CH3

Rachel is more than prepared for Glee today. She's tweaked a Thoroughly Modern Millie duet so that it's perfect for her and she can't wait to perform it for everyone. Mr. Schue asks for volunteers. Anyone? Anyone? ME, she thinks, waving her hand in the air. Then she notices, there is a huge pane of thin glass stretching the length of the entire room, separating her from the rest of the Glee club. What is going on? Can't they see her?

Rachel cautiously taps on the glass, searching the faces of her teammates for a reaction. Nothing. She sighs and sits back in her chair. Her entire body tenses as she feels a hand on her shoulder.

"I've missed you, Rachel," he breathes next to her ear.

She can't bear to turn around and look at him. Even if she wanted to, she physically can't. Her entire body is unmoving, as if anchored to the chair; her heartbeat increasing, pounding steadily with the panicked warning in her head- . He increases his grip, digging the tips of his fingers behind the curve of her collarbone and she jerks away suddenly, jumping up and pounding on the glass.

"Noah! Please, Noah! Mercedes, Quinn, Mike, somebody!" She's quickly growing frantic, that one bruising touch sending her into overdrive. He walks up slowly behind her, whispering things that are intended to be soothing in her ear but they only send shivers down her spine and cause her to pound her fists harder against the glass. Nobody is looking. They're not paying attention. Why can't they see her? Why won't they listen? She needs help!

Finally, Noah gets up out of his seat. He walks down the steps but rather than turning left to save Rachel, he makes a right and leaves the room. He's followed almost immediately afterward by Finn, then Artie and Kurt and Mercedes and pretty soon the entire Glee club has left the room. Left her. Alone.

Rachel begins sobbing and pounding on the glass with closed fists as his hand slides down her spine. Finally she feels the glass give as her fist shoots through, slicing her arm up to the elbow. She shrieks as her entire body pitches through the glass and flings her arms in front of her –

Rachel shoots up in bed, panting. Her hands immediately go to her face, then her arms, checking for the slices and gashes she can still feel burning in pain and dripping blood. Upon finding only intact skin, she relaxes minutely and calms herself enough to reach for her water on her bedside table. When she can't find it, she locates the lamp and flicks the switch, flooding the room with light. The guest room. Santana's guest room. Rachel groans and buries her face in her hands.

x x x

Downstairs, Santana wakes up to a mass of blonde hair sticking to her face and warm breaths on her neck. She brushes away the tangles of hair and sees Brittany curled into her, head on her chest. Despite the slight haze clouding her memories of last night and the apparent disarray of the living room around her, Santana smiles and presses a kiss to the blonde's head. Brittany lets out a sleepy "mmpfhhh" and snuggles deeper into Santana.

She lays for a moment, basking in the glow of waking up with her girlfriend before noticing her surroundings. Her eyebrow arches as she takes in the beer cans and cups strewn all over the coffee tables and bookshelves in the room. Across the table from her and Brittany is Finn, facedown on the small loveseat, his long legs bent at the knee and sticking straight up in the air above him. Santana snickers to herself and wiggles her toes, looking at the extra couple feet of space at the end of the couch she and Brittany are sharing. She cocks her head and frowns for a moment. Why are they on the couch? And as hard as she tries to think, she still can't figure out why she and Brittany decided to fall asleep downstairs in the living room with all the boys rather than upstairs in her warm, comfortable bed.

As she replays last night in her head, she sobers instantly as she begins to remember clearly the details of the night once her inebriation had mostly worn off. She remembers noticing from across the room a drunk Rachel and Puck stumbling up the stairs together. She remembers following them, standing in the hallway talking to Puck, and she remembers the ball of anxiety gathering in the pit of her stomach at his recollection of the events that had just transpired. Bringing herself back to reality, she notices her every muscle is tight and her teeth are clenched together. God. She needs to talk to Rachel.

She gently extricates herself from the gorgeous sleeping blonde next to her, placing a kiss on her forehead and covering her with a throw from the back of the couch, tucking her in tightly on all sides – "San, make me snug as a bug in a rug!" Brittany always begs – then makes her way slowly and quietly up to the guest room.

