I'll Stand By You

chapter two

Santana woke up in a sort of daze, taking a second to remember where she was. It was the opposite of where she had expected to be, after running away so suddenly and finding herself in the city almost by accident. She was wrapped up in a warm comforter, resting on a queen-sized bed in Rachel Berry's guest room that was admittedly much nicer than the one she had back at home. Well...back at her old home. She yawned, stretched out her long, tanned legs, and sat up against the back board, looking around the room. She had been so tired the night before that she hadn't really taken the time to get a feel for Rachel's place.

The guest room was charming, furnished and decorated all in neutral tones of grey, yellow, and white. It was a fresh change for Santana, whose old bedroom walls had been painted chalkboard black and covered with posters. She checked the clock and saw that she'd slept a little later than she'd planned. It was 10:30 and she hadn't even heard Rachel get up, which she thought was weird; she was usually a pretty light sleeper.

Slowly, she made her way out of the bedroom and shut the door softly behind her. If Rachel had some kind of mid-morning nap in the middle of her usual routine, Santana didn't want to get in the way of that. She found her way to the bathroom, and quickly afterwards made her way to the kitchen. Hopping up onto a stool at the kitchen island, Santana found a hand-written letter laying flat, right next to an empty coffee cup. She smiled at Rachel's sentiment as she silently read the letter.

Santana,

I hope you slept well. You'll have to tell me about the guest room, as no one has ever had the opportunity to give me any feedback on it, and I decorated it myself (with a touch of help from my friend Kurt, when he was here for a visit). I had rehearsal this morning - it was sort of last minute. I'm sorry to have left you alone! I feel absolutely terrible about it. I know it must be awkward, being in my house by yourself, but I don't want it to be. So please, make yourself at home. Snoop around, do whatever you wish. My only request is this: if you touch any of my sheet music, please put it back the exact way it was - I need it for a performance later on in the week and I simply don't have time to mess around with it.

I should be home around 2, and then I have to be back up at the theater by 6 for my show. It's silly of me to assume that you love theater, but I remember you saying you love dance and I thought perhaps you might like to see my performance tonight? I'm terrible at introductions, but the best way to get to know me is through my art. I've saved you one of the best seats in the house, and we can discuss it further when I get home.

All right, I'm babbling. Enjoy your morning coffee and I'll see you later!

Much love, your friend -

Rachel Berry

The signature at the bottom of the paper was, presumably, the way that Rachel would autograph her fans' Playbills. Except, of course, for the tiny gold star sticker attached to the paper right next to Rachel's last name.

Santana had to laugh at that; there must be a story behind it somewhere. When Rachel got back, she would have to ask her about it. In the meantime, breakfast and a shower were items 1 and 1A on her mental to-do list. And coffee. Definitely coffee. Her parents had instilled the same love/hate feeling about the beverage in her that they had themselves. They knew, and had told her repeatedly, that coffee was terrible for the body, that caffeine was an addictive substance, and so on, yet they cursed the fact that it was what they needed to get through their interminably long shifts at work. And so it was with Santana, who had come to rely on it to get herself going in the mornings, just as they had. At the thought, she missed her parents intensely for a moment, then angrily batted the feeling away. There was no room for regret in her world now. She had made her choice; now she had to learn how to live with it.

She found the coffee next to a beautiful, high-end (and obviously very expensive) coffee maker and began to brew a new pot; once that got started, she opened the large, almost intimidatingly tall refrigerator, all gleaming chrome and quiet efficiency. She gasped at the variety of foods it contained - there were all different types of breads and cheeses, fruits and yogurt, even a whole slew of juices from which to choose. And those were just the breakfast type items. Her head fairly spun at the cornucopia of delightful options - what to choose? After a few moments, she decided to make up a nice little fruit and cheese plate for herself, with some buttered toast and a tall glass of orange juice to boot. Once she'd made and buttered the toast (even Rachel's toaster was incredibly high-end, she noted), poured the juice into a clean glass that Rachel must have left for her on the counter, sliced up the cheeses and selected the fruits, arranging everything on one of the many plates she found in the expansive set of cupboards located above the long kitchen counter, she took everything back to the island. Once she was seated, she found herself reading Rachel's note once again.

