A/N: I cranked this out in less than two hours soooo don't judge me guys! I have the next chapter brainstormed but if you guys have any ideas for future activities, leave a review ;)

And I'm posting it 'NOW' because Wera16 told me to (though 'NOW' might be relative) ;) thanks to everyone else who reviewed the other chapter. They all make me smile like a fool.

-TWiM

Chapter 4 – Mr. Medicine (Eliza Doolittle)

It's about one in the afternoon when I'm done with Physical Anthropology class on Wednesdays. Most days after this class I go straight to The Lounge to hang out and grab something to eat since the food there is free. I'm making my way across the school's quad when my phone rings. I have to shift all the contents in my right hand to my left arm so I can reach into my coat's pocket and pull out my phone.

I pick up as soon as I realize it's Rachel, "Hello?" I smile because I can't help the feeling that overcomes me when I realize she's calling for the first time.

"Hey, Quinn. How are you?" I notice her voice sounds hoarse. She's either spent the night yelling or she can't speak because she got sick. I know it's the latter.

I respond, "I'm great, Rachel, thanks for asking. You don't sound too good though." I take a left when I'm supposed to take a right and start making my way to the pharmacy. It's only a couple of blocks from here. "Are you terribly sick?"

She explains, "Yeah, I don't think I'll be able to come to The Lounge today. I have been in bed all morning; I even had to skip my morning classes and dance lesson." I don't care at all about The Lounge at the moment if she's sick. I cross the street, avoiding the cabs and cars, hoping no one collides into me. It's a foggy day in New York city today and I hope they can see me crossing the street.

I exhale as I make way into the pharmacy and the heater in there hits my face, "Gosh, I'm so sorry. Don't worry about coming to The Lounge. Worry about getting better, okay?" I rush to the back of the pharmacy where they usually have the cold/flu medicine and scan them, looking for one I think works for Rachel.

"Yeah, I'll try."

"Also, work on listening to me more often." I joke, picking up an aspirin that promises to cure everything under the sun. Its box actually has a sun with a happy face on it. I smile at the cheesiness of it and think Rachel will appreciate it. "That should keep you from getting sick in the future." I'm grinning at the box and at the mental picture I have of Rachel smiling. Her smile is gorgeous. I keep moving, finding the aisle with teas.

I consider my options and hear her say, "I'll also work on that."

She says goodbye while I'm still deciding which tea would be the best for her cold. I go with my instinct and pick up the ginger and garlic tea. It sounds a little bit disgusting – not going to lie (I might be biased; I hate any tea) – but it sounds powerful and like it'd do its job. On my way to the cashier, I pick up a pack of honey cough drops. I'm holding all of these items on my right arm, actually using my stomach to support them and my chin and left arm to hold onto my papers and books. Does it look like I'm trying hard? I guess one could argue that, but I also know that girls like Rachel doesn't like being sick or alone when they're sick. Also, it gives me a reason to spend more time with her.

The cashier – the nametag says her name is Grace – smiles at me as she starts ringing up everything. Then I remember I should also buy orange juice and water! If I remember correctly, Rachel's mini-fridge was stocked with bee and some energy drinks and flavored water. "I'll be right back," I tell Grace and she nods and keeps ringing my items.

I rush down to the coolers at the far right of the pharmacy and find a bottle of orange juice and an even bigger bottle of water. I run back to the cashier because I now notice there's a lady standing waiting for me to come back. "Sorry," I mumble at both her and Grace and place the bottles on top of the counter. Grace rings both and bags them.

"That'll be $22.30, please." I reach for my wallet inside my bag, hanging from my left shoulder and manage to pull out my credit card. "Thank you," she says and swipes it. She waits for the machine to say 'Approved' and hands me back my card with the receipt. "Here you go."

"Thank you." I throw everything in my bag, not paying attention if it even makes inside and grab the plastic bag stamped with 'Greenworks' Pharmacy' on it.

My next destination is the small bistro one street over. They're famous for their delicious soups. Even though The Lounge's deli serves soups every day, they do not compare in any way, shape, or form to the soups of this bistro.

