A/N: ***Trigger Warning for transphobic language***


Breakfast at Tiffany's had been an absolute blast, eating a breakfast bagel outside the famous store, but Kurt had really outdone himself when he somehow managed to weasel them into the George Gershwin Theatre. She'd never felt so rebellious in her life, and she was terribly relieved that the security guard that had caught them gave them a few minutes to sing their hearts out on the stage. It truly helped solidify the reason why she was in New York, why it had been part of her dream, and why it had to be her sole focus going forward. Her adolescent spell of desperate loneliness could take a backseat if it meant she'd be able to make it, achieve her dreams. All she needed was to get through a few more months and her winter break would be upon her, giving her just enough time to get done what she needed to, so that she'd be able to solidify her chances at Broadway. Well, NYADA first, then Broadway.

The only wrinkle in her plans was Santana Lopez. Santana, who had been amongst the first to slushie her within the halls of McKinley. Santana, who had a favored pastime of glaring and staring her down as well as heaping a wealth of insults upon her, often about her height or ethnicity. Santana, who contributed to the destruction of her and Finn's relationship earlier that year, who had taken Finn's virginity. Santana, who tried to kill her in a rage after taking the helm of the club when Mister Schuester fell ill. Santana, who tended to enjoy scheming and revealing everyone's weaknesses and secrets.

Yet, her potentially former tormenter had been oddly nice and helpful that morning, making good on the previous night's promise by lending her clothes. The outfit had been surprisingly nice, and had made her feel slightly more like an adult as she strutted around Manhattan with Kurt. However, it was the specific assortment of clothes she was given that made her insanely nervous about her long-held secret getting out.

With even the most insignificant posting of information online, Santana could ruin her future career prospects in the blink of an eye. Nothing added to the internet would be entirely forgotten, and the last thing she wanted was for some future journalist to have ammo against her down the line, or for casting directors to find a reason to reject her. That was what had Rachel shaking as she approached the hotel door early that evening, having spent much of the day strolling around the city with Kurt, trying to delay the inevitable and keep her mind off certain parts of reality, compartmentalizing her troubles in a 'to deal with later' box.

If Rachel were to be honest, her secret wasn't all she'd been worrying about; additionally, the notion of being vulnerable around Santana wasn't anything to shrug off either, considering the girl's tendency to pick people apart by their weaknesses. She could imagine that being confident and secure with herself around the former cheerleader would yield much different results than being on the verge of a breakdown, given how easy of a target she would be in the latter situation. But if Rachel were to be honest, she knew she would be an absolute wreck.

It was almost too much to even think of what the girl would 'talk' to her about, and what kind of reward Santana would want in exchange for the luxury of only being blackmailed instead of outed publicly. It seemed somewhat plausible that the ex-cheerleader would 'help' her throughout the week in exchange for something; Rachel knew that Santana was most certainly the type to scheme and plot. That Quinn and Finn had gotten mono from her was proof enough of that. However, it was questionable as to what Santana would want from her.

Truly, she'd never had much to offer, at least in ways that girls like Santana would find appealing. The former cheerleader didn't truly need vocal lessons, because despite the girl's technical flaws, her tone and control were always good enough to meet any standard outside of the Broadway stage. In a studio, her vocals would have whatever minor corrections made, and that would be that; Santana had a voice for radio, for jazz lounges, and for concert venues covering most genres of music. So Rachel couldn't help her there. Additionally, Santana was a great dancer as well; again, perhaps not the best dancer technically, but the girl had this innate sense of rhythm and fluidity, even grace. There would be nothing to offer her there. Fashion advice was entirely out of the question, and as far as she was aware, Santana was doing well in school. So tutoring wasn't likely, especially so late in the year. And Santana hadn't expressed further interest in a solo, so slotting her in during the showcase wasn't a realistic possibility.

So really, what could she possibly want from me? Rachel mused, her hand hovering over the door handle, too nervous to open it and greet the girl who was likely on the other side of it. There really wasn't much else. Money? Her fathers had some, but Santana's family was well off, enough to afford the girl's taste in fashion at least. So there likely wouldn't be a financial request. But there was one option that she simply couldn't rule out: sex.

