Title: Giddy

Pairing: Santana/Rachel

Synopsis: Moving into deep friendship is new territory for the both of them, but when you add in teenage hormones it gets just a little more complex.

Author's Note: Sooo, it's been a long time since I've written anything honestly. Life has run away with me – too much happened in this last 1+ year for me to sum up completely but it's been a rollercoaster and I'm still on the ride. However, I've managed to work myself into the right frame of mind to write the next chapter of this story now that I finally have my own laptop once more. Thank you for the support – I'd be nowhere without the few of you who still have faith in my writing.

–

Bees & Honey

See love ain't all heaven, and I am no angel
But I do the best I can.

Less and less occurred that was of note during school hours. Classes were the same and other than the occasional passed note, Santana's life settled into a routine most considered "normal." There was certainly a period of adjustment; she had lived so long in a chaotic state of mind that getting to a scheduled, orderly existence felt mind-numbing. She didn't need to be tutored anymore and the pretense began to fall away between herself and Rachel.

A month after the stabbing, Santana no longer saw either of her old 'friends' at the school and she never really inquired about what happened to them. She assumed they ended up in juvvy because – well, hell, that was where they had all been heading at some point or another. It was during a session of musing over this that Rachel's voice trickled through the reverie. Footfalls tapped delicately up the bleachers, a metallic sound fitting below such a grey, September sky.

"I haven't seen you here since you were forced to accept me as your intellectual superior," Rachel's smirk was evident in her voice. Santana's voice lilted in a throaty chuckle.

"Hey," she murmured, scooting over unnecessarily. "How was your last class?"

"Same as usual," the Cheerio caught Santana's attention by picking at her sleeve, tugging at the shoulder of it and ducking her gaze to meet Santana's. Dark bangs fell, partially obscuring her eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, was just wondering about the old gang. Where they're at now, you know."

Rachel nodded, sucked thoughtfully on her bottom lip and sighed delicately. "Do you miss them?"

"No. I thought I might, but I don't. They were toxic, no matter how loyal they pretended to be. It all ended too badly for me to miss them. They're probably in juvvy or just dropped out. I would've ended up the same way, if I hadn't gotten my shit straight." Santana felt warmth against her thigh and glanced down, Rachel's knee leaning against her own. The shorter girl was gazing up at the grey sky, hair blustering slightly in the breeze.

"I'd interject and tell you that I'm glad things have turned out this way, but I feel like it's not my place." Rachel gave a slow smile and knocked her shoulder against Santana's.

"I'm okay with everything but the whole stabbing, rib-breaking thing. That was something I could've lived without," another throaty chuckle. Santana allowed herself a moment of vulnerability and grazed her thumb over Rachel's knee. "Thank you. I mean – let's face it, part of the whole turnaround was thanks to your help."

As Santana drew her hand away, she watched Rachel stand and felt the kick of a boot against her own. "Come on. We've got a date with some blankets and movies, it's too chilly to sit out here."

–

Blue light flickered against the back of Santana's eyelids, stirring her to a groggy, heavy consciousness. A leg hung over the side of Rachel's couch and her wrist was stiff from being jammed between the arm of the couch and her temple. A few feet away, Rachel was open-mouthed and snoring.

Santana had noticed one thing – Rachel seemed to have less night terrors when Santana was there. This was a barely-there realization as she willed her sleepy limbs to untangle themselves from blankets and step gingerly over Rachel so she could get to the restroom. When she re-emerged, she considered turning the television off but was afraid the lack of light might disturb Rachel – only to realize that the shorter girl was already awake and sleepily crawling onto the couch.

Santana gathered her hair in her hands and tugged it into a messy, tangled bun, then dipped down to turn the tv off. She had assumed she would sleep on the floor now that Rachel had claimed the couch, but as soon as she lay her head against Rachel's discarded and still-warm pillow, she felt a hand smack against the top of her head.

"What're you doing?" The words muffled against Rachel's elbow and Santana could barely make out the silhouette of her head peering over the side of the couch.

"Going to sleep," Santana grumbled confusedly.

"Get up here. 'S'why I moved over to the couch – " Rachel failed to explain the why part, but Santana obeyed the request anyway but was again corrected; this time it was a kick to her calf. "No," Rachel scolded, half asleep. "Up here." Santana had been attempting to lay the opposite way so only their calves and feet might meet in the middle of the couch – maximum space, to her logic.

Rachel had different ideas and kicked Santana hard again in the calf, "C'mun."

Santana glared in the dark, rubbing her calf and standing up again. "Stop kicking me, bully."

A sleepy laugh floated somewhere nearby, and Santana clumsily climbed onto the couch just behind Rachel. They had slept in bed together countless times at this point, but in Rachel's bed there was plenty of space, minimal bodily contact, and they really only hugged during peak emotional moments. Why sleepy-Rachel wanted to spoon was beyond Santana's current capability of understanding. She was never one to turn a girl away though, so she slipped her arm beneath Rachel's neck and shifted in a way that was most comfortable for them both, the warmth of her legs lingering at first hesitantly against Rachel's. It took a moment of slightly awkward shifting before Rachel seemed to find a satisfactory position, her warm breath gusting against Santana's bicep.

