A/N: First, I just wanted to apologize for the wait. I'm in the process of trying to finish one of my other fics and I kind of let this one fall to the wayside. Hopefully this chapter will be worth it.

Twenty-Five

Yawning, Rachel took a sip from her extra large travel mug. Embroidered with stick on gold stars, it was quite possibly her most prized possession at the moment, as it was the only thing keeping her up right. She supposed after she'd dropped Quinn off at home that staying up well past a reasonable hour—a dead time where only paranormal 'experts' and Rachel Berry alike would not be snoring unconscious—to complete a perfectly coded spreadsheet using her beloved Powerpoint's not so distant cousin, Excel was pretty ridiculous.

Of course, it was quite possible to worry about such things later. The fact that she and Noah were behind schedule in compiling enough money for Quinn's next doctors visit took presentence in this case. She'd selfishly let personal afflictions undermine her overall objective and as a result her spreadsheet was looking a little lopsided.

Lopsided to a point that Rachel was unsure if her budget could ever possibly recover with time constraints as they were. Still, she had a couple weeks and Rachel Berry never gave—

"Hey, Berry. Open wide!"

Her sleep-addled brain processed the request a beat later than usual and when she turned around, Mike had Karofsky pinned against a locker across the hall while a Big Gulp slushie cup rolled around at their feet.

Mike obviously looked angry and Rachel couldn't help but feel warm at the prospect of being defended. Karofsky was struggling to get free of his position, once he realized people had stopped to watch him get manhandled like a rag-doll. Of course, the current circumstance was quite possibly somewhat deceiving, as Rachel was probably the only one keen enough to spot that the slushie splattered under his feet was prohibiting Karofsky from getting enough leverage to push into Mike to break free.

"Dude! Let go!" Karofsky was quick to yell.

Mike said something in return but Rachel could only make out murmurs from her current vantage point, so she started closing the gap.

She'd reached both their sides in a few quick steps, just as Mike said, "We told you to leave Rachel alone."

Karofsky tried to look intimidating but Rachel deemed his attempt a failure, especially in his current position. He seemed to realize it as well because he gritted his teeth and stopped struggling, his eyes cutting over to hers.

"Berry, why don't you try banging me instead of Puckerman? I'll be sure to protect you too after you get your knees a little dirty."

Rachel's eyes narrowed and her mouth naturally fell open to defend herself but Mike raised his knee up into Karofsky's groin, moving back just in time to let the boy crumple down into the puddle of slushie that was meant for her.

"Try learning some respect, man," he ordered and his brown eyes quickly darted over to hers.

Rachel smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment, Mike but you know my stance on solving conflict through violence."

Mike shrugged and looked back at Karofsky, who was now struggling to get up. "Well, he deserved it."

"Yeah," Sam offered, as he pushed his way through the crowd, "you're the only reason why Artie is our water boy and not a wide receiver. He owes you just as much as we do."

Mike and Sam did this weird handshake—that made them look exceedingly ridiculous with all the fist bumping and hand slapping—but Sam did offer her a smile so Rachel reasoned it was enough of an acknowledgement for her to let the moment go.

"Berry did that?" wheezed Karofsky, as he wobbled up to one knee.

Mike must've hit him really hard. Rachel felt the tiniest bit of sympathy for him because she really did hate to see anybody hurt, even a relentless bully like Karofsky. Still, she didn't dare move to help him stand up, something he finally did seconds later with an assist from a locker.

Sam and Mike both nodded in sync, once again. Rachel couldn't figure out why she and Noah's friendship was labeled as inhumane but these two didn't get any flack at all for their odd analogous friendship.

Rachel was distracted from deliberation when Karofsky's dark eyes found their way to her own. "Lopez wanted me to do it so whatever. Just tell her I did and I'll go toss gay boy into the dumpster instead."

Santana.

She… of course she would.

Rachel absently turned towards her two friends. "Thanks guys but Kurt could probably use your assistance more than I do at this present moment in time. Though I again appreciate the sentiment all the same, I have somewhere I need to be."

Gritting her teeth, Rachel stomped off and through the crowd. She imagined Sam and Mike had an identical look of confusion plastered on their dissimilar features and was unfortunately too angry to look back to get confirmation of the humourous sight.

Stupid Santana.

Not surprisingly, she arrived at the Cheerio locker room minutes later. Not surprising because this had been building for a while now and Rachel had let it fester even though she knew it would only make matters worse.

