Title: Makin' Music

Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany

Rating: T

Summary: Quinn's ceremonious plan to out Rachel and Santana comes to a head, and a few home truths will be revealed...

Disclaimer: Because all fic writers own Glee, right?

A/N: Lots of drama for you, today. I hope it makes up for the fact I might not be updating for a while longer than I have been, because I had an epiphany while writing this and the next three chapters will be in the process of gestating, considering they are only in the embryonic stage now.

A/N 2: Sorry if the editing's crappy, I stayed up 'til 2am to get this done.

Enjoy! :)

Makin' Music

"Morning," Rachel said, kissing Santana lightly on the lips. She handed her girlfriend a glass of orange juice and pulled out a chair for her, where a plate of toast had been set out. Santana wasn't a morning person, she'd found, so she tried to be as good as she could be for her.

What freaked her out more than Rachel's disturbing peppiness, was that they were at her house and Rachel had gone through her kitchen and even cleaned it. It was spotless. Plus, there was a plate of waffles on the table and a bowl of fruit. She'd even made coffee... yeah, Santana could get used to this.

"I don't know how you lived like this," Rachel said, setting down some maple syrup on the table, "It was utterly deplorable."

"Puck's mom always made me dinner," she shrugged. Yeah, Mrs. Puckerman was cool. She never knew about her and Puck's arrangement, but she knew Santana's family well enough – she and Mrs. Lopez went to high school together and caught up whenever they could – to know that they couldn't always be there for Santana.

Santana smiled as she sat down, and took a large gulp of her coffee. It was Friday; that was one thing, at least, to be smiley about. She'd spent the night with Rachel, seeing as her parents were still away and Rachel had put on her best pout and requested that she stay over at a friend's house to study. Yeah; studying Santana's anatomy. But they didn't need to know that.

"How are you so frickin' happy at this time in the morning?"

"How are you not?" Rachel countered. She gestured out the large windows and introduced Santana to the soft accents of the morning sun causing the dew to sparkle upon blades of still grass. The sky was a pale blue, building up to the full colour she had no doubt it would be by lunchtime, and the moon could be faintly seen, just beginning to be hidden by the glare of the sun. Six-fifty AM was a spectacular time to be awake.

"That's pretty, but I'm kinda tired out," Santana yawned.

"You'll be fine," Rachel assured Santana, taking the seat opposite at the table, bringing with her a bowl of muesli drenched in what Santana could only assume to be soy milk. She loved Rachel and all, but the veganism was still a little alien to her. Why the fuck wouldn't you want to eat a dead cow? It tasted great, especially if it was still bleeding.

"Look, I was meaning to ask you yesterday, but... what are we going to do when we get to school?"

"As in us?"

"No, as in our Spanish homework," Santana retorted. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, trying to pull the sleep out of them. Yeah. "Sorry. Still waking up, here."

"Hmmm... I think we can get through one day, right?" Rachel ignored the jibe and kept to the topic at hand, knowing getting offended would only worsen Santana's mood. "Maybe we should come out on Monday, give ourselves the weekend to tell our parents and for ourselves."

"That sounds good..." Santana smiled devilishly and took a look at the kitsch clock on the wall, "Now, we have an hour before we have to go anywhere..." Santana got out of her seat and moved to straddle Rachel in her seat. "I suggest we make good use of this time, no?"

Rachel moaned and leant back, giving Santana the full expanse of her neck as the Latina trailed kisses up the column of her throat, up to that pulse spot near her ear and finally down her jaw, before smashing their lips together in a passionate embrace. The fruity lip gloss Rachel decided to wear today, and yesterday, was like crack to Santana; as if the rest of Rachel's body wasn't. She needed her fix desperately.

Their tongues battled for dominance, as hands roamed up and down the other's body, pulling one another impossibly closer. Rachel fisted Santana's hair and deepened the kiss and pushed the chair back a little, hoping to get away from the table. Yes, she was about to get laid, but she wasn't going to be cleaning up a mess in a pristine kitchen afterwards – if they had any time for that afterwards.

"Hey, Q..." Puck caught Quinn's arm as she walked past his locker. "D'you know anything about Berry and S?"

"Why?" she narrowed her eyes at him. She was not going to help him enlist those two to live out any of his fantasies, no way. Quinn, however, found herself fascinated with possible plan enhancements, should he decide to want to 'help' outing the two in his own, unique way.