Santana stands in the hallway in front of the guest room door for a moment trying to gather her thoughts. She wants to help Rachel, but why? We've never been friends. In fact, a cheerleader and glee club loser? They're natural enemies. And Santana's never spared the girl a second glance. What can she accomplish by trying to help her? Santana realizes she's been staring at the doorknob for almost five minutes now but she hasn't moved an inch. She huffs in frustration and annoyance, turns on her heel, and stalks angrily back down the stairs.

When she gets back down to the living room, she sees Brittany on the couch. Santana's only been gone a few minutes but in that short time the blonde has sprawled out with a leg thrown over the side and her arms flung haphazardly around, her blonde hair fanned out behind her on the throw pillow. Santana's heart aches. The amount of love she feels for the blonde in that moment brings back her worry for Rachel exponentially. What if it were Britt? What if she needed somebody? She has me. Who does Rachel have?

Her heart constricts at the thought of Rachel hurting and alone. Nobody deserves that. Not even the hobbit. She bites her lip and determinedly makes her way back up the stairs, this time not bothering to hesitate at the door. She pushes it open to find Rachel already awake, lying in the middle of the bed staring at the comforter.

"Hey Manh- Berry." Santana catches herself a little too late, but notices the lack of reaction from Rachel. She cringes internally, frustrated with her natural inclination to insult the girl as much as possible. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't like, dead or something. I mean, choking on your own vomit is kind of a disgusting way to die, but I wouldn't put it past you."

This time Santana actually cringes. Shit, seriously, San? Get your shit together.

"I mean… I talked to Puck last night and he said some shit went down. So I just wanted to check and make sure you're… y'know… okay, or whatever." She sighs at the lack of expression on Rachel's face, the girl's downcast eyes not giving anything away. Santana steps forward slowly.

Rachel feels the dip of the mattress as Santana sits gingerly on the bed next to her head. She keeps her gaze fixed inexorably on the scalloped edge of the comforter, determined not to let the other girl see her face. She doesn't think she can handle the Cheerio seeing her like this; hung over with her hair mussed and tear tracks from last night on her cheeks. After her experience with Quinn the day before coupled with the generosity of Brittany, Rachel is starting to have less of a feeling of impending doom when around the three cheerios but she hasn't entirely warmed up to them yet. And although the logical part of her mind is constantly reminding her to remain cautious around them, she can't help but want to let her guard down. She wants to talk to someone. Has to talk to someone. Maybe not now, but eventually.

After a moment or two of silence, Rachel thinks Santana must be waiting for her to look up before talking so she sneaks a glance up at the girl's face. To her surprise, Santana is staring off into the distance not waiting for her at all. Rachel relaxes a little bit. She's not sure what she was anticipating. A rant from Santana about staying over? A barrage of questions about the night before? Regardless, it's kind of nice to sit in silence because she doesn't really feel like being alone but she doesn't feel like talking just yet, either.

She's never felt so calm around Santana before. Then again, the fiery cheerleader is usually hurling insults and frozen corn syrup at her so she's never had a chance to just look at her. She notices the girl's eyes are thankfully devoid of pity and although she seems to be trying to keep them emotion-free entirely, Rachel can see the vestiges of compassion beginning to cloud Santana's features.

She feels a sudden ache in her chest at the girl's compassion and realizes all she wants is her mother. She wants someone to take care of her and wrap her in her arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. The thought startles her. She's always prided herself on being strong and not needing anyone, but after her encounter with Quinn in the bathroom the day before, so many feelings she's been suppressing for months have started to resurface. She hasn't noticed her eyes starting to burn and before she can stop it, a solitary tear makes its way down the curve of her cheek.

That lone tear nearly stops Santana's heart in her chest. She isn't entirely sure what happened to Rachel but she's pieced together enough from her conversation with Brittany and confrontation with Puck to know that it isn't good. She knows enough and all she wants to do is help the girl. It's absurd because just a day ago she was mentally mocking the antelope sweater and hideous knee socks and penny loafers she wore to school and now the only thought in her mind is making sure nobody ever hurts her again. Santana knows the look on Rachel's face. She remembers days when she felt exactly the way Rachel looks.