Louise's Bistro is packed when I come in. There's a line forming at the cashier. You order at the front and pay at the same time, so I know I have to grab my card already. It takes me a while to manage this seemingly small task but if I had put my card back in its place while at the pharmacy it would've been faster.

The man in front of me orders five different items from the menu. I twist my lips at the thought of eating a combination of all the things he asked for until I see a red-head lady walk up to him with a smile. It looks like she's coming back from the bathroom and that makes me less anxious about him eating all of that food.

Finally, it's my turn. It feels like it's been forever; it took ten minutes. "Hi," the cashier says – Molly, I notice has beautiful green eyes and dark hair. "What can I get you?" She asks and I hand her the card without even glancing up at the menu.

"I'll have a medium cup of your Chicken Noodle Soup, please."

She takes the card from me and swipes it, "It's a soup day, huh?"

I smile, "It's for my friend. She's feeling a little bit under the weather." I cringe at these small talks.

She hands me back the credit card with the receipt just as the cashier from the pharmacy had done and then hands me a plastic number: 15. I have to wait so I thank her and sit on a wood bench by the front windows. I watch people pass by for about five minutes until a guy in his late twenty's calls my number. I hand him the plastic and he hands me the container of soup.

With my hands completely full of stuff, I make my way back to campus. I would've preferred to go straight to Rachel's, but I feel the need to stop by my room to drop off my books and papers and bag. I'm taking a shortcut through the cafeteria when I realize it's a bad idea. I see Sam and before I have the chance to pretend I hadn't seen him, he sees me. He waves frantically from where he's standing in line and I stop, waiting for him to make his way over. I try to send him a message through my eyes that I don't have the time nor the will to stand here and talk but he doesn't get it.

"Hey," He says and throws his bangs to the side with a jerk of the head. "What are you up to?" He eyes my hands with a curious look.

Trying to gather as many items as possible in my arms without dropping them, I think to tell him, but poor guy – he's trying to be friendly. Really, I just want to get out of here and make it to Rachel's. "I went and got some things for a friend. She feels sick."

"Oh, that's so cool. You're a nice friend." He says with a genuine tone of voice and a half-smile. "I'm eating here today because the food they're serving at The Lounge today is some vegetarian stuff. Sylvester claims that no one deserves meat today."

I could care less about what they have or what they don't have at The Lounge. I try not to sound as exasperated as I feel when I speak, "That's great, Sam. Look, I really should go –" I raise my hands to show him the bags and soup I'm holding. I'm in a hurry so I don't even wait for him to realize what's happening before I say 'bye' and keep walking.

When I make it up the three flights of stairs to my floor I practically run to my dorm. On a normal day I would've waited for the elevator but it's not a normal day. I kick the door and hope my roommate didn't decide to actually do something this afternoon. I don't want to have to put everything down to look for my card to open the door. She opens the door with a confused look and I push my way inside. "Sorry. My hands are full." She grumbles something and goes back to bed, lying down with her stomach up and hands crossed over her abs.

My roommate and I aren't very close. To be honest, I have no idea what she's even studying. She's a new roommate this semester because I used to room alone and the school needed rooms for incoming students. They put her in my room without even letting me know. Her name is Mary. I think she's from Wisconsin.

I drop all my things on top of my desk and grab my copy of Singing in the Rain, a mug which reads 'I (heart) NY, and a spoon. I throw them inside the bag from the pharmacy and make my way out of the room, trying (but failing) to shut the door without it slamming.

Rachel's dorm room is actually close to mine, so I walk there in less than five minutes. I might be walking fast but that doesn't matter. I walk up to the first floor and find her room without any trouble. I need to breathe a little to calm down my racing heart. I hadn't realized how nervous I was until I stopped moving. I stare at her door and read the little white board on it, "Berry & Santana – ONLY KNOCK IF IT'S IMPORTANT." I bet what was Santana.

Finally, I knock. It's not hard at first but after a few minutes of silence, I realize Rachel probably fell back asleep. I giggle and knock harder trying to wake her. I know I was successful when I hear a faint "coming," from inside the room but I keep knocking anyway.

The knob turns and she opens the door.

"Hi," I say with a smile. When she realizes what's happening, she smiles back at me and looks at my hands with the soup and the pharmacy bag. "We're going to try to nurse you back to health," I say raising my arms slightly.

She looks horrible. I don't mean that as if I'm calling her ugly, but just by her appearance I can tell she's really sick. Her bangs are sticking to her forehead and her eyes have dark circles underneath them. Her nose is really red, and so are her eyes. She's sniffling constantly. "Quinn." She says with a dazed look up at me. I've never seen Rachel Berry look so vulnerable.

"Hey," I greet her again and raise an eyebrow, "So? Can I come in?"

She seems startled by the question. "Oh, I'm so rude! Sorry. Come in." She holds the door open and sneezes when I'm in front of her desk. "I don't want to get you sick, Quinn." She stands with her shoulders slumped.

"My immune system is ridiculous, Rachel." I assure her and settle the bag of medicine on top of the mahogany desk. "Here, you need to eat something. I bet you haven't eaten anything all day." I gesture for her to sit on the chair. She obeys, looking at me with pure surprise in her eyes.

"This is all very thoughtful of you, Quinn, but you really didn't have to."

"Stop being polite, Berry." I say, remembering the board outside the door.

She smiles again but this time it is bashful and coy, "Thank you." She reaches for the soup and opens the lid. It's still warm but not as hot as it was when I bought it. "This smells delicious and I am famished." She admits and takes the spoon I'm holding in her hand.

"No problem." I settle on Santana's chair, which is a little wobbly but I ignore it. I cross my legs and rest my cheek on my hand, using my knee as support for my elbow. "How did you sleep tonight?"

She sips on the spoon and the soup hitting her lips makes sounds that a child usually accomplishes while eating. She looks amused at this so I just shake my head and giggle quietly to myself. She responds, "I didn't." She looks at me with a self-deprecatory face and keeps talking, "I couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in."

"I'm sorry." I honestly tell her. Even though my immune system is amazing, I hate it when I can't sleep while I'm sick because my muscles and bones feel like they won't get comfortable in any position.

"It's fine." She says, scooping up more soup. "If it means you'll be here the next day with amazing soup and… whatever that is –" she uses her chin to point at the pharmacy bag, "then I'll happily trade in the sleep for it."

My lips form into a smile at what she says, "That won't be necessary. I'll be here as many times as you want me to and I don't want you to be sick for it."

"This is really great. Thank you. Really." She says again.

"No problem, again. Really." I reinforce. I watch her eat for another five minutes and then I realize I must be freaking her out so I find something to do. "I brought you tea. I'm going to run down to the kitchenette and heat up some water for you, okay?"

She nods and keeps eating her soup, "that's sweet of you." She lacks the constant energy I've come to witness as part of her personality. She closes her eyes slowly and then opens them again. "You should leave the door ajar; I don't think I can get up again."

I put a hand on her shoulder and feel how hot she is, "Holy shit, Rachel. You're burning!" I tell her and this time I check her forehead, then her neck, then her cheek.

She shrugs.

"Damn. Okay, finish your soup. Then you're going to take a lukewarm shower and lay back down. I'll make the tea when you're sleeping again."

"Okay." I can see she's struggling to keep feeding herself so I prop myself up on the desk and gently pry away the spoon from her hand. "What are you –" She asks. I take the soup container from her hand next and raise an eyebrow at her.

"Open wide, Rachel." My voice is playful but still assertive.

She clamps it shut instead of opening it, "No. I won't let you feed me." She says through closed lips. I'm starting to realize Rachel is really stubborn. "Just give me the soup back," she pleads but she's so weak her arms drop back down by her sides even before they're halfway up toward me.

I give her a look that asks, 'are you done yet?' and she just barely nods, giving up. "Good." I say out loud, "now, open wide." I laugh when she complies with a miserable frown.

"This won't be too bad," I reassure her, "your soup's almost finished anyway."

She doesn't say anything, just keeps chewing on the chicken. When she swallows she opens her mouth again. I can tell she's not really upset, maybe a little embarrassed but not upset.

"Don't be embarrassed, Rachel. We all get sick and it's okay to need help."

She nods even though I know she wasn't really agreeing.