Still, stepping into the Cheerio locker room, Rachel was too angry to give any thought to her kamikaze search for Santana Lopez. A few girls glared at her, Rachel freely ignored them, as her tunnel vision only got worse. Santana was laughing with Brittany when Rachel spotted her and she briefly thought about walking up to the Latina and slapping the look off her face, but unfortunately it was not meant to be.

"Hey, Manhands, you're in the wrong locker room," a Cherrio screamed out, effectively ruining her chance at a surprise attack because Santana was looking right at her until the girl's attention was drawn off to the side.

"Hey Christie, you might want to stop eating Daddy's cookies. Your jiggly thighs just made me throw up in my mouth a bit."

Rachel found herself smiling until she remembered why she was there. But, by the look in Santana's eyes, the girl had been expecting her. Still, Rachel wasn't about to let that stop her.

"Santana, we need to talk, now."

Santana cocked her head to the side at the order but didn't say a word about it, instead gesturing behind her head towards the showers. "Lead the way, Smurfling."

Rachel rolled her eyes at Santana's choice of words and ignored all the gazes tracking her every move as they both disappeared through the shower doors. The minute they slammed shut, Rachel whirled around.

"This has to stop, Santana! I already expressed to you numerous times that I wouldn't tell anyone. You can't keep—"

"I can do whatever I want, Berry and that includes Puck." The Latina's smirk was infuriating and so was her need to constantly flaunt her use of Noah in Rachel's face. It was also just the right bait to distract Rachel from her previous goal. "You think one slushie is going to make up for how many times you've cockblocked me? Not everybody goes into a conniption at the feel of a little side boob. I gots needs!"

Santana stood, staring at her, eyes dark with a blatant challenge. They used to be friends—well acquaintances through Noah—and then Santana had slept with him. Things changed after that and Rachel suspected there were a multitude of reasons why, not limited to their shared coming of age.

"That's not what this is about and you know it." Santana seemed to get it because her infuriating smirk diminished a fraction of an inch and Rachel felt a sweeping thrill surge through her at the prospect. "If you actually cared about him as a lover I wouldn't have a problem with it but you and I are both aware how little truth there is in your so-called relationship. You're incapable of being what he needs, Santana!"

And then Santana was back, rolling her eyes and posed with her hands on her hips. Rachel visibly swallowed down her disappointment when the Latina scoffed, "Oh I'm more than sure I'm capable of fulfilling his needs. You're not the only one without a gag reflex—"

"Eww, that is exceedingly revolting, Santana," and the scenario heinously started to flash through her mind, as she shuddered helplessly, "especially when I've still been unable to forget seeing such a thing by mistake!"

"Well then you know how much he was enjoying it, Berry. Isn't that like your whole argument gone… down my throat?"

Santana knew she had the upper hand and Rachel desperately sought after something to tug the control back. Avoiding Santana had left her dreadfully out of practice because it took a certain finesse to send the Latina reeling. She was crude and so angry, to the point that Rachel questioned if she'd actually strike her in retaliation to the wrong set of words. At least with Quinn, Rachel didn't have to fend off sexually suggestive barbs and a psychotic mind. Sure, Quinn tended to look psychotic at the best of times but Rachel had no doubt that the blonde would never go that far.

Santana Lopez, not so much.

Nowadays anyway.

And just like that the perfect set of words came to her along with a startling sense of clarity. Santana had successfully distracted her from why she was there. She hadn't come to argue about Noah specifically. He was involved in a roundabout way and Rachel supposed she'd have to get there eventually because Noah needed this and at the very least—since Santana would never admit it—the Latina needed it too.

"I just threw up in my mouth more than a little bit," Santana smirked but didn't say anything, which was a rather new and unnerving habit but still Rachel tried not to let it phase her because she'd effectively impressed Santana enough for her to listen, "and you know that isn't what I'm talking about. He needs the stability of a relationship, Santana. Somebody that doesn't encourage him to engage in life threatening activities for their personal amusement, somebody that actually cares to bring out the best in him, not cultivating the worst! And while you might be able to engage in sexual intercourse with him, you can't offer him that emotional stability. You're incapable of giving that too him, you know this!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Berry. We're in high school. I don't need to pluck the person I'm going to marry from Bumfuck, Ohio. Chill the fuck out!"

"You might be able to distinguish it but he can't." He really couldn't. Quinn was proof of that and no amount of Rachel begging him to see that girls weren't just notches on his bedpost would help that. Not with Santana freely encouraging it to protect herself from her own self-hatred. "He's already… just he's already shown a disregard for women that he wouldn't have before. You know what I'm talking about, this relationship is damaging for both of you, especially when you don't even want it!"