It didn't surprise Santana that the starlet's handwriting was neat and precise, though not annoyingly so, like her teachers' penmanship had always seemed to be. It was completely in keeping with what she had seen of Rachel's character so far: controlled and disciplined, yes, but not completely rigid and by-the-book. There was an endearing girlishness to her "r"s and her "y," something very much in touch with who she must have been in her younger days. It made Santana smile once again, and it occurred to her that she'd smiled an awful lot ever since she'd met Rachel.

A blush reached her cheeks at the thought, but she pushed it away. She didn't have time for things like crushes right now. She needed to figure out what she was going to do with her life - and getting a job was the first step onto that path. Along with schooling of some sort - which couldn't be paid for without the job...

Santana sighed to herself and put her head in her hands, deep in contemplation.

You're in New York now, she told herself. There are probably tons of places hiring. You should go out looking today. But then how will you lock the apartment, if you don't have a key? The building had security and all, but still - and besides that, Rachel is kind of expecting you to be here when she gets home.

Rachel.

She had been so very accommodating - and to a complete stranger, no less. Santana's mind starting working, the cogs in her mind spinning as she munched on her toast. What the hell was she doing, staying in a stranger's home like this? Sure, Rachel had been more than kind to her. A total sweetheart, in fact, when Santana wasn't entirely sure that she was deserving of such a thing. But they still knew virtually nothing about each other! Although getting to know someone is how you make friends, was this the right way to do it? Not likely.

It was a nice little dream to be staying at Rachel's for some indeterminate amount of time, but Santana figured she should probably be leaving. She wasn't one to wear out her welcome, and although she had her concerns about how long she could last, realistically, out on the streets, it was still probably better for Rachel if she didn't continue to stay with her. Keeping a random stranger at your house had to bring about a huge level of stress...right?

As she pondered her next move, Santana failed to hear the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opening.

"Hello? Rachel?" a woman's voice called. "It's Marley. I thought you were going to be at home today - oh!" The woman stopped short when she caught sight of Santana sitting at the kitchen island with her head in her hands.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, trying and failing to hide the alarm in her voice. "How did you get in here?" Then she blushed, shaking her head. "Oh, no. She must have gone out last night, met you and...wow. I must say, you look very young. I thought Rachel was looking for someone a little more...well, anyway. I'm sorry." She approached Santana, who was staring wide-eyed at the tall, awkward and quite beautiful woman standing in front of her with a large pile of what must have been Rachel's mail in her arms. "I'd offer a handshake, but, well.." she gestured with her chin to the bunch of envelopes she carried. "I don't exactly have a hand free at the moment."

Santana stood and crossed the kitchen to the living room, not caring that she was still clad only in her T-shirt and underwear, forgetting to be insulted - or complimented - by the implication that she had been Rachel's bed partner the previous night. (Rachel had offered her some sleepwear, but Santana had declined, steadfastly holding to her desire not to impose any more on Rachel than she absolutely had to.)

"Here - let me help you with that," she said, and Marley nearly tripped over herself in trying to pass some of her burden along. "Is this all fan mail?" she asked, startled by the sheer volume of it. Some of the envelopes were even adored with artistically inclined fans' renderings of Rachel's face, usually with her eyes closed and her mouth open, with musical notes floating around her head to signify that she was supposed to be singing. Some of the pictures were actually pretty good, Santana thought. Others were...well, not so much. Anyway, Quinn had been the artist in their little group, not her; she would bet that Q could draw something far better than any of these people had. Another pang of guilt stabbed at her chest. She stubbornly ignored it.

"Thanks," Marley said, letting out a little whoof! of relief at having some of the burden of Rachel's mail taken from her. "And yes. it's her fan mail. Well, some of it, anyway. She gets a ton. I'm sure you know - she must have told you she's on Broadway, right?"

