Rachel continues to listen to Santana work her magic on the difficult melody, making it sound effortless and rich at the same time. She finds herself nodding along, her fingers drumming on the desk, as Santana reaches for notes and hits them with ease. Enjoying the performance though she is, Rachel is almost impatiently waiting for it to end so she can applaud and gush and race into the adjoining room to fawn all over Santana.

Then, suddenly, the singing stops.

Santana freezes.

Rachel freezes.

Seconds pass, Rachel's eyes darting around between herself and Santana and all their surroundings, trying to ascertain whether she is suddenly somehow visible. Santana takes a tentative step forward, her head tilting, searching, and Rachel shrinks down into her chair. But, Santana isn't looking for her. She's not looking for anything. She's listening. Rachel picks up on the faint sound of her own ring tone through the control room speakers, just as Santana turns and steps towards one of the sofas. She reaches between the cushions and pulls out a phone - Rachel's phone. Santana smiles but her entire body drops, shaking ever so slightly.

And suddenly, Rachel understands. Nobody knows this Santana. In the briefest of moments, when her attention was pulled away from her song by something unknown and her mind entertained the idea that she wasn't alone in the building, this Santana was terrified. Not of an intruder, or anything else sinister, but of the possibility that someone had heard her. Rachel had seen something in her eyes, as she stood there frozen, only to see it disappear with immeasurable relief upon the discovery of the ringing phone. She realizes now that the something she saw was fear. Rachel feels her heart fill with a heaviness that she can't name as she hits stop on the recording. Moments ago she was ready to shower Santana with adoring attention, but now she considers that perhaps it's best to not even let her know she was here. She looks back up at Santana, who is still clutching the ringing phone, her face now showing no traces of the anxiety from moments before.

Rachel can only assume that Santana has figured out the phone belongs to her and, by the smile she wears, it's fairly apparent who's calling.

After taking another quick glance around to ensure she is alone, Santana slides her finger across the screen and lifts the phone to her ear.

"If you're calling to ask Rachel out on a date, I'm going to be really pissed off," she answers, dramatically.

Rachel smiles and shakes her head, listening to Santana's side of the conversation while she starts setting everything back to the way she found it. She locates the track she just recorded and, after a moment's consideration, emails it to herself for safe keeping before trashing the original file. As Santana explains to Brittany why she has Rachel's phone, Rachel carefully sneaks out of the control room and back down the hall towards the foyer, ready to make her entrance again when Santana comes out.

It's not too long before the latina reappears, a bounce in her step and a smile on her face. She's humming to herself, the same tune she was belting out only minutes earlier. Rachel smiles and springs into action, pretending to be just coming in through the front door as Santana reaches the foyer.

"Santana?" she calls out, theatrically looking around even though the woman is clearly in her line of sight.

Santana jumps about a foot in the air, her hand clutching at her chest in a dramatic gesture of surprise.

"Jesus, Rachel!" she exclaims in recognition, "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," Rachel responds, genuinely. She's trying hard to keep the knowing smile off her face, and failing.

Santana eyes her suspiciously, dropping a stack of sheet music on her desk, "Didn't you leave?"

Rachel points to the object Santana clutches in her hand, "Forgot something."

"Right," Santana nods, looking down at the phone and then back up at Rachel, "Yeah, you left it in the studio. I'm sorry you came all the way back, we were just about to come and drop it off to you."

"We?"

On cue, a horn beeps and Rachel spins around to see Brittany's Jeep pulling up outside.

Rachel looks back to Santana, who smiles and shrugs with unconvincing nonchalance. At the sight of Rachel's raised eyebrows, Santana's composure falters and she blushes, mumbling, "She didn't want me to walk home by myself."

The door behind them opens and they both turn to see Brittany sauntering in. Santana's whole body buzzes as she watches the blonde, who somehow appears to be walking in slow-motion, as though through the set of an unrealistically windy music video. She wears an over-sized tank top and a pair of perfectly fitted jeans, her hair loose and wavy, cascading over her bare shoulders. She carries her keys and phone in one hand, the other hand casually placed in her back pocket.

"Oh hey, Rach," she says, coming to a stop next to them, not seeming all that surprised by Rachel's presence. She gives her the briefest of smiles before turning her attention to Santana, unable to help the grin that spreads across her face. "Looks like I made an unnecessary trip."

Santana deflates, her smile wavering.

