all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you) – chapter two

Santana would not describe herself as a person who was often spontaneous. She had her moments of impulsive action, particularly when her infamous temper was inflamed, but for the most part, she was a planner. A plotter. A schemer. She was proud of her ability to look at a situation and determine how to turn it to her best advantage, whether in class (cultivating good relationships with otherwise difficult teachers), Cheerios (determining which girls might fancy themselves as threats to the Unholy Trinity's hold on power, and thinking up ways to disabuse them of that notion), or elsewhere (how many traffic tickets had she avoided with a wink and a seductive smile at a police officer – she'd lost count by now).

And yet, she had gone into the choir room with no forethought at all, no plan for how to deal with these new and terrifyingly intense feelings she found herself having for Rachel. All it had taken was one look at the girl's large chocolate brown eyes, her dark, lustrous hair, and oh god those long, long legs in that short, short skirt, and Santana had been unable to resist the impulse to touch her – granted, in the most innocent way she could think of doing it, but still...she had never felt anything quite like the thrilling sensations that had made all her nerve endings feel as though there were exploding firecrackers going off under her skin at just the simplest brush of her fingers against Rachel's hand.

It was inexplicable. It was unsettling. It was almost beyond comprehension.

It was freaking fantastic. It was addictive. And Santana wanted more. Much, much more.

She felt as though she were drunk and high at the same time, that free and unfettered, yet unsure and unsteady on her feet. Rachel Berry had somehow worked her way into her bloodstream, become something like air or water, and Santana knew that she needed, one way or another, to get closer to the girl.

Because she needed to know how Rachel had done it. How she had seen inside her, straight past all the walls and locked doors surrounding her innermost self, right through the anger and the distrust and most of all, the nearly all-consuming fear that lived within her, to the true Santana that lay at the very core of her being. The one that no one had seen since her childhood, not even Quinn and Brittany.

The one thing that she had always thought would scare her more than anything else in the world was suddenly the thing she wanted the most, and she had no idea how that could be. She was actually afraid to find out.

But she was even more afraid of not knowing.

So she had held Rachel's hand, and smiled at her, and then she had let her know what was on her mind in that moment, because while Santana Lopez wasn't always great at expressing things with words, she was in fact always great at expressing them in other, non-verbal ways.

part two

Rachel came home from school still in a daze, having walked home through a fog permeating her brain and making rational, conscious thought extraordinarily difficult. She walked up the stairs to her room, where she dropped her bag full of school books and sheet music with a thump, and then dropped herself onto her bed in the same way. She felt exhausted, yet more alive than she could remember ever being before.

All she could think about was the warm touch of Santana's hand in her own, and the blood quickening in her veins as the cheerleader's fingers moved against hers. The speed of her heart pounding in her chest, like some kind of bird crashing against its cage after remembering that it could fly, the memory of soaring awakened by the look in Santana's eyes just before she'd exited the choir room, by the glistening wetness upon her lips as they turned up in what Rachel could only describe as a hungry smile.

And in that moment Rachel knew that she would gladly set herself on a plate and let herself be devoured, slowly, piece by piece. She would enjoy every second of it if it meant that Santana would keep looking at her like that, until there was nothing left of her to consume, and she was reborn in the song that would spill from her lips immediately afterwards.

As the song said: something had changed within her. Something was not the same.

In the space of a few labored breaths, in the fire that had scorched her skin and settled way down deep in her chest, her stomach, and elsewhere, Rachel had begun to transform. Something so far inside her, in a place in her body for which she had no name, was working its way out of that place, through her bones, through her flesh, replacing them with something different, something unknown, something wild and dangerous, wonderful and mysterious.

It made her want to sing with happiness, but when she opened her mouth, all that emerged was the panting of her breath and a low, shivering moan as the thing inside her worked its way into her throat, and she knew that her voice would sound forever different to her own ears after this.

part three

The expected text messages came through fast and furious when Santana turned on her phone after taking a long, languorous shower (she often did her best thinking in there). Quinn. Brittany, of course. Puck. Kurt. Mercedes. Tina. Even Mike. They were all asking the same questions, and Santana had no answers for them, even after forty minutes of standing under the nearly scalding hot water and letting it pelt at her in an attempt to let the steam draw them forth, as though it were some kind of mystic ritual.

How could she explain anything to them when she could hardly understand it herself? When her thoughts were all a jumbled montage of dark eyes and tan skin and a voice that seemed to draw its power from a source beyond anything on this world?

