HELLO FRIENDS.

Welcome, one and all, to the fic-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-oneshot-but-spiraled-madly-out-of-control. It'll be five chapters, one posted each night this week, so worry not about updates or hiatuses this time, because it's already 98% written.

I want to give a huge shout-out to tumblr user ridakulous, my beta/idea machine/the asshole who convinced me this had to be a multichapter, and also to Poetz and Sky, for their unwavering enthusiasm.

Feedback is super deeply appreciated, especially for this fic, because I've worked hard on it and I'm mega proud of the way everything turned out-my previous two Faking It fics were very contained and had limited characters, but this one uses nearly the whole cast, and I really tried to do everyone justice.

ALSO, SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE: this fic uses my "just like the rain" version of the finale. Please read that first if you haven't already.

Titled after "Hurricane" by The Fray.

she's so fierce and full of that fire
what's a boy to do
she yells and i crumble, she's got the power
she's barely five-foot-two

.

She doesn't mean to hack Amy's Netflix account.

It's not her fault the moron has her email address on her Facebook page, or that the password is "croquembouche," of all things (though she has to give Amy credit for choosing something that 99.9% of the population would never guess), but once she's in, and done rolling her eyes at the queue of social justice documentaries waiting to be watched, she decides she might as well stay.

She starts off with New Girl, doing a few episodes a day to eat up the time she would've spent hanging out with Tommy, and even though Jess annoys the shit out of her, Lauren still appreciates her efforts to move on from her douchebag ex-boyfriend.

(Nick's antics kind of make her wish she had a well-meaning idiot trying to cheer her up, but then she remembers the cheesy breakup mix that Amy left on her desk last week, and abruptly decides it's time to take a break.)

She makes her way through a chain of obscure romantic comedies next, glaring at every single happy ending and yet still going right on to a new one, mostly because it's a lot easier to be annoyed than sad and she'd rather grit her teeth than subject herself to a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

If Amy notices the additions to her viewing history she doesn't say anything, but Lauren can't help scrolling through to see what Amy's been up to. There's a few eighties classics, and scattered episodes of Pretty Little Liars, but the most recent activity is Glee, and she actually gags a little bit at her computer screen. As far as she knows it's Hester High in musical form—thus, two of her least favorite things combined—and she's completely unsurprised that Amy's eating it up, what with her bleeding heart and recent "revelations".

Her fingertip hovers over the mouse pad and she chews her bottom lip. She could watch a few minutes, just enough to confirm that the show is a complete waste of time… no one would notice, since it's already in Amy's account; it would be her little secret.

Just a few minutes.

.

She doesn't mean to finish all four seasons in one weekend.

Everything about this show is utterly absurd, from the characters to the situations they're in—especially this one character named Quinn, whose personality seems to change every time Lauren blinks—but she's also a gorgeous blond girl who's grossly underappreciated by everyone around her, and like… Lauren can kind of relate.

Granted, Santana's one-liners are all chicken soup for her bullshit-intolerant soul, but there's still something about Quinn that keeps Lauren up until three in the morning two nights in a row, her eyes glued to the screen as she watches this girl go from queen of her school to absolute social nothingness and then try to claw her way back up to the top.

By the time she hits season three she's damn near fascinated, because Quinn shows up with pink hair and black clothes and enough venom in her eyes to shut people up just by looking at them. The whole thing is brilliant, really: change enough about yourself that you fit in with the outcasts, enough that everyone stops caring about your secrets and just lets you be.

Lauren spends a lot of meals thinking about that, and about how Shane would've told the whole school about her pills if Karma hadn't actually been useful for once and interrupted with her speech, and about the bottle of pink hair dye in the bathroom, leftover from when Amy dressed up as Avril Lavigne for Halloween last year.

(She will force someone to show her those pictures eventually.)

Now her nightly routine includes a ten-second peek into the cupboard just to look at the bottle. She looks at it while she brushes her teeth, too, but always makes sure to close the door before Amy walks in, because this new-found (vague) curiosity is a lot harder to hide than her online viewing habits.

"I moved my tampons," she snaps one night when Amy's footsteps are particularly quiet and she looks up to find her reaching for a pack of floss, and all but slams the cupboard shut.