The sudden recollection of her own past makes up Santana's mind for her and she leans forward, wrapping her left arm around Rachel, pulling the girl's head to her shoulder with her right hand and laying her head on top of Rachel's. Rachel lets out a shaky breath as her lip begins to tremble.

"Shhhh," Santana soothes her, stroking Rachel's hair. "It's ok." She has no earthly idea where this sudden motherly instinct has come from, but the amount of fierce protectiveness that's been flooding her entire being since last night is starting to feel normal now. She can handle it. Rachel needs someone.

x x x

Quinn wakes up in her own bed, groggy from lack of sleep but thankfully not hung over. Ever since she was tricked into sleeping with Puck she's been very wary of alcohol and generally sticks to one or two drinks a night. It's worked pretty well so far. She rolls over onto her stomach, burying her head into the soft down pillow and shutting her eyes tight against the bright sunlight flooding her room. After a minute she realizes her attempt to return to dreamland is futile and she resigns herself to the waking world.

As she lies in bed staring at the ceiling, she tries to figure out what feels different. There's a slight fluttering in her stomach and a sense of anticipation flooding her mind. What is it? She tries to think. It's something new, but she doesn't have any recent exciting plans or anything to look forward to that she can think of. Racking her brain trying to figure out what she's anticipating, she catalogues her interactions from the day before. Insipid banter with the squad, a quick trip for slushies with Santana, trying to explain prepositions to Finn…

Then she thinks of Rachel and her stomach gives a small flutter in response. Oh god. Rachel? She closes her eyes and thinks of the tiny girl wrapped in her arms, warm tears soaking into the polyester of her cheerios uniform and her stomach flip flops again accompanied by an excited flutter from her heart.

Whoa. That's new.

x x x

"Thanks for bringing me home, Santana." Rachel smiles brightly, albeit artificially, in an attempt to return to her usually chipper personality. "I really wish you would have let me stay to help clean up after last night, I highly doubt many people will be offering you their assistance since they all managed to disappear already this morning."

"Don't worry about it, Berry. Britt and I can handle it." Santana smiles as she pulls into the Berrys' driveway. They sit in silence in the car for a few moments. She glances at Rachel who shifts nervously in her seat, staring at her hands in her lap.

"Thanks for um… earlier, too." Rachel mumbles quietly as she fidgets anxiously, face still downcast.

"Yeah, sure Berry. You know you can always, uh…" Santana clears her throat awkwardly. "I mean, you have my number, so…" She trails off and looks at the girl next to her. Rachel straightens in her seat and replaces the intensely thoughtful look on her face with a smile.

"Yes! Of course. Thank you for your hospitality, Santana. I will see you on Monday morning at school!" Rachel responds brightly, not wanting to stay any longer in the car and incite an uncomfortable conversation. She's mildly embarrassed at the fact that she's managed to break down in the presence of two cheerleaders in the last two days but as long as she tries not to think about it, it doesn't bother her too terribly. Once she's alone with her thoughts, however, all bets are off.

Rachel steps down from Santana's Range Rover and looks back as she retrieves her house key to start unlocking the deadbolt. Santana is idling in the driveway, wearing another oddly protective face as she waits for Rachel to get in safely before leaving. Rachel unlocks the door and gives Santana a small smile as she turns the handle.

Rachel opens the door to her house, stepping gingerly into the foyer. She's pretty sure her dads are home as it's relatively early on a Saturday morning and they usually don't go in to work until the afternoon. Sure enough, as she's tiptoeing past the living room archway aiming for the stairs, she hears her dad's voice.

"Rachel? Sweetie?" She cringes, her stomach dropping; she turns around, heading to the living room and leaning against the crown molding of the archway in an attempt to look nonchalant. Her father is sitting in his favorite wingback chair with a steaming mug of coffee on the end table next to him, the Wall Street Journal obscuring his face.

