Chapter Three

I woke up with a serious kink in my neck from sleeping doubled over the arm of the couch and a bruise where Rachel Berry's chin was digging mercilessly into the right side of my rib cage. I was about to look down to see if she'd drooled on me – it wouldn't be the first time – when I was distracted by the sounds of Quinn Fabray kicking shit all over my family room.

When I got my eyes open, she was bent over, peering behind the TV stand and mumbling under her breath.

"Of course," she said, standing up too fast and stumbling backwards, bringing one hand to her forehead and the other to the wall beside her to steady herself. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. "I had things to do today."

She started across the room back toward the couch and stubbed her toe on the coffee table, sending all the bottles of alcohol rattling against each other. "Son of a—"

"Morning, sunshine," I interrupted her with a smile.

She stood up straight and turned to face me. "I'm taking your shoes," she said matter-of-factly. "I can't find mine and I really need to leave."

"Whatever you need to do, Miss Congeniality," I shrugged.

"They look terrible on you," I added as she slid them on her feet.

She glared at me, and I swear to Christ I felt a chill.

"Santana. I don't pretend to have any idea about the way your mind works, and I don't know why the hell last night happened. But you and me? We're done. Cheerios is in the past and there are enough people in Glee Club that there is no reason for you and me to have to pretend to be able to stand each other anymore. Just. . . stay away from me. And stay away from Finn."

Jesus, this bitch be scary, and that's coming from me.

She glanced at Rachel, who had woken up and was blinking up at Quinn, alarmed.

"Never again," Quinn murmured to herself as she headed for the stairs.

I recovered in time to call after her, "It's cool though, you can tell people you spent the night on the couch with me. I know you need the votes!"

"What is going on?" Rachel asked groggily. "Should she be driving? Why is she so angry?"

I shrugged. "I know as much as you do. She kicked the coffee table, yelled at me, stole my shoes, and left."

She slid across the couch, away from me, and stared sullenly ahead.

"Awww, what's the matter, Berry? Reconsidering your career as the world's only female Jewish T-Pain impersonator?"

"I'm embarrassed," she said softly, "about last night."

"Oh come on, your rapping was only moderately painful. Although rest assured if you ever do manage to make it in the entertainment business I plan on finding a way to make money off the fact that it happened."

"Not about that," she said impatiently.

"Then, what?" I asked, sitting back and waiting.

She frowned, looking at me then away again.

"You know what. I let Quinn see me in my bra. With my hair all. . . messed up like that."

"So what?" I said. "She knows we're fucking. Why does that embarrass you?"

"Well, I don't know. It seemed to embarrass her."

"And that's your problem how, exactly?"

"I guess I feel like it ruined the night."

"Oh, please. Rachel, you and I had a blast last night. And up until that moment, Quinn did too. Just because she tries to build this Puritanical wall around herself doesn't mean we have to stop being ourselves. I mean, would you feel this way if it had been Mercedes or Tina?"

"I suppose not. Quinn does have a certain atmosphere of tension around her."

"Who is she to make you feel bad? I mean, look at you, Berry. Three months ago you were a pathetic virgin who'd never even had a drink. Now you're getting drunk and smoking weed and letting the hottest girl in school fuck you in the back seat of a car in the school parking lot. It's like spending time with me has made you halfway into a normal teenager – you're having fun. And then look at Quinn. What does she have? The same boy she dated over a year ago and presidency of the Celibacy Club."

Rachel winced at the mention of Finn. "That's a little ungenerous, Santana. She has lots of positive things. Like, a long list of friends. Her grades are spectacular – I mean, not as good as mine, but she'll get into a great university. And she's a shoo-in for prom queen."

"Prom queen?" I scoffed. "Who cares? That's like the highlight of her life right now, which means one thing – her life is god damn boring. She's so repressed that she never lets herself have any actual fun. Why do you think she's such a bitch," I looked at her pointedly, "to both of us?"

"Now that you mention it, I think she might be a little depressed. When she talks about the future it typically ends up in some kind of outburst, usually directed at me."

"Let me tell you something, Berry. I've been friends – or, whatever – with Quinn since we were ten years old. I know her better than anyone. And if you and me work together, by which I mean if you do what I say, we can get Quinn to be way more like she was last night, and way less like the scary ice monster who stormed out of here with my shoes a few minutes ago."

"You're really upset about those shoes, aren't you?"

"I would never have agreed to that, but I really thought a freeze ray might come shooting out of her eyes."

Rachel bit her lower lip pensively. "I suppose it would be good for Glee Club's morale if Quinn were a bit happier in general."

"Exactly what I was thinking," I said, sensing a victory. "It'll be good for Glee Club."

"And I would like to not be always trying to anticipate her next move against me so as to take the fear factor out of the equation; that would be a first since I met her."

"Hmm, so if I were to summarize your feelings for Quinn, I might say you're worried about making her uncomfortable, but you're angry at her. You're confused by and a little scared of her, yet you feel sorry for her."

She nodded. "I suppose so."

"That's a lot of feelings about one person. And it sounds like all you really want is for her to calm the fuck down so she can be your friend. Am I right?"

"Yes."

I smiled triumphantly. "Excellent. And I want her off my back. Berry, I believe what we have here is what they call a win-win situation. We'll call it Operation Defrost."

"But this 'operation'," Rachel said, eyeing me warily, "You're not going to torment, harass, or otherwise embarrass her, are you?"

I shrugged. "I don't have the details entirely worked out yet. I can't promise anything."

"What would I have to do?"

"Something you want to do anyway. Find ways to get her away from Finn and hanging out with us instead. I mean, clearly she won't do it even if I say pretty please, so it has to be up to you."

"Like it's any easier for me?"

"Where there's a will there's a way, Berry. Put on your shrunken head-sized thinking cap and go get her."

She sat up straight and pushed her chin into the air. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Fantastic."

"On one condition,." she said, turning to face me.

"Oh? What's that?"

"That you stop avoiding Brittany. The two of you barely speaking is just as serious a morale issue for Glee Club as Quinn's lashing out all the time."

I crossed my arms. Not part of the deal, Berry, I thought. She was ruining this.

"You have to at least try to be friends again," she continued, "You're miserable without her in your life, and I may be excellent company but I hold no illusions that I'm an adequate substitution. I know it won't be easy, but when Finn and I broke up I thought I could never stand to be around him again, and now we talk all the t—"

"You know what, Berry?" I interrupted her. "No deal. Forget it, because it's off. Brittany and I are not you and Finn. You don't get a say in this one."

She looked at me with big, hurt Rachel Berry eyes.

"Fine. I'm sorry, Santana," she said, mustering a trace of defiance in her voice. "I thought I'd earned the right to be able to talk to you about this, as your friend, after everything. But clearly you're just as closed off and stubborn as ever."

She started to get up from the couch and head for the bathroom. I threw my hands up. Jesus, the drama with this girl.

"Okay, hold up, Berry," I said, getting up from the couch too and grabbing her hand. "You know that's not true. But keep it real, here, you're not trying to talk. You're trying to push me, and I'm not down with that. So forget. Just forget the plan and let's just do what we do, okay?"

She stared down at her hand where I held onto it, then up at me with this inscrutable look.

"I suppose I can't in good conscience coerce you into doing anything you're not ready for."

"Do you want to watch House Hunters International?" I asked with relief. "I need ideas for when I have a house on every continent."

"Sure," she said with a small smile.

"But you know," she said as she settled against me on the couch. "Nobody says I need you to tell me how to be friends with anyone."