"Okay," Amy says, her mind clearly elsewhere as works to pull what could be a full course meal from between her teeth.

Lauren glares into the mirror, putting an unnecessary amount of force into fixing her hair. "You're a fucking skyscraper," she growls, "and it's not like I'm Elastigirl." She sneaks a glance at Amy, who's still focused on her own mouth. "It's easier if my stuff is lower."

Amy runs her tongue over her teeth, which for some reason makes Lauren's blood boil a little. "I didn't know you liked The Incredibles."

"It was on TV after I got my tonsils out," she retorts, "Fuck off," then retreats back to her room and closes the door a bit harder than she means to. She catches her reflection in the mirror a few yards away and frowns at her pastel lavender tank top; it doesn't match the anger rocketing through her veins, anger toward Tommy for being such a shallow asshole, toward Shane for being so callous when he doesn't know shit about her… hell, even toward Karma for the crap she pulled with Amy, because seriously…

She wrenches open her closet doors and digs through the dresses and blouses until she finds a black Longhorns t-shirt her dad bought her a while ago, then pulls off the tank and slips into the t-shirt instead. The material is soft and loose and she already feels like she can breathe easier, but then she grabs a makeup remover pad from her dresser and gets rid of all the foundation, the eye shadow, the blush she put on this morning, and pulls her hair back into a ponytail, not bothering with any of the usual twists or poofs or braids.

As she lies back against her pillows, she can't remember the last time she felt so human.

.

She doesn't mean to dye more than a few streaks of her hair.

But she's never been one to half-ass something, and by the time the bottle empties, there are only a few patches of blonde left. Part of her wants to panic, because she's awful at digesting big changes and she's just barely started to accept the move and her dad's new marriage, but it's surprisingly easy to keep her pulse steady, and she doesn't even flinch when Amy walks through the doorway and stops in her tracks.

Amy's eyes shift from Lauren to the bottle of dye and back again. "What are you…?"

"Look, are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me rinse this shit out?"

She blinks a few more times but eventually snaps out of it and turns on the faucet while Lauren leans over the sink and drapes her hair to hang over the basin. Amy's hands are surprisingly gentle against her scalp, which leaves Lauren with several unusable insults on the tip of her tongue, and she drums her fingertips against the edge of the counter instead.

"I think there might still be some croquembouche in here."

Amy's voice is soft and her tone clearly joking, and the corner of Lauren's mouth twitches. "Shut the fuck up."

When the water finally starts running clear again, Amy hands her a towel and Lauren straightens and begins to squeeze it around her hair in chunks. She worries a little about the faint pink stains already appearing on the white terry cloth, but then she looks in the mirror and watches a small, satisfied smile appear on her face.

"It looks really good," Amy says sincerely.

Lauren shrugs even as her cheeks burn. "I mean, I haven't even dried it yet, so."

Amy reaches over to where Lauren's hairdryer is hanging on the wall and sets it on the counter within arm's reach, then departs to her room without another word, even closing the door behind her to give Lauren privacy.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out so her cheeks balloon, then plugs in the hairdryer, grabs her brush from the top drawer, and gets to work.

Fifteen minutes later, she's standing in front of Amy's door.

"Amy," she barks.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any dark-colored clothes?"

"You know you can open the door, right?"

"Just answer the goddamn question."

"Yeah, I have dark clothes, but I don't understand why you won't just—"

The door opens and Amy appears, her mouth still finishing the rest of the sentence, but the words die as her eyes fix on Lauren's hair, and she's not even sure Amy realizes she's staring.

"Can I borrow some shirts?" Lauren asks, waiting for her to snap out of it. "Preferably sans doughnuts?"

That brings Amy back to reality and now she's pouting. "Fuck you, I love that shirt."

"Your secret's safe with me."

She throws her a sarcastic smile and false guffaw, but finally moves aside and gestures to her already open closet doors. "Knock yourself out."

Lauren arches an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? I'm not going in there."

"They're just clothes, Lauren."

"You can't possibly be expecting to win this argument."

Amy rolls her eyes and mutters "For the love of God" under her breath, but walks over to her closet anyways and starts shifting clothes around.

Lauren only has to wait a moment before Amy flings a shirt backwards onto her bed, then another, then a few more, until there's a small pile waiting at the end of the comforter and Amy turns to face her once again.

