Author's Note: Wow. Didn't expect such a favorable response...actually, I didn't have any expectations. All you guys are great. Anyway, I'm posting this in honor of Glee being on tonight. Let's hope we get some more Brittana (and at the very least, more Faberry friendship scenes).


Chapter 2

Somehow - between the time it took to travel routinely from Mr. Shue's Spanish class to English Lit, Santana had kidnapped her, promptly pulling her into the bathroom and dragging her corpse along like a rag doll. Because the school's locked door policy had been disintegrated after that unfortunate incident that last year, when Sue Sylvester had locked all the bathrooms and it had been filed as psychological abuse, Santana bolted the bathroom stall for privacy.

Brittany was already in there (as dirty as that sounded), tapping her foot in anticipation.

"So…?" The Latina had started off, peering at the confused former cheerleader. When the question didn't register immediately, she snapped. "The date! What was it like finally tasting the rainbow, Q?"

To her shock, the blonde had laughed hard, throwing her friends a hard glance. "I went on one date with Berry. It didn't mean anything."

For a moment, her friends grimaced at her which, if that hadn't shocked her enough, begun the sharing of some sort of look Quinn had seen on various occasions before, telepathically communicating. When they had seemingly reached a viable consensus they faced her.

"You're going on a second date." Brittany nodded frankly, stating the proposal as if it were the most completely reasonable, completely logical next step in this situation.

"Why? I mean I held up my end of the bargain it's only fair that -"

With a swiftly raised hand, Santana stopped her abruptly, squeezing Brittany's shoulder with free hand reassuringly. Her girlfriend returned a happy grin, thanking her quietly.

Quinn let an exasperated sigh; it sometimes made her jealous how they could communicate like that without even speaking. She would never admit it, but if she was perfectly honest, a rare occurrence nowadays, her connection with Finn was somehow…lacking compared to theirs.

"That's not fair!" An irritable Quinn argued. "That completely goes against what we agreed on yesterday."

"I said you have to be 'dating' Rachel Berry." The Latina smirked, a devilish gesture on her part.

Quinn opened her mouth to insist that she had, but Santana cut her off quickly.

"One date hardly qualifies."

"I let her kiss me, Santana!" Her hands quickly flew over her mouth, hearing the subtle noises of someone shifting outside the stall. "She kissed me with tongue."

The Latina waved her off with a manicured hand. "Irrelevant."

"It's completely relevant-"

Leaning in, Santana reasoned with her, coaxing her in that downy voice. "What is a third of the votes worth to you? What is Prom Queen worth to you? Proving that you're not just a Lima loser, once and for all? Does one lousy date, where Berry cops a feel, even seem comparable?"

"Well, it wasn't lousy." The blonde grumbled inaudibly, trying to keep a neutral expression and failing so it seemed. For some reason, her friends were snickering that this revelation, basking again in their telepathic connection.

Feeling cheated, she frowned. Despite herself, she had to admit that Santana had a point though; winning over the title of Prom Queen with one Berry-esque date seemed almost too easy. The former head cheerleader drew a heavy exasperated breath.

"What do you want me to do?" The blonde relented.

With a wicked expression, the Latina smirked, crossing her arms in such a purposeful way that indicated she had mulled over this thought about this before.

"Okay," She began dutifully, comprehensively scaring Quinn into submission. "Here's the plan…"

Ready to begin and with such dedicated intent that it scared Quinn, the Latina flung the stall door open, taking a step outside. Halfway through their motions, they halted, suddenly noticing that one of their fellow Glee club members had stopped washing the slushy off her shirt and looked up at them with shock.

"Did you guys all just come out of the same stall?" said Tina, gaping.

Santana simpered as Quinn flushed the color from her cheeks.


One thing about Santana Lopez, which Quinn should have been wary about from the moment she had met her, was that when she wanted something – really wanted something – she would let nothing stand in her way of getting it. Absolutely nothing.

She should have been wary of this when Santana had tried to (literally) pull the rug from under Artie throughout her jealous, he-doesn't-deserve-my-baby phases, or when she had sensitized Dave Karofsky with misled intentions, or when she had told Sam about her newest 'affair' in order to find a new beard.

But standing in the doorway of Rachel Berry's house, nervously swaying from side to side, she realized she hadn't been wary, not at all. At least this time her friends had allowed her to dress herself before going outside, but they had called (just in case) to ascertain her wardrobe choice.

Finn had been conveniently asked out by Puck to play video games and, either not noticing or not caring, had been seemingly placid with having barely seen his girlfriend in the past two days. Once, she had dialed him to hear the sounds of grenades going off and various hollering of "Freaking Nazi zombies". She hadn't even bothered calling again after that.

Shuffling in her pockets were some wadded bills, the tickets for their date and an unopened condom, which embarrassingly enough Brittany had given her just before she headed out the door, insisting she didn't need it herself anymore. She was still unsure about what to do with such a thing, maintaining that its very occupancy on her person was pure blasphemy.

In fact, the entire uncertainty of the situation, standing outside of Rachel Berry's house (condom or not), frightened her. If she wasn't careful, she was sure Santana and Brittany would pop out of the bushes sometime, just for the heck of giving her a heart attack. Suspiciously, before puncturing the doorbell, she had checked the rosebushes outside. Twice.

Head in the hedges, the door swung open and she teetered sheepishly back to the 'We're Berry Welcome to Have You' mat, greeted by a tall, African-American man she assumed was Rachel's father.

"Hello, sir." She stiffened, feeling her legs turn into lead. Her voice cracked again, sounding like a horny teenage boy. "I'm here for Rachel…"

He narrowed his eyes into slits that made Quinn even more nervous, crossing his arms. "You must be Quinn Fabray."

He pronounced her name slowly, grimacing at the increasingly nervous blonde at his doorstep. Her mouth went dry, silently recapping the horror stories Rachel could have told her fathers, the days she had tortured the girl so harshly that she would have run home crying to her fathers. The weight of the world suddenly on her.

"What exactly are your intentions with my daughter?"

Quinn blinked thoroughly, feeling as though someone had just punched her in the stomach. What do you tell the father of the girl you were dating as part of some sick plan to win over more votes for Prom Queen, when he asks such a thing? Because that was all this was, right? It was a plan, not an actual date, so the anxiety she was feeling right now was because she was afraid that she might fail. Not because she actually cared…

"Dad, don't scare her like that!" The petite diva appeared like a beacon of light, scrambling down the staircase.

If her father wasn't standing there, six feet tall and heavily-built, looking like the kind of man that would keep a shotgun handy, she would have kissed her again. Of course, in the most non-romantic, totally platonic way possible.

Sheepishly shifting her weight between her feet, she watched as Rachel pecked the senior Berry on the cheek, confiding gently to him. "She's nervous. Don't be so tough on her."

The massive disposition of the man softened, though his mouth remained in a stern, distinguished straight line. "Have her home by ten, alright?" He offered his daughter a trusting smile, then turned his attention towards Quinn, the unlikely suitor, waving a finger at her. "And no funny business…"

"Funny business?" Baffled, Quinn's mouth unhinged.

Finally the innuendo registered and she grinned as a disturbed Rachel Berry pulled her away from the welcome mat, frowning at her father with disproval. Watching intensely as the flustered blonde opened the car door for his one and only daughter, Mr. Leroy Berry cracked a reluctant smile. How he remembered, had he been so flustered with Hiram on their dates?

It was all so familiar.


"How did you even get these seats, Quinn?" Her 'date' had crooned, perched on top of her chair like a bird, scanning the stage back and forth. "I've been looking for these tickets for months."

Radiating, Quinn smiled at her. "Brittany's a part of the dance studio. I actually think she's dancing later on."

Her eyes poured over the brunette as she hastily fumbled over the program. Leaning over casually, she found herself intruding Rachel's personal space yet again, which made the girl blush.

"Can you even read that? It's so dark."

Her color escalating, Rachel retorted. "I happen to have amazing vision, Quinn. Even from this far, in the dark, I can see every part stage." She buried her face in the program in an attempt to hide her blush, muttering quietly to herself. "And your beautiful face."

Quinn briefly caught that, the addition of the word 'beautiful'. Why did it surprise her so much that Berry had called her beautiful more times in two fake dates than her boyfriend had in an entire year? Without even being prompted, nonetheless.

Hesitantly, and for reasons she could not explain to anyone else, instead would probably deny, she flung her arm around Rachel's shoulders protectively, pulling her in closer as the lights began to dim further. In response, the brunette dropped her head on Quinn's shoulder, inciting a shiver that coursed through her entire body.