"I'm kidding," the blonde purrs. She's close enough to Santana now to touch her, the latina's skin on fire just from the thought that she might.

She doesn't.

"I told you I wasn't going to let you walk home this late," Brittany winks. Santana blushes. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"What about me?" Rachel asks Brittany, "You knew I'd be walking, where was my offer for a ride home?" Her tone is more playful than serious. But, only slightly.

Without a word, Brittany reaches down and wraps her fingers around Rachel's phone, which is still in Santana's hand. They both tense at the contact. Brittany smiles a request at Santana and the shorter girl slowly releases her grip on the phone. Holding it out to Rachel, without taking her eyes off Santana, Brittany replies, "You might want to check your call log."

Rachel takes the phone and discovers that, before the call that Santana answered, Brittany had already called her twice. Right around the time Rachel had told Brittany she would be finishing up for the day.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"All good," Brittany smiles. She looks around at nothing in particular and then back to Santana, "do you need any help?"

Santana's brow furrows slightly, "With... ?"

"Packing up? Or can we get out of here?"

Santana isn't sure why, but her affection for Brittany in that moment swells up inside her and warms every inch of her body. She beams.

"I'm done."

"Great," Brittany replies, the smile in her eyes causing Santana to become slightly unsteady on her feet. As Brittany turns to look at Rachel, she puts her hand gently on Santana's back. She smiles at both girls and gestures towards the door. "Shall we?"

Brittany pulls her car up into the lane and Santana unclasps her seat belt, turning towards Brittany with a smile.

"Thanks for coming to get me," she says shyly, "I mean, I know you were going to come and get Rachel anyway, but..."

"I wasn't really," Brittany cuts her off, "I was only calling her to discuss work stuff."

Santana giggles. Brittany giggles, too.

"You know I'm still back here, right?" Rachel grumbles from the backseat.

Brittany keeps her eyes on Santana, "Yep."

Santana smirks and the two of them gaze fondly at each other for a few moments before Rachel huffs loudly and opens the car door, shuffling out of her seat.

"If you two are gonna start making out, I'm going in to use your bathroom."

Brittany finally takes her eyes off Santana, tilting her head so she can look at Rachel through her open window.

"Any excuse," she smirks.

Rachel rolls her eyes, again, and heads towards the stairs. Santana catches it and thinks for a moment that the diva makes the exasperated expression more than herself and Quinn combined; a task not easily achieved. But, there is also a blush in Rachel's cheeks. Brittany's words register then, Santana realizing that she was teasing Rachel; implying that she is going inside, not to use the bathroom, but to see Quinn. She knows this because it's exactly what she would have said to Quinn in the same situation. Her eyes light up and she lets out a short, soft laugh.

"What?" Brittany asks sweetly, turning back to her passenger.

"Nothing," Santana smiles, "You coming up?"

She doesn't wait for an answer before getting out of the car and walking around to the driver's side to open Brittany's door. The blonde jumps out and lands so close to Santana that they are almost touching. Santana leans forward involuntarily, her hand twitching slightly towards Brittany's. Meeting her gaze, she finds the blonde's eyes boring into her, ocean blue and overwhelming. She drops her head instantly, feeling suddenly embarrassed at how desperately she wants to hold Brittany's hand. It doesn't go unnoticed by the blonde; not the subtle inclination of Santana's movements, not the innocent need in her eyes. She reaches across the almost non-existent space between them and touches her fingertips to the back of Santana's arm, running them slowly down towards her hand. Santana's breath hitches at the touch, her eyes shooting back up to catch Brittany gently biting her bottom lip. As their hands align, Brittany grins and winks at Santana, not entwining all their fingers together but, instead, linking only their pinkies.

Santana's breath hitches, again, Brittany's gentle tug sending her back to their rainy Michigan afternoon. This is how they touched for the first time. The memories flood in as snapshots; images of glistening skin, flowing blonde hair and impossibly tangled limbs all fighting for Santana's attention. She can't hold onto any of them, her mind overwhelmed and dizzy. She has stopped breathing completely.

"Hey," Brittany whispers, drawing Santana's eyes up to her own.

Brittany smiles but her eyes darken as she nods almost imperceptibly. She understands everything Santana is feeling. Santana opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. She presses her lips together and takes in a deep breath, exhaling with a smile.

"Come on," Brittany smiles back, stepping away from Santana and pulling her along by her pinky.