"Do any of these meet your standards?"

She approaches the bed and tries to examine each shirt without looking too interested. "They'll do," she says dismissively, "Can I borrow them?"

Amy doesn't answer right away, and Lauren tenses in anticipation of a "Why?" but instead she just shrugs a shoulder. "Sure."

Lauren blinks at her for a second, because it's actually kind of jarring to prepare your defenses and then not have to use them, and finally she clears her throat. "Thanks," she says, scooping up the clothes, but they both freeze when they hear Bruce's voice from the bathroom.

"What on earth… did y'all murder a fairy in here or something?"

"…Or something," Amy manages, throwing a mildly frantic look at Lauren, who sets the t-shirts back in a heap on the bed and crosses her arms tightly over her chest.

"We'll clean it up, Daddy," she calls out as the nerves from a few seconds ago come roaring back.

There's an excruciating beat of silence followed by footsteps. "Baby, why are you in Amy's—?" He trails off in midsentence when he appears in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes in Lauren's hair.

"Sorry I made such a mess," Lauren says evenly, trying to sound as confident about all of this as she's felt since she opened that bottle of dye.

Bruce is still looking at her hair, squinting like he does when he's watching a football replay and trying to figure out how everything went wrong. "You sure did," he mutters, maybe to himself, but Lauren hears him loud and clear and her eyes drop to the floor. "How long do them colors usually last?"

Lauren shrugs the tiniest bit. "I don't know. A while."

He nods slowly and clears his throat. "I gotta run some errands, but we'll talk about this later." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the bathroom. "Y'all should take care of that before your mom gets home," he says to Amy before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

Lauren hears Amy close the door but she keeps her gaze pointed down.

"Are you okay?" Amy asks softly, coming a bit closer to her, and Lauren just swallows hard. "Like, I know he's your dad and all, but that was a total dick move."

She's chewing her bottom lip and thinking about the look on his face, thinking hard, and then everything becomes very clear. "Fuck him," she mutters before yanking her dye-stained shirt up and over her head and seizing one from her pile. Once she's pulled it on she realizes Amy is staring again; she squeezes her old shirt into a ball and pitches it into the corner.

"Can I help you with something?" she snaps, but as the words burst out, she realizes Amy's eyes are neither judgmental nor aimed at her hair.

She's looking at her mouth.

.

Amy doesn't mean to kiss her, really.

She's just so fucking sick of people treating Lauren like this—of Shane talking about her like she's Satan, of Tommy dumping her over those mysterious pills, and now even her own father has knocked her down a peg or two. It's why she made her that CD, and why she's been so supportive of this whole thing with the pink hair: she gets needing to reinvent yourself, to be someone else when your own identity doesn't work for you anymore, plus she's hardly in a position to judge anyone for wanting to be different.

But it's also as simple as the fact that Lauren looks damn good with the pink hair (she wasn't lying earlier), and that she wasn't nearly prepared to see her in a bra just now, and well… she's never been great at impulse control.

So she lets herself lean forward, lets her lips press against Lauren's, and doesn't panic or second-guess the decision until after they've pulled away; that's when she rakes her fingers through her own hair, trying to catch her breath, and whispers "Shit."

Lauren's expression is sour. "Excuse me?"

"No, I mean—the kiss wasn't shit, it was definitely not shit. It's just that I'm a really impulsive person… a-and your hair, with the pink, and… Shit," she finishes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Shit, shit, shit."

Lauren crosses her arms again and tilts her head thoughtfully. "So what you're saying is, I look really hot."

Amy grimaces. "Possibly?"

"Interesting," Lauren says, almost to herself, then takes a fistful of Amy's collar and pulls until they're kissing again, and Amy feels like she should be weirded out by all of this, definitely.

.

She doesn't mean to be quite so forceful with Amy's shirt.

But she is Lauren Cooper, and when she has mostly no idea what she's doing she tries to seize whatever modicum of control she can, and if that means holding on to Amy's laundry like she's dangling from a helicopter, then so be it.

It also means that she's the one who ends the kiss, pulling back so abruptly that Amy's hand is still semi-raised, maybe getting ready to pull her closer or push her away.

Lauren doesn't want to know.