Not that she thought she was some incredibly desirable individual, at least from Santana's perspective. However, Rachel was aware of how people like her were often seen, and how many people's first exposure to those like her was through Jerry Springer or porn. Santana had a reputation for being sexually adventurous, and while she was only aware of the girl having romantic feelings for other girls, namely Brittany, Rachel knew that Santana had engaged in sexual activity with men before. So maybe she'd want to see what having 'the best of both worlds', as some say, would feel like. Like some freakish amusement park ride to sate her curiosity…another achievement for her to brag about, taking a …a 'tranny''s virginity, as she'd probably say… she thought, her knuckles whitening from clenching the handle tightly as a wave of nausea swept through her, nearly buckling her knees. Without a gag reflex, it was always hard to tell when she was about to vomit, but over the years she'd learned a few telltale signs. I can't imagine that going well…I know Ms. Pillsbury said it would come in handy, but it's honestly been a burden…I don't think I could hold it back if Santana and I had…well. I mean, I'd have to, but…physically, I don't think I could manage. But I'd HAVE to if that was the cost for… if…if it comes down to Broadway or failing, I'd let her… take me. And…and if so, God I hope she's not a chaser and it would just be a one time thing…if there's any mercy in this world, she won't be a chaser…but…but how did she find out so quickly, then? So easily? I…

Rachel wiped the tears from her face as she tried to compose herself and just lock away that train of thought. Sex was scary. Sex would be tackled only when or if absolutely necessary. It was late afternoon, and there were still plenty of hours left in the day to be productive, so she'd calm down, focus, grit through whatever confrontation was necessary, and keep her mind glued to nationals prep. There was no need to think about anything that could be coerced from her quite yet.

It had been twenty two minutes since Kurt had gone into his room, leaving her there at her own door. I'm not foolish for being nervous about entering…Santana's never cared for my well-being, and has on more than one occasion called me horrible names and torn down my appearance and sabotaged my relationships. I…I can't trust her…she said she wanted to talk later, and here I am, so…wait…I HAVE been gone all morning and all afternoon. Oh Barbra, I've been gone ALL DAY, maybe she wanted to talk earlier? What if I'm too late? Has she told anyone else? The whole club probably knows! I…oh dear, I think I'll just…I'll just get this over with and hide in my bed until the competition. Maybe call my fathers to see if they could come and get me, or book a flight back. Maybe it's for the best…

Rachel slowly entered the room, keeping one eye cracked open as she moved inside, only to find it surprisingly empty. Cautiously, she crept through the confines of their temporary quarters, not finding Santana anywhere; thankful for the temporary reprieve, she slipped into bed and pulled out her notebook and sheet music, deciding to get some work done and get her head off everything else. Music always calmed her, pushed her pain and fear into tiny little compartments in the back of her mind, and she needed that at the moment. They were using original songs for Nationals, and while she had wanted to perform 'Get it Right' again, feeling it was the strongest original number they had, she'd been voted down by the dictator that was William Schuester. Of course, he'd told me we'd use it if we made the top ten showcase, but still…I don't see why we couldn't use it in the preliminary round, especially with neither of our new original songs inspiring much confidence. I swear, he's trying to sabotage me…

So she worked meticulously on the song Finn had written, knowing it needed a lot of adjustments to be competition-ready. The spelling errors alone made her confused as to how the boy had wanted the song to be sung, given the lack of provided sheet music. More or less, it needed to be entirely re-done, which was annoying, since she knew that no matter what she did to improve the song, her teacher would likely credit Finn. Rachel DID think that the boy needed to feel confident in order to be a strong leading man, but she wanted acclaim as well, especially if she was about to tackle the mountain of a mess that was Finn's 'song'.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been tweaking both Finn's piece and the group number when Santana strolled in carrying an intimidating amount of shopping bags from what looked to be a variety of stores. Rachel lifted her head and kept her gaze on the girl as the ex-cheerleader gracefully dropped the bags off in the corner of the room and promptly made her way to the bathroom. Rachel was thankful that Santana didn't immediately question her, allowing her some time to recover from the shock and try to get to a place where she was mentally and emotionally as calm as possible. Which was difficult, given the circumstances. Rachel had never been patient when it came to surprises that she knew were coming, and she wanted to get it all over with, but also just didn't want it to happen at all. Bad surprises weren't her favourite things to deal with.