"Last one," I warn her. She licks her lips twice then three times when she's done. "Are you thirsty? Do you want some water or orange juice?" I ask.

"Yes, please. Water would be great." She coughs into her hand, and apologizes when she takes the water bottle from me. I already opened the lid.

"Don't apologize anymore, okay?" I ask her, squatting to look in her eyes.

She nods again, "okay."

Satisfied with her response I walk to her bathroom and turn on the shower. I look around and see that there is a towel already in here. "Is this your towel?" I ask her and she hums in response. "Alright, just let the water warm up a bit and then you can shower. I'll be right out here in case you need anything." I want to make sure that she doesn't accidentally slip or faints while in the shower. "Oh, do not, Rachel," I say as emphatically as I can, "do not wash your hair." She nods. She'll need clothes, "Rachel, I know you'll probably be cold but you can't wear a lot of clothing when you're out of the shower. Where can I find you some shorts and a t-shirt?" I know I'm going to have to go through some of her things and I hope I'm not overstepping but she doesn't seem to care.

"Shirts," she points to the second drawer of her dresser, "and shorts," she points to the third. "And undies." She points to the last. She goes into the bathroom, closing the door, and I hear the toilet's lid hitting the back.

Undies. The realization dawns upon me and I stand there for a bit trying to figure out how I'm going to go through her underwear drawer. I mean, this is a free pass into her personal intimates. I feel a little bit perverted for smiling slightly but then I hear Rachel flush so I shake the thought away and proceed to walk toward the dresser. I walk as slow as I can and open the t-shirt drawer even slower. I'm trying to draw out the process.

T-shirts. T-shirts. T-shirts. T-shirts. I find a soft cotton, white V-neck and pull that out trying not to disorganize her shirts. Then I move on to shorts.

Shorts. Shorts. Shorts. Shorts. There's a light blue short that looks like it'll do. I grab that one. I hold both clothing items in my right hand tightly, mapping out my next move. Do I just open the drawer, stick a hand in and pull something out? Do I carefully select the most appropriate panties for a feverish person? Is there such thing?

The water turns off. I snap into action. I open the drawer, don't even think to look at any other panties when my eyes zero in pink boy shorts. I pull those out just in time for Rachel to come out of the bathroom.

"I couldn't stand any longer," she announces, holding the towel around her body. My cheeks flush and I consider if it's possible I caught her fever. Her hair is up on a bun, but besides the hair, every inch of her body is wet. I lick my lips at the sight. She's beautiful even when sick. My eyes trail up and down her towel-clad body. It's only when my eyes land on hers – still somewhat dazed from being sick but definitely understanding what I was doing – that I clear my throat and try not to think about the water droplets on her collarbone, or on the little bit of hair at the back of her neck.

"Here," I hand her the clothes I found her, "I hope these will work."

She hums in appreciation at my choices and walks closer to her bed, placing them on top. Somehow it had escaped me that she'd need to change. I wasn't expecting her to do so in the bathroom because this is her room and the bathroom is a little cramped (though we're lucky our dorms include en-suite bathrooms and not community ones). She turns away from me and drops her towel to her waist and wraps it securely there. I gulp. Her back is... for lack of a better word (okay, there might be a better word) delicious. It looks soft and it's tan and I can see her muscles flex as she moves.

"If you want to – um, I – I can totally step out while you change." I manage to say, but I'm still eyeing the way her aqua towel is hugging her ass tightly.

She turns her head just enough for her to look me in the eyes but doesn't turn fully around (thankfully!), "Nonsense, Quinn." She puts the shirt on first. No bra. I should've thought this through. How am I going to be able to keep my head sane when I'm nursing Rachel Berry back to health while she's not wearing a bra?

Next, she slips on her panties under the towel and a little bit of it drags up in the back along with her hand. I turn away and look out her window. Very nice view of… white fog. When I take a chance to glance at her again, she's already pulling up her shorts and the towel is on the floor. I breathe. My lungs welcome the air. My brain starts functioning again.

"Comfy?" I ask when I find my voice." She leaves the towel on the floor and climbs into bed, wrapping herself up under the blanket.