But she's definitely curious about why Amy is blinking so hard, and she raises an eyebrow. "What the hell is wrong with your eyes?"

"Uh," Amy clears her throat, "Nothing. I'm—I'm good."

Lauren rolls her eyes. "Fucking weirdo," she mutters under her breath before turning away and heading for the door. "We should take care of the bathroom," she announces, pulling an elastic from her wrist and tying her hair back into a messy bun, but when she doesn't hear any footsteps, she glances back. "Are you gonna help me clean up or what?" she snaps, but then she sees the look on Amy's face and leans sideways against the doorframe. "You think I look really hot again."

Amy opens her mouth and closes it again before she actually responds. "You just… don't even look like the same person," she says, then catches herself. "N-not that you weren't hot before—I mean—"

"Wait, so you've always found me hot?"

She takes a breath to respond but then shakes her head. "Nope, we're not having this conversation," she answers finally, and forces Lauren to back up a step when she closes the door right in front of her.

Before Lauren even has a chance to be mad about this, the door is open once more.

"We still have to clean the bathroom," Amy mumbles awkwardly, and it makes Lauren kind of want to kiss her again.

.

She doesn't mean to almost swallow her gum, but when she hears her dad calling her back down to the kitchen after a tense family dinner she suddenly remembers his "We'll talk about this later" from a few hours ago and now her mouth is dry and there's a breath stalled in her throat, and she ends up spitting out the brand new stick of spearmint because it's already making her nauseous to have anything on her tongue.

Her steps are tense and precise, like when she's walking out onto the floor for a dance competition, only today Bruce and Farrah are waiting for her instead of Pablo (or even Shane; this is the one time she'd prefer him, honestly), and her fingers clamp around the back of the nearest kitchen chair.

For one painful beat, nobody speaks.

"You know you can talk to us about anything, right, baby?" Bruce asks as he stands behind Farrah with his hands on her shoulders.

Lauren nods once. "Yep."

He takes a deep breath. "Well, is there anything you've been meanin' to—Y'know, are you still strugglin' with—?"

"I think what your father's trying to say," Farrah interrupts gently, "is that you've just been a little… off, since you and Tommy broke up…"

"I dumped him," Lauren corrects flatly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Bruce holds out his hand palm-out like he's trying to steady her. "Sweetheart, I understand that these things can be pretty rough, especially at your age… I just don't wanna see you makin' crazy decisions because of some boy." He eyes her hair as he says this, and the fingernails on her right hand are digging into her left bicep.

"Uh… what's going on?"

Lauren forces herself not to turn around at the sound of Amy's voice behind her, mostly because she's afraid she looks a lot less composed than she'd like.

Farrah and Bruce exchange glances, probably struggling to find a delicate way to explain.

"Oh my god, is Nana okay? Did she—?"

"Nana's fine, Amy," Farrah assures her.

Bruce gives her a very forced smile. "We're just havin' a talk with Lauren, is all."

"A talk about what?" Amy asks after a moment.

"Oh, it's nothin'," Bruce replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Why don't you go on upstairs and-"

"She can stay."

Lauren is aware of the words entering her brain but still doesn't quite expect them to actually make it out, so even she's surprised by her statement. Farrah and Bruce look even more uncomfortable now, and Bruce's smile is considerably smaller.

He's looking at Amy again. "Y'know, we'd really rather you—"

"She can stay," Lauren repeats, with more force this time, and she feels Amy's presence beside her almost immediately.

"Look, honey, we're…" Bruce takes Farrah's hand and squeezes. "We've been real worried about you lately. You're not goin' out with your friends anymore, and you've been spendin' all your time at home—"

"She's been hanging out with me," Amy says, shifting her weight slightly so their arms are touching just a little. "We're both going through a lot right now, so we've been bonding over that. Getting to really know each other."

Farrah smiles carefully. "And that's wonderful. We're so glad y'all are gettin' along better."

Lauren wets her lips. "But…"

"But nothin'," Bruce replies, even though he's clearly holding back. "It's just… you've always been my little girl, and this…" He gestures vaguely at her hair. "Sweetie, this isn't you."