"'Cause you and B are like best friends with her, I kinda thought you'd know about things."

Quinn shifted her eyes, scanning the corridor for potential eavesdroppers. The walls had ears. Quinn grabbed Puck's arm and dragged him to the nearest classroom, locking the door behind them and shoved him into a chair.

"They left school at lunch yesterday, B and I saw them," Quinn told him, in a hushed tone. Why she whispered, even though they were completely alone, she had no idea. "I'm pretty sure they're dating, but they won't admit it."

"Aw, I was sorta hoping it was just sex," Puck groaned, slouching his shoulders and scuffing his feet on the floor, "Now I've lost, like both of my most reliable fuck-buddies, man."

"Not the point, Puck!"

"Alright, baby mama," Puck retorted, holding his hands up in surrender, "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Quinn huffed in frustration. After counting slowly to ten to keep from lashing out at the man-child before her, she continued. "So, I have devised a plan in order to get them out of the closet."

"Unless you're all going to be full-on making out in nothing but panties for my personal viewing pleasure, I want nothing to do with it," Puck smirked. He folded his arms across his chest, trying to figure out Quinn's angle.

"Oh yeah? Well what if I told you I bet you one hundred dollars that I get them to come out before the end of today." Quinn loved a challenge, and she knew Puck did, too; particularly where there were lesbians involved.

Puck looked to Quinn, incredulously. Was she for real? Maybe there were still some baby hormones in her system, or something. "One hundred bucks? You're insane."

"I didn't have you pegged as a chicken, Puckerman," Quinn jibed.

"Not a chicken. Just broke," he countered. "But I have a better deal for you," he went on, sitting up in his chair and bringing his face to hers.

Quinn watched him intently. She didn't at all like the lecherous gleam in his eyes as he cleared his throat, clearly as if he'd worked out the meaning to life. "Go on..."

"If you don't get them out by the end of the day, you and Britt are having that threesome with me." He stifled a laugh at the sight of her utterly repulsed face. "And if you do, then I go home alone."

"I'm gay, Puck." Quinn pointed out. "Remember that whole 'Brittany and I are dating' thing?"

"So? Brittany's cool with whatever," he smirked. "A deal's a deal, right Fabray?" He had her hooked now. Quinn wouldn't be able to back out of a challenge. And now, Puck knew there was going to be a fierce showdown in which hot gay cheerleaders started fighting about a sneaky-hot diva. And of course, Brittany would be trying to break it up. Score and score.

"Fine," Quinn grumbled, gritting her teeth. She spun on her heels and stalked back down the corridor before she could punch the smug expression off Puck's face.

"Good afternoon, Quinn," Rachel chirped, as she entered the cafeteria. She had entered only to pick up some bottles of water and maybe a fruit parfait for Santana, because she'd been a little down since she'd gotten back from her house this morning. Rachel hadn't pressed her girlfriend for details, seeing as she seemed angry about it and would really rather not worsen that – and she was confident that Santana would tell her later (around now). "What can I... Quinn?"

Quinn stood before Rachel, grinning wickedly. The slushie in her right hand was ice cold - the perfect temperature. Her left hand was placed firmly on her hip; it was her classic pre-babygate bitch stance, raised from its grave. "Berry."

"I... I... I thought you said there wasn't... slushies..." Rachel was physically scared, now. She had gone almost a full year without being hit with one of those icy maces. She didn't think to plan for a revolt – no change of clothes – she couldn't even have predicted that Quinn would regress so far back into her former self that she would gladly skewer their gradual friendship and put it on a silver platter for everybody to ogle and debase, too.

"Things change, huh, Berry?" Quinn smirked, quirking an eyebrow at Rachel. She desperately hoped that Rachel would get up and out herself and Santana already, because she was already feeling the burden of guilt crushing her shoulders as Rachel's eyes filled with tears. She would have to go through with it if they didn't.

Quinn glanced over Rachel's shoulder to a little way across the hall and saw Santana and Brittany entering through the double doors, splitting a crowd of fascinated freshmen like the red sea with little more than their presence. Perfect. A small audience had already gathered for the occasion, and Santana was just in time for the matinee.

She locked eyes with Santana and immediately, she readied herself for the wrath of the Latina.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Santana roared as soon as her eyes caught and analysed the scene, making her way through the crowd – or the gap they had left in the middle of fearing for their lives, or at least their faces – towards Quinn and Rachel.