Something shifted in Santana's eyes and while Rachel hadn't exactly been sure the Latina had seen the change in their shared friend, she was now. They both cared for him—another thing Santana would never admit—but Rachel needed her to acknowledge it now. Noah was going to be a father and whatever happened, it was time to deal with this self-destructing habit of his, or at the very least escape Santana, somebody that was self-destructing too.

Still, Santana gritted her teeth and Rachel knew she was going to be difficult. "You can't tell me what—"

"Please excuse my crassness but I feel such a situation requires a harder edge," because honestly, they were talking in circles and Rachel was starting to feel a little dizzy, "and cut the bullshit. You kissed me, Santana. More than—"

"Shut up, Berry!" Santana was frantically waving her hands, one tried to swipe towards her mouth but Rachel stepped away, the back of her knees hitting the bench behind her. "You don't know what you're talking about. I don't even remember these so called kisses, so I knows your ass is lying."

"Really, Santana?" Rachel paused, the spinning room started to get worse but she stubbornly shook it off. "Really? You've decided to employ that tactic? You're gay, I can't even… I think… I…"

Rachel found her self sitting on the bench with Santana hovering over her. For a moment she reached up towards her nose because she thought Santana had hit her but when everything was still in tact she found her brain reeling for an answer.

"Berry, what the hell?" Santana yelled and Rachel felt soft hands yanking her chin up until she could see Santana's eyes through the haze of her own. "You're not going to keel over and die are you?"

"No…" Trying to shake her head was undoubtedly stupid at this point in time, Rachel was realizing but it did get Santana's hands away from striking distance of her nose, "don't be ridiculous. I'm just feeling a bit lightheaded. I'm sure it will pass in a moments time."

Rachel's eyes drifted shut and the spinning seemed to stop for a moment. The nauseous feeling in her stomach settled and she thought she was fine until she opened them again.

Maybe she was going to die.

Santana was back to grabbing her chin. "Have you eaten anything today?"

The Latina was moving her head back and forth and seemingly checking for a fever with her other hand. Rachel tried to smile because Santana almost looked concerned.

"No, I slept through my alarm and just had time to procure a travel mug of coffee this morning. I was planning on waiting until lunch but I suppose such a tactic wasn't a good idea."

Santana rolled her eyes. "No shit, Berry. Not when you look like you haven't slept in weeks. I know you can't be staying awake for sex because, well, you're you, so…whatever, I'm calling Puckerman to come take you home. I don't need to be blamed for your murder in spite of the bump it would give my reputation."

Santana whipped out her phone and Rachel shifted until she was lying along the bench, her head lulled back in an attempt at resting her eyes. As it so happened, it wasn't possible to worry about this later because this was an ample warning that she needed some time to herself, or at the very least a good night of sleep without Excel spreadsheets.

"I knew you liked me," she mumbled and shifted so her head rested on her pillowed arms. "If you weren't only interested in me when you were drunk, we could totally date."

"In your Streisand infested dreams, Smurfling." Rachel smiled at that but was too groggy to do much else. "Besides, I've broken too many commandments to fit the bill for a stand in."

Rachel couldn't help nodding and then she realized what Santana had said. She opened her eyes and Santana was sitting down by her feet, watching her. "When did you figure it out?"

Santana shrugged. "About the time you said I should dye my hair blonde."

Rachel closed her eyes again and drudged through her mind's eye to that night. It happened like all the times before: Santana drank too much, starting bawling hysterically and Rachel felt obligated to comfort her after the Latina confessed to her ambiguous sexuality the first night they found themselves at a party making out. The first night, Rachel had been minding her own business and Santana had stumbled up to her for reasons Rachel to this day didn't know. But that night, Rachel had been drunk too and her lips tended to loosen even more with alcohol. It was recipe for disaster, hence her suggestion for Santana to go blonde while the Latina was straddling her.

"I resend my initial advice to maybe suggest something edgier. Red, yes. I see definite crimson streaks."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I'll stop seeing, Puck. I know there is more going on here because you never got so bat-shit crazy about it before. I'll find out you know, Berry."

"Thank you," Rachel sighed and quite honestly, she was too tired to contemplate the cheerleader's threat.

"Whatever, I'm not doing it for you."

It was the last thing Rachel heard before she finally succumbed to a deep sleep.