She feels Amy's fingers toying with the hem of her shirt, right by her hip—a subtle I'm right here, maybe—and straightens her posture defiantly. "You clearly haven't been paying attention," she replies, her tone biting but still matter-of-fact, then turns on her heel and goes back upstairs, but to Amy's room rather than her own. She perches herself at the foot of Amy's bed, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she picks at her nails and tries to hear pieces of the conversation still happening in the kitchen. The voices aren't quite loud enough to be discernible, though, and then there are footsteps coming up to the second floor and another body next to hers.

"So, that was sort of awful," Amy says.

She glares at the hangnail on her middle finger. "Whatever."

"Are you okay?"

"This was a stupid idea," she mutters, suddenly thinking about how Quinn's new look didn't solve any of her problems and barely lasted ten minutes of screen time.

Amy's looking at her now. "I don't think so," she replies, and there's a long pause before she speaks again. "Why did you do it in the first place?"

Lauren sighs and leans backward against the comforter. "Because despite my best efforts, none of the freaks this town give a fuck about me, and I figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Amy mirrors her position and they both stare up at the ceiling. "I give a fuck."

"You've also wanted in my pants since I dyed my hair, so you don't get to have an opinion."

"I have not wanted—"

She rolls onto her side and pulls Amy's lips against hers then, very aware of how Amy's hand is already on her shoulder blade, pulling her closer, keeping her anchored, and of how this new mouth is so much more careful and sincere than Tommy's ever was. The whole thing is great, really great, except when her arms start to burn from semi-hovering over Amy; so she decides to very slowly let herself relax against her, and as their body heat combines, she hears a soft moan from somewhere in Amy's throat.

Lauren stops for a moment, looking down at Amy curiously. "How far did you get with Karma?"

"We didn't—" she begins, practically panting, and shakes her head a little. "Never like this."

"Interesting," Lauren says, and when she kisses her this time, their tongues brush together and Amy makes another noise. "Do you need a second to think of the mailman, or something?"

Amy raises an eyebrow. "Wait, wh—?"

Lauren smothers the rest of her question with another long kiss, because she doesn't need to talk about the fact that she's been watching such an abominable excuse for a TV show, then rolls off of Amy and sits up. "Goodnight."

"You can stay," Amy blurts before Lauren's ass is even off the mattress, and though she tells herself to keep moving, her bones and muscles don't cooperate. "If you want, you can stay."

Lauren chews the inside of her cheek, then eases herself back again and stares up at the plastic stars arranged across the ceiling and takes a deep breath in and out. The bed creaks and she hears Amy get up, and then the lights are off and the stars are suddenly glowing, and Lauren doesn't expect to be this impressed with the visual.

Now Amy's pulling back the blankets and Lauren shifts so she can slip between the sheets, curling up on her side to stop Amy from looking at her while she thinks about Tommy, about her dad, about everything. But then she feels pressure against her back, feels Amy moving closer, and she goes rigid.

"No," Lauren snaps, rolling over so fast that Amy actually flinches, "Tommy was always the big spoon and he was a patronizing piece of shit about it. If we're going to cuddle, I'm the big spoon."

Amy holds up her hand in surrender. "I was just trying to get my phone so I could set my alarm, but all of that's cool, too."

Lauren rolls her eyes, reaching behind her and handing Amy her phone with a huff, then puts it back when Amy's finished and waits for her to roll and face the other way; but even when she does, Lauren stays completely still.

"Maybe just give your dad some time," Amy says quietly. "I'm sure he'll realize this isn't a big deal. He'll come around."

"Just like how your mom's come around with you, right?" Amy doesn't respond, and she rolls her eyes at herself. "I'm sorry, that was a shitty thing to say."

There's a tired sigh. "You're right, though. I'm not even fake-dating Karma anymore and my mom is still treating me like I have some terminal illness we can't talk about. Pep talks from me about unconditional love can't be very convincing."

Lauren shrugs. "I think you're doing an alright job, so far."

"Interesting," Amy manages through a yawn, then reaches back and gently pulls Lauren's hand until her arm is draped around Amy's waist.

The intimacy of it is kind of startling, because she's not sure she actually expected Amy to take her cuddling terms seriously, but she takes another deep breath and shifts a bit closer so the angle of her arm resting against Amy's stomach feels more natural.

The last thing she's aware of is Amy's thumb ghosting across the back of her palm just once in response.

Interesting, she thinks.