Santana was aghast that Quinn would even entertain such a despicable idea, and in front of the whole school. Jeering jocks and the rest of the cheerleading squad looked on from their tables, as all the other kids did. Thousands of beady eyes (and a few new-fangled camera phones) were keenly watching the drama unfold; not that drama was anything new to come to McKinley.

"What does it look like, S?" Quinn replied, straightening her stance and lifting her chin. She tightened her grip on the slushie. She was glad that with Santana's arrival, she could more or less take her eyes away from Rachel's heartbroken ones.

"It looks like you're about to get your ass kicked in front of the whole school again, Fabray," Santana snarled. She placed herself in between Rachel and Quinn, making damn sure that Rachel wouldn't be hit. A quick look in the cup told Santana that Quinn was about to toss a blueberry slushie on her girl. Blueberry. The hell was Quinn going to throw blueberry on Rachel! First off, it was her least favourite flavour and second; it was by far the stickiest and most congealing of all the frozen hellfire that McKinley stocked.

"Yeah," Quinn scoffed. "Why is that?"

"You said there was a moratorium on people slushying Rachel!" Santana bit back, advancing on the cheerleader. Quinn took a step back, encouraging her forward. Kids edged back on their seats as they watched the pre-smackdown terror. The smackdown itself would be known as World War Four.

Looking into Quinn's eyes; she knew what this was. Shit. Fucking Fabray, trying to get all up in mine and Rachel's business; who the fuck does she think she is? I'll take that fucking slushie and then give her a freakin' patriotic wedgie if I have to. Rachel said Monday. We'll be out on Monday. Santana, however, knew that in her heart of hearts that she was about to be outed in front of the whole school. She didn't mind so much about that part, but it was Rachel who had suggested they wait. Well, it was that and the fact Quinn couldn't keep from trying to fuck up her life that pissed her off.

"Yeah well, I'm the head cheerleader," Quinn haughtily informed the fuming Latina. "And what are you? You're just a pitiful reject along with the rest of the bottom tier."

In frustration, Santana pulled the cup of frozen corn syrup from Quinn's hand and forcefully hurled it to the ground, eliciting a gasp from the crowd (and Rachel) and a dry laugh from Quinn. The contents of the cup had leapt across the faded white linoleum of the floor and hit a few who had been lucky enough for front row seats. Nobody complained, though; they didn't want the two conflicting Cheerios' anger directed at them.

"Temper, temper, Santana; now, kindly tell me why you've stepped in to defend Rachel oh so valiantly," Quinn continued, continuing to butter Santana up for the big roast. It was cruel, but it had to be done. She was not having a threesome with Noah Puckerman, if last time was anything to go by.

Santana let herself calm down, as the two continued to stare at each other. She bit her bottom lip, and turned back to Rachel, who was still shell-shocked. Her eyes were wide and her jaw was hanging slightly open, as she looked around the room. Everything was still pretty much silent and it scared her. The only thing that was ever this quiet, was when she would help herself to the facilities of the auditorium to think, rather than to polish off her talents.

Rachel took a step forward, and laced Santana's fingers together with hers. Santana pecked Rachel on the cheek and turned back to Quinn. "Is this what you wanted, Q?"

"Yes, and I'm happy for you both." Quinn looked around to the awe-struck audience, "Nothing to see here, people!"

"So, can we have that double date now?" Brittany chimed in, beaming. She crushed Rachel and Santana with a hug, before dragging Quinn in, too.

"Q? Double date?"

"Brittany's idea," she replied, tightening her grip in the hug.

"You guys are so gay, even for me," Kurt quipped, as he walked past.

Santana, as happy as she was that she and Rachel were out (a few days earlier than usual, yes, but nonetheless, Rachel was happy and therefore Santana was, too), was still worrying about Finn. His reaction was the one she was worried about the most, for obvious reasons, and she was pretty sure that him having to spend all day in the emergency room for getting an eraser stuck in his ear during first period (how?) caused her to think (briefly) that yes, there may be a God. But she didn't bet on it.

They walked in silence to the car park, after Santana had met Rachel at her at her English class and walked her to her car. They held hands, and they kissed, and Santana glowered at freshmen who even dared to think they could spit out some offhand comment about their relationship. There was a whole wide world outside of McKinley High, and it wasn't going to welcome their love with open arms. Conservative Ol' Lima wouldn't be having any of their 'sin'.

