Written for a prompt on the glee_crack_meme, which asked for the Glee characters in a Firefly-like situation. While this is cracky, and pretty much ridiculous in every way, it also dips into angst, drama, and frequently melodrama. Kind of like Glee itself. But hopefully with some of the humour of both shows. Expect a lot of gratuitous reference to Firefly, and a lot of handwaving of various circumstantial issues – like, reality. The format will mimic the episode structure of Firefly, more or less, but I'll be taking a lot of artistic liberties that may or may not really suck. Please bear with me, and feel free to give as much critique as you like.

Warnings: Some swearing. Crack taking itself seriously.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or its characters. I do not own Firefly. Anything you recognise about this unholy mashup likely does not belong to me.

1. Elphaba, Part 1

This was it. The big moment. Her time to shine

It was also the most pivotal point in her existence thus far, because her success or failure could spell the end of the world, not just for herself or her career, but actually the world.

(And she wasn't just saying it this time. Seriously.)

Waiting in the wings was a familiar experience for her; the heady mix of adrenaline and nerves and excitement churning in her stomach, her makeup itching in the humidity, the tense air of expectation that filled the audience as they waited for her to step on stage . . . she'd been through all this a million times before. And she loved it. But tonight, though she'd deny it stubbornly if asked (so please stop asking, Mercedes, it's highly off-putting), there were more nerves than excitement. In fact, a lesser person might be terrified.

Luckily, Rachel Berry was never less than her absolute best at everything.

"Hey," Mercedes said, suddenly materializing behind her in a whirl of crimson satin. She looked regal and splendid, and if Rachel had been in a better frame of mind, she'd have told her so. "Look, I get that green is the general theme for you tonight, but Honey, your face is kind of matching your dress right now. And that's just taking it a bit too far."

Rachel shot her an irritated look and smoothed down her emerald green dress. "Thankyou, Mercedes, for that valuable input," she said haughtily.

Her fellow diva and best friend just folded her arms and gave her an unimpressed look. Three months ago they'd been dire enemies, which had turned into friendly rivals, then allies. And now, she was pretty much the only friend Rachel had left. Perhaps her only real friend ever. "Terror ain't a good look on you, Rachel."

"I am not terrified in the least. My fingers are simply trembling slightly due to the adrenaline that is to be expected before a major performance." Her eyes drifted back towards to stage. "Incredibly major."

She felt Mercedes squeeze her shoulder. "It's gonna be great. You and I, we're gonna bring this place down."

For some reason, the encouragement only brought her flimsy wall of defence crashing down. "But will it mean anything?" she whispered, trying not to let the frustration, and fear, and loss of the past few weeks crease her face into something unpleasant. "Mercedes, are we fighting a losing battle?"

Mercedes didn't reply, because they both knew the answer to that. Finally, she said, "We're fighting. That's all that matters."

Rachel closed her eyes. That was, essentially, what she'd said while bringing this up the week before (though her speech had been considerably longer and more inspiring), when she and Mercedes had sat in the wreckage of her kitchen, just after her dads had been taken, trying not to cry.

Dad, Daddy. I'm fighting for rights and liberty and freedom of expression, but mostly, I'm fighting for you, she thought to herself. Conviction in mind, she opened her eyes and gave Mercedes a firm nod. They would see this through to the end, and it would be amazing, and it would make a difference.

Just then, Miss Corcoran appeared. "Rachel? You're up now." She hesitated. "Are you sure you want to do this? Because it's not too late to back out, and honestly, it's a very risky move . . ."

"Thankyou for your concern, Miss Corcoran," she interrupted. "But I can't back out now, just because the laws have already been passed. That would defeat the entire purpose."

The woman said nothing, but after a moment, nodded in understanding.

Rachel took a deep breath, and grinned at Mercedes. "Let's do this, bitch."

Mercedes shook her head despairingly, but she too was smiling. "Stick to the sermons, White Girl. Good luck."

