Pairing: Rachel/Santana

Synopsis: (2 of 8) Rachel is HBIC. Santana is all-around badass and delinquent. Both are hiding behind their persona. Can they reach one another?

Author's Note: I'm glad this story is so well received! I want to thank everyone for reading, commenting, letting me know what you think. It's a bit of a challenge to write so far outside of my box when it comes to Rachel's character, so I hope you all can be patient with me. Lyrics from this fic are from Esperanza Spalding's "Precious."

###

TWO

You always wanted something more from my body

And said you needed something more from my loving

But all you got was me and that's all that I can be

I'm sorry if it let you down

Now it's no nice excuse but all the magic was used

Up on trying to uphold

Some kind of tame, flattering persona

That soon enough was getting real old

It takes more than pressure to change rock to diamond

Now all you have is sand,

Slipping through your fingers.

###

Santana sat outside, her ankles swinging back and forth as she stared at the ground beneath her. Just as she was contemplating seeing if she could land the thirty-foot drop without breaking something, she heard a voice behind her.

"Don't do it," Rachel's voice was at this point vaguely familiar in its warm tones. "Or I'll have to find one of the male Cheerios to catch you."

The Latina chuckled deep in her throat. She turned her head, spotted the shorter brunette walking step-by-step up the stadium seating. "Yeah, I'd break you," Santana couldn't help the double entendre, gloating inwardly at the blush that crept up Rachel's neck and into her cheeks.

They'd agreed to meet here and then walk from the grounds to Rachel's house. Still, it was weird thinking that they were voluntarily meeting up with one another, and Rachel had seemed almost eager about it. Santana began to stand, but almost lost her balance; Rachel's hand gripped the Latina's arm to steady her, a waft of perfume reaching the Latina. Grumbling an embarrassed 'thank you,' Santana moved down the seating, crawled over the gate and hopped down. Climbing over things this way was just a habit of hers – from sneaking in and out of anywhere she could. Rachel, however, didn't seem to be as accustomed to climbing over things.

It was almost comical the way Rachel tried to lift herself over the fence, because she fell back a little and caught her balance. Santana tried not to laugh, and instead motioned for Rachel to back up.

The Latina hopped over the fence, "I had no idea how short you really were," she teased quietly as she lifted Rachel by the hips and helped her climb over.

"Well most of us are used to using gates and doorways."

"Sometimes a window is the only option," Santana dropped to the ground next to Rachel, grabbed her bag, and headed downfield with the brunette. "Shit goes down, you gotta get out. Or in."

Next to her, Rachel scoffed, "Drop it," she murmured, "all that talk. Like you're some … I don't know. You try so hard to be this rebellious person."

In the corner of her eye, Santana saw her usual crew hanging along the edges of McKinley property, ever watchful. They'd been a little heated that Santana seemed to be dropping them so quickly. To them, it probably looked like she was trying to fit in and gain some kind of social credit by being seen with Rachel Berry.

"I bet inside you're just like me," Rachel mused and glanced over, drawing Santana's attention again.

Santana scoffed, "Don't kid yourself."

"Like that's a terrible thing?"

"To pretend to be perfect for everyone else?"

Rachel seemed a little taken aback by this. She gaped at Santana momentarily, long enough for Santana to continue.

"I mean, I'm sure underneath all that," the Latina motioned at the Cheerio uniform, and picked at the red scrunchie holding up long dark hair, "there's a normal person with flaws."

"I never said I didn't have flaws," Rachel challenged, arms folding over her chest. Santana seemed to have touched a raw spot, some vulnerability in Rachel. She dug it. She wanted to see who Rachel really was – not the pretty princess she showed everyone else. In more ways than one, she wanted to get under Rachel's skin.

Santana smirked a little bit, "I bet you have some dirty little secret. Something nobody knows. Something that you're afraid will make you unperfect and then you'll lose your social standing."

Rachel rankled, "Imperfect. Imperfect, not unperfect."

"Okay, Hermione."

"I don't do things for social standing. At least not everything."

"Why the fuck does it matter? Why do you want everyone to love you?"

"For all the same reasons you want to make everyone think you're this inaccessible badass."

"Checkmate," Santana grumbled and shuffled her feet along the ground momentarily, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Look , I'm not trying to pick a fight."