"Santana, what's bugging you?"

The soft tone of Rachel's voice caught Santana off guard, as they slipped into the Latina's car, "Nothing." Santana looked to Rachel smiling – though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "Rachel..."

"Is it that Quinn outed us today, rather than us coming out on Monday?"

"No," Santana replied, her voice thick with emotion. She shook off the fact that Rachel had just interrupted her, but it was unimportant in the grander scheme of things. "Look, Rach," she said, placing her hand on Rachel's on the diva's lap, assuring her that what she was about to tell her girlfriend was serious, "I really need to talk to you about something when we get back to mine, okay?"

Rachel met Santana's eyes with hers, and only nodded in response. Santana leaned over and pressed her lips to Rachel's, in a soft, chaste kiss. She reasoned that it would probably be the last she'd get before she broke the girl's heart and shattered not even twenty-four hours of perhaps the healthiest relationship she'd ever been in.

Santana removed her hand from Rachel's reluctantly, starting the car, and driving them home. Santana still shivered at the thought that she was actually heavily invested in a relationship with somebody that reciprocated just how important it was to them.

In the vast Lopez household (please, you could probably get three lots of land in Rachel's neighbourhood fitted into what Santana knew as home), every single one of the curtains were shut tightly, and the front door was left slightly ajar.

"Shit!" Santana jumped out of the car, throwing her keys to Rachel to lock it as she sprinted towards her home. Burglars? Had she forgotten to lock the door behind her and Rachel this morning? That still didn't explain why the curtains were shut tightly. And besides, if it was burglars, wouldn't her windows be broken? Plus, the gates would probably need replacing, seeing as the only way to get past them without the security code meant driving a reinforced truck (or blowing them up). But she'd know about that if it were true.

Rachel quickly locked the car and ran as fast as her legs could carry her; she was sure Santana had locked up after them that morning, and the only curtains that had been shut (and would probably remain shut) were the ones in Santana's bedroom, for the fact that the girls were usually so preoccupied with each other that they forgot to shut curtains and the like.

She neared the door, and all she heard was frenzied screaming in Spanish coming from the living room; Rachel ran into the room to make sure nothing had happened to Santana – she couldn't tell which voice was Santana's from the two female contraltos cracking through the room – and really wished she hadn't.

Stood there, was Santana's mother dressed in an all too revealing negligee. On the couch behind her, was a skinny-built young man with sandy-blonde hair, wearing a pair of what she assumed would be expensive silk boxers. This man was most definitely not Santana's father.

The three froze and stared at Rachel. Santana's face was bright red with embarrassment and rage; Santana's mother was also coloured a gaudy shade of red, but she could assume that the older Latina was solely embarrassed by the situation. However, the sandy-blonde-haired man on the couch looked devoid of all skin pigmentation and autonomous bodily function as the scene panned out.

"Who is this?" Santana's mother gestured to Rachel. She looked down on the diva, clearly unimpressed with her presence and her sweater.

"Mama, this is Rachel," Santana replied. Her voice was unusually obedient and calm. "Rachel... my mama, Carla..."

Rachel gave a curt nod in return. "Should I leave?" she offered weakly, twining her hands together to keep from fiddling.

"Yes," Carla hissed, "You've seen quite enough."

"Just go wait in my room, Rach," Santana said, motioning with her head for the girl to get the fuck out of there as fast as she could. As soon as the living room door had been pulled to, Santana advanced towards her mother, keeping her tone hushed. "I think he's the one who should be getting out of here."

"You think I was going to hide him in the closet?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" Santana yelled. She moved aside her mother and sneered down to the quivering man on the couch, "Do you know she's fucking married? Did you know that she has a daughter?"

He shook his head frantically, "No, I swear... I just... I don't know..." He promptly burst into tears. His face was suddenly burning red as the salty tears marred his previously stoic face. Well, it was either stoic or something akin to constipation.

Santana grabbed the man and his clothes from the floor and dragged them out of the room. She ignored her mother's protests and the man's cries. "Get dressed," she yelled, unable to keep the tears from flowing now. Her family had just been torn apart, utterly. The texts and the postcards she sometimes found were easy to deal with – it was just writing, easy to discard and forget about so she wouldn't have to tell her father that her mother was nothing more than a lonely housewife who whored herself out on 'business trips'. Now she had physical evidence and a little more psychological trauma to go with it, Santana was basically obliged to tell her father what had happened.