Santana emerged a few stressful minutes later and sat herself on the side of the other bed, facing Rachel, pulling her smart phone out of her pocket and fiddling with it idly. It was an odd and unexpected way to kick things off given how confrontational Santana usually was, and only had Rachel more on edge, waiting for the attack, the punch line, the cost of maintaining her agency. "I see my clothes didn't offend Porcelain's sensitive couture fashion sense enough to make him give you another makeover, Berry. You have fun?" Santana asked flippantly, her focus entirely on her phone. Rachel found it slightly rude, but relieving, knowing the other girl's intense predatory gaze wouldn't be dragging the details out of her from fear. At the very least, it could help her focus a little better, and she'd need as much of it as possible to maintain her composure.

"It…it was a pleasant day. Breakfast was everything I thought it would be. Kurt even…managed to sneak me onto a Broadway stage. We sang, as you can probably imagine…and it was wonderful." She noted quietly, not wanting to delve too much into her day's events, hoping Santana was just asking to be polite, before ignoring her for the rest of the evening. That would be splendid. After all, why else would the girl engage in small talk? Santana had never done so in the past before tearing Rachel or others down.

Santana chuckled at her response, something she admittedly expected to some degree, knowing the cheerleader found a great many things amusing. "Didn't think Lady-Face had…had it in him." The girl responded, the initial statement cut off midway before Santana seemingly changed her mind on how to answer. The brief hesitation only made Rachel more nervous, because she knew what Santana's reflexive response would have been, what it always was. And just like that, the tone shifted, and she knew the conversation was starting its downward descent. "I…um, got you some things. You can pay me back some other time or whatever. Just…you don't need to worry around me, alright?"

Rachel's eyes widened as Santana's brow furrowed, the girl still staring at her phone; it was clearly just something of a visual distraction for her, as she hadn't interacted with it in a minute, and the screen's backlight had gone off by the lack of added illumination to her face. Rachel's gaze flickered over to the shopping bags stashed in the corner of the room before darting back to the other girl, immediately bewildered and suspicious. Santana…Santana got me things? What things? And why wouldn't I worry around her? What payment does she want? She's being much, much too vague for my comfort…

"I don't understand what you're…" Rachel started, only for Santana's newly lifted intense gaze to still the words in her throat. Those eyes were so dark, and held so much depth that it was always hard to look away or even think clearly.

"Look, Berry, I know you're freaking out and I probably terrify the ever-living Barbra-loving shit out of you, and I probably don't understand even ten percent of what you've got going on, but I'm not gonna tell, alright? Just…" Santana interrupted, freezing Rachel to the spot on her bed. She really wanted to look away from Santana, she wanted to escape the room, escape her situation. She wanted to believe her, but she couldn't. She wanted them to be on the plane home, celebrating a nationals win and for everything to just be okay, like normal. But it wasn't, and it wouldn't be.

Santana ran a hand through her hair slowly and sighed, her eyes cast upward to the ceiling. "It's just I can't help you if I don't know what's going on, alright? And I have an idea, but if you can confirm it for me, we can figure out where to go from there, okay?"

Rachel felt her body tense with anticipation; her doctors knew, her dads knew, but she'd done so well to keep her secret hidden through her life. She was a meticulous, detail oriented person for a reason. There had been the odd hiccup, which led to rumours, but none anyone had truly believed, thankfully. Of course, the ensuing rumours had hurt tremendously, and she'd cried herself to sleep many nights because of them, but it had always been better than people truly knowing. And now she was being faced with that reality, and it hurt. More than that, it was terrifying. And Santana wanted confirmation from her, she wanted Rachel to speak it out loud. Is she recording this? Is she wearing a wire? Should I ask to give her a pat down? But…no, that would be inappropriate, and it could send the wrong signals, and…oh dear. Maybe…maybe I play at being a little evasive, vague…I need to protect myself!

"Fine, Santana. Tell me what's on your mind." Rachel spoke firmly as she could manage, challenging the other girl to put words to her thoughts. Rachel certainly didn't feel comfortable enough to, let alone safe enough to.

She watched Santana put her phone on the small night table between their beds, the girl's hands playing with each other nervously, as if there were any reason for the ex-cheerleader to worry. Rachel immediately grabbed the phone and powered it down, before replacing it on the table, Santana not really seeming to care. I guess she's probably not recording it, then…hrm…

"Your…body isn't how you think it should be. Like, maybe you feel trapped in it and shit? Fuck, I'm probably going to say something shitty, but some of the names we called you…they probably…I guess they might have hit really close to home, even if they were mean and wrong and everything." Santana stated vaguely, and Rachel didn't like how the girl was drawing it out, dancing around the truth when it was fairly clear she knew. Santana knew, and she couldn't speak about it. It was strange, knowing someone else knew something so personal, and Rachel's reaction wasn't fear in that moment, which had viscerally come and gone rather quickly across the previous minute, but anger.