It was a relatively small audience, Rachel knew. Obviously, what with all that had happened, she couldn't expect a full house. People were scared. But there was an audience, those who refused to bow down and let the oppressors take over. Those who supported her, and what she was standing up for. She was going to sing for them, even the ones who might be spies, because they needed to hear it most of all. As Rachel stepped into the spotlight, her head angled expertly to make the most of her cheekbones, she let the fear and doubt and insecurity drop away, leaving only determination and pure star quality.

Looking up into the blindingly bright lights, Rachel opened her mouth and began to sing.

"Something has changed within me,

Something is not the same.

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of someone else's game.

Too late for second guesses,

Too late to go back to sleep,

It's time to trust my instincts,

Close my eyes and believe."

Her heart soared as the last note swooped into the chorus, and for the first time in too long, Rachel felt powerful. The stage was her platform to the stars. Up here, she was invincible.

It's time to try defying

I think I'll try defying gravity

And you can't pull me d-"

Things happened quickly. Someone yelled something indecipherable, which Rachel ignored because she was used to that. But then lots of people were yelling, and the exit doors at the back of the theatre crashed open, and people in black were pouring in. Her voice stuttered to a halt, and she could only stare in horror as everything fell apart.

People were screaming, and Rachel froze, unable to move from the ring of spotlight. Don't stop now, her inner performer screamed. They can't touch you if you keep on singing. Keep fighting!

Meanwhile, the logical part of her brain was also yelling at her: "Run, you damn fool!" Except that wasn't her brain, that was Mercedes, and Mercedes was suddenly there, her red nails digging into Rachel's arm and dragging her offstage. Then they were running, through the wings, backstage, out of the theatre, running as fast as they could while Rachel's second home, the stage, fell to the enemy.

All she could think was, Those bastards. They didn't even let me finish.

4 years later

It was the perfect plan. Foolproof, you might even say. Every element had been carefully thought out and considered from all angles, and by now they had worked out a system in which each person knew their role, and could play it well. In some ways, it was almost like putting a number together for show choir.

Ever since Rachel had been able to form syllables, she'd only ever wanted to do one thing with her life; perform. It's not like she didn't have the talent or intellect for other professions, far from it, but she'd always somehow understood that where she truly belonged was on a stage, in the spotlight, with thousands upon thousands of people applauding their adoration of her.

What she hadn't imagined, even in those rare moments of self-doubt or brutal pragmatism, was getting into the business of cat burglary.

Of course, given that she was stealing sheet music from a public library in a small, forgettable town in Ohio, it wasn't totally outside reason. And until that bright, wondrous day when she managed to claw her way back to her rightful place on stage, this was definitely her preferred method of passing the time; idealistic, rebellious and pragmatic all in one.

"I don't believe this," a petulant voice muttered.

"Problem, Puckerman?" she asked loftily, pulling on her black gloves.

"Yeah, what the hell am I doing here? I signed on to your travelling circus because you told me I was gonna get paid for stealing stuff."

"We are stealing stuff," she pointed out.

"We're breaking into a building to steal sheet music. Goddamn paper with black lines and little black squiggles that look like sperm, which I can't even read!"

"But Puck, it's Tartini! The Devil's Trill! The most famous piece of violin music of all time!" Rachel gushed.

He glared at her. "You don't even play the Goddamn violin."

Before she could launch into another diatribe about the importance of classical music, and how it conveyed stories and emotion without the need for words (and also that she had taken violin lessons as a child, thankyou-very-much) Mercedes leaned over and said, "How 'bout the fact that it's worth a tonne on the black market? We got a buyer in Columbus all lined up, and he's willing to pay a lot for that spermy ink, so get over it and do your job."

He scowled under his balaclava. He'd been incredibly difficult about wearing it earlier, until Mercedes had threatened to staple it to his face. "I still this whole thing's ridiculous."

"You're not here to think. Or speak, for that matter, so stop your unnecessary complaints."

"Fine. Let's just get this over with. Which door am I breaking down?"

Rachel sighed. Puck might not be the most reliable member of her little crew, but he could always be relied on for acts of delinquency and vandalism. "No breaking. We're doing this subtly. Do you have your lock pick kit?"

He snorted. "Do I look like an amateur?"

Not deigning to answer that, Rachel turned to Mercedes and handed her a cell phone. "Ok. Mercedes, I want you to be constantly vigilant. If you see someone coming, do not hesitate to call us, and keep constant tabs with Artie. He has a tendency to get distracted . . ."

The other girl rolled her eyes and snatched the phone away. "Believe it or not, Princess, I've been doing this as long as you. God help me."

"Oh, of course. I'm not doubting you, Mercedes, I just want to be sure that everything goes off without a hitch."

"Right. Just get going already."

The brunette nodded, her eyes solemn under the balaclava, then motioned to Puck. In tandem, they left Mercedes waiting beside the south wall of the library, where she was hidden from view but had a decent view of the street, and crept stealthily around the edge of the building.

Mercedes sighed, and silently kept vigilance. When the shit hit the fan, she'd be ready.

"Yes. Yes. This is a fertile planet, and our people will thrive here. We will rule over all this planet, and we will call it . . . This Planet."

"I think we should call it your grave!"

"Ah, curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"

"Aharharharhar! Mine is an evil laugh! Now die! Grr, Arg!"

"Ahhh, oh dear sweet merciful Lord, noooo . . ."

Artie's cell phone chose this moment to vibrate violently, and then rattle off the dash. He dropped Rex and Steggy, and bent down to pick it up. Flipping it open, he frowned at Mercedes' number. Something couldn't have gone wrong already, right? Ah hell, what was he saying – something always went wrong.

"Who dis be?" he answered lightly.

"You know who dis be, Artie," Mercedes said, sounding annoyed but not especially panicked, so he decided to rule out the immediate need to step on it (. . . so to speak). "Are you playing with your dinosaurs again?"

"Give me some credit, girl. I'm a professional," he said, making Rex nom Steggy's neck viciously.

"Yeah, we're a bunch of professional crazies," she grumbled. "Seen anything?"

"Couple cars drove past, but nothing worth getting suspicious over. Tina's outside, keeping watch with her freakish undead eyesight." He looked out the rear-view mirror and caught his girlfriend's eye. They'd parked in an empty driveway down the road from the library, to be discreet – or at least, as discreet as a huge van that was practically the Hulk: On Wheels could be. She smiled and waved from where she was crouched behind the front fence, looking like an adorable, cheery vampire. "So how we doing?"

"Fine so far. No alarms have gone off, and Rach hasn't murdered Puck yet because I don't see his body dangling out the window . . . I'm waiting for it though."

"Girl. Relax. There is no reason for VA scouts to be anywhere near this place tonight, and this job is cake compared to some of the stuff we've pulled."

"Aaaand now it's jinxed. I got the unshakable feeling that this will get ugly soon, so keep your eyes open, ok?"

"Yes, yes, O ye of no faith. I'll keep you posted. Enjoy your recon . . ." he stopped suddenly. Tina was waving her hands frantically, trying to catch his eye. Artie glanced up, and saw a large black truck gliding slowly down the street behind them. Its headlights weren't on, and Artie felt his heart drop. I gotta stop jinxing things with my positive attitude.

"Artie? Why the sudden space-out?"

"'Cedes. It's a VA scout truck," he said, very calmly. "Get out of there now."

Getting in through the window was almost disappointingly simplistic. Rachel knew she shouldn't complain, but she liked to be challenged in all areas of her life where skill was necessary, and she had become very skilled at sneaking around in recent years. Especially for someone who had a natural inclination towards attention.

But the challenge, as it turned out, lay not in the entry but in the search. She and Puck spent ten minutes rifling through draws and pulling out files at random – their tip-off had specifically singled out this archive room as the hiding place of the illegal document, and so it had to be in here somewhere.

"Hey," Puck hissed suddenly from across the room. "Is this the right sperm?"

Inside, Rachel died a little because she had the feeling Puck would be illogically referring to written music as sperm for the rest of their days. But she pocketed the nail file that she'd been using as a surprisingly effective lock-pick, and strode over to his side. After seeing the title of the document he had in his hands, a smile spread across her face, straining against the black woollen fabric of her mask.

"It is!" she said, grabbing the paper and rifling through it enthusiastically (ignoring his eye-roll). "Puck, you're a genius, where did you find it?"

He shrugged. "On top of that filing cabinet."

"On top of – you mean it was just sitting there, in plain sight?"

"Uh . . . yeah?" Then he blinked. "Hold on a second. This thing is valuable, right? And illegal?"

"Right," she whispered.

"So either some little old lady who keeps this stuff organised started looking at it without knowing that she could be arrested for it, and then forgot to put it away before naptime . . ."

"Or someone did know what it was worth, and was stupid enough to leave it out . . ."

"Or . . ."

"Or it was planted."

They stared at each other in dawning horror, and then Rachel's phone vibrated. She shoved the music at Puck, and fumbled to answer it.

"They're here," Artie's voice said. "Time to go."

Since Puck had been pretty much running away from people his whole life, it never surprised him when something bad happened around him – an explosion, a broken window, an ATM trailing behind his mom's car on a chain, even a stupid, illegal piece of music in his hand – and someone blamed him for it. Life was unfair, but hell, he was used to that.

So naturally, his first instinct when they heard the sound of a car door slam was to grab whatever incriminating evidence he could reach – in this case, Tartini's sperm and Rachel – and make a mad dash for the window. Since the window faced away from the street, and the VA were pulling up out front, he figured there was enough time for them to make a mad dash away from the library and double back to the van.

"Puck!" Fearless Leader squirmed in his grasp. "Put me down!"

Like hell. She'd only do that careful, girly little shimmy down the drainpipe, and they totally didn't have the time for that. "Shut up and hold on," he demanded, before launching himself out the window.

He thought she might scream, but thankfully managed to keep it to a startled squeak as he hit the ground, hard. Ow. Oh well. He could hear voices from around the building, and it was time to go like right the fuck now.

Except . . .

"Mercedes!" Rachel gasped. "She's still around the other side. We have to go back and –"

"And what? Get all of us arrested?"

"We can't leave her behind!"

Puck considered knocking her out. It wouldn't be the first time he considered it, and at least now he could claim survival as an excuse. Instead he said, "Mercedes is a smart chick. Either she's back at the van already, or keeping out of sight until they go away. We can't help her, and we need to move now!"

She worried her lip, and he took advantage of the moment's indecision to drag her away from the library. Together they sprinted across the street and down the next row of shops, and he was banking on the fact that their pursuers would at least search the library before branching outside.

There was a shout behind them. Puck swore and increased his pace until Rachel was practically flying behind him like a rag doll. He turned the corner, ran past a few more shops, and then ducked into an alleyway. Christ, the van was in the other direction. There was no way they could double back without being caught.

After a moment, he realised that Rachel had stopped hyperventilating against the wall, and was fishing her phone out. "What are you doing?"

She flapped her hand at him – which he did not appreciate – and punched in the first number on her speed dial. "Artie," she gasped. "Where are you – ok, no, drive away. I mean it. Drive down the street, through town, and then onto the highway. Speed up until you're just out of sight, double back at the turn-off, and then hide under the bridge until you're sure they're gone. Meet us at the chapel on the other end of town in an hour. Just – just trust me, ok? Thankyou."

Puck stared at her as she hung up and slumped back against the wall. "You really think that'll work?"

"Do you have any better suggestions?"

" . . . Gimme a minute."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just hide here for the time being, ok?"

"Fine, but be ready to run."

Rachel nodded tiredly and they both fell into a tense silence.

"Wh-wh-what?" Tina said, staring at the phone. "Sh-she can't be serious."

Artie sighed. Tina only stuttered when she was nervous. "Babe, how's the new engine? Think it'll hold up?"

She gnawed at one of her nails. "It sh-should. Though we really need a new compression coil, and soon."

"We can get one later, I promise," he assured her. "In the meantime – belt up, Tina, we've got some Storm Troopers to lead astray."

The new engine roared like a dinosaur as he pulled out of the driveway and flew past several startled VA robots. Artie grinned at Tina. She grinned back nervously. If they were gonna be taken tonight, the bastards would have to catch them first.

An hour later, Rachel trudged up the hill towards St Anthony's Chapel with Noah Puckerman, and both of them breathed identical sighs of relief as they saw the green van there, waiting for them. Then Mercedes emerged, looking tired and grumpy and grass-stained, so Rachel ran up and hugged her tightly. "Oh my God, I thought they might have found you!"

The other girl hugged her back grudgingly, and said, "Yeah, right. The morons have no creativity, none of them even came near my hiding spot. Now, please tell me you at least got the damn prize?"

"Of course." She brandished the sheet music. "But seriously guys, I am sorry about that. I mean, it wasn't my fault personally, but all the same . . ."

"Hey, don't be sorry," Artie called from the open door. "I didn't even know our baby go that fast. Kudos goes to Tina, of course."

Tina's head emerged from the front engine, and she gave them a tiny wave.

"So they took the bait?" Puck asked.

"Yep. They'll be halfway to New York by now."

"Good. Now. What the fuck happened."

Rachel planted her hands on her hips and frowned thoughtfully. "My guess is that our contact was either working with the VA from the start . . ."

"No way," Artie argued. "My background check was flawless."

" . . . Or they somehow got wind of what he was doing, and forced him to cooperate in order to catch us. I would say that it was a fairly late intervention too, given that they didn't get there until we had the music."

"But why bother leaving the music there for us at all? Why not just corner us and then arrest us?"

"Evidence," Puck said. "We cover our tracks well. Without something concrete to pin us with, we're worthless."

Mercedes snorted. "Since when do they bother with little things like rules and justice?"

Rachel sighed loudly. "Either way, we now need to get rid of this thing as quickly as possible, or else they will have something on us. I propose that we go straight to Columbus immediately and meet the buyer."

"Good plan. Hey, if we get there before tomorrow evening, it will be time to meet Quinn."

Rachel smoothed her hand over the creased paper as they began to pile into the van. She knew the value of what they had just liberated, but that didn't necessarily mean that it had been worth it. Hopefully, The Devil's Trill would help solve their problems, and not create more.

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

~ American Pie, Don McClean

It had been over four years since the bill was passed. Since then, original music of any kind had been outlawed from the state of Ohio, because of its detrimental effect on the mental and emotional welfare of the population, and because it resulted in higher crime rates. Now, the only legal kind of music was what the huge record company Vocal Adrenaline put out, because as far as the government was concerned, sameness = equality and community.

A lot of people called bullshit – some louder than others – but those people didn't have money, so it was all for nothing. These days, VA was the biggest power in the state, and them? They were dangling off the bottom link of the food chain.

Their daily existence could be summarised thusly: Hot, dry air. Endless fields of yellow grass, as far as the eye can see. Pale blue sky. A huge, noisy van covered in cracked, peeling green paint, and nothing but empty road, for miles and miles and miles. And, of course, no music.

There was something deeply depressing about being on a long road trip and not having any music to listen to. Since their lives were pretty much one long road trip, with the occasional criminal act thrown in to remind them that they're still alive, Mercedes can only conclude that her life has become deeply depressing. Or at least, somewhat frustrating.

But she knew it was going to be this way, and she'd chosen it anyway, because it was the only kind of freedom they had left.

Mercedes flipped unenthusiastically through the pages of Vogue, which was at least a few months old, but the best she could manage when they so rarely hit civilisation. She had claimed shotgun today, because sitting next to Artie and listening to Artie tap his fingers on the steering wheel while humming the tune of some half-forgotten AC/DC song was better than being in the back, listening to Rachel's post-mission-whining. Their self-appointed leader had a habit of going over things – loudly – that went wrong, that could have gone wrong, what they could have done better. Or on the rare occasion when things went right, she'd spend all day congratulating herself until Mercedes suggested a sing-a-long just to shut her up.

Today, Tina was the unfortunate sounding board to Rachel's theories regarding the heist, and why it hadn't gone as smooth as it should. Mercedes didn't feel as guilty about this as she probably should have, because Tina was by far the most patient of them all and sometimes her passive cheer could coax Rachel into a quieter form of contemplation. By the sound of things, that wasn't happening today, but Mercedes would give it another hour before rescuing their mechanic. In the meantime, she'd deal.

Giving up on the mag, since she'd read it at least eleven times already, Mercedes tossed it into the back in case one of the girls was interested. She turned to her left to initiate some kind of conversation with Artie, but was distracted by a sudden burst of acceleration.

"Hey, what's your deal?" she demanded . . . and then caught sight of the motorbike in her rear-view, with a mohawked idiot on top. "Boy, I know you're smart enough not to get into a drag race with Noah Puckerman."

Artie, who was smirking into hisown rear-view, just shrugged. "Being smart all the time is boring."

"He's on a bike. You're driving a mechanical hippopotamus."

"Come on, 'Cedes, we've got the whole open road to ourselves, and you know I'm the best handicapable driver in the States. Loosen up a little."

She rolled her eyes because seriously, boys. But she reasoned that if Artie were gonna kill himself or anyone else via this van, he'd have done it already. Probably while trying to escape from the law. There was that one time where he'd driven it into a river, and that other time where he'd driven it off a small cliff, across a golf course, and through a swordfish billboard. He'd kept the swordfish as a memento.

So really, while the boy's driving could give her heart failure, none of them had died, and that was something.

"ARTIE! ARE YOU DRAG-RACING PUCK AGAIN?" Rachel's unearthly shriek nearly shattered their windscreen more effectively than any swordfish. They both winced.

"No!" he replied inoccently.

"Good, because the last thing poor Elphie needs is another paint job due to your carelessness!"

Mercedes turned around to say, "Hey if that ever happens, we could finally paint it a colour that make my retinas ache. What do you say?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Her name is Elphaba, and so it only makes sense that she be green."

Before Mercedes can make a cutting reply about how Rachel's idea of 'sense' would make Idina Menzel cry, Puck roared past the van, whooping and hollering like a madman. Artie narrowed his eyes and muttered, "One day, Puckerman. One day."

They fell into silence once more. Even Rachel had come to the end of her tirade, by the sounds of it. After a little while, Artie resumed his tapping on the steering wheel, and Mercedes realised that she could recognise the tune.

"Ridin' down the highway," she sang quietly.

He caught her eye, smirked, and joined in. "Goin' to a show."

"Stoppin' all the byways

Playin' rock'n'roll."

In the back, Tina giggled and began harmonising. Rachel also perked up.

"Oh are we singing? Great! Everyone follow my lead!"

Mercedes and Artie shared another Look, and belted out the lyrics as loud as they could go.

"It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll
It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll
If you think it's easy doin' one night stands
Try playin' in a rock roll band
It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll . . ."

The rest of the drive passed by rather quickly.

Evening couldn't come soon enough for Quinn. Having been cooped up in her father's study all day, answering phone calls, filing papers and generally running the business, it was a relief to get out and do something really productive. Like packing her suitcase, and making sure a certain lime green van was going to arrive on time to take her the hell out of this city.

It really said something about the state of her sanity, that she'd rather be travelling with a bunch of delinquent Mystery Inc rejects rather than staying in her own home. Home had privacy, walk-in closets, a proper bed, and the certainty of a decent meal every day. Elphaba had criminal charges, a bad paint job, and Rachel Berry. Quinn really ought to bring it up with her therapist, but it might result in her being charged with criminal association, and that wouldn't be good for her fledgling business.

Speaking of which, her work had really taken off since hitting the road. Her calling card said Quinn Fabray: Freelance Business Consultant, and while this was perfectly correct, her actual mission statement was a little more flexible than that. If there was one thing she'd learned under the joint tutelage of her father, who juggled as many affair as he did shady business propositions, and her old cheerleading coach, who had gone on to bigger things and now juggled politicians' heads for fun, it was that deviance was the biggest business of them all. And in the small back-water towns of Ohio, where Berry and her little crew thrived, deviants were everywhere.

Quinn contemplated the insides of her walk-in closet. She would have be a little more economical with her luggage than the last time, since there was barely any room in the van to begin with. While holding up two dresses and trying to decide which shade of green went better with her eyes, her cell rang.

"Good afternoon, this is Quinn Fabray," she intoned smoothly, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Hey girl, whatup?"

She smiled. "Artie. It's good to hear from you, providing you're not making this call from a police station."