It was going to kill her to see his heart break with her words. Even if it wasn't her fault, she would fell overwhelmed with guilt for it. Her father, despite his absences and their awkward relationship, had been without a doubt the better parent and her rock. He made it to her cheering competitions and despite missing Sectionals last year, made a point to make it to Regionals. When they didn't win, he hugged Santana as she shed a few tears when she told him that Glee club was more than likely going to be disbanded. He held her and shushed away her fears, unlike her alcoholic, self-important mother. And that was being polite.

The man had finished dressing into his dapper suit; if it wasn't for his puny frame being wracked by sobs, he'd not have looked half bad. She could see why her mother had went for him, though; he was the complete opposite of Rafael Lopez in every way imaginable.

"Get out," Santana ordered the man. When he made no motion to leave – he was still staring back into the living room, watching as Carla sat on the couch holding her head in her hands, trying to get a footing on the situation she'd just landed her family in – Santana grabbed a fistful of Armani shirt and hauled it to the door.

She pulled the tall white door open and let go of the man, but he didn't go very far; he tumbled into the large build of Santana's father.

Santana had been an awfully long time downstairs; Rachel checked her watch and clarified that it had now been twenty minutes since Santana sent her up here. She'd heard yelling and screaming – all in English – but it was muffled, considering the distance between Santana's room and the downstairs living room. Rachel thought about maybe hiding near the stairs to get a better listen as to what was going on, but Santana had asked that she wait in her room, so she did. This wasn't Rachel's choice to make and she would respect that. But that didn't mean she wouldn't be asking questions later on.

Also, it certainly wasn't the way she had intended on meeting the first of her in-laws. But then, today hadn't exactly been about what was to be expected.

She only hoped that Santana's father wasn't to find out about any of this. No doubt that he would, considering the amount of things that Santana had told Rachel about how she admired her father and looked up to him, even though he wasn't always around. She loved his tough work ethic, his take-no-prisoners attitude (no surprises who she took after, then), but most of all, she loved her father's insistence that he do his best for his family, for those he loved, even if he couldn't in the end. Santana tried to model herself to that particular trait of Rafael's the most, and Rachel was her proof.

Suddenly, the door burst open and slammed shut just as quickly behind a crying Santana. The girl was a mess. Rachel opened her arms and allowed Santana to fall onto her, cradling her as she cried.

"Baby," Rachel whispered, brushing a few tendrils of hair out of Santana's tear-stained face, "What happened?"

"My Dad... my Dad knows..." she choked, "My family... it's gone..."

Rachel held her girlfriend tighter. "San, I'm here," she soothed, planting a kiss on the taller girl's temple. "Is he... okay?"

"No," Santana yelled, pulling herself out of Rachel's grip. She swiped at the tears on her face and knelt before Rachel. She burst into tears again, but this time, she steadied herself by resting her hands on Rachel's thighs.

"Shit, Rach, everything's gone to shit today," she sniffed. "Absolutely fucking everything."

"Tell me, San, don't keep me on the outside," Rachel placed her hands over Santana's. She watched as the tears descended again, falling onto the rocket red skirt, marring it with her tears.

"Well, I don't care so much about Quinn outing us... But here, now; my mom fucking around with some pathetic kid, it just... God, it got in the way of... I had to tell you about Finn and I..." Santana's mouth went dry as she realised what she had just said.

Rachel rolled off the bed, pushing Santana away from her. She stood a metre away from the bed and stared into Santana's teary eyes. "You and Finn? We haven't even been dating twenty-four hours and you cheated?"

"No! I never cheated!" Santana got off the bed to try and reach Rachel, but the shorter girl held up her hands to keep Santana at a safe distance. Santana didn't try to push and shrugged out a breath. "Last year, when he told you we never had sex... he lied."

Rachel's face shot up at Santana's words. She clenched her jaw, but that didn't stop her own fat tears rolling down her face. She stared at Santana, who had stopped crying due to the shock and well... the shitstorm that this was.

"Goodbye, Santana." With those two words, like a blade to Santana's withering heart, Rachel ended their conversation. And with her five steps out of Santana's room, Rachel ended their very beginning.