Anger, because it was just another example of how she wasn't normal, she wasn't 'right', and she was unspeakable. That a single part of her entire person rendered herself so unspeakable and unknowable that the girl with the sharpest wit she'd ever met had run out of words to describe her, or even talk to her without sounding like Finn Hudson on an average day. That her fathers even often had difficulty, and none of her teachers had ever felt the need to speak of people like her through health classes or sex education. For all intents and purposes, she was unspeakable, some mythical socio-physical monster living in the world of people. And now that one of them knew about her, she wasn't treated like a person anymore. That one of her least trusted people knew about her, instead of her small group of friendly acquaintances. It was angering. No, it was infuriating!

"This is my body. I'm not 'trapped' in it, or whatever you seem to be insinuating. I know I'm of small stature, Santana. I'm dealing with it." Rachel grit out in as warning of a tone as she could muster, unable to say the words Santana wanted her to say, needing the other girl to acknowledge her enough to address her normally. If nothing else, she wasn't about to let Santana leave without acknowledging her existence in some form. She needed that, now that Santana knew.

Santana glared at her for about half a second before letting out a frustrated growl, the girl's hands kneading the sheets she was sitting on."Shut up, Rachel, okay? Fuck, I'm trying here…alright? What I felt, what I saw…I only know two possibilities, and you've either got an intersex thing going on or, more likely, you're trans." Santana said, clearly frustrated with her, but Rachel had little sympathy. It was Santana's idea to talk and address things, and she wanted the other girl to feel just as uncomfortable as she did.

Even if the way Santana was looking at her made her a teensy bit afraid, because people didn't usually know the names given for people like her, and especially intersex folk. So, feeling a slight burst of fear and cowardice over the situation, Rachel went to speak in hopes of casting doubt, only for Santana to suddenly launch forward and press a soft finger to her nose, prompting her to squeal loudly and fall backward on the bed in surprise, her body scrambling to the other side of the bed in a blind panic.

Her wide eyes promptly shot to Santana's immediately apologetic ones, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel threatened with Santana so close. Even though Santana was basically standing over her, and had her in a distinctly vulnerable situation, she didn't feel like she was in danger anymore. Of course, I don't feel safe, either…but that look of regret was so raw…she'd have to be a great actress to fake it, and I know she's not THAT good. She mused to herself, watching the deflated looking girl staring sadly at her.

"Don't. I'm not stupid like Finn or Puck, alright? The average teen girl doesn't keep anti-androgen and estrogen pills in their carry-on bag. The average girl doesn't freak out looking for something to tuck with because they kept that crap in their lost luggage." Santana continued, taking residence on the bed, sitting much closer to her again. Rachel watched the ex-cheerleader warily as she quickly processed what was spoken, but the girl made no sudden movements to efforts to touch her. Yet.

Honestly, Rachel didn't know if her eyes could grow wider, but they felt like they were about to burst out of their sockets. Sure, she knew some of her items and medication were slightly suspicious if someone looked close enough, but that Santana seemed to have a thorough grasp on her situation was sort of mind-blowing, and she needed time to figure out how to process the information. That the ex-cheerleader had searched her carry-on barely crossed her mind. "How…how did you know? Are you some kind of chaser? What do you want from me?" she asked breathlessly, not even bothering to deny what was spoken. There was little point if the ex-cheerleader knew her situation that well.

She felt Santana shift over directly beside her, thankfully ensuring that the girl wasn't facing her directly. "I'm not a chaser. I…look, you'll have to take my word on that, okay? I'm not. And I don't really want anything from you, except some money to pay for what I bought, because that stuff kind of dipped into my 'get an awesome designer dress' fund for this trip." The girl noted quietly, resting up against the headboard. Now, Rachel wasn't a fool, she'd seen discussions online about chasers, and wasn't just about to take anyone's word for it. That would be silly. And her suspicions only solidified in knowing that Santana was only asking for minor financial reimbursement. However, Rachel didn't think the girl would jump her right then and there, so she felt safe for the moment, if entirely perplexed about the direction the conversation had taken. It simply didn't meet her expectations at all.