Santana set her share of the mail down on the couch, and Marley followed suit. Once her hands were free, she adjusted the dark-framed glasses she wore and stuck one out for Santana to shake. "Marley Rose. Personal assistant, friend and confidant of Rachel Berry, Broadway's hottest rising star. Sorry - I didn't catch your name before...?"

"That's because I didn't give you my name," Santana cracked as she shook Marley's hand. "I'm Santana. A new...acquaintance of Rachel's. And yeah, we met last night, but...it's not what you think it is. Or what it looks like, or whatever."

"Not judging. We're all adults, after all," Marley replied, adjusting her glasses again. She looked to be about Rachel's age to Santana's eyes, probably not far removed from her college graduation, wearing a button-down blouse under a sweater, with a knee-length pencil skirt and sensible heels completing the personal assistant's ensemble. "What Rachel does in her off time is totally her business. Definitely not mine, no sir."

"Uh, yeah. Like I said, it's not even like that," Santana reiterated. She scurried back to the kitchen island, grabbing the note and bringing it back for Marley to examine. When the other woman took it, she peered at it as though making sure she hadn't just been handed a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. "We're just friends. Rachel...she helped me out. That's all."

"Hmm," Marley finished reading the hand written letter and handed it back to Santana. "Well, far be it from me to intrude upon any charity Rachel finds herself doing these days. I was just dropping off her mail, and then I'll be on my way." She smiled pleasantly in spite of the not too subtle jab at Santana.

San stared blankly at the woman, a little in shock. She was not a charity case...was she? Did this woman understand that she was coming off as rude, or was that just her personality? She bit her lip and gestured towards the door. "Far be it from me to stop you," she quipped, unsure if the woman had caught the slight irritation in her tone, not really caring if she had. Santana had been known to be mouthy at times, and while she didn't want to upset any of Rachel's friends, this woman had struck a chord with her. A dissonant, out-of-key chord.

"Have a lovely day." Marley nodded her head and closed the door behind her as she left. Santana shivered angrily, then paused. Before the interruption, she'd been contemplating getting the hell out of here. Why would it even matter if she had upset one of Rachel's friends?

A pang in her heart told her it was because, deep down, part of her truly wanted to stay.

Of course she would want to stay. Who wouldn't want to stay in this mansion of an apartment, with such an extremely kind, not to mention gorgeous, woman? A talented woman who offers up free Broadway tickets and a warm bed, among other things? It just all seemed too easy. Much too easy. It didn't sit well with her that she hadn't had to struggle in the city, as she'd fully expected she would have to do. Take her lumps, pay her dues, all of that. Pick a cliché. But Rachel had found her right away and instantly begun providing for her. Santana hated to be anybody's responsibility, and she liked to earn things. She'd had to earn everything she'd ever gotten back home, hadn't she? This just felt like … like exactly what Marley had said.

Charity.

Well, screw that. She would stay, but she would earn her keep. Santana Lopez was nobody's charity case, damn it. When Rachel came home, she decided, they would have a little talk about rules and boundaries. If she was going to be here, she was going to be here not because Rachel had some kind of need to take care of somebody, anybody - but because she was important and necessary and valued.

She looked at the small mountain of mail on Rachel's plush couch. Marley certainly seemed capable enough, but she could probably use some help, right? She could swallow her pride and become the assistant's assistant, if it came to that. Or maybe the theater needed an extra stagehand or ticket booth worker? She didn't care what the job was, as long as she got one and could contribute something. As long as she could prove her worth. One shot was all she needed. One shot, and then that Marley girl and everyone else, even her abuela, would see that Santana Lopez was somebody, that she was way more than a hot-headed runaway who'd somehow gotten lucky and found a meal ticket in the form of a lonely Broadway starlet.

The old song says: if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere. Well, she was going to make it here, no matter what - and while meeting Rachel had undeniably been a big break, from here on out, Santana vowed that she would be making her own damned breaks.

Rachel rushed about the theater, trying her best to be her normal, people-pleasing self. There was a lot to do before the show tonight, and the rehearsal that morning had mostly just been for a couple of new orchestra members, who'd needed to adjust themselves properly to their surroundings and performers. Now that was over, it was about time for Rachel to be heading back home, to Santana.

