Disclaimer: Glee is owned by Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk, 20th Century Fox Television and any production companies associated with said persons. This is written purely for entertainment and to alleviate my own immense boredom.

Prompt: "Technically, I'm single. Emotionally, I'm taken because in my heart, I'll always be his girl even if he doesn't know at all." - puckrachel drabble meme on LJ (by: Sarcastic_Fina)

The words hit her like a bus and all she could think at first was it was a very not amusing joke, then when he didn't laugh she thought that sometimes it was really cute how he actually thinks he knows what's best for him.

Then the words fully registered and her brain literally shut down for a few seconds.

"So? What'dya think? San?"

Santana Lopez blinked and quickly feigned coughing before grabbing her water glass off the table and taking small sips while holding up a hand to pause the conversation; essentially doing anything she could to stave off having to comment on the news she had just been given and question she had been asked.

When Puck cleared his throat impatiently she knew she couldn't avoid his question any longer and sighed, asking, "Are you sure? Like, really really one hundred percent certain?"

She almost felt bad when his face fell; until she remembered her roommate uptown in their apartment. The very girl she had tortured in high school who had over four years at NYU replaced the man across from her as her best friend (a position he had obtained after the Brittany fall out senior year) and three years after that had become the closest thing she had to a sister (due to the final Brittany fall out that they still don't really talk about).

You don't fuck with Santana Maria Lopez's family.

He'd just have to get over her lack of enthusiasm.

"What do you mean, am I sure? Of course I'm sure. I've been dating Katerina for almost three years."

"I know," Santana muttered, taking a long sip of her wine this time and mentally going over the contents of their liquor cabinet at home. "Believe me. I know."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"You just asked me to be your best girl at a wedding to a woman I didn't even know you had any plans of proposing to! Now, do you want to ask me what my problem is again?"

She watched Puck sigh and rub his forehead before he turned a confused look in her direction and responded, "I really don't understand why you're so shocked by this."

"Because...you're...you're...Puckerone!"

And again the eyebrow went up, this time incredulously, and yes, she realized how ridiculous that was because he hadn't been "The Puckerone" since they graduated high school. Somehow between their first day at NYU and now (seven fucking years later) Noah Puckerman had somehow become a serial monogamist.

With all the wrong fucking girls.

"I love her San. Like, a lot."

"Well, that's no reason to marry her!"

Shit.

"It isn't?"

"No? I mean, no, it isn't. You barely know her."

"Three years Santana."

"Right, and it's the first legitimate relationship you've ever really been in. Sure you stopped sleeping around but you've basically been dating since we got to New York - a few months here, a few weeks there. Let's not forget that four day relationship where you were completely in love. For fuck's sake Puck, you don't even live with this girl."

"Fine, alright. Whatever. So you won't stand up for me at my wedding. Thanks. I really appreciate it," he muttered and began gathering his things.

"Wait!" Santana gasped out; because, she knew she really couldn't leave it like that no matter how much she wanted to pretend he hadn't just dropped an epic bombshell and complicated all their lives more then he really knew. "Just wait a second okay? You have to let me process this shit." She waited as he dropped back down into his chair and stared at her pointedly before forcing out, "It's not that I'm not happy that you're happy. It's not even that I don't like Katerina."

"But you don't. Like her that is," he interrupted, beginning to sound pissed off.

"I really don't," she admitted, without disclosing that she could probably love the girl, that the girl would be perfect for him, if her best friends heart hadn't been shattered since he started dating the blonde. It had been broken for two years before that due to him but, again, he didn't know that either. The idiot.

"Why?"

Santana froze and glared at the table, debating exactly how to answer his perfectly legitimate question. If she thought he even remotely suspected the answer she'd tell him; then again, if she thought he even remotely suspected the answer she's fairly certain he'd also be sporting a black eye courtesy of one Santana Maria Lopez.

Because, again, you don't fuck with Santana's family.

Taking a few deep breaths Santana decided to tell him the truth in the vaguest way she could, "Because Katerina, while a perfectly acceptable woman in some ways, doesn't love Noah. She loves Puck."

"I don't know where you've been since we were six San; but, I am Puck."

