AN: Okay, first I have to grovel at my reviewers' feet (a.k.a. apologize) for the –year long extreme delay-. Life happened. That's my primary excuse. Second thing's second -I want to thank everyone that reviewed: you guys are the only reason I came back to this fic after an entire year.
Reviewer Responses: I'm going to have to fill some people with relief or disappointment. There will be no relationship-quinntana. I had and have already mapped out where I'm taking them –and a number of other things I won't spoil—, and it's not down that path. That also doesn't mean I'm not going to develop their friendship…but you can rest assured, no longing glances or heartbreak where that pair is concerned.
Last things: This is short and noticeably less than I promised. It's mostly just to show that I'm not dead nor am I abandoning this fic. I'll make up for it with another chapter release later this week (that is, if support for this fic still remains and people still want me to continue it).
"But Quinn's not even here…"
The rest of what her fashionable, gay friend said was lost on her ears as she instinctively shrilled what beforecontinuing on to drown out all subsequent noise. She could vaguely see Santana proceed to rip into Kurt who then defensively cocked his hips and tilted his head before subsequently yelling back. After what seemed like hours but was most likely only a few minutes, the tiny diva managed to bring herself (mostly) back to her senses.
"It's seven thirty," she mumbled hoarsely. Both Santana and Kurt stopped arguing abruptly, turning to look at her with mild trepidation…the sudden, quietly whispered words, doing more to stop the two of them than possibly any other method of intervention.
"Berry…" Santana trailed off, wondering if something inside the usually ever-so-obnoxious teen had snapped.
Kurt attempted to rectify the situation or, at the very least, illuminate the problem. "Is there something wrong with seven thirty?" His brow was furrowed in confusion, the cogs whirling in his brain. Santana looked at him incredulously, unable to fathom why he just didn't seem to get it. "I mean, she hasn't—"
Unfortunately, Kurt had no way of knowing that that one preceding sentence would cause Rachel Barbara Berry to snap.
"Something wrong?!" She yelled, gesturing wildly. "Kurt, it's New. York. City! New York City!" Her ponytail came undone as she agitatedly paced up and down. She looped her hairband around one hand while running her other through her hair in an effort to redirect some of her frustration. "Seven thirty, when it's pitch black outside," she continued her tirade, her voice growing increasingly shrill as she started to sound as if she were on the verge of a panic attack.
Santana mentally jerked backwards at the statement. So Berry was afraid for Quinn? Totally not the same reason why Santana was pissed off. The ex-HBIC could take care of herself. In fact, Santana was more worried about what would happen to anyone that dared to try and take on the ice queen. "In one of the most dangerous fucking cities in America."
This distracted Santana's previous line of thought. But, seriously, who could actually blame her. Rachel Berry just swore – and not that pansy damn it she'd done earlier. But legitimately, bad ass-ly sworn. Santana was somewhat…dare she think it…impressed. Not that she'd ever be caught saying such a thing out loud.
Kurt, on the other hand, could not think, say, nor do anything save for leave his mouth partially agape, much akin to that of a goldfish. Santana would have been amused – if she wasn't so pissed off that he'd let Quinn escape before she'd had a chance to confirm certain…things.
"I've got to go find her," Rachel muttered, flying to the door before either of her stunned roommates could stop her.
"Wait," Kurt called after her weakly. "Rachel…"
There was a distinct slam. She was gone.
"She's coming back." He groaned, sighing into his hands. "And I cannot believe you left looking like tha—Hey!" he yelped, as he batted off a, somehow very painful, pillow.
"What was that for?!" he asked Santana incredulously.
She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously.
"What wasn't that for, is the question you should be asking." Kurt gulped, subtly taking a step backwards. Don't. Show. Fear. Isn't that what they say about dogs? I'm sure the same principle applies...
"W-What…no self-respecting person should go out in sex clothes," he retorted indignantly, but his voice cracked betraying his fear.
"No, you dumbass, although the clothes will probably keep her from being attacked herself," Santana muttered, more to herself, as an afterthought. Remembering her original intentions, she shook her head abruptly and picked up another pillow, dangerously. The fiery Latina was probably the only person in the world that could make a pillow absolutely freakin terrifying, Kurt thought mildly, and rather completely inappropriately, given the precarious situation he currently found himself in.
"Why the fuck didn't you mention she was coming back. Where the hell did she go? And how could you let someone like Rachel Berry," she grit out that name, emphasizing it while lifting up the pillow to dangerous heights. "…out, chasing after Q, in New York bloody City, alone?!" Rachel was everything Quinn was not, including rather incredibly defenseless and naive.
Kurt was no longer trying to hide the fact that he was attempting to put distance between them. His fear was palpable enough that he didn't even have time to shockingly contemplate the idea that Santana of all people actually seemed worried about Rachel.
The pillow was thrown. Kurt ducked like his life depended on it – and it most probably did. The pillow sailed past his head, and he could have sworn he heard something shatter. She'd be replacing that, Kurt thought wildly. Santana roared, "Well!?" Of course, he could always tell her that later. When it was safer. At the vicious look on her face, he backpedaled with incredible speed. Or he could always just replace it himself.
The fashionable teen had barely enough time for a squeaked, "On it," before dashing out the door, chasing after the elusive Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray.