Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters, nor do I own Forrest Gump.

A/N: Another story from the vault of old stories. Again, I was thinking about releasing it, but I just wasn't sure.

I hope you enjoy it, because I, again, was hesitant in posting this.

Please read, review and enjoy :)

Life Is Like a Box of Chocolates

TheSilentPen

Quinn had known it was coming.

She'd known it was coming since the first goddamn day she came back from a dance competition in the eighth grade (pre-Cheerio days) and saw her sister's trendy boyfriend Brody dressed as Forrest fucking Gump, plaid blue shirt tucked into tan dress pants, hair shaved just for the freaking role (her sister was always a little too into school projects).

The AP US History teacher, Ms. Anderson, was a new teacher at McKinley High, from bright and annoyingly sunny Southern California.

She was new to Ohio and therefore new to its deadbeat school system… or, rather, just simply new to the way the McKinley school system worked (even AP classes).

AP and CP classes were run on three rather basic principles:

1.) Show up to class.

2.) Do nothing.

3.) Occasionally participate more than necessary to receive above a C.

Ms. Anderson, however, taught.

And all her students loved and worshipped her (even if they freaking failed the class—Ms. Anderson had to have some sort of weird juju she used to make it impossible to hate her, even if she made someone jump off a fucking bridge to their doom).

Including Quinn's sister, Frannie Fabray.

Which meant that all her students were willing to throwing themselves headfirst off any goddamned building in order to please their actual teacher.

Ms. Anderson had brought with her from California an assignment her 'mentor' touted for years.

The Forrest Gump video project.

An assignment from hell, complete with a grade for costumes, historical accuracy, humor rating, acting score, and a freaking Academy Awards: classroom addition.

The whole mammoth of a project took a minimum of five days to complete (two weeks if you were Quinn's anal retentive sister), script and everything put together.

Frannie started to put things together the day the project was assigned. Quinn had vivid memories of her sister sitting at the shared family computer in the hallway, chipping away at the project with messy blonde locks astray, murmuring lines under her breath.

Quinn had been forced to participate in the film as a sometimes extra, sometimes main character. She'd played 'young Jenny,' a 'chinese immigrant' (with makeup and clothing to complete), and a Confederate soldier (her sister made her cross dress, including binding what limited amount of chest prepubescent Quinn possessed).

The experience scarred her for life.

Because, as always, Frannie went a step too far.

Real knives, real guns (with safety on), and very convincing acting combined to create a horror ridden week that terrified Quinn so badly, she mentally blocked out any recollection of the events.

The project had been a hit and Frannie received a perfect score and several 'Academy Awards' for her project.

And Quinn?

Quinn vowed to get a 'less than perfect' score on her project so as to avoid a maiming at the hands of a less than savory team member that would most likely try to slit her throat (Jonathan, Frannie's friend, had been a littletoo convincing in that scene).

She would not, at any cost, risk her life to go above and beyond on this fucking project and pass APUSH with a grossly inflated grade.

She'd pass APUSH with an A.

She'd make a good project.

Just not a 'great' one.

Quinn entered McKinley High School wearing the patented reds, blacks, and whites of Sue Sylvester's Cheerios, ready to take charge and seize the popularity left to her from her sister's rather successful run as Head Cheerio.

She strutted down the hall the first day of school, newly minted friends Santana and Brittany flanking her right and left.

Jocks and their less popular counterparts stopped and stared, running their oily eyes over recently developed curves and the teasing flash of toned thigh from the pleats of the uniform. Girls whispered behind their binders, staring in admiration and jealousy.

The losers of the school were baptized in slushy at her hand. They learned to throw themselves against their lockers to get out of the way. Learned to tremble in fear at her approach. Learned to part like the red sea.

Over the next year, she landed with Finn Hudson, the school's quarterback on her arm and made herself the strongest candidate for captaincy of the Cheerios. The school's Christ Crusaders were in the palm of her hand and the newly founded Celibacy Club became the crowning jewel of her domain.

Quinn drew attention and she loved it. Reveled in being in charge, reveled in being beautiful and desirable.

Reveled in being everything everyone else wanted to be.

Until she met Rachel Berry.

Quinn had known Rachel since the first grade, when the two were in the same class.

Rachel had been an awkward child, with curly brown locks, chubby cheeks, and a thick set pair of black glasses that obscured her face. She spoke in short, stunted, grammatically complex sentences and was painfully blunt in her criticisms of others.

Rachel's voice was too high, her clothing was too odd, she was too short, and she wasn't much to look at.

No one liked Rachel much and, as such, no one really bothered to pay attention to her.

Rachel and Quinn attended separate middle schools after the lame fifth grade promotion and Lima Elementary. Rachel disappeared from Quinn's life and Quinn never thought of awkward 'Hairy Berry' again.

Until high school.

Halfway through the school year, a new student transferred to McKinley.

The school buzzed in excitement. It'd been too long since fresh meat walked through the door (the freshmen were relieved—new kid meant a new target for the jocks to slushy instead of them).

The first time she saw Rachel again was in her 1st period Spanish class.

Mr. Schue, the school's newest addition to the staff, had started to go over a new verb tense (it was, ironically, the same verb tense they'd been going over the entire year), lecturing over the blare of the old, defective projector as it lit the screen with a rather outdated powerpoint.

In the midst of the lecture, the beaten wooden door to the classroom opened.

In she walked.

Quinn's throat dried instantaneously.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn't because her eyes were wandering up taut, toned, ridiculously long legs hidden beneath a too shirt black skirt. That the soft, modest swell of the stranger's chest, exposed by two undone buttons of a crisp, white oxford shirt isn't distracting her.

That the gentle planes and strong nose of the girl's face aren't bewitching. That she wasn't thinking of the way the girl's hair fell down in light, tousled waves.

And she most certainly didn't admire the stranger's soft, chocolate eyes.

"Pardon my tardiness, Mr. Schue," a rich, teasingly melodic voice sounded from between plump, red lips as the girl ran a nervous hand through her hair. "I had an altercation with a group of my peers in the hallway. It was necessary to change my clothing before I came to class, so as not to soil the furniture with artificial dye."

"Oh, it's certainly alright, Miss…" Schue blinked, eyes dumb before he smiled sheepishly. "Uhm…"

"Berry," the girl provided. "Rachel Berry."

A zap of shock coursed down the column of Quinn's spine, her jaw dropping enough to provide room for a whole family of birds to nest in her molars.

Berry. Rachel Berry?

Rachel Berry with curly hair, acne, glasses, and baby fat? Rachel Berry with the high voice?

This girl was that Rachel Berry?!

It couldn't be. It had to be some sort of fucking lie.

Because the ugly rarely become beautiful.

Well, not without some help from a scalpel, Quinn mused to herself as she ran a finger over the bridge of her perfect nose.

"Alright then, Rachel," Mr. Schue looked like a puppy eager to freakin' beg for a biscuit. "Please take the open seat next to Miss Quinn Fabray."

Rachel simply nodded as she shouldered the bag slung over her shoulder, folding her pink binder (which was, Quinn observed, sickeningly decorated in sparkly gold stars and cheap bedazzling gems), and walking down the aisles to take the empty seat beside her.

Goddamned Finn. Why did he have to switch to fucking French?

Quinn muttered angrily, cursing her boyfriend with all known expletives beneath her breath, shrinking in her desk.

'Well,' she thought to herself, 'at least Berry doesn't talk much.'

How wrong she was.

As it turned out, Rachel had not only managed to pull a goddamned metamorphosis, but a freaking 180 in personality as well.

She was loud. Loud in everything she did and was just as wordy as ever. If something seemed wrong to her, Rachel spoke out about it and felt the need to impress her 'amazing' (sarcasm intended) mind upon the general populace.

She drove Quinn up the damn wall half the time with those teasing little skirts (which exposed legs crafted by the hands of the goddamned Greek or Incan, or whatever higher power in the world), big mouth, and her assurances that she would make it to Broadway someday.

Quinn wouldn't tolerate it.

She dive bombed Rachel. Made to break her into unsightly little pieces.

Quinn gave the school's athletes full permission to rain hell over Rachel in any way they saw fit. There were dumpster throws, slushies, insults, and daily insults thrown in the diva's way.

The Cheerios were allowed to insult her in any way possible. They attacked Rachel's MySpace videos, slammed her against lockers, and even threw the occasional slushy themselves. What they could not do physically, they compensated in verbal abuse.

But Rachel…

Rachel acted as though she didn't have the entire school's elite breathing down her back. She held her head high and wouldn't let anyone sway her in her ambitions. She pursued her goals with an alarming amount of intensity and didn't give a damn who she crushed to get there.

Quinn would slam her into a locker at the beginning of the day and the girl would give her a mild smile, gather her books, and finish the walk to her locker with it across her face. A jock would then slushy her and Rachel, with that same smile on her face, would grab her slushy kit from her locker and head to the bathroom to clean up.

She never broke, not even once.

And that made Quinn want her.

It made her want her, and so she turned up the teasing, waiting for the day she could see Rachel stoop over and cry so that she might purge the desire from her system.

But Quinn, by some sick twist of irony, ended up being the one to break.

After a day of feeling particularly gay for Rachel (she'd watched Rachel bend over and pick up her pencil in the middle of the hall and found she was watching a little too avidly), she drank all her feelings out at the annual party and ended up sleeping with Puck.

She tumbled down the ranks rather sloppily and suddenly she was in Rachel's place.

Quinn thought that she'd become the school's whipping girl. She was sure that everyone would take the opportunity to take their slow, sweet time to draw out their revenge, pregnant or not.

But Rachel, Rachel defended her.

The first day that the boys slushied… or really tried to, had been an outright mess.

The jocks surrounded her, cornered Quinn against the lockers, each holding an extra large Big Quench in his meaty hand, smirks painted across their sadistic faces.

Quinn closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow, only to hear several jocks yell at the top of their lungs and the loud splash of ice against the ground.

She opened her eyes slowly, edging the lid open before her jaw dropped in surprise

Rachel 'Blabber' Berry stood before her, two extra large Slushies poised in her hands, contents dripping from the lips of the cups. Normally warm brown eyes were hard, her stance firm and determined.

"While I tolerate your ape-like conduct toward me," the little diva snarled, eyes flashing, "I will not stand for any of you to lay a single finger on a pregnant, helpless member of my sex."

"If Quinn were to catch a cold because of your thoughtless actions," the girl dropped the cup and advanced upon the quaking jocks, a terrifying chill wracking their large, bulky frames, "and if she were to miscarry why… Santana's treatment would seem like a bitch slap in comparison to my fury."

To complete the entirely horrifying image, Rachel grinned, fucking grinned and waved them off. "So now that we have an understanding, why don't you all scurry off to class, hmm?"

And scurry they did. Hell, they outright scrambled from the scene, eager to be out of Rachel's presence.

Rachel, oblivious to Quinn's wide-eyed stare, bent over and started to gather Quinn's fallen books and binders off the floor, humming softly as she went.

Hazel eyes flickered to long, tanned calves, taut muscles rippling beneath the skin as they slid over each other gracefully. Rachel's arms, visible for once in a short-sleeved, starch white oxford shirt, pulled and flexed smoothly.

Quinn found herself dry mouthed and hot in the cheeks, barely able to understand the string of words now leaking forth from Rachel's nervous features.

She shook her head.

Oh… Rachel spoke.

"…you okay?"

"…Huh?" Quinn muttered, scarcely able to string together the words. Her mouth felt full of cotton.

"I asked if you were feeling sufficient, Quinn," Rachel said, brow furrowed with concern.

"Yeah," Quinn said weakly, regaining some semblance of control over her mouth. "Yeah… I'm fine."

"Well good," Rachel smiled. She tilted her head down the hall. "Come on, let's get to class. We wouldn't want to be tardy. I have to keep perfect attendance!"

That was the moment of no return.

They struck up a tentative friendship. Quinn leaned on Rachel, shared all her doubts and insecurities, all her negative emotions with Rachel and Rachel in turn provided warmth, comfort, and kind words.

When Finn kicked her out of the house and Puck expected Quinn to come running into his arms, Rachel had been at the Fabray house within minutes, SUV parked in the driveway and her 'Daddy' Leroy (a tall, muscular, silver-eyed African American man with a broad smile) ready to help load it up.

Rachel was a kind person when she wasn't trying to slaughter those that might get in the way of her career or executing diva storm outs.

They spent each night in each others' room, studying, joking, chatting, or rehearsing for Glee. Quinn learned that Rachel Berry wasn't half as obnoxious as everyone else assumed and Rachel learned Quinn could in fact be very sweet instead of a grade A bitch.

And Rachel Berry was so different from anyone else Quinn had met.

Rachel gave. Gave without taking anything from her. She listened without offering judgment, gave Quinn her shoulder to cry on, and dried Quinn's tears, singing to her when the adoption agency took Beth away from her.

It was a strange sort of thing, to have someone who gave so much but expected nothing in return.

It was, selfish, perhaps, of Quinn to want more. To want everything.

To offer herself to Rachel and in turn have Rachel offer herself.

The want only grew with each touch, each smile, and every bit of laughter shared between them. It strengthened till the wanting grew so much, Quinn felt her fingers ache at the very nearness of her 'best friend.'

So close… yet so far.

So far because Rachel had Finn in her life. Waited on him every goddamned moment of the day while he strung her up and played her every moment of the day with that constipated, queasy looking smile (Quinn never understood how she ever found that gaseous smile charming, ugh it made her wretch).

Quinn all but had to restrain herself from strangling Finn after Rachel came home with the news that she'd lost her virginity (that didn't stop her from stealthily paying Santana to slushy Finn) during the summer.

She sat on her hands, biding her time as Rachel frolicked about Ohio with Finn nipping at her heels.

God, she wanted to vomit. Wanted to tell Rachel to wake up. That she could do so much better than Finn "I-am-a-gassy-infant" Hudson!

But good things came to those who waited. Good things always came. A rather knowing Leroy chanted those words softly as Quinn nearly cracked the glass in her hand watching Rachel parade Finn about the house with a stupid, lovesick smile on her lips.

The chance would come.

And come it did.

The second week of Junior year, Rachel found out that her boyfriend hadn't been as pure as driven snow before they had done 'the deed' as she had thought he'd been.

Rachel gave her virginity to Finn because she had genuinely believed that he had been one hundred percent honest with her throughout the entirety of their relationship, including his assurances that she would be his first.

…She hadn't been.

Finn made his rounds around school, starting with Santana, mid-waying it with a water polo player, and ending with the Cheerios' best flyer.

He'd had his fair share before their relationship…

…And during.

The blowup was spectacular. Complete with Rachel slapping a petulant Finn across the jaw, tears, and half the Glee club chasing after its crying captain. A furious Puck was suddenly on top of Finn, wailing away at his ex-best bud's face (he'd always shown a strange sort of kindness toward Rachel), shouting curses in Hebrew (Quinn had no idea Puck could even speak Hebrew) as the other boys tried to pull him off the sniveling coward.

The best Quinn could do for Rachel was to drive the shell-shocked girl home, wrap her in blankets, sit her in front of the TV, make cocoa, and allow Rachel to cry on her shoulder.

Rachel, after several weeks of cold vegan comfort food and furious solos directed at a whimpering (and whining, as usual), was right as rain again and swore off all forms of men (Quinn gave a subtle 'yes!') until graduation (though she 'shouldn't hold her to it' as she told Quinn with a little smile).

Over the next few months, the two of them became closer. The lines between friendship and 'more' blurred a little around the edges.

Rachel's fingers would linger a little longer on hers than necessary, or she'd cuddle close to Quinn during movie sessions and fall asleep in her arms. Hell, they even shared the same bed during 'sleepovers.'

They had dinner together at restaurants, either Quinn or Rachel paying. They went everywhere together, sat near each other in Glee, held hands.

Fuck, it was like a relationship without the 'official' nature of it.

A problem that Quinn desperately wanted to rectify.

She put mission 'woo Rachel Berry' on the forefront, desperate to 'convince' the girl into marr-

DATING her.

Dating, just dating.

…Then maybe marrying her. In the distant future, you know, when they were settled down, Rachel had a shitload of awards, and they were financially stable enough to settle down and-…

ANYWAY.

The point was, Quinn had been so focused on Operation: Get Rachel Berry to be my Girlfriend, she'd failed to recognize the impending danger swiftly approaching:

The Forrest Gump Project.

Poor Quinn didn't even know it was coming until Ms. Anderson started passing out the assignment sheet several months later (and with Rachel STILL no wiser about her feelings—God, she could make a freakin' neon sign saying 'I LOVE YOU!' and Rachel still probably wouldn't notice her).

"Oh shit," Quinn murmured, clasping her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. "No, no, no."

This couldn't be happening. Not this project…

But God, at least she wouldn't have to worry about doing anything insane…

"Quinn!"

Quinn looked up quickly, seeing Rachel stride across the class smiling brightly with Tina and Puck trailing behind her.

"Quinn," the girl started before the ex-Cheerio could even open her mouth to speak. "I would love it if you would be in our group because you are a wonderful actress as well as my best friend. With you in our group, we would be sure to achieve the maximum potential of getting an A as well as receive excellent scores for our project and receive a plethora of academy awards."

Quinn's eyes widened. Oh shit.

She'd never planned on the Rachel factor.

Hell, she never planned on the 'being gay for Rachel' factor.

Rachel Berry was, if anything, anal about the level of quality she put into her projects.

And she was certainly anal about anything involved with acting.

If Quinn were to be in Rachel's group, she'd no doubt end up in a repeat of Frannie's mentally scarring project….

Fuck.

She could say no, Quinn supposed, but what would that do to their friendship?

If she wanted even a chance of being with Rachel, she would have to do this.

Because if she said no?

Rachel wouldn't even put her on the friend radar anymore.

And so it was that Quinn Fabray was stuck between a rock and a hard place…

Though the choice was not the one she wanted to make, she knew she had no other choice.

With a hesitant, plastic-y smile she nodded slowly.

"Sure, Rachel…. Sure, I'll do the project with you."

The smile that Rachel gave her made her feel like the project would be worth the pain.

Scratch that.

It wasn't worth the pain.

Within days of the assignment, Rachel had written up an entire script, complete with movements, commandeered an entire wardrobe full of period clothing for each scene, and assigned roles to each person.

And maybe Quinn could have survived it.

If Rachel hadn't given her the most… demanding roles.

Scene 1, she'd play Mr. Randolph in the Connecticut compromise, which wouldn't have been so bad if Rachel hadn't insisted that she bind and pack for added effect in the clothes, along with wigging.

Scene 2, she'd be forced to undergo makeup to play Martin Luther King Jr.

Scene 3, she'd have to play John Wilkes Booth

Scene 4, she'd play Boss Tweed, which included, according to Rachel's vivid descriptions, binding, packing, then wearing a fat suit.

Scene 5, she'd play muck raking journalist Ida Tarbell

And in the last scene, she'd a fucking soldier (binding and packing yet a-freaking-gain.

Quinn tolerated Rachel's poking and prodding around with makeup and the numerous costume fittings (she was much better than Puck, who swore loudly and yelled at Rachel for 'ruining his stud image' with the buzz cut wig she'd glued to his scalp—an odd sight, seeing Puck with a relatively decent haircut) without a single complaint.

Though inside, she'd sighed.

'I'm so whipped, it's not funny,' she thought to herself as Rachel smeared more dark foundation on her face.

By the end of the week, she couldn't remember why it was she loved Rachel Berry.

All she knew was that she'd never look at makeup the same way again.

Scene 1: The Connecticut Compromise

Quinn honestly couldn't believe that she was fucking doing this.

As in wearing a fucking ye olde English costume, wig and all, and filming this goddamned project.

Once her class saw this, her reputation would be done for.

There'd be no hope at becoming prom queen. She could kiss that fucking tiara goodbye.

No one would vote for fucking Randolph.

She sighs. 'Is this really worth it?'

And as she walked out toward the 'set' that Rachel had set up in the basement of her house and saw the smile inch across Rachel's face at her ridiculous, gender-bending outfit, the answer was clear:

'Hell yes.'

That smile made everything worth it.

And as Puck hobbled down the stairs and she stifled a laugh, Quinn idly thought that the sight of Puck as Forrest Gump was well worth it too.

God, it was precious to see the so called 'stud and badass' of McKinley High dressed in Dockers, Tennis shoes, and a starched button down short sleeved checkered shirt, buzz cut wig firmly in place.

"Shut it, baby mama," he hissed angrily.

"Alright, Forrest," she smirked.

"I for one find Noah to be very handsome like this," Rachel said, looking odd with a mustache. "Now let's get filming!"

Rachel hit the record button on the camera, rushing into the frame and getting into place before smiling. "Now… three… two… one… ACTION!"

"MAJORITY ONLY!" Quinn roared.

"ONE VOTE ONLY!" Tina yelled.

"MAJORITY!"

"ONE VO-."

"Stop it!" Rachel yelled. "Can't we just compromise?"

They pushed her.

"MAJORITYYYY!"

"ONE. VOTEEEE!"

"VERBAL SPARRING IS NOT THE ANSWER!"

"That's it now, y'all stop fighting!" Puck strode into the frame, shoving the two of them apart…

Though he'd shoved a little too hard on Quinn, sending Mr. Quinn-Randolph staggering into the tripod and flat on her ass.

"Oh my goodness. Quinn!" Rachel rushed over to the groaning Quinn, pulling her up from the ground.

Quinn-Randolph groaned as Rachel-Sherman slapped her lightly on the face, attempting to bring her forth from her semi-comatose state.

"Oh God, which dumbass pushed me down?" Quinn groaned. "I feel like my head was hit by a semi-truck."

Hazel eyes snapped open and glared at Puck as he stood chuckling behind his palm. "Oh wait, there's only one idiot here." She stumbled onto her feet before advancing slowly toward Puck, gaze murderous.

"Hold on there, baby mama," Puck held his hands up before him, backing away slowly. "Let's just stop and talk about this for a while… we don't need to get violent. This is all about compromising… remember?"

"Yeah, we can compromise on how many times I'll bitch slap you," she growled, cracking her knuckles, "and knee you in the groin before I castrate you!"

Rachel rushed between them. "Come on guys. Violence isn't the answer."

"In this case, it is," Quinn hissed.

"Quinn!" Quinn-Randolph shuddered as Rachel put a hand to her shoulder and looked at her rather seriously with dark, chocolate eyes (though it probably might have been a little more… serious had Rachel not been sporting a rather thick mustache on her upper lip).

Hazel eyes softened. "Yeah, Rach?"

"You cannot harm our Forrest!" Rachel shook her head. "We need him intact for our filming process. It would not be good for film authenticity as well as the success of our project if Forrest was black and blue and couldn't walk."

"Tina could replace him!" Quinn said quickly, though she kept her voice soft. "Puck can play lieutenant Dan or something like that."

"A short, asian, female Forrest?" Tina questioned skeptically, shaking her head. "I don't think that'd work very well, Quinn."

"And Puck is doing so well already," Rachel said encouragingly.

"Yeah, Quinn," Puck said, before moving to his 'Forrest voice,' "my mama always said you gotta go with the person best for the job." He gave Quinn an infuriating grin.

"I'm going to-."

"Quinn!" Rachel grabbed the fuming girl's other shoulder. "Please don't do anything to him? …At least, not right now. After the project, you can inflict any sort of bodily harm you wish!"

"HEY!"

Quinn's eyes softened as she took in Rachel's pleading features. "…Alright."

Her heart thumped as Rachel clapped her hands excitedly. Warmth shot through her as the little singer embraced her, zinging through her veins.

'Oh God,' Quinn thought to herself as she brought her arms around Rachel to return the hug with a stupid smile on her face. 'If this is what I get for not beating up stupid meat heads and cross-dressing…'

She sighed as she buried her face in the crown of Rachel's hair. 'Just sign me up, trauma or no trauma.'

Scene 2: I Have A Dream

Or maybe not.

Because this next scene seemed to induce a little more mental trauma than the last.

Especially with the vast quantities of stage makeup now cracking about Quinn's cheeks, preventing a solid smile of any kind.

God, what was this stuff?

Liquid mud in a bottle?

The next scene involved Martin Luther King's famous "I Have A Dream" speech. It was a scene that Quinn thought they should cut out, since it would, undoubtedly, end up with someone going black face.

But Rachel, like the good student she was, consulted the teacher and 'a council of her colored peers' before writing out the final draft.

It'd been okayed.

And Quinn had been chosen to play Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Fuck.

If it had been anyone else asking her, Quinn would have told them to shove it and thrown the cosmetics in their face before sending their ass reeling out the door.

But she couldn't do that to Rachel.

Never to Rachel.

So as soon as Quinn had gotten 'de-Randolphized,' Rachel had shoved her into the bathroom with a white shirt, a pair of sharply creased pants, a dandy suit, and a dark brown wig (period appropriate of course), instructing Quinn to keep her binding and packing in place (which did not make for a happy Quinn, because, fuck it, she didn't like having her chest PINNED down).

After dressing, she'd then been promptly attacked, once more, by a Rachel-shaped blur of dark foundation.

"Oh Quinn!" Rachel said with a smile on her face as she applied one last generous smear of makeup, clapping her hands together. "You look so good!"

"Yeah?" Quinn asked, wincing as her face crackled slightly.

"Yes, you look positively doctorial!" Rachel said happily. "It's wonderful and historically accurate!"

"Ummm…" Quinn struggled to form the correct words. "…Thank you?

"No thank you," Rachel said with a great smile. "I give you a brava for the effort. I merely applied what limited makeup skills I had! You bring it alive! Goodness… you might even be up for best actress!"

"Joy," Quinn drawled unenthusiastically. There went her reputation.

But as she saw Rachel's smile, she sighed and smiled to herself once more.

Making Rachel happy would be worth the laughter, though.

Because God, she could never get tired of that smile. It was like sunshine, rainbows, and puppies, and all that shit.

Yes, Quinn decided.

It would be well worth the humiliation.

Scene 4: Boss Tweed

"You are so whipped!"

Puck's laughter rang throughout the house as Quinn walked into the room, changed for the next scene.

Well… not walked, but rather waddled into the next room, scowling at Puck.

"You need to shut up, Forrest, before I make you," Quinn growled, struggling to look at him over her rotund belly.

Or rather, the rotund belly of the fat suit strapped to her torso.

"Gosh, that's not nice of you to say, Mr. Tweed," Puck said innocently in that by now annoying Forrest voice of his. "I'm only tryin' to be the good boy my Mama taught me to be. It's awful mean of you to be unkind."

"And it's awful dumb of you," Quinn glared, "to keep insulting me when you know I'm going to get you for it later."

"Can't say I'm dumb if I'm saying something true, baby mama," he smirked.

"I dare you to come over here right now," Quinn grunted, blowing her 'mustache' out of the way again, "and say that to my face. Fat suit on or not, I can or will kick your ass, Puckerman. I did it before carrying your demon spawn, I can do it again."

"I'd like to see you tr-."

"William M. Tweed!" a booming voice made Quinn freeze, wide-eyed. She turned slowly, almost tempted to put her hands up as she looked to see just who the fuck had called her name.

'Ohmifuckinggodwhatisshewearingfuck!'

Quinn's mouth went rather dry as the clack of polished dress shoes echoed throughout the quiet of the Berry house.

Rachel Berry strode into the room, white shirt (the collar unbuttoned to reveal a tan expanse of neck), black leather vest, and black slacks tight against her body.

A police badge lay pinned against the slight lapel of the vest, shining gold in the slight light. A pair of handcuffs, fucking handcuffs jangling against Rachel's belt.

A smug smirk of all things fell across Rachel's lips as she strode forward. "You're under arrest for embezzlement of New York City funds. You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you."

Quinn's mouth went utterly dry as she watched the muscles beneath those tight leather pants flex as Rachel strode forward, the smirk dying from her lips and forming a pleased smile.

"Isn't it great?" Rachel asked. "Kurt helped me style it. It might be period appropriate, but I couldn't resist making an enforcer of the law look a little more intimidating."

"You look great, Rachel!" Tina chimed in as she walked into the room holding the tripod. "It's really well made! Did Kurt make it for you?"

"Yes!" Rachel clapped her hands with a bright smile. "And it's entirely vegan friendly because it's faux leather!"

Anything else that was said lapsed into utter silence as Quinn stared like some fucking pervert.

"Ohhh, you totally want into her britches," Puck whispered in a low voice, staring as Rachel's muscles flexed just so in those ridiculously tight pants.. "And if you don't, then I definitely do… Or we could share."

"Shut up!" Quinn hissed.

"Let's get filming!" Rachel said, clapping her hands together.

This would be the longest scene of Quinn's entire Forrest Gump experience.

Her mouth watered as Rachel stretched and the faux leather stretched with her.

Oh yes, it would be.

The presentation of the movie went rather well.

Well, as well as it could with everyone laughing their asses off at the Queen of the school, the resident man whore, and choir geek dressed up in period appropriate (and ridiculous) costumes.

Ms. Anderson had been absolutely ecstatic with the high quality script, costumes, historical accuracy, and the acting. Their little 'pleading for an A' part at the end earned 'cute' points and an 'AWWW!' from the entire class.

They'd nailed the whole thing.

And Quinn was, sadly, no closer to Rachel than she'd been at the start of the whole thing.

Sure, it hadn't been her main intention to start anything with Rachel. In fact, she'd done the whole thing just to make her happy (who else would she dress up as a man for?).

But there'd been just a small part of her. An itty bitty part of her that thought they might get a little closer to breaching that barrier between friends and more than friends.

But oh well.

At least she'd made Rachel happy.

'And at least I got to see her in that Tilden costume,' Quinn shivered, shouldering her bag and starting to walk from the classroom.

Well, she started.

Till someone shut the door before her.

Quinn froze as she took in Rachel leaning against the wall, smiling softly at her, hand poised against the door.

The brunette, in honor of the presentation, had dawned a pair of jeans, a pair of chucks, an oxford shirt with several buttons left undone at the throat, and a deep, maroon vest.

Kurt had definitely been advising Rachel on her wardrobe lately (which explained why pantsuits were long a thing of the past in school presentations… she'd have to pay him a good hundred for it later).

Still… why did Rachel shut the door?

"Rachel, what's up?" Quinn said, trying to keep the shudder from her voice.

"Nothing really," Rachel drawled lazily, her voice a musical crawl up Quinn's spine. She smiled softly. "Our presentation went pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," Quinn murmured, keeping an eye on the girl as she pushed off from the wall and strode closer. "I'd say we were definitely the best."

"And a large part of it was thanks to you," Rachel said, coming to a stop a short distance away from Quinn, shoving her hands in her pockets. "I just wanted to say… thank you, Quinn."

Quinn blinked. "For what?"

"For putting up with all the costumes," Rachel began, "for putting up with the makeup… for putting up with me, really."

"I don't have to put up with you, Rach," Quinn blurted out quickly. She colored slightly as Rachel looked at her curiously. "I mean… I don't put up with you, Rach. You're a really great friend, and this was a great way to pay you back. It really was no trouble."

Rachel gave her a genuine smile. "Thank you, Quinn… I appreciate it." She froze for a moment in thought before lifting a hand to her chin, rubbing beneath her lip. "Although… I do have a question for you."

"U-um…" Quinn shook her head quickly. "Y-you can ask me. What is it?"

"I heard you and Noah talking a bit between Antietam and the Reagan speech," Rachel smirked (Rachel Berry was capable of a smirk? What sort of demented, alternate universe was this), "and is it true that you're 'totally and utterly whipped' and you 'want to get in my britches?'"

Oh God, she'd kill Puck for it.

"U-uh…" Quinn stuttered, jaw moving soundlessly.

"Oh, and is it also true," Rachel continued on with that same damnable smirk, "that you've wanted to 'fuck me' since the first day of freshman year?"

Yes, Puck would definitely be getting a sneaker shoved up his ass later.

"It's alright if that's the case, Quinn," Rachel strode closer, running a hand down Quinn's arm and ghosting it across the neck of her shirt. "Because would you like to hear a little secret?"

"U-uhm… sure?" Quinn whimpered.

Rachel tugged on Quinn's collar, pulling her forward until she could feel the singer's breath hot against her ear. "…I've liked you since sophomore year… and I think I wouldn't mind you getting in my britches sometime."

Any sort of response Quinn might have gotten out was choked as Rachel's lips moved to caress Quinn's.

God, those lips. They were warm, soft, and fucking talented in the way they moved smoothly over Quinn's.

A sharp bite to her lower lip elicited a gasp from Quinn's throat before a tongue (a fucking tongue) joined into the game.

God, Rachel tasted like coffee, chocolate, and mint. A fucking perfect combination to dull the senses and send arousal firing through every synapse.

And Rachel's hands, God, they were everywhere. Tugging at the hair on the nape of Quinn's neck, raking through it, scratching down the smooth skin of her abdomen.

She should've expected that the girl who proudly proclaimed that "girls want sex just as much as guys do" could do quite sinful things with her tongue.

They finally parted after several long minutes of kissing, chests heaving against one another.

Rachel gave a small, shy (how could she be shy after that!) smile. Chocolate eyes fluttered as a pale hand brushed back brunette bangs and fell to touch kiss swollen lips. The slightest of kisses was placed against Quinn's fingertip as Rachel's hand rose to clasp hers.

"Hi," Quinn said shyly.

"Hi," Rachel echoed with a slight grin.

"Rachel…" Quinn began, breathing in deeply, "I… I really like you…"

"I think I already knew that, Quinn," Rachel smirked that goddamn smirk again. "You want to get in my britches, remember?"

"Oh my god!" Quinn groaned. "Can we stop mentioning that? You're really killing the moment, here!"

"Sorry," Rachel smiled sheepishly, "just felt like it was necessary to say."

"Ugh!"

"Sorry! Continue!"

"As I was saying," Quinn scowled, before sighing. "I… I really like you. I think some part of me has always liked you, but I never expected it."

"Well," Rachel smirked, "life is like a box of chocolates, Quinn. You never know what you're going to get."

"…I'm still talking."

"Sorry, keep going."

Quinn cleared her throat. "…I never expected it. But… I'd really like to explore… this. So… would you go out with me?"

The corners of Rachel's lips quirked in a gentle smile as she placed a soft kiss against Quinn's lips. "Of course I would like to go out with you."

They kissed again, soft and chaste, before pulling back to smile at each other softly.

Quinn sighed, burying her face in Rachel's hair. "God, you're really good at that."

"Well… I've had some practice," Rachel said.

Quinn tensed, before pulling back and glaring. "Practice? With whom?"

Rachel smiled a mysterious little smile. "Oh… I'd say that's irrelevant, mmm?"

"Rachel!"

Rachel placed a finger across Quinn's lips. "Shhhhh… It really doesn't. Because you're the only one I want to get… how do you say it? In my britches."

Quinn groaned. "Gosh, you're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Mmm…" Rachel placed a rather firm kiss on Quinn's lips. "Depends, do you want me to?"

"…I don't know, is it a good thing?" Quinn asked rather dazedly.

"The best," Rachel purred, pushing her against a wall.

"Then yes, I really want in your britches," Quinn whimpered out as Rachel nipped at her neck.

"Alright then…" Rachel smirked. "But… let's start small… work our way up... like getting under my shirt first…

A/N: Okay... crossing my fingers and hoping you like it!

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