totally sidelined my writing, but I'm back and re-inspired to finish this story, mostly because of your AWESOME reviews. (I hope there will still be people reading after this unfortunate, obnoxious wait for chapter 3…) This fic will be rated M as of chapter 6 or so, but for now I'm going to keep it rated T.

It was a long, educational afternoon for Rachel as she lounged around a conference room with her four female cast-mates, a bowl of onion dip, and a plate of fruit. Mercedes did a lot of talking, Tina a little, Santana somewhere in between, while Quinn, after briefly introducing herself, sat in a chair somewhat removed from the rest of them and watched.

By the time Mercedes and Santana and Tina had narrowed their conversation down to discussion of the coming season—scripts for the first episode were being sent to them in a few days—Quinn finally moved.

"So you seem like a nice enough girl, Rachel." The other three girls instantly fell silent, letting Rachel know exactly who was in charge around here. "And from what I hear you'll be perfectly capable of following our rules."

Something nervous fluttered in Rachel's chest. Rules?

"Oh don't worry," Santana assured her, touching her on the shoulder gently. "They're easy."

Quinn sent Santana a cold look that Rachel wasn't sure she understood. "For some of us," Quinn responded scathingly, before turning back to Rachel. "We are role-models for America's teenaged girls. Parents around the country trust us. You've noticed that no female cast member of this show has ever been in a credible tabloid for anything?"

She rose to her feet and began approaching Rachel, who suddenly felt a bit crowded. "I—I guess not. But what have I ever done to warrant your concern that I will not be among the most upstanding of all of us?"

For a moment, Quinn simply blinked, as though attempting to work through Rachel's sentence. "Well, we don't really know, do we? I bet you never guessed that Santana here," she gestured violently to the other girl, "slept with our very own Puck, did you?"

Santana gasped and looked at Quinn, hurt and obviously betrayed. Quinn ignored her. "We covered it up, but it was difficult. Whatever you are accustomed to doing on your own time, Rachel Berry, you are now required to follow our rules. Nothing nasty in the press, no dating, no drinking. We have a collective reputation to uphold."

"Of course," Rachel breathed. "Or did you not notice the way I handled Noah? Believe me, I am more than capable of resisting the temptations people our age face."

Quinn stepped closer to her, until she could feel her breath on her face. "And if you can't?" she said quietly enough that Rachel could hardly hear, "don't you dare get caught."

Then she backed away and offered a saccharine smile that made Rachel's skin instantly crawl. "Welcome to the cast, then."

She turned around, picked up a handbag that looked like it cost more than three hundred dollars, and departed without so much as a farewell.

Tina instantly jumped up to comfort Santana the moment Quinn had left the room, and Mercedes sighed. "Sorry about that. She takes herself waaaaay too seriously, if you ask me."

"She's Catholic, her parents are fanatics, or something," Tina piped up. Rachel had been shocked to discover that the girl who played queen-bee bitch Chantel was a soft-spoken, kind, but very shy girl. "She expects the same from us."

"Which is cool and all, because pretty much all the other actresses our age are cokeheads or skanks or both," Mercedes admitted, "it just gets a bit intense."

Rachel nodded absently, looked at Santana, who was near tears. "You slept with Noah, then?"

Santana glared at her. "Go on, judge me, new girl."

"I'm not, I'm not. I just—I understand. He's aesthetically pleasing, definitely. My friend Kurt is absolutely infatuated with him."

"Kurt? As in, a dude?" Mercedes asked, raised eyebrows punctuating her question.

"Yeah," Rachel said boldly, daring anyone to comment.

"I'm so jealous," Mercedes exclaimed. "I've always wanted a gay BFF."

"It's really fantastic, having him around," Rachel said, relieved that none of the girls were casting judgments about her friend.

"You should bring him in here. The more the merrier, and we don't have enough non-actor friends."

"Are you kidding? Quinn would absolutely flip," Santana countered.

A throb of anger struck Rachel. "Oh really?"

"She's the only homophobe in the business," Tina explained.

Rachel folded her arms. "Well, if I may speak freely," which of course she always did, so it was less a question than a disclaimer, "I'm finding it a rather formidable challenge to even attempt to understand Quinn Fabray."

"After a while, you will. She just takes some getting used to if you're going to be as close to her as we are," said Santana.

Much later, Rachel found herself wondering if it would be worth getting close to someone like Quinn. It was possible she didn't have a choice, but she certainly had her reservations. By her judgment, Quinn seemed just as dangerous as Noah.

--

"Who does that little whore think she is?" Puck demanded.

Quinn sat down across from him and signaled the waiter. "Hello to you too, Gaston," she said before the waiter scampered up to the table, clearly recognizing her. "Just a coffee and a slice of crumb-cake, please," she said politely, ignoring the guy's smitten gaze.

"Seriously. I barely say hi to her and she's up my ass about shit she's only heard through gossip."

"To be fair, her preconceived notions were a hundred and ten percent accurate. If she were slightly less uptight, I think I'd like her."

In spite of his foul mood, Puck couldn't help but laugh. "You don't like anyone."

"And you do?"

The waiter returned immediately, and this time Quinn locked eyes with him and offered her broadest thousand-watt smile. "Thanks."

He nodded and took off. Puck laughed again. "Have you ever met a guy who didn't—"

"Not for the past four years or so." She pulled out a tube of mascara and briefly worked on her eyelashes, and Puck wondered how she could possibly pull it off without a mirror. He simply watched, taking in her beauty and thinking of the countless times he had imagined boning her. Now that that was an impending occurrence, imagining had inexplicably lost some of its appeal.

Or maybe it was just the anticipation of the unexpected challenge Rachel was going to provide.

"So do you have a plan?" Quinn asked when she was finished with the mascara, taking the cup of coffee in her hands, but not drinking it.

"Actually, I do."

"Oh really? Care to share?"

He leaned forward, dropped his voice, smiled crookedly. "I'm going to play Weston as being attracted to his new stepsister, as played by Miss Berry. It's kinky enough that the fan base will go for it, and the writers will have no choice but to go that route."

Her finger traced the rim of her mug as she arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Wow. I never thought I'd give you credit for anything, but that's genius."

"I know, right? The sexual tension will be too much for her to handle. And then," he paused dramatically, "I'll prove that she's no better than any other chick her age."

Quinn finally took a sip of her coffee. "You're even hotter than usual when you're evil."

"I know."