He chuckled. "Nope, we're twenty minutes out of the city. You ready to rejoin the circus?"

"Hmm. Is it still green?"

"'Fraid so. We're working on it."

"Well, I guess that was too much to hope for. I'll meet you in an hour in the usual place, ok?"

"You got it. See you then, Babe."

"Bye." She tossed the phone onto the bed, and finished packing.

Once her suitcase was full, she called a cab, locked her bedroom door, and made her way downstairs.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?" her mother slurred vaguely from the living room. "Oh, you're not disappearing again are you, Quinnie?"

Quinn walked over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "I'll call you later, Mom. Don't drink too much before Daddy gets home."

"Philandering bastard," Judy muttered, downing the rest of her daiquiri. "Have fun, Quinnie. Don't have sex."

"Yes, Mom." Quinn strode out the door without looking back.

"Honey, please. Please don't leave. We can sort this out, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again . . . Will, please! You'll regret this!"

There was nothing he had left to say to her that wouldn't end in him crying. All he could do was gaze at her sadly, still a bit in love with her desperate, beautiful, tear-stained face. But that love wasn't enough anymore - it hadn't been for a long time.

He closed the door quietly behind him and set off down the street, suitcase in hand. Well, that was it. In the space of ten minutes, he had gone from a loving husband with an apartment and a mortgage, to a broken, bitter man with nothing but a suitcase full of stuff. He felt a curiously vague sense of peace steal over him as he walked away. He was tired of hurting, of giving everything he had but only getting cut in return.

Was this what freedom felt like? Running away and cutting off all ties to your old life? Maybe that made him weak, it might even make him the bad guy, but he couldn't change his mind now. If he went back, he'd probably never leave again.

One thing was for sure; for better or worse, William Schuester had finally grown up.

"Good luck you guys. I'm sure it'll go off without a hitch."

"I wish I could shared your blinding optimism."

"Don't be pessimistic, Mercedes. Tina is right, there is absolutely no reason why this shouldn't be a clean, easy exchange."

"Yeah, except for the fact that our contact totally screwed us over and our asses were this close to being boned by the VA last night."

"He has a point, Rach."

"Alright, enough! You guys, we need to keep our heads, and stride in with confidence. He will have no choice but to cooperate. That being said . . . Artie, be ready to make a quick getaway if necessary. Tina, why don't you use the last of our previous pay to get some groceries? There's a little place just over there that should suffice. Puck, Mercedes, let's do this."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"You got it."

"Whatever. Hey dude, you want any more dinosaurs while I'm out?"

"Hmm. I could use a Pterodactyl . . . that's the one that flies, Puck."

"Oh, ok. I'll keep an eye out."

"Puck!"

"What?"

" . . . Yeah, we are so screwed."

In the city, there are crowded streets and isolated souls. There is repression and rebellion, opportunity and loss, give and take. People push past each other in the street, lost in their own worlds, playing their given roles. And once in a while, they collide.

Five young people who have lost everything fight a silent war over their freedom. A daughter of society, bred into a world of cutthroat superiority, wanders off the edge of the map. A man trudges along the peripheral of life, trying to find a new purpose in a world that no longer welcomes him.

A young man sits on the edge of his bed in a cheap motel room, shoulders bowed under the weight of every bad decision he'd ever mad, and the one good decision that made his life a living hell. On the opposite bed, his One Good Decision sleeps on in the shadows of his own broken mind. The two of them have nothing left except each other. That is most definitely not enough to survive. The young man closes his eyes and thinks, We are so totally screwed.

Notes: I ended part one a little earlier than Firefly did. Part two will be up soon.
* Artie's dinosaur conversation is pretty much directly ripped from Wash in the show. I'll try not to do this too often, but I couldn't not use it, and there was no point in trying to change it too much, or else it lost its charm. Apologies, do not own, etc.
** Also regarding Artie: the Elphaba is specially designed so that only he can drive it, via hand controls. More on this later.
*** The swordfish thing also doesn't belong to me. It comes from Get Smart, the movie, of all things (except I don't think Max kept the swordfish)

Thankyou for reading :)