"Thank you so much." Is her way of saying that yes, she is. When it seems like she can't take it anymore, her eyes close automatically but that doesn't stop her from talking, "you'll be here, right?" She asks, "when I wake up?" I guess I was right about Rachel not wanting to be alone while she was sick.

I laugh to myself, "yes, I will. I'll just run down to boil the water for your tea, okay? I'll probably be the one waking you up." I let her know but I'm under the impression she fell asleep before I told her I'd be gone to make her tea.

As silently as I can, I fetch the box of tea and grab a pot on top of Santana's desk I saw when I came in. I hope she doesn't mind. Maybe she'll mind it that it was me but when she finds out I took it for Rachel she won't care. Before leaving I grab Rachel's towel from the floor and put it inside the basket of dirty laundry by the door.

I walk out of her room. I don't close the door completely so I don't have to bang on the door to get her to wake up and get up and come open it for me. I'm still thinking of her eating the soup and coming out of the shower and snuggling under the covers as I wait for the water to boil. When it's boiling, I remove the pot from the burner and carefully pour the water into the mug with the little bag of tea. I throw the remaining water down the sink and make my way back upstairs, vigilant not to touch myself or anybody on the way with the hot pot and not to spill the hot tea.

I push the door open with my toe. I'm not surprised to find Rachel just as I left her. Her hands are curled under her chin, the blanket snuggled as close as possible to her body. I place the pot on top of Santana's desk and the mug on Rachel's. I straddle her chair like I had done the day before and wait for the tea to cool down some more. In the meantime I play Temple Run on my iPhone.

I feel the mug after five minutes and it feels lukewarm so I get up and make my way to the bed with mug in hand. I try to coax her out of sleep with a simple caress up and down her arm but it doesn't work. "Rachel," I say as softly as I can, and still run a hand up and down her arm.

"Quinn?" She questions.

"Yeah. Here, drink some of this. It'll make you feel better."

Rachel manages to sit up on her elbows but literally groans at the movement. I hate to see her like this. "Wait," I tell her and she looks up at me with a pained expression. I move so I'm able to sit with my back on her headboard and then pull her up and wrap her up in my arms. It's an intimate move but I don't care. She didn't look comfortable so I'm trying my best to make her feel better. Her head falls comfortable on top of my chest and I wrap my right arm around her back. Her knees are pulled up close to her body and I can feel her shivering. The fever still hasn't broken. "I think if we remove the covers, it'll help the fever go away." She whines at the thought, "I know," I tell her, "but I'll keep you warm." I am very aware of what she's wearing.

I feel her head nod against my body and I can feel her breath irregularly hitting the bottom of my throat. "Tea." She croaks. I hand her the tea and she grabs it with both hands. She blows the liquid and then starts drinking it. She manages to drink a good amount of it before handing me back the mug. "So good."

I hear the door knob give before the door opens. Until this point I've kept the lights in the room off so the light wouldn't hurt Rachel's eyes (except for when I was finding her clothes) but as soon as Santana is inside the lights are on.

Rachel whines and places a hand on her eyes. I don't move. Santana and I stare at each other. "She was feeling really sick so I came over and brought some stuff."

She doesn't say anything just nods in understanding and turns the lights off again.

"Thanks," Rachel whispers.

"No problem, Berry." Santana says. She looks hesitant for a second but eventually decides to come closer to the bed. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well, Rach?" I'm surprised by the nickname but Santana doesn't seem to notice and if she does, she doesn't seem to care.

"Didn't want to bother you, San," Rachel almost sounds like she's twelve again. Her eyes are still behind her hand. Santana grabs them and moves it away from Rachel's face. She opens her eyes reluctantly.

"I don't care. Next time you let me know, okay?" Her voice is soft and caring and I know she means it out of a place of love and friendship and not the need to compete with me. "I'm sure Quinn has been great to you today but you shouldn't ever have to worry about bothering me, Rachel." Santana moves some stray hair away from Rachel's face and tucks it in behind her ear.

"Love you, San."

"Love you too, Berry." Santana stands up without another word and looks at me with grateful eyes. She reaches for the mug of tea in my hand and I understand what she's saying without having to speak as well. I hand the mug to her and she nods curtly before turning around and walking to her desk. She places the mug on top of the desk, grabs some books, and leaves again.