"As for how I knew? Funny story. See…in freshman year I got this really awesome phone plan for my birthday. I was always so excited to get home and talk to my friends…mostly B and Q. When Quinn started targeting you, I didn't really get it, but she was the head cheerleader in her freshman year, Sue's prodigy, so I kind of went along with it. You were a little annoying sometimes, and you dressed weird, and the nicknames Quinn used kind of stuck throughout the school, so…yeah." Santana explained, each word coming out with a shred of hesitance, or perhaps the girl was just distracted. Taking a deep breath, the former cheerleader's hand gently clasped around Rachel's knee, just resting there as if it was supposed to be comforting or reassuring. It was neither, but it wasn't entirely offending her either, so she decided to ignore it for the time being. "Anyway, I was talking to Quinn around winter break, and you came up…she said some joke I can't really remember, but I laughed and I got caught up into it."

Rachel's heart sunk, thinking that the girls who made her life hell in school also spent their free time belittling her in private. She'd always hoped that it had been just a school hierarchy thing, done for reputation and nothing more. Impersonal. A politics issue. It was distressing to know that it went deeper than that, and it was hard to look in Santana's direction knowing that.

"When I finished the conversation, my dad called me into the kitchen. It was a little after school ended so I thought dinner was ready, and I was hungry, so I kind of dismissed how mad he'd sounded. See, Tuesdays were the days he'd usually come home pretty mad or sad, and I'd gotten used to that, I guess. But when I got into the kitchen, there wasn't any food. Instead, he sat me down. He was really angry." Santana continued, her voice quieter, softer as she seemed to be reliving the memory, staring off into space as she was. Now, Rachel had seen Santana cry before on a number of occasions. The girl wasn't exactly as emotional as a rock, but normally she was in control of her emotions. Yet, the girl sitting beside her was clearly getting upset the longer she spoke, and it was strange to see such vulnerability evident across her face and posture.

Santana took a moment to dab at her eyes with her fingertips, further messing up the already slightly smudged makeup surrounding them. "Just…look. My dad's an endocrinologist…he helps people with thyroid stuff, fertility, hormone levels, blood-work stuff. He goes to Columbus on Tuesdays and helps people who were having troubles having babies, and who wanted IVF and everything. At least, that's what I was knew at first, but…I guess after a while he also started seeing people like you."

Rachel felt herself nodding as a haze fell across her mind, recalling there were two 'specialist' endocrinologists in Columbus; she and her parents had chosen Dr. Weatherall because he had office hours twice a week, meaning wait times would be shorter if she had to reschedule. Even if his dosage levels were vastly lower than she would have liked, her fathers trusted him with that despite her concerns, and she at least liked knowing that if she had to reschedule, she could do it easily with her own busy schedule in mind. In truth, Rachel HAD heard of Dr. Lopez, she just hadn't linked it to Santana before. There were, after all, many Lopez families in Ohio, or at least enough to not even think to assume. It was a coincidence that left Rachel feeling slightly nauseous. She was barely able to focus enough to hear Santana continue.

"So he started talking to me about the insults I was throwing out, and HOW they could hurt people, especially one that was a maybe a little more vulnerable. I was only a freshman, so I was an immature shit, and I understood it about as much as I understood AP Calculus at the time, but when he showed me some of the statistics, got me to watch some youtube videos…it freaked me out. I kept telling myself that it was just a joke, you know? That it was just a lame insult…that it wasn't true, so you couldn't really take it THAT badly, but…he told me that 'dehumanizing a group of people' was wrong no matter what…and using that as a way to hurt someone else…God, he was so ASHAMED of me." Santana said softly as she sniffled, her voice cracking at that last sentence as tears streaked down her cheeks. Rachel knew shame. She could empathize. Shame had once been her foremost motivator; it was still lingering in her mind at times, but she'd grown enough as a person to be able to push it aside and stand tall on better, more positive qualities.

Rachel just listened intently for more, wishing Santana's father was there so she could thank him for sticking up for her. Perhaps she'd offer him a hug for good measure. She knew her own fathers meant well, but on the two occasions where the topic of trans people came up during social events, they'd deflected and tried to change the topic instead of standing up for her and others like her. Rachel didn't need them to out her, she just wanted them to be more vocally supportive of that final letter in LGBT, even if they were wonderful in every other area. They were understandably paranoid of anyone finding out, but she needed support out in the open, not just behind closed doors. Rachel had always been a proponent of education, knowing that with more exposure, there would be more acceptance, and it would build momentum. As hard as it was to believe, and she hadn't ruled out that the former cheerleader was possibly an amazing liar, Santana very well could be proof enough that education and a little tough love worked. Still, she was suspicious, because from what she could tell, Santana wasn't accepting because it was right, but because of her father. The last thing she wanted to be was some trophy for the cheerleader to wield in order to make her father proud.