"I know." Rachel didn't seem the least bit bothered by the spirited debate. Instead, her face was alight with a kind of subtle, secret smile.

Secretly, Santana liked that she was the one who'd made her smile. The Latina chewed on her bottom lip, averting her gaze away from Rachel's penetrating eyes. The Cheerio wasn't shy about looking at Santana, at least not here, when it was the two of them. In public, she pretty much ignored Santana unless it was to tell her what a delinquent she was. The thought was like a dark cloud. Okay, normally she didn't give a shit about what anyone thought. Secretly, it made her a little bummed that Rachel just might think she was somehow 'less-than.'

"For the record, I think you're probably a very warm and wonderful person underneath all the … " Rachel waved her hands in some kind of gesture, "leather."

Santana laughed, shook her head.

"Here we are," Rachel motioned forward and allowed Santana to be the first to approach the house. She touched the Latina's back as she shuffled in front of her to unlock the front door. "My dads won't be here until later this evening. They both work most of the time."

Santana nodded simply, feeling a weird pang of butterflies in her stomach. It was a quick feeling, there and gone as she stepped over the threshold. This looked like a house where she shouldn't wear her shoes past the foyer, so she unlaced her military-grade boots and left them by the front door, trotting up the stairs after Rachel.

"If you get hungry later, I can make us something. We're…well my dad Hiram and I are vegans. Daddy isn't though, so we have normal food. I assume you're not a vegan."

"Good assumption," Santana mumbled, then gave an apologetic grin when Rachel turned to give her a very specific kind of look. "Weirdos like you are vegans," she teased, satisfied when Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Here we are," Rachel tossed her bag on her bed. Rachel's bedroom was a mixture of gray tones and gold tones, with stars here and there. Numerous trophies lined the walls, a stack of books on the desk, and an all-together tidy appearance.

Santana's room was a disaster compared to this. Rachel probably didn't even have a stash of weed anywhere. Rachel had probably never even tried weed.

"So I'm not totally sure where you want to start," Rachel was facing her closet, sweater coming off perfectly muscled shoulders. It was a little distracting because Santana watched the fabric move off of those shoulders and thought it would be nice just to press her lips right … Stop it. Santana cleared her throat and sat on the bed, glancing at the pictures on the wall. "You're having trouble in – "

"Every class," Santana answered simply. "I mean, I learn quick and all. So I'm not stupid or anything like that."

"You just don't pay attention," Rachel was standing in front of her, changed into a tank-top and jeans, and she snapped two fingers to get Santana to stop staring at the wall. Santana bared her teeth a little, narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, mother."

"I'll be worse than that," Rachel joked, sitting on the bed and folding both legs underneath her. She held out an empty hand. Santana stared dumbly before Rachel sighed, "Your books." She grabbed Santana's bag and opened it up.

It took everything in the Latina not to jump at the bag. She kept a few things in there that were private. She had a sketch pad and a journal full of different writings. Luckily Rachel only grabbed the couple text books and sat back, opening up both of them.

"Show me where you're at, or where you've left off."

Santana turned the books to the front covers.

Rachel looked a little in disbelief, then sighed, "We've got a lot of work to do."

###

Santana was laying back on Rachel's bed, listening to the sound of Rachel's humming as the brunette wrote notes for Santana to study at home. It was a quiet, beautiful sound, and it lulled Santana into a sense of stillness. The Latina felt the curious urge to ask Rachel to really sing, but thought it might seem strange. So she settled for watching Rachel from the corner of her eye, taking in every moment.

She never thought she'd be here, even though it was just as the Cheerio's 'student.' Rachel's room smelled sweet and subtle from candles that were half-burned everywhere. The lighting was just dim enough to be relaxing. And Rachel herself was a sight when she wasn't aware she was being watched. Her long brown locks fell over her shoulders, no matter how many times Rachel habitually brushed her hair back behind her ears.

"You're staring," Rachel murmured, mid-hum, and her dark brown eyes lifted just enough to catch Santana in the act.

Santana cleared her throat and sat up, "Yeah, sorry, spacing out. Your room…it's really relaxing."

"I like it that way," Rachel responded, shifting as if to ease tension in her back. "School can be very draining."

"I can imagine. When you're trying that hard to be … I don't know, everyone's dream girl."

Rachel scoffed, "I am nobody's dream girl."

