A/N: This will hopefully make something make sense: clot/coddle. Thank you.
All throughout the volleyball game, the awareness that Santana was focused on her continued to grow. As they were on the same team, Rachel would have gotten annoyed with her, except for the fact that Santana was managing to show off her 'mad skills' and indeed, lead their team to – at least current – victory. But any chance she could get, Santana was making it a contact sport between her and Rachel.
It was obvious the others were noticing as well. Mercedes, Tina, and Brittany on the other team even seemed to be missing hits because Santana would have just managed to flash out her wrist to bump the volleyball up while her other hand slid along Rachel's shoulders if Rachel was going to miss it, Mercedes and Tina exchanging heavy looks while Brittany only shook her head, a small smirk curling the blonde's lips up. And Quinn, stuck with Santana continually bouncing around, had even snapped out aggravatingly, "Just hump her leg, why don't you?"
Rachel, blushing heavily, tried to convince Santana that she didn't need her help, as she actually was a rather capable volleyball player. However, even if she did back off a little, the culmination came when, Quinn diving for the ball and managing to hit it up, Santana jumping to set it up, Rachel, who had initially run towards Quinn in case she wouldn't have gotten it, knew she wasn't going to make it in time to spike it – but she was going to try. Leg muscles tensing, feet slipping in the grass, Santana was suddenly next to her. Hands tight on her hips, Rachel barely registered her husky, "Get ready," before Santana practically tossed her straight up in the air, locking her arms around her thighs so Rachel had leverage to, still almost missing it out of sheer surprise, quite sloppily spike the ball into the gulf left by the open-mouthed girls staring at them.
And then Santana was dropping her, slightly leaning back so she could catch her without slamming her feet into the ground. Aware of her body burning into her back, her hot breath blowing against her neck, Rachel felt at once in extreme danger and flushed with energy, her heart pumping in her chest so hard she didn't know if her shortness of breath was due to surprise or Santana.
"F…Foul!" Tina splintered the shock, "That doesn't count!"
"You're just jealous," Santana chuckled arrogantly, slowly releasing Rachel, her arms momentarily constricting before relaxing enough so she could step away.
Rachel stared at the ground.
Santana… Santana had sniffed her, behind her ear, a small growl rumbling through her chest right before she'd let her go. And where her hands had initially locked around her hips, it stung.
"Oh, shit." Turning from where she had begun volleying insults and taunts back and forth over the net, Santana took a step back. Her mouth in a rigid frown under her sunglasses, her nostrils flared. "Britts," she called to the blonde, "Take Rachel to the bathroom. That's where you have Band-Aids, right, C-squared?"
"What, you cut her with your dick?" Quinn drawled.
Santana growled. "That doesn't even make sense, Q. No." She flexed her fingers, "My fingernails cut her."
Having lifted up her shirt, ignoring the unsettling rips in it and pulling the waistband of her shorts down, it was true. They weren't too deep, but they were there, and drops of blood had bubbled up and smeared in ten red crescent moons. "It's not bad," she felt the need to reassure the girl even as she tried to make sense of how that could have happened. Swiping her finger along one of the almost puncture? wounds, Rachel jolted when instead of pain, something deeper and attached to the coiling in the pit of her stomach when Santana had picked her up like she was nothing glowed outwards. Making a noise in the back of her throat at the sensation, Rachel didn't protest when Brittany took her arm to lead her back into the house, Santana's eyes burning into her back.
"She didn't mean to cut you," Brittany smiled as she knelt next to Rachel.
Holding her shirt up and shorts down as the blonde dabbed at the still sluggishly bleeding cuts on her right hip, Rachel nodded. "Normally I'd be clotting already," she whispered distractedly before meeting Brittany's eyes and smiling, offering, "Stop bleeding."
"I was going to ask you what diapers had to do with bleeding," Brittany nodded. When she accidently pushed down on one of the cuts, Rachel shivered, almost squeaking. Noting it but not commenting, Brittany pulled back. "Well…" she tilted her head before twisting to grab the handful of Band-Aids they'd found in one of the drawers next to the sink, "Hopefully they'll stop when there's pressure." Opening the first Band-Aid, she suddenly squealed, making Rachel flinch.
"What?"
"Scooby-Doo!" Grinning widely, Brittany showed Rachel before wiping away the blood that had beaded again on the first cut and applying Neosporin as gently as she could, affixing the Band-Aid with an extreme look of concentration on her face. Doing the same with the other four cuts, she sat back, making a twirling motion in the air, "Other side!"
Turning around as she tried to ignore how the unintentional stretching of the cuts felt too good, Rachel frowned, starting to feel a spark of fear that those cuts were not clotting as well. Maybe she needed to eat some iron-rich foods or even more greens to absorb more vitamin k. That was certainly a better excuse than entertaining the notion that it had been something about Santana, instead…
"She really didn't mean it," Brittany reiterated, glancing up at Rachel as she pulled her shirt and shorts up and down again, "But when it's her time of the month, she can do a lot of things she doesn't mean to."
"What, like making volleyball a contact sport?" Rachel snorted, shaking her head as she looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, wishing she could prop a hand against the counter to casually lean against. She hadn't missed the almost unconscious inflection Brittany had put on the last she.
Giggling in acknowledgement, Brittany sobered, chewing on her bottom lip. "Rachel…" She sat back on her heels, pulling away.
"Brittany?"
Brittany's eyes were deadly serious, the blue deepening, "Tell me right now if you don't want Santana."
"Wh-what?" Swaying a bit in surprise, Rachel felt a blush rush to her face as indignant warmth rose in her throat. "Brittany, that's not appropriate – "
"Who else would you talk to about it?" Shaking her head, Brittany gave her a pointed look. "Look, Rachel." She lay her hand comfortingly on Rachel's knee, "I can't tell you exactly what's going on, but I know some of what she's doing with you."
Rachel bit her lip. "Personally?" she asked, voice soft, reluctant.
"Personally." Smiling understandingly, Brittany picked up the Kleenex again, "But that was a long time ago."
What uncomfortably felt like jealousy roiled in Rachel's stomach. "What's a long time?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, "For you, I mean."
Her fingers pressing into her hip as the blonde paused to think, Rachel trembled as once again the low awareness simmering around the cuts flared into life. Was… She swallowed, closing her eyes. Was this a sign of being a masochist…?
"Last year." Nodding, Brittany's eyebrows furrowed. "You're still bleeding?"