"And I didn't get it at first, but he's my dad…he's my hero, so I tried to understand. I tried really, really hard for him because I know I'm a BITCH… but I'm not EVIL, he didn't raise me like that. And whenever Britt was dating Artie or whoever else, I'd have a lot of free time, you know? So I looked shit up on my laptop, I subscribed to some people on youtube and tumblr, and I read stuff regularly enough. And look, I'm a lesbian, alright? I know you figured that out when I sang 'Landslide', and I know you didn't tell anyone outside of bringing up that Sapphic shit, so I have your back, okay?" Santana finished, breathing out and slumping forward as if she were some deflating balloon. Admittedly, it was the most she'd ever heard Santana speak in one sitting, so the girl very well could be having some sort of lung failure. More likely, though, the girl was a little exhausted by it, and Rachel could respect that to a degree. Santana had initiated the conversation, and that it hadn't been easy for her was a good thing. Good, honest discussions were rarely easy, in her experience.

And Rachel understood what Santana was saying, but she still had a difficult time fully believing her. Trusting her word was even more difficult. Santana had always picked apart people's weaknesses, it was what the girl did as a hobby; to hear she wouldn't be a target of that was a bit unbelievable, literally. It all felt like she was walking right into some trap, and it just seemed ridiculous that after all this time, Santana Lopez would be offering an olive branch, right when Rachel was at her most vulnerable.

And honestly, not having been able to tuck properly all day had caused her dysphoria to escalate, and hearing about Santana 'researching' people like her only added to her anxious, sardonic defensiveness. Santana was supposed to be insulting her, mocking her, threatening her; those actions and qualities were known factors, and it was both too suspicious that she wasn't, and too sensitive that she had been researched like some freaking National Geographic special. And if the girl was this apparently nicer person, why all the previous bullying? Why be kind now? Her father that she seemingly idolized so much had reamed her out in freshman year, so why all the hurtful words since? It left Rachel with a lot of unanswered questions, a lot of anxiety and anger, and had her thinking the other shoe was about to drop. Needless to say, it probably wasn't her proudest moment.

"Why would you? Tell me why you'd have my back, why you wouldn't tell!" She yelled, clearly catching the girl off guard, seeing as Santana actually recoiled. For probably the first time in all of her interactions with the former cheerleader, Santana recoiled from her words, all wide-eyed and stunned. It was an oddly pleasant feeling that left a bitter, shameful taste in her mouth. Yet, seconds passed without an answer, which only infuriated her enough to ignore that and press on. "Why not, huh? WHY NOT, Santana!? It'd be the truth, right?! Why not tell them that I really DO have 'man hands'! And…and that 'treasure trail' is a justified nickname considering what would happen if I didn't have my pills to save me! It'd just grow naturally, so keep that in your little red book of insults, I'm sure it'll come in handy! And 'tranny'! WELL, that's just a perfect fit! But let's add to the list, shall we? I'll take the damn initiative here for you, how about 'shemale', just so all the inbred hicks in Lima know EXACTLY what you're talking about, and exactly what I'll end up having to do if my dreams are shot! Why not ask me for my 'REAL' name, huh?! And…"

Rachel's raging, tearful words were cut off by the fact that a tanned arm swiftly whacked the notebook she had been holding out of her hands and across the room, Santana taking its place as the girl straddled her lap. The former cheerleader's glare was molten, and while she held her stare, it was tremendously difficult to keep it up and not be cowed by it. "Because I already KNOW your real name, Rachel! Because I'm not some stupid little fifteen year old! Because I can put a face to the reason why my dad does what he does! Because you're my CAPTAIN, in case you think I forgot! Because you could use some goddamn help right now, and because I've fucking grown as a person since back then! You've been through enough shit already because you're an overbearing Broadway geek with a big mouth! You fucking are, you know it, but I'm not going to sit here and tell you you're not a girl, alright?! We both know better, so fuck off, Rachel!"