"Please! I know some people who'd tear off their arm just to see what you look like in a bra." She neglected to mention that she was one of those people.

Blushing, Rachel glared at her, "I appreciate the sentiment," she countered softly. Her eyes fell to the paper again and seemingly satisfied with everything she'd written, she flipped the paper back and forth the proofread before setting it aside. She was beginning a second study guide. "You weren't spacing out."

Santana glanced aside, ran fingers through black hair, and smirked. "You wish."

If she wasn't mistaken, Rachel was smiling a little. Her nose wrinkled a little when she smiled big enough.

"So tell me something no one else knows," Santana leaned back against the headboard, hands folded behind her head. She stretched out, a leg on Rachel's right side. She bumped Rachel's knee with her foot.

Rachel laughed softly, "Right. Because I should definitely divulge my secrets to you."

"Why not? I have no friends."

"You have that little gang of yours. If I told you anything," Rachel stopped what she was doing, glanced up at Santana and held her gaze, "you would probably take it back to them and you'd laugh about it. I know what you think I'm like. I'm just a nerd, a socialite."

Santana felt the slight sting of Rachel's words, brow creased for a moment, "Man, you must not think much of me."

The brunette in front of her chewed on her lip thoughtfully, "Sorry. I guess I just don't expect people like you to … think very highly of me, either."

"Dude, I mean… Rachel, you don't have to be defensive with me," Santana answered almost moodily. "I'm not a bad person and I certainly don't laugh at people." That was sort of true. She didn't actively make fun of people, though she did sometimes judge other people without really intending to.

Rachel held Santana's gaze a little longer, and disappointingly said nothing. She continued writing. Santana felt restless in the sudden discomfort of being wounded by Rachel's assumptions.

"I'll tell you one thing if you tell me one thing," Rachel's words were soft and came more than a few minutes later, when Santana had gotten up to walk around the room and look at the brunette's pictures. Pictures with friends, family, fellow Cheerios, people giving her awards.

Santana turned, sat down on the bed at Rachel's side, her back to Rachel. "Fine."

"I have night terrors," Rachel's confession was quiet, and surprising.

"You do?"

"Since I was young."

"About what?"

"Everything and anything," the brunette glanced beside her; her shoulder was warm against Santana's. The Latina leaned aside and tried brushing away the tingle crawling up her arm. "Your turn."

"I can sing," Santana offered, not wanting to weight the conversation down anymore. "Not as good as you, and not the same way, but I can sing."

Rachel seemed to light up at this, her brown eyes glistening with a kind of joy. "You can?"

Santana nodded, trying to suppress a smile at Rachel's excitement.

"Sing to me," Rachel requested, and it was so soft that it made Santana's heart race. There was a kind of intense sincerity in the Cheerio's voice. Her hand caught Santana's arm just as the Latina was about to shift away in embarrassment. She didn't even have to say please because the way she rooted Santana to the ground.

"I don't even know what to sing."

Apparently Rachel was too excited to continue doing her tutoring duties, because she set aside the books and notebook and hopped off the bed. She bounced a little on her way over to her iPod dock. "What do you normally like to sing?"

"God, that's embarrassing," Santana laughed and buried her head in her hands.

"Come on!" Rachel clapped her hands, grabbed the Latina's hands in her own and tugged her up. "Pick something. Anything."

Feeling butterflies and embarrassment, Santana groaned softly, gave a pleading look to an unflinching Rachel. She caved, tapping her way through Rachel's iPod selection and finally coming to an artist she listened to a lot. Adele. She was almost embarrassed to play the song because that meant Rachel would know that she listened to gasp popular music. She wasn't all punk rock all the time.

Santana laughed in her nervousness. "Fine, fine, but two things: do not make fun of this selection and don't say a word."

Rachel made a zipping motion over her lips, and then grinned. The brunette sat down, folded her hands between her knees as if she could barely contain her excitement.

She'd chosen "Melt My Heart to Stone" by Adele, and as the melody began, she breathed out her nerves. She closed her eyes, because madre los dios, she could not bear someone watching her while she sang. Santana never sang in front of anyone and she must be fucking nuts to sing in front of Rachel Berry, who was perfection when it came to … a lot of things.

"Right under my feet is air made of bricks, it pulls me down turns me weak for you; I find myself repeating like a broken tune, and I'm forever excusing your intentions, and I give in to my pretendings which forgive you each time, without me knowing, they melt my heart to stone.