This was nice, almost too nice. Tensely, she turned towards the small brunette.

"Rachel?" She queried.

The girl shushed her promptly, keeping her eyes on the brilliantly-lit strip of the stage as a line of leotard-cladded dancers entered. Quinn raised an eyebrow.

Their uniforms were the same color as skin, so they all looked like identical, peach blobs. Now that Quinn that about it they all looked they were supposed to be naked. Just as the risqué thought came to her, the stage filled with some ominous, multi-colored lights, beaming down on them, blending everything – their forms, their bodies, their colors – together into one.

Crossing her legs uncomfortably, Quinn studied the risqué arrangement.

If the rest of the interpretive dances were like this, she might never be able to look Brittany straight in the eyes again.


After the less-than-appropriate arrangement of dance numbers, Quinn had pulled Rachel back stage, an act which the brunette had greatly misinterpreted, and therefore frowned at Quinn disappointedly, ready to swipe her away should things get…out of hand. However, when she was brought into the dancer's quarters, basking in the radiant light, she breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Oh," She had exclaimed, "Thank God. I thought you were going to -"

Whirling around, Quinn looked at her expectantly and she shut her mouth, muttering something along the lines of 'never mind, really never mind'.

Brittany met up with them shortly, pulling Quinn into a bone-breaking-ly tight hug.

"Did you like it?" The taller blonde asked excitedly.

"Oh, yeah. You were great, B." said Quinn as she flicked her eyes to various mundane objects in the room – lamps and leotards and a strange swing – anything to avoid eye contact. Thankfully, Brittany didn't notice. "No words could possibly describe it."

"Thanks, Q. It's called contemporary dance," Brittany offered affectionately. "It's like your entire body is dancing - like doing the wave only way cooler."

Quinn grinned in the hug. She joked, though she was barely paying attention, eyes wandering to the short brunette standing next to her. "Where's Santana, B? You guys have been joined at the hip lately."

"Hey, missed me, lemon?" Behind her, the Latina materialized, greeting cordially enough for someone that could appear and disappear like a freaking stalker. "Done perving on my girlfriend?"

She whirled around, the nickname 'lemon' never truly did register with her but it was Santana and she knew better than to ask. "I'm not –"

Looking around protectively, she released a sigh; glad that Brittany had begun distracting her 'date' by talking to her animatedly about something she wasn't completely unsure of. Cringing, she caught key pieces of the conversation such as 'pancake in the ocean' and 'gay sharks' and decided it was better that she did not know.

Quinn scowled self-protectively. "Besides, I have my own…never mind."

Blushing, she pulled Santana aside so Brittany wouldn't see her bite her girlfriend's head off. "Hey, explain to me this: why is it that all we seem to have are double-dates?"

Santana laughed, cocking her head back. "What, you wanted some 'alone time'?"

Frowning importantly, Quinn shoved the Latina, effectively wiping the smirk off of Santana's lips.


A few demonstration backstage dances and one very inappropriate suggestion made by Santana later, and she and Rachel had opted to leave the theater. Out the door, the Latina had winked at her, a gesture which made Quinn feel increasingly nervous and she frowned at the Latina importantly.

They had pulled into Berry's street ten minutes before curfew, with the air conditioning kicking hard in the car, when Rachel turned towards her in the car, inquiring why they had ended up here so early.

"You aren't going to jump me now, are you?" The brunette shuffled her shoes nervously on the carpet, adding generously. "Not that I would mind…eventually I guess it would be inevitable…"

Quinn laughed, and suddenly noticing the way Rachel was shivering, automatically shed her own jacket and wrapped it around the small girl, who shivered on contact.

"I wouldn't rape you in front of your parents' house, that's just tasteless." Feeling Rachel swaying next to her, she added honestly. "Just wanted to make sure you'd be home early because I don't want your dads to hate me anymore than they already do."

"They don't hate you!" The other girl insisted, a notion Quinn could not wrap her brain around. And sensing her unease, which was evidently painted on her face as all her emotions were, Rachel reached for her porcelain hand in the car. "They don't. Really… I mean they don't exactly love you either –"

Quinn hadn't expected them to.

"But they don't hate you either. They like the fact that you're trying to be a different person – that you paid for diner and get nervous all the time… They like that I'm going after someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Quinn perspired. She was well-aware that she was blushing hotly despite the chilly night air, and that, if any of her assertions were true, Rachel could easily see her with only the street lights as a means of illumination.