Rachel gulped at the ex-cheerleader's proximity to a rather specific organ of hers; her spontaneous erections were pretty much entirely gone, but Santana was attractive, and she was straddling her, wearing a dress that would be complimenting all of her curves if it weren't already hiked up nearly at her hips from the girl's maneuvers. Additionally, 'Angry Santana' had always left something of a sizzle in the air that was admittedly slightly arousing, which was only amplified by the girl's heavy breathing and fiery glare. It was hard enough to wrap her head around Santana both insulting her and getting it right; with the girl more or less pressed against her, Rachel's brain was rendered a little fuzzy. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes so that she could at least attempt to focus. Santana said I'm a girl…a loudmouth Broadway geek girl, but a girl…and she's obviously not uncomfortable being around me, and kind of obviously doing this just to make her dad proud, but it might be…oddly nice, I guess, to just pretend she's honestly concerned for me. It's hard enough to believe she's put this much effort in. Surprising. Baffling. Perplexing…but nice. I'm still mad that she called me overbearing and said I had a big mouth, but…okay. Okay. I'll...just thank her for not telling anyone once she gets off me and I can focus properly.

"I know I'm a girl, Santana. And I'd greatly appreciate it if you got off of me." Rachel stated with closed eyes, not really feeling comfortable speaking or thinking about where the both of them were. Or, really, existing in the same space as the girl straddling her, due to her creeping dysphoria. Wiping the fresh tear tracks from her face only helped so much in keeping her focus from the former cheerleader.

Thankfully, Santana seemed to notice and quickly shifted herself off of Rachel, accidentally lightly grazing her appendage, which seemed to be increasingly affected by the other girl's closeness, to the diva's discontent. She fought back feelings of nausea and grasped the sheets to try and just stop her hands from shaking, needing to keep from slipping toward any sort of attack. For as long as she could remember, her appendage had only given her trouble, and while her reactions while on hormones weren't as bad as they used to be, they were still potent enough to control what she could comfortably partake in or endure. Anything resembling sexual activity was more or less out of the question, or would be limited to a brief period of time. For that reason, Finn's issues with premature ejaculation had been fairly useful, even if she felt bad for him having to deal with it.

"Sorry, I just tend to get in people's faces when they rile me up. I wasn't thinking. And look, I know you know. I just needed you to know I know too, okay? I'm not gonna say I don't care what's between your thighs, because it obviously fucking makes you feel shitty, and you've got some unique things to deal with, but you're a girl. You're Rachel Berry. There's nothing to tell anyone." Santana noted tiredly with a shrug, leaning back against the headboard again as she looked over her nails. It was clear that the confrontation portion of their talk was over, what with Rachel feeling more comfortable having vented her anger and accepted Santana's story, which the cheerleader had just confirmed. It was nice to get all of that out of the way, and now Rachel could focus on the immediate future.

"I…appreciate you allowing me confidentiality, Santana. I assure you that I will pay for your expenses today, and do my best to stay out of your way throughout this trip in order to try and make up for it." She answered, hoping it would satisfy the former cheerleader, but the perturbed expression the girl soon wore made her think otherwise.

"Not that I really like hanging around with much of anyone, Berry, but I don't need you to hide from me. Just…reel back your intensity for once and maybe we'll be good." Santana said with her trademark smirk, before bounding off the bed and returning with the slew of bags. "Oh, and I got you some stuff. I guessed your size, but I'm usually right…been going to school with you for years and everything. And I got some medical tape, some shape-wear compression stuff, panties…I'm not sure what method you use, so I just got…you know, whatever."

Rachel allowed herself a small smile at Santana's brief show of nervousness, finding her a little cute when flustered. Only a tiny bit, though. It was also nice to think the girl had spent part of one of their precious free days shopping with her in mind. While she was hardly feeling up to it, Rachel decided that being diplomatic would be a good idea to hopefully work to maintain their temporary truce. "Thank you, Santana. I…don't know how to thank you for…well, everything. If I'd bunked with Quinn…well…"

"It would have been cataclysmic. Mayhem. She would have freaked and either fainted or told everyone, and Snix might have killed her, because Blondie wouldn't expect it from me at all. And then I'd be yet another serial killer hiding out here in Jersey for the rest of my days, and I'm too hot for that." Santana muttered offhandedly, bringing over all the bags for Rachel to look at. She wasn't quite sure what to make of Santana's declaration that she would have killed Quinn and others for outing her, so she just focused on the clothes instead. The diva peered into one of the bags and pulled out a rather low cut peach-toned bandage dress that, just looking at it for a second, Rachel knew would leave very little to the imagination. In a way, it was oddly flattering for Santana to think that she would be able to pull off that dress.