And I hear your words that I made up; you say my name like there could be an us. I best tidy up my head. I'm the only one in love; I'm the only one in love."

The Latina didn't continue past the first round of lyrics, mostly because she was feeling nervous as hell and Rachel really hadn't said anything so maybe she was in fact a terrible singer and her friends had been lying to her when they'd told her she was pretty good. So Santana stopped, the song continuing on in the background as she opened her eyes. She wanted to die of embarrassment.

Only Rachel looked in awe. She looked like she was glowing. "Santana," she breathed the Latina's name in a way that made Santana speechless. The shorter brunette practically flew forward, throwing her arms around Santana's waist. "That was beautiful."

The Latina's arms hung limply at her sides in shock until Rachel's warmth sunk in, feeling the brunette's body pressed against her own, fingers pressed into her shoulder-blades. She didn't get … hugged, a lot, so this was a new feeling. She didn't know exactly how to react, so she let her impulses take over. Or, her secondary impulses because she pretty much wanted to cop a feel at this point. Her brain was blank. Her hands settled on Rachel's back, patting there softly and a little awkwardly. "Uh, thanks."

Rachel laughed, stepped back. "God, I've never heard. I mean, that was wonderful. Why have you never gone out for glee? Why haven't you ever sang?"

"I don't like singing in front of people," Santana answered dumbly, feeling the rush of cold as Rachel's warmth left her. "It's not my thing."

Rachel was watching her eyes with a kind of rapture, and Santana began to feel bashful. She sat down on Rachel's bed and fiddled with the notes Rachel had been writing for her. "Anyway, you told me yours so I told you mine."

The weight shifted on the mattress as Rachel sat next to her. The warmth of a hand touched Santana's, gently pried the fingers upward and were grasped in the Cheerio's soft palm. Santana felt her hand being tugged gently and pressed near Rachel's stomach, which hitched with breath still reacting out of awe. "It's such a talent. I mean, music is… it's my one escape, my one private place where all of me can spill out and I'm not thinking about what other people are thinking. And I just, I didn't imagine you had that .. much soul in your voice. Thank you for sharing."

Santana chuckled, bashful but trying to lighten up the mood, "Hey, it's cool. I mean I just sang a couple verses or whatever."

Rachel smiled quietly, but Santana felt every glance in her direction. The way the girl was looking at her made her feel all at once solid and real, like a person with a heart and soul. She wasn't an image, wasn't an archetype.

It was a lot to take in.

Rachel eventually let go of her hand and went back to writing notes, shifting just enough to give Santana room to relax. The brunette was grinning the whole time she was writing, and sometimes her eyes would flicker up to search Santana.

By the end of the night, Santana felt like a thirteen year old boy discovering boobs for the first time. When she said goodbye to Rachel and headed home, she even skipped a little. Just a little.

###

"I want you to stay the night with me Saturday," Rachel practically bowled Santana over in the hallway, breaking from her pack and grabbing Santana's arm like it was a life-raft. "Please."

Santana arched an eyebrow, saw scrutinizing looks all around them at the odd pairing – Most Likely to Be Imprisoned and Most Likely to Go to Hollywood. She cleared her throat and disengaged her arm, feeling small and insignificant. "Are you sure your public will like that?" The Latina was practically crawling into her locker. She felt an insistent hand on her elbow.

"I don't care what they think. I told you, I'm not who I am for them," Rachel's words were a little softer now, her head leaned in close to Santana's shoulder. Her fingers had a tight grip on Santana's arm, just enough to make the point that she really wanted Santana to look at her.

The Latina swallowed, forced her gaze to look at the girl beside her. "Yeah."

Rachel hopped a little in joy, squeezed Santana briefly before running to catch up with the rest of the Cheerios. Santana didn't miss the curious and unfriendly looks from the people Rachel normally spent her time with.

After all, she was only meant to be tutored by Rachel. When did it become a friend agreement?

Why would Rachel want to be friends with her?

When it finally sunk in what she had agreed to, Santana felt a little sick with nerves.

What the hell did you bring to a high school slumber party?

###

She showed up with a raggedy military bag with pajamas (sweatpants and a t-shirt, she wasn't complex) and a pillow (just in case she ended up on the floor). Santana couldn't have felt more awkward.

Rachel opened the door with a beaming smile and a clap of her hands. She grabbed Santana by the wrist before she could even get a "hi" out. Santana realized, as she greeted the Berry men as she was being dragged up the stairs, she hadn't asked whether or not this was just going to be them or Rachel and her friends. Relief swelled as she saw an empty bedroom and not a pack of Cheerios waiting to criticize her.

The Latina dropped her bag by the door and stood there for a moment, not sure what the protocol was. She'd been to slumber parties when she was a kid but she assumed it was sort of different. Then again, maybe it wasn't.

Rachel motioned to Santana, "Sit down," the shorter brunette was tugging on a hoodie and changing into cutoff sweats. There was a flash of tan skin that made it hard not to get caught ogling. Santana sat on the bed and reclined against the headboard.

"So what do you do at a high school slumber party?"

The brunette laughed as she pulled her hair out of the hoodie and let it fall over her shoulders. "You've really not had a sleepover?"

"Not since I was six," Santana arched an eyebrow, "and we're past playing 'tea party.'"

Rachel grinned in a sympathetic kind of way, "Movies. Popcorn. Conversation."

"And these are things you want to have with me?" She was, after all, still a little bewildered that the Cheerio had invited her to sleep over in the first place.

The brunette rolled her eyes in response and lay on her back, her head near Santana's torso, brown eyes looking up at her, "You don't want to have them with me?"

Santana inwardly hissed. The girl was clever after all. The Latina smirked softly in response, eyes wandering away from Rachel for a moment.

Beside her, Rachel laughed quietly in a way that said she knew Santana wanted to be here. And Santana damned her in her head, for being clever and observant and shit.

"We couldn't be any different from one another."

"Is that what you think?" Rachel sat up, folded her legs beneath her and watched Santana curiously.

"I mean you're … "

"Don't say it."

"Miss Perfect."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm nobody," Santana answered without giving it much thought. Only after the response left her lips did she realize how damn depressing that sounded.

Rachel was frowning at her, and she reached over to touch Santana's wrist. Her fingers wrapped around the skin there, holding on for a moment. The brunette looked like she wanted to say something, to assure Santana she wasn't a nobody.

Santana smirked and waved her free hand dismissively, "I mean. Compared to you, I'm nobody. I didn't mean that in a like… I'm gonna hurt myself kind of way."

Rachel's eyebrows arched in surprise and she let go of Santana's wrist, then touched Santana's jaw. Santana's heart jumped against her ribs. "You're somebody," she spoke softly, and as her thumb grazed Santana's cheek, the Latina felt all her words leave her.

When Rachel's hand fell away, she let out a throaty chuckle, "You know what I meant."

"Mmhm," Rachel scrutinized before climbing off the bed. She handed Santana a pile of movies. "You pick the first one."

So they sat there like normal teenagers, watching movies and commenting about how good Meryl Streep could sing. They got through Mamma Mia! and Rocky Horror Picture Show before they decided to get popcorn. Santana trotted down the stairs after Rachel, spotting both Berry men in the kitchen in pajamas. She gave a small nod to both men as she was introduced formally. She shook both their hands firmly, smiling a little at their warmth.

Rachel was chatting away as she popped the popcorn, and Santana felt a strange sense that this place was familiar to her. It was as if this was a place she was supposed to be, surrounded by Rachel and her fathers, listening to normal family conversation and being treated by a peer as if she was their real friend.

It was a feeling Santana was unaccustomed to, but the Latina felt at ease. She carried the popcorn upstairs for Rachel, because the shorter girl was double-fisting sodas for them both.

"First memory," Rachel asked as they half-paid attention to the movie.

Santana raised her eyebrow, "I guess, being in the airport. My grandpa was coming back from the service and I was like.. six I guess."

"Is that whose boots and bag you wear?"

Santana nodded her head, downing a fistful of popcorn.

"You?"

"Daddy taking me to the park for the first time. I fell and scratched my knee, and I was crying, so he held me and sang to me until I felt better."

"And that one is?"

"Leroy."

Santana nodded. "What it's like, growing up with two dads?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know what it's like but I don't have anything else to compare it to. It's … like always being protected. And they're both really nurturing, they've always wanted me to do whatever I was passionate about, like when I wanted to take synchronized swimming when I was seven."

Santana laughed, "Jesus, thank God that phase didn't last."