Rachel waits at the top of the stairs, tapping her foot impatiently. Not for Brittany and Santana, but for Quinn. Even though it makes sense, geographically, Rachel was secretly thankful when it became clear Brittany was headed to Santana's place first as she drove the two of them home. She needs to talk to Quinn.

The door swings open, Quinn's expectant smile growing a little wider when she sees Rachel.

"I need to talk to you," the brunette announces brusquely but quietly, dramatically glancing down to see Santana and Brittany ascending the staircase. Her brow furrows as she turns back to Quinn, sighing at herself in exasperation, "But first I actually do need to use your bathroom."

She doesn't wait for an invitation, or even really for Quinn to move aside, before sweeping into the apartment. She realizes quickly that she doesn't know where she's going and turns on her heels just as Santana and Brittany walk through the door. Quinn looks between them and Rachel, her mouth hanging slightly open, feeling like she's just been swept up in a mini tornado that came unexpectedly crashing through her living room. She composes herself enough to consider that it may just be the perfect analogy for any moment spent with Rachel and shakes her head with a smile. She's curious about why Rachel needs to talk to her and, to a slightly lesser extent, why she and Brittany are even here. First things first.

"Are we having a party?" she asks Santana.

Before the latina can answer her, Rachel pipes up, "These two were about to get all Janet and Rocky in Brittany's front seat, so I decided to remove myself from the vehicle and make the most of the convenient proximity of your facilities." She finishes with an exaggerated arch of her eyebrows.

Santana and Quinn stare blankly at her.

"It's that first door on the left," Brittany motions towards the bathroom and smiles to the other girls as Rachel excuses herself. "You two forgot how to speak Rachel Berry, huh?" she giggles.

"Just a little rusty," Quinn laughs.

Noticing Brittany and Santana's still linked pinkies, she quirks an eyebrow at her roommate. Santana fends off her blush with a subtle throat clearing, but doesn't let go of Brittany.

"Rachel and I were at the studio late, Brittany came to pick us up so we wouldn't walk home alone," she explains, not finding it necessary to go into detail about the forgotten phone. Quinn nods, glancing at Brittany before smiling at Santana.

"You're right," she offers, a sly twinkle in her eye, "she really is a gentleman."

There's nothing Santana can do to stop herself from blushing this time, so she just drops her eyes to the floor in embarrassment and mumbles something that no one hears. She doesn't lift her head until she feels Brittany's breath, right by her ear.

"Busted," the blonde whispers.

Santana turns an even deeper shade of crimson, her cheeks feeling uncharacteristically warm under Brittany's attention, and cursing herself silently for reactions she has no control over. She is working on something clever to say when Rachel emerges from the bathroom.

"Ready to go?" Brittany asks with a smile, though her tone would suggest she is reluctant to do so herself.

"No!"

Rachel and Quinn answer together, matched in both volume and vehemence. They surprise themselves, and one another, their own shock reflected in the wide eyed expressions worn by Brittany and Santana. Glances dance quickly around the room and Quinn lets out a short but not quite awkward giggle.

"It's just... I mean, you're here now," she explains herself, looking at the brunette next to her and at the blonde hovering very close to Santana's side, "you might as well stay for a drink. Tea?"

A pause.

"Wine?"

All three sets of eyes on her light up at the second option and she laughs again, heading into the kitchen. Santana moves to follow but Rachel stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"I'll help her," she says warmly, "You relax, you've had a long day."

As usual, she doesn't wait for a response. She catches only a glimpse of Santana's wide-eyed stare as she turns away and follows Quinn into the kitchen.

"How's the recording going?" the blonde asks when she notices Rachel behind her. She takes four glasses from the cupboard and turns her attention to the wine rack.

"Fine, fine," Rachel brushes off the question, determined to steer the conversation in her own direction, "Um… why wasn't Santana in Glee Club?"

Quinn grabs onto a random bottle and turns to face Rachel, who is talking in low voice full of drama. And maybe a hint of accusation.

"Huh?"

"Santana. Why didn't you get her to join Glee?"

Quinn shakes her head slightly, a little baffled by the seemingly left field question. She has to take a moment to think back.

"I did," she realizes, the vague recollection of a locker room conversation finding its way out from the mountain of high school memories that she usually keeps buried. "I mean, I asked her once… and I think she considered it, but obviously changed her mind at some point. I just figured singing wasn't her thing."