Santana. God, how Rachel hoped the young girl was okay by herself there. Of course, she didn't think that Santana was incapable of taking care of herself; she just knew how scary being alone in the big city could be. Especially in the unfamiliar apartment of someone she'd only just met, someone brand new. Although she wanted to believe Santana's gap year story, she had a feeling that the girl must be hiding from something, whether that be a person, an idea, or life in general. Rachel understood that entirely; she'd been there too, although she'd quickly learned that you can't run from reality. If this wasn't something that Santana already knew, she was bound to learn eventually, especially in a place like New York. Rachel just wanted to make sure she was there for the girl, in any way she could be. They hadn't known each other long, but there was something about Santana that reminded Rachel of herself. If she'd had someone else to help her when she'd started off in the city, she would have been eternally grateful.

Her thought were interrupted by her personal assistant, Marley, who'd knocked at the door and then entered Rachel's dressing room without waiting for Rachel to answer. Rachel didn't mind, particularly since Marley came with coffee. She gratefully took a travel mug out of Marley's hands and smiled. "Marley! You're looking beautiful as ever."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Berry." She nodded her head in Rachel's direction and when Rachel rolled her eyes at the proper title, corrected herself. "Rachel. I ran into your...friend at your apartment. She seems...pleasant."

Rachel blinked, wondering from the tone of Marley's voice if something had gone wrong. "Did she seem like she was doing well? I feel bad about leaving her alone."

"I might have caught her at a bad time, honestly," Marley waved it off, stumbling a bit as she spoke about the awkward meeting. "It seemed like she'd just woken up, and I wasn't sure if she was someone you had taken home last night, or something like that - not that that would be any of my business, but..." Marley blushed at the implication. "I'm not sure. She just seemed, I don't know...sort of out of it."

Rachel nodded in understanding. "Marley, we're friends." She took a sip of her coffee. "You don't have to be so nervous around me, or anyone you meet at my home. Santana is just a friend I met last night. She'll be staying with me for a little while, until she can get on her feet. I hope that in the future you two will become better acquainted, as I'm thinking it's possible she might be around for a little while. It would be a shame if the two of you didn't get along."

Marley bit her lip, brushed away some imaginary lint on her sweater. "Well...I'm afraid I may have stepped in it a little bit on that front," she murmured. "I totally didn't mean to do it, though. I think I might have given her a bad first impression anyway."

Rachel's eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't like Marley to get off on the wrong foot with people. Then again, she didn't often meet strangers who'd just gotten out of bed, especially at Rachel's apartment.

"What happened?" Rachel asked gently, cringing inwardly at the idea of any of her friends doing or saying anything rude or inappropriate to a guest in her home. Marley ducked her head, and the tell-tale gesture gave her away. Instantly, Rachel knew that something untoward had indeed taken place. She waited, knowing that her assistant was unfailingly honest - which was one of the reasons she'd hired her in the first place.

"I...I might have suggested that she was some kind of...charity case?" Her voice trailed upward at the end, but it was clearly not a question.

"Oh, Marley," Rachel sighed, bowing her head. She screwed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "Listen - I honestly don't know Santana all that well just yet, but even so, I think it's safe to say that she wouldn't take kindly to that. Most people wouldn't. I'm shocked and disappointed, frankly."

"I know, Rachel, and I'm sorry." Rachel could see in Marley's face, and hear in her voice, that she truly did regret what she'd said. The young assistant sighed, then continued on, the words rushing out in a torrent. "What's worse is that I left right after that, without apologizing. I know, I know, I shouldn't have done that either, but - I was so embarrassed already, and I didn't trust myself not to make things worse."

Rachel put a consoling hand on the other woman's arm. Marley looked miserable already; there was no need to make her feel any worse. "You do owe Santana an apology, Marley, but I know you didn't mean to cause any offense. I'm sure she'll forgive you, once you explain."

A thin, rueful smile quirked up the corners of Marley's lips, brightening her expression, but only a little. "I hope so. But I mean, I was a little bit flustered. I wasn't exactly expecting to be greeted by a stranger in her underwear when I was just trying to drop off your fan mail!"

The mental image of Santana in her underwear came to the front of Rachel's mind, unbidden. While it wasn't an...unappealing thought, she shook her head to clear the image away. She and Santana still barely knew each other; she couldn't let the fact that she found the younger woman extremely attractive get in the way of the fragile, tentative friendship they were forming. Still, she silently cursed Marley for creating that image in her head all the same.

"I know, sweetie," Rachel rubbed at Marley's shoulder, letting her know she was forgiven. "I'm sure it'll be okay. If she was truly insulted, I'm sure she would have said something back. People get over little quips like that, and she seems like a very understanding person. Really, I'm sure it isn't even that big a deal." She waved it off casually and readjusted her purse on her shoulder. "Now," she linked arms with her assistant and began to walk in the direction of the theater door. "Let's get back to my place, shall we?"

"B-back to your place?" Marley sounded confused. Of course she intended to apologize, but was she really prepared to run into this...Santana woman again so soon? "Aren't you needed here? At the theater?"

Rachel shook her head and continued to walk, pressing her lips together. "Nope - we've already done all the necessary run-throughs, and I don't need to be back again until hair and makeup tonight. I just need to make a few quick purchases, and then I think we'll eat some lunch and see what Santana's been up to today."

What Rachel thought, but didn't say out loud, was that she was eager to see the girl and talk with her again. Especially now that it was morning and they weren't so sleep deprived. And anyway, the bag Santana carried with her was not very large, and Rachel doubted she had anything to wear to the theater that night - if Santana chose, as Rachel hoped she would, to take her up on her offer to go. She ran through her mental Rolodex, and it only took a few seconds for her to determine exactly where she should go to buy what she needed.

Freshly showered and dressed once again in her T-shirt and jeans, Santana sat on the couch in the spacious living room of Rachel's apartment, having moved all the mail over to one side, and flipped through the channels on the insanely large television that seemed to take up half the opposite wall. The viewing choices were staggering, nearly endless, but Santana wasn't really watching. Her thoughts were more occupied by her friends back home, the ones she had left with no warning or explanation, and she found herself longing to speak to Brittany or Quinn, her heart aching with a desire to tell them what had happened before her abuela could poison their minds with her version of events.

And yet, as much as she wanted desperately to talk to them, to hear the sound of their voices, she worried that it might already be too late, that their hearts had already hardened against her, unwilling to forgive her for simply disappearing on them, vanishing like a ghost. What could she say? What could she tell them that could possibly make this all right? Her decision to leave had been impulsive, she knew; but she also knew in her soul that it was the right thing. Life in the Lopez household simply could not continue as it was, and even going away to college wouldn't completely solve the problem. Every Thanksgiving, winter break, spring break and summer season would be filled with the same bitter acrimony, the same harsh stares, the same sullen silences, the same shouting matches when her parents weren't there. No, it couldn't go on that way. Not without fracturing her family, and that was the one thing Santana could not bear. It was better this way.

It had to be. Otherwise, she'd done this all for nothing.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She wanted to scream, to vent her anger, to purge herself of her rage and sorrow, but in these new and unfamiliar surroundings, she didn't even feel comfortable enough to do that. Not just yet. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made a sound of bitter resentment at being forced into this position. Rachel really had no idea what she had let herself in for, inviting Santana into her life like this. She almost wanted to laugh, but the myriad of emotions swirling inside her wouldn't allow it. She wished the older woman were home already, needing badly to talk to her about everything, needing to tell her the truth. If Santana was going to stay here with her, she figured she owed Rachel at least that much, in repayment for her kindness and generosity.

Her thoughts turned once again to the diminutive singing star who had taken her into her home with virtually no questions asked. But Santana had questions of her own: who was this woman, anyway? This beautiful, seemingly guileless, utterly trusting woman, who didn't seem to have a devious bone in her body? The questions turned over and over in her mind as she turned off the TV and wandered around Rachel's immaculately maintained living space, gawking at the rows and rows of awards and trophies lined up along several shelves, at the framed pictures of the young star posing with people so famous it actually boggled Santana's mind. Here she was with Patti LuPone, there with Tommy Tune, here with Bernadette Peters, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and...yes, Barbara Streisand herself. Santana wasn't very easy to impress, but she had to admit it - Rachel had already done a slew of amazing things in her life, and yet she couldn't possibly be more than three or four years older than her.

She wanted - no, she needed - to know more. Rachel had written that if Santana really wanted to learn who she was, she had to get to know her art. That was how she communicated with the world, how she showed her true self. Santana crossed the room and made her way over to the racks and racks of compact discs shelved above the state of the art audio system, with its equally state of the art surround sound speaker set-up. Her eyes scanned the titles until she found the one she wanted: Funny Girl - Original Cast Album, featuring Tony Award Winner Rachel Berry as Fanny Brice. Smiling, she opened the plastic case, turned on the stereo, and inserted the disc into the CD player.

"All right - let's hear what you got, short stack," she said, just as the opening notes of "Don't Rain on My Parade" began to fill the room.

As Rachel's smooth and melodic voice belted out of the speakers, Santana was absolutely blown away by the loud, expressive, beautiful sound that came from such a small, adorable woman. "Holy hell, Mini Streisand, where did all of that come from?!" she asked out loud to no one, since she was the only person in the house. Rachel had an incredible talent, there was no denying it. No wonder she was receiving so much fan mail.

And she's offered you a seat at tonight's show. Of course you have to go! You need to see her perform live - if she sounds this good on a recording, I can't imagine...wow, you can really hear the character in her voice. What talent...what passion...what the hell are you going to wear tonight? Her hopes fell as she realized she had absolutely nothing suitable to wear to the theater. She glanced down at her attire, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. She couldn't ask Rachel to let her borrow something – hell, she was already staying in the woman's house, and this was a free ticket, besides. But…how was she supposed to kindly decline the offer to see this amazing musical? Especially since she really, truly wanted to go.

She was starting to feel restless in the cavernous apartment all alone, and she'd only been in the place for less than a day. Now, Santana was starting to understand Rachel's deep feelings of loneliness.

Sure, she could fill up the empty space with sound, whether on a compact disc or simply by singing out loud, but when the song was over, the silence would only return, even deeper than before. Rachel was at her best around other people - that much was clear from the pictures adorning the walls. Santana let the music wash over her as she looked more intently at the framed photographs. Rachel was smiling, laughing, at her happiest when she was interacting with friends, peers, or even fans. Her energy and vitality practically radiated from each picture. But in the few shots of her alone, Rachel looked somber, pensive, detached - not sad, exactly, but sort of like a kid who's wondering when her friends are going to come over to play again.

It was beyond obvious that Rachel Berry was not a person who hid her emotions well. Or at all, really. No, she was a person who felt things deeply, who expressed those feelings from the very core of her being. Santana realized that this was the essence of who Rachel was, and the reason why she was such a spectacularly gifted performer. That natural, inborn ability to easily tap such powerful emotions within herself was exactly what enabled her to touch those same emotions in each and every person in the audience on a nightly basis.

Santana shivered, listening to Rachel sing, wanting to feel what it must be like to be in that audience. To see her standing on the stage, in the spotlight, singing her heart out and connecting with the hearts and souls of hundreds of people at once. She'd seen a couple of high school musical productions back home in Lima, but of course they couldn't compare to this. Her insides twisted with the desire to see the show, warring against the desire not to ask any more from Rachel than she absolutely must. As the two desires warred within her, she stared out the enormous window at the city spread out beneath the impossibly tall building that Rachel called home. Had she not turned the stereo up to a wall-shaking volume, she would have heard Rachel and Marley entering the apartment, would have turned around to see the expression of shocked amazement on Rachel's face - and the bag she carried from one of the city's most exclusive and expensive clothing stores, containing the gown she was meant to wear to the evening's performance.