The spooning was pretty much unprecedented but not totally unwelcome. Especially once Rachel's fingers curled around Santana's forearm and gripped delicately.

Rachel Berry, HBIC, was her best friend. Head Cheerio, future valedictorian, extraordinarily perfect dream girl (sickeningly so) was her best friend. Being the big spoon was an honor, if Santana was honest with herself. She felt lucky to be here in this moment, no matter how sleepy she was, no matter how her eyes burned with being just barely conscious.

Santana had honestly never imagined this scenario happening. Mostly because she'd done so much to remove herself from the high school social scene that logically, making a real friend like Rachel should've been too difficult, but it just kind of happened. It was the best sort of happenstance.

As if aware of Santana's circling mental process, Rachel felt clumsily behind her for Santana's free hand, caught it, and tangled their fingers together. The taller girl's stomach did that little wrenching flip before she settled into the new position.

With the gravel of sleep in her throat, Rachel pressed herself as tightly backward as she could without making Santana feel crushed into the back of the couch. "Go to sleep, Santana."

It was easy when Rachel told her to do it.

–

The groggy feeling was unpleasant even the next morning, but she woke up with Rachel's arms around her midsection and her face buried against the base of her throat. They'd gone from spooning to clinging; luckily night terrors seemed to have stayed away for Rachel and Santana wanted to think it was partially due to the comfort of her own presence. Then again, she didn't want to gas her head up too much.

Santana shifted carefully only to find Rachel was clutching too tightly for her to move. "It's morning and I have to pee, Berry."

"You're so warm," Rachel grumbled, confirming she was sort of semi-aware of herself. More importantly, aware of the way her thighs were trying their best to tangle with Santana's in their limited space.

"It takes practice," the quip came with a sigh. "I just need to use the bathroom – I'll come back."

"Hurry," Santana's sleeping partner encouraged, apparently feeling the need to be clingy this last twelve hours or so.

Santana returned, found a disheveled Rachel wrapped in a comforter, and upon seeing the taller girl Rachel flourished the comforter upward in invitation. It was less clumsy this time, injecting herself into the space between Rachel and the couch cushions.

"Santana," the murmur rumbled against Santana's bicep.

"Mm?" Santana replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her free hand.

"You smell nice."

The taller girl had never thought about how these three words brought together might give her anxious heartburn or make her extra conscious of the amount of pressure she was placing by leaning just a little forward against Rachel's warmth. She had never thought about how her feverish mind might then flip forward into potential next words or actions – like Rachel's lips pressing against her bicep or some clever flirtatious reply.

None of this happened. The only way Santana could respond was with a bleated, "Thanks."

"What were you thinking last night? When you couldn't sleep at first?" Rachel inquired, and though sleep lingered in her throat, she was seemingly awake enough to give Santana questions to answer; questions that Santana was wholly unprepared to answer in conjunction with Rachel's thumb stroking the skin of her forearm.

"Uh..." Santana berated herself. Get it together. All that shit about pinning Rachel against the wall back in the beginning and now she couldn't get a damn sentence out. "I was thinking about how you're my best friend, how weird that is."

"Weird?"

"I mean, I wouldn't have expected it. Not weird bad. It's just you're – you were up on this pedestal for me and I never thought we'd be -" Santana hesitated over a couple word choices, "I never thought I'd be having regular sleepovers and that you'd be my only friend."

"Me too."

"You have friends."

"Not the kind of friend you are."

"This is like when you told me I was important and wouldn't tell me why."

"Being around you makes me happy," Rachel murmured quietly.

Santana's eyes lingered on the way smooth, delicate fingertips traced over her forearm. If only Rachel knew how easily Santana had gotten a crush on her, developed these damn hormonal, romantic urges. She wished she could tell Rachel not to be so intimate with her – it made it hard to think, to navigate the normal paths of friendship without Santana second-guessing her own motives.

"Like walking around with a limp your whole life only to realize you're missing a shoe."

Santana laughed aloud at that one, dipping her head against the back of Rachel's shoulder, "I'm a shoe?"

"That didn't come out how I wanted."

"I'm a shoe."

"You're a shoe," Rachel repeated, sighing and laughing quietly to herself.

They both fell silent, sharing grins though neither could see the other's. A few minutes passed before Rachel spoke again, proving once more that she could dismantle Santana's thought processes with only a few words.

"Oh, Santana." It was in the meaningful syllables, the way Rachel spoke Santana's name in a brief sigh, as if there was so much more to say and not a single word to say it with. Santana's heart fluttered as she felt Rachel nuzzle against her arm, re-settling once more.

A single syllable passed through Santana's mind.

Fuck.