Rachel is stopped by realization before she can scoff. Her jaw goes slack as she gazes at Quinn, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement.

"You haven't heard her sing," she whispers.

It's not a question.

"Sure I have," Quinn counters, her brow furrowed and her tone only the tiniest bit defensive.

"I don't mean along with the radio, Quinn," Rachel explains, leaning on the counter as Quinn rummages through the drawer for a corkscrew, "or in the shower or whatever. I mean really sing."

Quinn finds what she's looking for and sets to work on the cork in the wine bottle.

"Actually," the blonde says, speaking as the realization dawns on her, "Santana doesn't really sing. Ever."

Quinn stills, her forehead creasing as she tries to recall a time when she may have heard Santana sing. She's certain it must have happened, in all their years together, but now that she's really thinking about it she can't seem to come up with a single memory.

"That's so weird," she says quietly, mostly to herself. And then, "Hold on… why are you asking about this?"

Rachel inhales deeply and smiles. There's a hint of smugness in the expression... and a whole lot of joy.

"That girl has music in her soul."

"So, what are we doing on Friday?"

Brittany doesn't look up when she asks the question, staying focused on tracing her finger over the lines on the palm of Santana's hand. They are both sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing one another. Santana stares intently at Brittany's face, the blonde girl's tongue poking out slightly between her teeth. She breathes evenly but her insides are in a state of frenzy. The touch of Brittany's finger on her palm is careful and light, but her other hand, holding Santana's securely in her lap, grips almost too tightly. One is sending shivers across her skin, the other is making it burn.

It takes a full minute for Santana to find her voice. "It's a surprise."

"What's a surprise?"

The girls look up as Quinn and Rachel approach, laden with glasses, wine and smiles that betray a shared secret.

"Where Santana is taking me for our date," Brittany answers Quinn with a smile, straightening up so that she is facing the other girls as they sit. She loosens her grip on Santana's wrist and tickles her arm a couple of times before disconnecting the contact altogether. Santana pouts inwardly but makes an effort to pull herself out of the Brittany stupor, also turning to face everyone in the room. She smiles at Quinn, who pours the wine and hands a glass to Brittany with a laugh.

"When Santana says something is a 'surprise' it means she hasn't figured it out, yet," Quinn smirks.

"That's not true!"

Santana fills her denial with conviction and volume but the laughter that comes back at her makes it fairly clear that no one buys it.

"So, what are we doing then?" Brittany grins, nudging Santana's ankle with her foot.

"I'm not telling!"

"Because she doesn't know," Quinn nods, as though Santana's defensiveness has all but proven her point. She hands her a glass of wine, giggling again as Santana huffs and slumps back on the couch.

"You'll just have to wait until Friday," Santana mumbles, directing the comment lazily towards Brittany.

"Wait, your date is on Friday?" Quinn asks, her tone ten shades more serious than it was a moment ago.

"Yeah…"

"S, my date is on Friday," Quinn reminds her, "You promised you would look after Noah."

"Shit. Isn't there anyone else that can do it?"

Both of them look at Rachel.

"I'm singing at the Hollywood Bowl."

Quinn smiles and Santana rolls her eyes, "Of course you are."

Santana turns to Brittany, placing a hand on her knee with a sad, apologetic smile.

"It's fine," Brittany says in her matter-of-fact way.

"I'm sorry, Britt… we can reschedule."

"No I mean it's fine, we'll babysit."

She's not offering to help Santana. She's not making some sort of compromise. It is simply Brittany being Brittany, completely content to spend time with Santana, whichever way it comes, without even a moment's consideration.

"You want to babysit with me?" Santana's face scrunches into a curious half smile.

"Sure. Noah's awesome. It'll be fun."

Santana is about to tell her that she really doesn't have to, that she'll make it up to her, but the smile on Brittany's face is electric and piercing and certain. The decision was made before the question could even take hold.

"Settled, then," Quinn announces, topping up everyone's wine.

"I'm sorry," Brittany tells Santana.

"For what?"

"Ruining all your plans."

Brittany's delivery is perfectly deadpan but not one of them misses the joke being made at Santana's expense. Quinn erupts with joyful laughter and Rachel allows herself to giggle, too. Brittany nudges Santana playfully, erasing the pout from her lips in an instant.

I know this is short... but Chapter 15 is coming really soon. Date night :D Thanks for reading... xx (and thanks again to WorldOfTilt)