Rachel nodded in agreement, snorting with laughter, "The outfits …"

"Must have been worse than what you wear now." Santana winked, earning a snort from Rachel and a playful shove to her shoulder.

"You don't really talk about your family," Rachel mused curiously as she lay next to Santana, leaning up on her elbow and turning her gaze upward to where Santana sat.

"It's complicated."

Rachel nodded.

"Hey," Santana swallowed impulsively, hands stalling in their digging through the popcorn, "can I ask…"

Her interest piqued, Rachel sat back up and shifted her body to face Santana and not the television.

"Why do you want to be friends with me?" It was the most honest question Santana had asked.

Rachel seemed to chew on the question thoughtfully, taking her time to answer, "I guess it's … just something I felt like I needed in my life. Someone who … wasn't afraid to challenge me, who wasn't afraid to be vulnerable or wouldn't take advantage of my vulnerability."

Santana nodded.

"You seem to understand me without saying anything. I can't explain it. You just … when you were looking at me the other night – " Rachel grinned, "because I know you weren't spacing out. You were watching me like you wanted to know me. Like you wanted to know who I really was and … I just, felt I needed that around me."

The Latina felt a flush of warmth come to her cheeks, and she waved her hand a little, placing the popcorn between them, "It's all in your imagination," she teased quietly, her way of averting any actual compliment or warmth.

Rachel smiled in a warm way, and when Santana finally met her eyes, she found a stunning acceptance in Rachel's eyes.

"Don't get mushy on me," she warned playfully.

Rachel laughed in response. "You asked," she replied with a subtle grin.

Santana watched the smile with fascination, "You smile a lot."

"Around you," Rachel's tone softened, and her expression became serious for a moment. It was enough to make Santana's brain dump out every possible response and leave her with nothing.

###

Time went by so fast that Santana had to do a double-take when the clock read 3:37am. She never stayed up this late if drugs weren't involved, or some kind of party. Beside her, Rachel was about ready to doze off.

The Latina got out of bed, pulling out her pajamas and disappearing into the bathroom. It was immaculate in there, again reminding Santana that she was a slob compared to Rachel. When she came back in, Rachel had tucked herself under the covers and left enough room for Santana to crawl in bed. She put her pillow on the bed, crawled under the covers and watched the T.V. flip through various music stations before Rachel settled on something mildly soothing.

The light went off shortly after, Rachel collapsing back into bed. They talked quietly in the dark with one another, teased one another like old friends, and when Santana rolled over on her side she didn't expect to fall asleep so quickly. Fall asleep she did.

That is until she woke up to the sound of Rachel screaming in terror. Night terrors. Shit. Santana panicked, not sure what to do. She'd heard you weren't supposed to wake sleepwalkers 'cause they could get violent. Was that like this? She flipped on a light and saw Rachel bathed in a cold sweat, eyes wide.

She caught a flailing arm and quickly began smoothing her hand over Rachel's back. The shorter girl quivered in her arms. What in the hell did she dream about when she woke up screaming like that? Santana hushed her gently, hoping she wouldn't get hit in the face.

When Rachel came to, she didn't seem to realize what had happened. She looked surprised to find herself being held by Santana, but her fingers clutched at the Latina and she buried her face against Santana's collarbone. "I'm sorry. This is why I usually don't have people over."

She'd trusted Santana enough to have her over, to let her see this part of her. "Hey, it's fine," she whispered quietly, pulling Rachel back into her arms. "You okay?"

"Now I am," Rachel held to her tightly. "I think." She was practically shivering, and it was enough to make Santana lean down and meet her face-to-face, brushing her thumb over Rachel's cheek. There was a distant fear in Rachel's eyes as she looked at the girl.

"Yeah, you're alright," Santana assured her, and forgot all pretenses as she held that gaze, stroking her cheek and eventually tugging her back into her arms. "I've got you."

The feeling of Rachel clinging to her was … one of those oddly familiar things. It was something she liked. Eventually she coaxed Rachel to lay down, the light still on just in case the brunette got scared. The shorter girl wrapped her arm around Santana's torso and buried her face against the Latina's neck. "Don't let go," Rachel whispered against Santana's neck.

Santana felt herself melt into those words, and as she hummed to Rachel, she wondered what the warm stirring in her chest was as the words replayed in her head.