Santana scrambled to the stereo to turn it down, stumbling over her feet as she nearly fell into the sound system, somehow managing to smack the power button in the process, her face red with embarrassment.

"R-Rachel, I - you're home!" she stuttered, picking herself up off of the floor where she'd tripped and brushing off her clothes. "I...didn't expect you back so early...I hope it was okay that I was listening to your...um...I just I'd never seen the show, and I wanted to hear what the music...I wanted to hear you sing," she finally admitted, intensely staring down at the floor. The carpet was suddenly much more interesting than whatever look Rachel must have been holding in those dazzling chocolate brown eyes of hers.

Rachel laughed silently, amused and charmed by Santana's clumsiness. "I thought you said you were a dancer," she teased, setting her shopping bags down on the floor and crossing her arms over her chest with a small smirk. "Surely dancers are more graceful than that?"

Santana pulled her head up, her pride a little stung, even though she knew Rachel was only teasing. She looked Rachel directly in the eyes and and said, more bravely than she felt, "I usually am." Especially since she noticed Rachel's judgmental assistant was with her, and Santana was not one to be made a fool of. Her tone turned a little flirtatious when she added, "Maybe your voice just put me in a trance. You're very talented."

Nice save, Lopez, she prided herself.

She allowed herself a small smirk of her own at the pretty blush that colored Rachel's cheeks at her words. She might be young, but she had game. Back home, no one could deny that she could charm most any girl out of her pants, if she wanted. And looking at Rachel now, at the suddenly shy smile on her face, her pleased-yet-embarrassed posture, Santana realized that the idea of charming the Broadway star's pants off kind of excited her, kindling a flame low in her abdomen. And yet, another part of her said no, she shouldn't be thinking about Rachel that way. At least, not now. Not yet. That part of her wanted Rachel not just as someone to share her bed, but as a friend, a mentor of sorts, a guide to this enormous, unforgiving city. Contradictions and conflicting desires warred for dominance within Santana once again, but she wasn't about to let that show - especially not in front of Marley.

"Smooth, Santana. Very smooth," Rachel laughed. "Where your feet might not be so graceful on rare occasions, your tongue certainly is." She clapped both hands over her mouth, realizing how suggestive, how risque that sounded, which was very much not what she meant. Well, mostly, if she were being honest with herself. Marley turned to look at her with a positively scandalized look on her face, eyes wide behind her glasses. To tell the truth, Rachel thought, seeing that look was almost worth the slight embarrassment. Lord knew that girl needed to loosen up more than a bit.

Santana couldn't contain her hearty laughter at the scene. Rachel was adorable when she was perturbed like this, and it was hilarious to see Marley looking as though it was the first time she'd ever heard something even a little naughty.

Her laughter was quickly joined by Rachel's, but the assistant remained quiet, still looking a bit shocked. Well, if Santana was going to stick around, the woman was going to learn to lighten up even if it killed her.

"Anyway," Rachel finally said, once their laughter subsided. "There are two important things we must address while we have a window of time and opportunity to address them. First - " she lifted one of the shopping bags from where they rested on the floor at her feet. "I bought something for you to wear to the show tonight." Forestalling the expected protest, Rachel held up her other hand. "I won't hear a word against it, Santana. You're a part of my world now, and as such, that entails coming to see me in my element - the stage. I spend so much time there, it's almost more than a second home for me. So it's vitally important that you become familiar with it as quickly as you can - not only for my sake, but for yours, if you truly intend to become a dancer. Our choreographer, Dakota Stanley, is an obnoxious and repulsive little man, but he's the best in the business. Unfortunately." She made a face to show her distaste for the behind the scenes dictator. "Come to the theater, impress him, and he can be a big help to you if you really want to be a dancer in this town."

She handed the bag to Santana, who accepted it open-mouthed, unable to think of anything to say, for once. She peered inside it, then gasped.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "It's gorgeous! Rachel, this is too much. I - I can't -"

"You can, Santana. Please. For me." Rachel's tone was firm, yet pleading, the want mirrored in her eyes, her lips verging on what everyone else in Rachel's life knew to be a devastatingly effective pout.