Most items seemed to have remnants of her own style and preferences, but pretty much everything carried the sort of sensual spiciness Santana was famous for at school. Even the more casual things managed to appear figure flattering and fashionable, which was daunting. Kurt will have a brain aneurysm if he sees me wearing any of this…he already almost did this morning, but…that peach dress…jeez…

"Santana, I…thank you for your generosity, but some of these clothes are…well, they aren't really made for my body." Rachel explained as best as she could, feeling more than a little anxious about most of the clothes. She'd never had the best hips, and her breast growth wasn't anything substantial; all the insults over the years had more or less had her dysphoria spiking pretty high in situations regarding clothes and shopping, and constantly had her thinking even more poorly of her body. She did what she could to improve it and be aware of her self-image, but Rachel was very aware that her body was apparently sub-par. That it was at least still too close to where it started for her comfort, especially given that her dosages weren't terribly significant and that there had been minimal progress.

"I'm pretty sure they'll fit you well…I picked more clingy material because I was pretty confident with knowing your size and all, but I needed a little leeway just in case. It'll all fit, though, I'm totes sure. They'll at least show off the body you've been hiding under those sweaters all these years, too." Santana said playfully, her eyebrows wiggling in mock seduction, which had her feeling like she was in the Twilight Zone. It was entirely bizarre and more than slightly uncomfortable. And really, Rachel wasn't all that certain or confident about wearing it well, and desperately wanted a change of topic.

"I, uh…well, I'll try things on later. For now…I should get back to work on the songs." Rachel announced, drawing an understanding nod from Santana.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Let me get my laptop and crap, we can work on it together. I doubt Finn even thought about the backing track." Santana noted, quickly grabbing her laptop, mouse, and a hardcover book from her luggage, before rushing back to her bed and starting things up. Rachel's eyebrows quirked up at the statement, her memories rushing back to the backing music Mr. Schuester had managed to somehow gather in secrecy for her original song and 'Loser Like Me' at regionals, despite only being able to play guitar and ukulele.

Seeing Santana excitedly pop open her laptop and toss her headphones around her neck made her smile, feeling it would be a pleasant surprise if Santana was the producer of the track that really accented her previous work. It would certainly just add more craziness onto the already mind-boggling day she'd endured, but working with music would likely help her overworked brain from malfunctioning too badly. "Let's show Schue what a real team can do, right? Now, let's work with what you've got for the vocals, figure out a time signature and tempo, and get this show on the road, Berry."


A/N: Welp. That was chapter 2. Lots of ground covered, lots left to go, but I thought it was an alright first conversation on what Rachel's got going on at the moment. I hope it was okay to read and enjoyable enough. I kind of wanted to get into her mind a little bit. And I wanted to release this second part before the end of the week, because I doubt I'll be around my computer much this weekend when I otherwise would have posted this. I'll release chapters somewhat regularly, and it should take me to my reading week at the very least (Feb 15th to 23rd).

Initially, when outlining this fic way, way back, I considered having Santana entirely oblivious to anything trans, but I wasn't sure that I could handle spilling out so much education in this fic without it getting a bit stilted. I decided on a compromise: She knows the basics (such as what's on transwhat dot org), she's seen and read some firsthand accounts, but has no real first-hand experience of knowingly interacting with people about trans issues on her own. So she gets it, to a point, and will probably be learning along the way throughout the fic as to what gaps there were in what she understood. I didn't want to make this too dramatic, just enough to fit Rachel's sensibilities...besides my own experiences on being outed, over the years I've heard a number of stories from friends on having similar conversations as the above, and I've tried to find a place in the middle of that bell curve. The gist was that it's generally awkwardly stilted, alongside a mix of being scared as hell with a healthy dose of anger that you've lost control of a personal situation (among other potentially aggravating factors). Ultimately, I hope no one read it and thought it was crap, but eh, I tried. I showed it to some friends, they approved. I hope you do too, but if not I'd love to hear feedback :)

Anywho, I just want to thank you all for your fantastic support :D Thank you so much for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing my story, I really appreciate it :)