All she could tell them was that she'd been in an unusual mood, and that no, she had no idea what had brought it on - because she couldn't tell them that she knew exactly what had brought it on, and that she knew it wasn't going to pass anytime soon.

Fascination had taken hold, and she didn't want it to let go.

So after firing off one terse reply after another to all the Glee club members who had sought different answers to the intriguing questions pervading their collective consciousness, Santana decided to send a message to the one person who hadn't texted her, biting her lip as she typed it out.

Hey Rachel. What's up?

She lay on her bed, phone in hand, resting on her stomach, which felt tight with anticipation. Santana Lopez was nervous.

Oh, hell no. Santana Lopez does not get nervous.

Then why were her hands trembling as she waited to receive a reply?

Good evening, Santana. I am attempting to finish my homework, although I must admit that it has been difficult, as I have been rather...distracted since certain events took place earlier today.

Santana laughed aloud, both with relief at receiving a reply, and amusement at seeing how the girl texted pretty much exactly the same way she spoke. It should have annoyed her, yet she realized that she only found it endearing.

I know the feeling.

She pictured Rachel tapping her pen against her notebook as she searched for just the perfect words with which to respond, or maybe twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

Really? I must say I'm surprised. You've always seemed so cool and collected, except when you're angry with someone.

Santana frowned at this as she quickly typed back. Well, looks can be deceiving.

In this case, I hope not. At the risk of sounding entirely too bold, I admit that I rather enjoyed the way you looked in Glee today, so happy and free. It was wonderful.

The girl really did see everything. How?

It felt good to let loose like that. Q and Britt had fun too.

You all will make excellent additions to the club. I'm already thinking about songs that will best suit your individual vocal ranges, as well as ones on which you would harmonize best with other members.

Santana rolled her eyes. Of course she wants to talk about that, rather than about how hot our dancing was.

I know you're probably rolling your eyes at me for that, Santana, but honestly – the club has been in need of more strong female voices, and yours is particularly strong.

Okay, that's freaky. What, does she have a sixth sense or something?

I wasn't rolling my eyes at you, but whatever.

It's okay. I get that a lot. It doesn't change the fact that I'm right about this.

So you've just been thinking about our performance? Not about anything else that happened at Glee today?

Rachel was sure that Santana could see her blushing through the phone, despite the fact that they were only text messaging.

Well, yes. I mean, no. Not just about your performance, as superb as it was. There are other aspects of this afternoon's meeting that have me...preoccupied.

She imagined Santana reading that and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow, then smirking that...that smirk of hers. That delicious, evil smirk.

Oh? Such as?

You know very well what I'm talking about, Santana.

Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Come on. Enlighten me.

Tension coiled low in Rachel's abdomen as thoughts of Santana dancing, Santana staring at her with heat-filled eyes, Santana touching her, invaded her mind. She didn't know if she could actually talk about this with anyone – much less Santana – just yet, but the Cheerio was forcing her hand. She decided to respond as honestly as she could, and hope not to be mocked for it, as she'd been so frequently in the past.

I don't even know how to address these thoughts. It's like there isn't any language that can adequately express them. It's exciting and confusing and amazing all at the same time.

Rachel sighed, hoping that Santana could understand what she was trying to say, then exhaled with relief when she read the reply.

Yeah, I get that. Look, I don't know what it means either. I just know that I like it.

Both girls smiled at that. And both of them knew it, each picturing the other's face breaking out in a wide, delighted grin.

I like it too, Santana. And...I would not be averse to such events occurring again in the near future. That is, if you find yourself so inclined.

That can be arranged.

And on that very positive note, I'm afraid that I must say goodnight, or this homework will not get done in time for me to complete my night time skin care regimen before I go to bed.

Yeah, I guess it's kinda late. See you tomorrow. Sleep well.

Sweet dreams, Santana.

Goodnight, Rachel.

Phones shut off and set aside, each girl arose from where she had been - Rachel from her desk with notebook and text book left open and ignored, Santana from her bed, slipping out of her Cheerios uniform and into a tank top and shorts - knowing that the tomorrow into which they would be stepping would not be the same as it would have been had their conversation not taken place.

Each girl looked out her bedroom window, wondering what the other was doing and thinking now, watching the wind move the leaves in the trees.

Things had been set in motion. Changes were taking place within them both, changes that could not be avoided or denied now. Changes that would ripple out from them, out and around them, and the ground on which they walked would forever be shifted.