Santana bowed her head; her shoulders slumped in defeat. How could she say no? She couldn't. So she simply said, "Thank you" instead.

Rachel clapped her hands, evidently pleased with herself, letting out a little Yay! at Santana's acquiescence. I guess I'm not the only one around here with charm to spare, Santana thought to herself. Somehow the thought didn't bother her at all.

"And now that we've settled that, Marley here has something she would like to say to you, Santana." She gestured for the assistant to step forward, as though she was a student about to present a book report to the class. "Marley, the floor is yours. Santana, please listen to what she has to say."

Marley twisted her hands in front of her, looking for all the world like a chastened schoolgirl, then dropped them and gave a little sigh. "Look, I'm really sorry that we caught each other - I caught you, more accurately - at such a bad time this morning. I didn't mean what I said, and I certainly didn't mean for it to sound so rude, but I got nervous after I said it, and, well...I just I'm thinking we really got off on the wrong foot, so this is my apology to you, in the hope that we can start fresh."

It all came out rather quickly, and Santana had to listen hard to catch all of what Marley had said to her. She thought back for a moment. She hadn't exactly been too pleasant to be around this morning either, so they were both at fault, really. They'd both been shocked, caught off guard, and anyway, Santana knew better than to judge a book by its cover, or even its first page.

"I'm sorry, too." Santana was sincere. She really did want to get along with Marley, especially if she was actually going to be staying with Rachel - and she was really starting to get used to that idea. And unless she missed her guess, Rachel seemed to be enjoying the thought, too. "You're so right. We got off to a bad start this morning. Neither one of us were at our best. We were both a little startled. I'm sure we'll really enjoy each other's company, once we get to know each other a little better, you know?" She gave a small smile (that Rachel, watching the two of them intently, found absolutely adorable), and pushed a lock of thick black hair behind her ear.

"Thank you for accepting my apology," Marley said, her smile composed of equal parts relief and gratitude. Her body, so visibly tense while making her apology, now relaxed, the tension in her neck and shoulders draining away. She was actually very pretty, Santana thought, when she wasn't being so intense. Obviously Marley was very driven and very devoted to Rachel, and those were certainly admirable qualities; but they needed to be balanced by something else. Santana had learned from Brittany, her best friend back home, that watching people's facial expressions and body language was every bit as important as listening to what they said; often, it would tell you more about them than any words ever could. And what Marley's face and body were telling Santana was that she had no life outside of her job, and desperately needed to get one. Santana, for her part, was proud that she hadn't given in to her usual impulse to verbally shred the one who had wronged her, as she would have in the halls of McKinley High, back in Lima. But this wasn't Lima. This was the Big Apple, New York freakin' City. In this town, Santana reminded herself, it was definitely better to have friends than enemies - even if Marley did look like Bambi had somehow come to life and taken human form, seemingly completely incapable of doing real harm to anybody or anything.

Marley stepped forward, extending her hand for Santana to shake with a small, still-apologetic smile. Santana returned the smile and shook the offered hand, and with that. the morning's incident was put firmly behind them, in the past where it belonged.

The sound of Rachel applauding broke the silence that had fallen upon the room, and they all laughed together, glad to have the matter fully addressed.

"Well, with that drama firmly laid to rest, what do you say we all have some lunch? I have many of New York's finest restaurants on speed dial," Rachel suggested brightly, very pleased at the way things had gone so smoothly between her new friend and her trusted assistant. She stood there with her phone in hand, expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Um...I know we were just there and all, but could we go back to the diner? I'm just dying for a burger," Santana said, a suggestion that was met by two pairs of incredulous eyes staring at her. "What? A body this hot needs its protein." She gestured down at herself with a wicked smile. Rachel laughed, while Marley looked vaguely scandalized once again, looking away from Santana and down at the floor.

Santana gave herself a mental high-five at both reactions. This town wasn't going to change her completely, after all. She wouldn't let it.