"She didn't say anything to you." Rachel points out with a sad tone.

"No, she didn't." I agree, "but she did thank me."


I wake up first and feel the weight of Rachel on me. I smile at the thought of having slept with her in my arms even though my lower back and my neck hurts from the uncomfortable position. I feel her forehead and it seems like the fever has broken. Good news. She stirs a bit and I feel her arm squeeze tighter around my waist. I try to move my hand to reach for my pocket in my coat but can't. It's hot as hell now. I snicker as softly as I can.

The feel of my belly shaking up and down is enough to wake Rachel up this time. I can actually tell she's smiling without even looking at her. "Hi," she says and I can tell she's a lot better.

"Hey, you." I say and look down into her eyes. "You feeling better?"

"Much." She admits. "My head still hurts a bit and my throat is still sore but I'll be okay."

I smile, "good. I have an aspirin for your headache and cough drops for your throat."

She unwraps herself slowly and falls back on the bed. "I'm so sorry I was crowding your space – all over you like that."

I get up and take off my coat that I fell asleep in. I throw it over the back of her chair and fish the box of medicine and orange juice out of the bag. "Take two of those." She cups her hand and I shake two out. She swallows them easily with the orange juice and drinks more of the juice.

"That's good. You need lots of liquid." I pull out the cough drops next and the movie. "Movie time?" I ask her, hopeful.

"I can't believe you, Quinn! You've been amazing, really."

I simply shrug. It's not a big deal if it's for her. I actually enjoyed taking care of her. She settles the bottle on the floor near her bed and moves to her side, propping her head on the back of her hand. "We'll use your laptop, okay?" I ask.

"Sure. Bring it here, please." She says. I pick it up and go back to the bed, remembering again what she's wearing. This time I sit Indian-style next to her and she sits up against the flimsy headboard of the bunkbead. I put the DVD in and we wait for the laptop to load it. "So," she starts and I have a feeling this will be about Santana. "I don't remember much of what happened earlier but I think Santana was in here?"

"Yes."

"Was she nice to you?" She asks tentatively and I'm warmed at the way she's so considerate of me.

"She wasn't not nice." I say.

She tilts her head slightly, "What does that mean? Just tell me if she was a bitch because if she was I'll have to speak to her again about this and –" before she can get any further I have to interrupt.

"Maybe that didn't come off as I intended. She didn't say much but she thanked me with a look."

Rachel's head is down and she sighs, relieved. "Yes, that sounds like Santana."

"Yes. She also told you to let her know when you're sick next time. And she even admitted that I probably took good care of you."

"She's a good friend to me, Quinn." Rachel lets me know and I don't doubt this one second. Yes, sometimes Santana can come off as rude and abrasive but I understand that she uses those things as protection.

"I know." I smile. She smiles back and the menu of the movie starts up. I press play and we start watching.

Not even halfway into the movie, Rachel's coughing again. I get up and grab her two of the cough drops. She thanks me and I tell her to stop thanking me. I check the time; it's almost six in the afternoon. We had slept for hours. I go back to bed and settle where I was, and as soon as I'm sitting, her head is on my shoulder. I let my head drop on top of hers.

"I love Singing in the Rain." She says not even above a whisper. We're so close there's no need for more than that. I nod and feel her hand travel down my arm, her fingers teasing my skin. "You promise you won't get sick, right?" The film is playing and I register some music but I'm not paying attention anymore. The way she moves her hand is shooting fire into my bloodstream.

"I promise. Insane immune system, remember?"

"Okay." She seems satisfied with this and stops talking to watch the movie. I'm mesmerized by all that she is. I can't wait to get to know her more.

Sadly the movie eventually ends. I realize she fell asleep again. I have to go soon though because I still have that Economics test to study for tomorrow. I manage to get up and I take the laptop from her bed to her desk. I do everything as quiet as I can and put on my coat again. She tosses and turns at the lack of warmth and opens her eyes, "You're leaving?"