She could feel the sad smile cross her face at his words and rolled her eyes slightly before replying, "No, you aren't. And you're an idiot if you really believe that. You haven't been Puck, not really, since we were sixteen years old and you gave up Beth." She heard his sharp inhale from across the table and avoided meeting his eyes as she continued, "You've been Noah Elijah Puckerman ever since that day. Yea, you've been hiding behind a perfect little mask but those of us that have been allowed to see past it? We love Noah. You can't marry someone who hasn't met him."

"What makes you think she hasn't?"

Santana simply gave him a look after the question and almost laughed when his shoulder's deflated in concession.

"Just, do me a favor and really think about it? Please. Just, think about all your options. Okay?"

"I have options?"

"You've always had a options Noah," Santana said quietly, using his given name to stress the seriousness of what she was trying to tell him. "Listen," she continued. "I've gotta get back. I told Rachel I'd be home already. She's got an audition next week for a work shop for some new show that her agent thinks could be the big break. I told her I'd run lines for her scene."

"Really?" he lit up immediately at the mention of their mutual friend and Santana had to fight the urge to smack him around for being that stupid and not seeing what she saw every single damned day between those two. "She's leaving Chicago?"

"She's sick of being a chorus girl. Said she paid her dues Off-Broadway for a year and a half after college and six months in 42nd Street and then six months in Chicago bolstered her resume enough to try for a workshop that very well could go straight to Broadway."

"What's she reading for?"

"The lead," Santana told him with wide eyes that were immediately matched. "Yea, exactly," she agreed with his unvoiced shock.

"Tell our girl good-luck and that she better not forget about the little people along the way."

"So sayeth the man who managed to finagle his way behind the boards at Electric Lady Studies right after college. How the fuck did you do that anyway?"

"Internnnshipppp," Puck drawled out with a smirk that had Santana chuckling. "Speaking of which, I have to get back to work. I've got a deadline on the mix for the new Mayer album."

"Lucky bastard."

"Hey, I'm still only a tech. I'm not exactly producing albums yet."

"Yet," she parroted back while he stood up and threw some money on their table. "You still get to help mix the new John Fucking Mayer album."

"Yea," he replied with what was almost a giggle he was so giddy.

Santana laughed and stood as well, gathering her things and following him out of the restaurant before kissing his cheek and watching him walk down the street into the busy Manhattan lunch crowds.

"Fuck," she whispered thinking back on the lunch she had just had and dreading going back to the apartment she had shared with Rachel since their sophomore year of college. Mostly because she didn't know if she should break the news or not.

Santana knew when she walked into their apartment twenty minutes later that she wouldn't have to. She was greeted by the sight of her best friend, curled up in the corner of their couch, looking devastated.

"Rachel?" she whispered, approaching slowly and taking stock of the slightly bubbly breathing, wet eyes and smeared make-up. "Fuck. How?"

"Noah texted me," was all the smaller girl whispered back in a broken voice.

In that moment, despite how much Rachel Berry had calmed in college, Santana knew if her friend could hear her thoughts she'd be listening to a lecture on how profanity simply hid your true intelligence. Because Santana was calling Puck every name under the sun in four different languages in her mind.

"He texted you?" she managed to ground out between her clenched jaw, forcing herself to keep a reign on her anger since it wasn't fully directed at the other woman. "What the hell did he text you?"

"That he's getting married to that blonde skank that only wants him because he's beginning to get connected in the industry."

"Gee Rach," Santana mumbled with wide eyes; because, ironically, the truth was that Katerina quite nice and down to earth and as far from a skank as she could get. She just also, wasn't Rachel. And like Santana had told him, she didn't really know Noah. "Tell me how you really feel."

"You know how I really feel Santana!" Rachel snapped and then deflated back into the couch. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," she quickly replied to her best friend. "I'm on your side in this. I told the fucker not to marry her."

"You knew?" Rachel asked, looking even more devastated.

"Just found out at lunch. He asked me to be his, and I quote, best girl."

"Huh."

"Eloquent. I'm getting booze. This is an occasion for the three wise men if ever there was one."

"I checked. We're fully stocked."