"Yes, you." Rachel was overly expressive with her facial features, smiling and warming up like the sun. Quinn wondered if it was because she was the daughter of a stage coach or because the early enrollment in drama classes she had often told her about. "You're perfect, okay? At least they think so, the way I must talk about you sometimes… But I think, someday…err if we're still dating by then…they'll see you as I see you, because they trust my judgment."

"Do you judge me?" She inquired.

"Not in the way you think." The brunette bit her lip, then rather adorably wrapped Quinn's jacket around her shoulders tighter. "I believe that you are a wonderful person, Quinn. Smart, beautiful, genuine."

Quinn sat in her seat guilty, kneading her shoes into the carpet of her Toyota. Accidently turning on the headlights with a brush of her elbows, she fumbled with the controls and Rachel giggled innocently.

Perhaps it was obvious, her embarrassment, her horror, her nervousness that clung to her face, but she didn't want Rachel to see her now, looking away hastily. The girl next to her was incorruptible though, and, sensing her unease, reached over the partition between them, cupping the blonde's face in her hands.

Then without warning, as their first had been, Rachel pecked her lightly on the lips, not lingering any longer. She was being tentative with the kiss. Which was probably a smart thing considering that they were parked outside of her house, where her two dads would probably see her making out with their daughter in a dark, isolated car as something to frown on. She found herself constantly looking out the window, expecting the Mr. Berry she'd met to come at them with a flashlight and a stun gun at the ready.

Though the kiss was brief, Rachel kept her face closer to hers than necessary, breathing hotly on her skin. Her eyes were still closed, feeling the rhythmic warmth of Rachel's inhalations against her face.

"You are so…" was the inaudible whisper echoing against her skin.

Eye lids flicked open when the warmth drew back, meeting the petite girl seated in her car. Rachel formed a smile at her. "I really hope we can do this again."

"Me too." Quinn replied automatically, and then recoiled, wondering why she had said something like that…

On cue, Quinn flicked the doors open, watching as the other girl undid her seat belt and slid out of the vehicle calmly.

"Goodnight, Quinn."

Her breath hitched, watching the street lights hit the girl outside.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

As Rachel shuffled across the cool grass, disappearing behind the menacing front door, Quinn slipped her phone out of her jean pockets, pressing speed dial.

"Hey, Santana?" She could hear the Latina on the other end turning over in her sheets angrily, Brittany's meek voice trailing behind. She shivered, realizing she'd called at a horrible time but she knowing Santana would have to ass anyway, she added. "The date's over, trust me I've done more than enough to earn Prom Queen."

Teeth clicked on the other side of the line. "You…you didn't call for something else?"

Quinn's eyebrows knit together confusion. "No, why?"

The sound of Santana face-palming through the line made her eyebrows knit further together.


"Freaking pressed lemon," In her room, the Latina hung up her phone and fell back onto her bedspread exhausted. Behind her, Brittany shifted, looking up suddenly.

"What's wrong, San?" She questioned, moving aside a pile of blankets.

"Quinn, B. She's what's wrong." The blonde draped her arms around her girlfriend from behind her comfortingly. "I swear when she comes out of the closet, the entire LGBT world will be throwing confetti. I'll make sure her and Berry end up together," She spoke fervidly, pounding a determined fist into her other hand.

Brittany soothed her Latina counterpart with a languid kiss on the shell of her ear.

"You're such a hopeful romantic, San."

Despite being usually… unwilling, to the say the least, the girl uncharacteristically sighed, covering her face with the ends of her sleeves. "I think it's 'hopeless', B."

"No," Her girlfriend replied reassuringly. "It's never hopeless, San."

She persisted, pulling her girlfriend deeper into the hug, resting her chin on her shoulder. Santana shifted to get more comfortable, though at this point, it seemed to be a futile attempt, with their legs scattered so haphazardly around her sheets.

Brittany was right – they weren't hopeless. There was hope, if they knew Quinn as well as they thought they did, Santana knew there was hope in this relationship and satisfied with her reasoning, she returned her thoughts to the girl peppering light kisses on her neck, smiling with zeal.

If Quinn couldn't embrace the rainbow right now, she would have to embrace enough of it for the both of them.