"I don't want to," I make sure she knows that, "But I have to. I have that test to study for and I left all of my stuff in my room." I come closer to her bed again and sit. "You'll feel 100% better by tomorrow, I guarantee it, but you have to keep drinking liquids, and take the aspirins, and get some sleep." She moves the blanket to get up but I shove her lightly so she doesn't. "Don't. I can see myself out." I smile.

"I can't thank you enough. You're a life savior, like, literally." She says.

For the first time that day I say, "You're welcome, Rachel." I get up and make my way in the dark room to the door. "I'll text you later, okay?"

"Please, do." She says. "Bye, Quinn."


I make it to the library for the last half of the study group. I missed some stuff but I'm not too worried about it; I can look over those notes by myself. I say goodbye to the other people of the group and make my way to my favorite spot in the library. It's a chair on a secluded corner of the library. Not many people go that way to study so I take advantage of that.

For a second I get distracted by a magazine on Cheerleading on the Periodicals section of the library. "I used to subscribe to that." I hear someone say. I turn around and am face to face with Santana.

I raise an eyebrow at her, skeptical of her sudden appearance, but nod in understanding. "It's the best there is. Most serious cheerleaders do."

"Well, yeah. I don't anymore." She says and sits on a chair off to the side.

I take that as an invitation to follow her and sit next to her, clutching my books near my chest, just in case she decides to attack or something. I don't know how that'll help; I guess it'd keep my boobs safe.

"Why don't you?"

"I don't cheer anymore. No point in torturing myself, right?" She asks and a dry chuckle leaves her lips. From what Rachel tells me (and what I gathered so far – apart from the psychopath vibes) Santana is so beautiful and it's a little saddening how she doesn't like to show others that she cares about things.

I weigh my words before speaking, "I don't know exactly what happened but Rachel mentioned hating cheerleaders because of something they did to you." She shakes her head at this, mumbling something about 'killing Rachel' – which I doubt she'll go through with it – and closes a fist. "Well, if it means anything, I wouldn't let our girls hurt you. They wouldn't anywat. Not because of… sexuality at least, if that's the issue. Maybe more banal things like which nail polish you wore that day or if you hook up with a guy one of them likes at a party but not because you might be into girls."

"How do you know?" She glances around carefully to make sure no one around us is paying attention.

"I've asked around about you." I admit. "I…" I sigh, "I kind of like your roommate and best friend. I know how protective you are of her. I wanted to know more about you."

She stays quiet for a second, with a hand stuck in her hair, "have you told Rachel you like her, yet?"

"No," I say quickly. "I haven't because I don't know if –"

She laughs and it cuts me off. The librarian nearby shushes us. She mutters 'sorry' but continues laughing, "How can you not know? She's like, been obsessed with you from the moment she saw you. You must be blind not to notice it."

I mash my lips together and look up to the left, not really looking at anything, thinking about it. "Well you might be right."

"Oh, for goodness' sakes! She does, okay? Just take my damn word for it if you can't see it."

I start at her harsh whispering, "Sorry!" I say, and then I smile because holy damn, Rachel Berry likes me. I bite my lip and I must have some sort of look in my eyes that give away my thoughts at the moment because Santana snickers.

"Wow. Well, I guess my duty as best friend is to let you know that I will ends you if you ever hurt her, Fabray." Her eyes narrow at me but I don't falter. I'm dead serious about my liking Rachel and that threat doesn't scare me because I don't plan on hurting her.

"I believe this is where I say 'thanks' for giving me a chance."

"Don't thank me, just don't do shit." She says and gets up. She picks up the magazine I was staring at and starts flipping through the pages, "Did you study for that test tomorrow yet?"

I gesture 'so-so.' "I studied yesterday with some people from our class and I managed to catch the ending of tonight's session but I missed some because I was with Rachel."

She puts the magazine back on its spot and grabs her backpack. "Come on. We can go over it." I follow after her when she takes off in the directions of the study rooms.

Now that I have Santana's blessing, I can hang out with Rachel without worrying about my safety. If her best friend says that she likes me then I take her word for it, especially Santana which is someone who everyone can see is very honest, though sometimes she lacks tact.

She barges into a room and we settle in chairs facing each other. "Alright, so what is it that you missed?"