"I've taught you so well," Santana replied from the kitchen and grabbed all three bottles along with two tumblers. She wasn't even going to pretend with shot glasses today.

Once Santana had rejoined Rachel in the living room she poured them each a healthy shot from the bottle of Jack first and handed one of them over to her friend before toasting, "Here's to men. They're morons. You should come join the dark side with me. We have cookies and orgasms."

Rachel glared, tossed back the whole triple shot and cleared her throat before replying, "I have orgasms."

"We have orgasms not given by batteries. Okay, so some of them are from batteries."

She grinned when her friend laughed at the comment and mentally patted herself on the back for getting a reaction that didn't involve tears. Once she had swallowed her own shot, she poured more, though she had a significantly smaller amount in her own glass, and watched as Rachel downed it briefly flashing back to two years earlier when they had been in reversed positions because Brittany had invited Santana to her wedding back in Lima. She couldn't help but pray that Rachel's situation turned out better then her own had.

"You know Rach," Santana tried prodding the conversation along after four more deathly silent drinks each. "You could get out there again. This could be the push you need; ya know, to get real orgasms."

"What is your obsession with my sex life?"

"The fact that you haven't had sex in almost five years because you suddenly realized what I've know since we were seventeen. You are ass over elbows in love with Noah Puckerman and you haven't done a damned thing about it. So it's time to shit or get off the pot. You're single; either go get fucked or go tell him how you feel and ya know, get fucked," she finally snapped, a lot drunker then she had realized due to the wine at lunch. "Only, maybe wait til tomorrow when you're sober," she added quickly, placing her glass on the table and pouring Rachel alone another shot.

"I'm not single," Rachel whispered, cluing Santana into the fact that they were going to be entering the maudlin part of the evening quite soon. "I mean, okay, technically, I'm single. But, emotionally? I'm taken because in my heart, I'll always be his girl even if he doesn't know at all," she added, her voice cracking on the last few words.

"I repeat Rach, shit or get off the damned pot."

"I'm too drunk to even point out how crass that is."

"You just did."

"Fuck you," Rachel mumbled as a tear finally broke and rolled down her cheek.

"Love you too," Santana replied, her own eyes watering.

"What am I going to do Santana?"

"You're going to be Rachel fucking Berry and you're going to be stronger then any stupid asshole who apparently can't see what's been right in front of his face since he was six fucking years old. And you're going to survive this, no matter what happens. He gets married to her? Fuck. Him. We'll black list him from our lives if you want. See what he thinks of his bright idea then."

"We can't do that," Rachel replied, though her tone told Santana she didn't necessarily hate the idea. "He's your friend San. Hell, he's my friend."

"I don't care. I love you Rach. We haven't talked to Brittany since she went and got stupid."

"Brittany loved you back once," Rachel whispered, staring into her glass.

"Noah's loved you forever. It's Puck we've apparently got to crack. Though, he loves you too. The idiot."

Rachel laughed dryly, wiping at the tears that were beginning to flow and replied, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Then you aren't the girl I thought you were," she told Rachel with her stone-cold courtroom voice and poured her another shot. "And I am a five hundred dollar an hour lawyer. I am never wrong."

Their planning could wait until the morning, for now she had one job and one job only - getting her best friend so drunk that she forgot the love of her life was planning on marrying someone else. Key word being planning.

No one fucked with Santana Maria Lopez's family and Rachel Berry and Noah Puckerman were the only family she had in New York. She wasn't about to let someone come in and change that. She knew what a broken heart of this magnitude felt like intimately; she sure as hell wasn't going to let Rachel, or Puck, feel that same permanent pain. And he might not realize it yet, but Santana knew, if he got married to anyone other then Rachel he would feel that pain eventually.

You see, sometimes it was really cute how they both thought they knew what was best for themselves. One day, they'd both learn to just listen to her before making any decisions.

Idiots.

A/N: This prompt smacked me straight between the eyes and suddenly I had the whole fic laid out in my head. I sort of love "third party observation of relationships" style fics but I don't write them often. Hopefully, I got this one right. I also left it at the end there with the implication that Santana is a scary bitch and if she wants Puckleberry to happy; well, by God Puckleberry's gonna happen. Hope you all enjoy it.