"Hi Dad!" Rachel forces herself to sound as casual and upbeat as possible, though her stomach is churning. Her father folds his paper down enough to reveal his face.

"Did you just get back from last night?" His face is unnervingly blank and Rachel can't decide if he's angry or disappointed.

"Um, yeah. I ended up staying over at S- a friend's last night and she drove me home this morning." She braces herself for the lecture sure to follow.

"Next time I'd appreciate if you would mention that in your note when you leave. Daddy and I missed you at breakfast this morning." He raises his eyebrow and brings the paper back up, losing himself again in the Weekend Edition.

Rachel, a little stunned by the lack of reaction from her father, takes a second to regroup before inquiring, "Where is Daddy?"

Her father's reply from behind the paper is muffled. "He had to work early."

Sensing the end of their short conversation, Rachel ducks back out of the living room and takes the stairs two at a time to her room.

The second she gets to her room she realizes why her stomach has been churning all morning and decides running up the stairs was a bad idea. She rushes to her bathroom and makes it on her knees in front of the porcelain bowl just in time. She's discovering that alcohol, anxiety, and stress are a terrible combination. Resting her head on her arm wrapped around the toilet bowl, she jumps at a dull buzzing from her pocket. She fishes out her phone to find a text from Noah.

Hey Babs. Wanna grab coffee before school Monday?

She smiles. She didn't even realize she was worried, but a small part in the back of her brain has been wondering if she scared Noah away with all of her crazy last night. She loves that there's no mention of last night and no question about whether or not she still wants to be picked up by him on Monday morning in his text. This is why they're friends.

Yes, please! Pick me up at 7!

It may be partially subconscious, but those extra exclamation points are her attempt at saying furtively I'm fine. She doesn't want him to worry. Last night he saw more than she ever intended to show and she's desperately hoping they can forget it ever happened. As protective as Noah is, she's pretty sure she's going to have to put on a convincing show to stop any questions or mentions of things she can't handle.

After a few minutes, Rachel is fairly certain she's not going to need to throw up again. She's feeling a lot better; her stomach has stopped flip-flopping and her headache is slowly beginning to fade. She picks herself slowly up off the bathroom floor, brushing off her tile-imprinted knees, flushing the toilet, and grabbing her phone.

x x x

She sits in silence at the end of her bed. Her mind quickly begins replaying the events of the day before and early that morning. She can't figure out how to stop thinking about how she felt wrapped in Quinn's arms or crying on Santana's shoulder. She can't stop replaying her dream from the night before or the events with Puck in Santana's guest bedroom. Eyes boring holes into the Wicked playbill on her wall, Rachel converts all of her nervous energy into the annoying bounce of her leg. Up and down. Up and down.

Suddenly, she jumps up, darting to her closet. Five minutes later she's on her elliptical listening to Hits of the 80s, matching her strides to the beat of the obnoxious music. As unwanted thoughts creep into her head, she bumps up the resistance another level. Sweat begins to drip down her brow and she focuses on the strain on her body and the burning in her muscles rather than the pain and confusion in her heart. Her thoughts bounce to Puck. Level 5. Santana and Quinn, level 6. Rachel turns the music up a little louder to drown out her mind. Jesse, 7. Jesse. 8… 9… 10. Rachel's heart is pounding furiously and she concentrates on the little green number in the top left hand corner of the elliptical. 436 calories. 437 calories. Energy, energy, energy.

Suddenly her music fades out suddenly and a three tone 'ding' replaces it in her ears, alerting her to a new text message. She picks up her phone and her knees buckle underneath her.

I've missed you. I just got back from a vacation to New York. Lunch tomorrow? - Jesse

She drags herself off the elliptical and sits on her bedroom floor, leaning against the wall. He's texting her. He's texting her. Her heart feels as though it's about to jump up through her throat and leave her a lifeless puddle on the Berber carpet of her bedroom floor. Her phone falls from her hands to the floor and her head drops to her knees as she tries to calm her breaths. She doesn't know how to deal with this. She can't deal with this.

So much for trying to forget.

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