Sunday, June 28 / 12:02pm
Quinn and Santana stood side-by-side on a sidewalk in Columbus, glowering at their general situation.
It was disgustingly hot and humid, for one thing, even for a summer day in Ohio. It was loud, for another, and for a third it as so crowded that they had to flatten themselves backwards against the brick exterior of the hardware store behind them to avoid being swept away with the torrents of people pushing past.
The annual Columbus Pride Parade was just getting underway, with the first of it funneling past them, salsa music blaring. Quinn had been asked to drive them here at 8am to make sure they got a good spot on the route, and now she and Santana were "saving it" under Rachel's orders while she and Brittany were. . . well, Quinn hadn't really bothered to note where they were going or what they were doing. In the grand scheme of things, it was actually quite fine with her to be standing and waiting; as unpleasant as it was, she would rather be here than fighting her way through the masses of (so very gay) humanity surrounding her.
"We're not even going to be able to see anything from here," she remarked to Santana, gesturing to the groups of friends who had crowded the curb in front of them.
"What?" Santana yelled from barely a foot away.
"Nothing," Quinn shook her head. Following Santana's gaze, she realized it wasn't just the revelry around them that had prevented her from registering what Quinn had said. Santana had been checking out a girl.
Quinn was seized with an overriding desire to kick Santana in the shins.
"What are you doing?"
"What?"
"Quit looking at her."
"Why?"
"Because."
Quinn shrugged, but it felt more like a shudder.
Their eyes followed a lesbian couple who wound their way through the crowd in front of them. One woman carried an infant on her back, while the other herded twin toddlers at her sides. The woman with the infant smiled at Quinn and Santana. Santana smiled back while Quinn struggled to pick a facial expression, and wound up with an unattractive combination of several.
"They probably thought we were a couple," Santana remarked.
"Great," Quinn muttered and inched away.
Behind the kids and their two moms, a parade within a parade was making its way down the sidewalk, as six or seven young men in nothing but cutoff jean shorts and rainbow glitter passed by.
It seemed to Quinn there were an awful lot of people here whose gender she was unable to place. It wasn't that she cared one way or the other, it was just that in her experience gender didn't usually require such an active thought process. For example, she surmised that the large figures a few yards to her left with tattoo sleeves and shaved heads were women, but mostly because of the lack of facial hair. She gazed down self-consciously at her flowy blue skirt and short-sleeved button-down blouse.
Catching herself, she quickly looked back up, lest Santana suspect her thought process. She may have inadvertently internally admitted that Santana might be sort of right about her wardrobe.
Oh God, Quinn thought, alarm bells suddenly going off in her head. Eye contact. She'd been craning her neck, trying to see if Rachel and Brittany were coming back yet. But she'd managed to make eyes at some college-aged girl in a t-shirt and basketball shorts.
The girl, who clearly had been waiting for Quinn's eyes to brush across her, smiled as soon as they did. She started toward Quinn and Santana with a macho gait that wouldn't have been out of place in a rap video. Quinn whipped her phone from her purse so fast it was like her life depended on it.
"Hey," the girl said, holding out her hand to Quinn. "I'm Mary Beth."
"Hey!" Quinn said cheerfully, into her phone. She made an apologetic smile at her new friend, and turned her back on the girl. "Yeah, sweetie, I'm still by the hardware store. Are you on your way back?"
"Oh, I see," Mary Beth said, her hand dropping to her side. "Real nice. You know," she said stepping forward to get back into Quinn's line of sight, "You're really beautiful. But you really need to work on your people skills."
"Hey, Mary Beth," Santana said when the girl turned to her instead. "I'm Santana. You'll have to excuse my friend Quinn, here. We've been trying to surgically remove that stick from her ass for five years with no luck."
"Does she always use fake phone calls to ward off women?"
"Usually she uses her personality."
Mary Beth smiled. "You here with anyone?"
"My girlfriend Brittany should be back any minute now," she said apologetically.
"Lucky girl," said Mary Beth. "All right, well, y'all enjoy the parade. BYE QUINN!"
"Bye," Santana smiled.
"It's not funny, Santana," Quinn said through gritted teeth as Santana's shoulders shook. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Well you could try not being a total bitch, for one."
"Like you're not a bitch when people hit on you."
"I'm only a bitch if they deserve it. That girl was totally polite until you were rude to her."
"Hold my hand," Quinn demanded.
"Fuck off."
Quinn grabbed at Santana's hand, finding it on the third try.
"Okay, this shit doesn't make it look like we're together," Santana said, staring down at Quinn's fingers wrapped around her wrist. "It looks like you're about to take me home to the murder room you have in your basement."
"Whatever scares people away," Quinn muttered.
Santana sighed and leaned backwards against the wall. Quinn kept Santana's wrist in her hand and silently prayed for time to pass really, really quickly, and carefully avoided looking at anyone's face.
At long last, Brittany and Rachel appeared, Brittany sporting a headband of rainbow feathers and a pair of rainbow flags painted on her cheeks.
"You guys look weird," Brittany said, surveying the scene. "I brought you a flag," she said to Santana, handing her a tiny rainbow flag on a plastic stick.
"Thanks, Britt," Santana said, taking it from her. "Hey Berry, your girlfriend got hit on."
"Really?" Rachel asked, wide-eyed. "Was she pretty?"
"Don't worry, she got the ice bitch treatment," Santana said.
"That explains why she's touching you," Rachel observed.
Quinn dropped Santana's wrist.
"Baby, you should see," Brittany said as Rachel eyed Quinn warily. "They have a dance tent over by the lemonade stand, so Rachel and I went in to check it out, and these guys – at least, I think they were guys – they invited me to come on their float and dance in the parade. They said you could come too, but we have to hurry, 'cause they were about to start."
"You should go, Santana," Rachel encouraged. "They were fabulous."
"Britt . . . I'm not sure that's my thing."
"Pleeease? I don't want to go without you, Santana."
"Brittany. . ." Santana said warily.
"Please, Santana?" Brittany asked more gently. "This is a safe place. I swear it. Everybody is here to have fun, and they have police all along the parade route. And anyway, almost everyone here is like us."
Santana looked at Rachel, who smiled encouragingly.
"I'm so going to regret this."
"Yesss! All the lesbians are totally going to storm the float when they see you up there. It's going to be awesome," Brittany said, leading Santana back in the direction she came from.
Rachel watched them go, a huge grin on her face. Santana's come such a long way already, she thought.
She turned to face Quinn, still grinning – until she saw the look on Quinn's face.
"Are you having any fun at all?" Rachel asked optimistically.
"Do I look like I'm having fun?"
"No, not especially."
"When do we get to leave? Is it soon?"
"Quinn, the parade is just starting. Pride is kind of an all-day thing. And we . . . I promised to help my dads at the free condom and HIV info booth. I thought you could come with me. It's a really great cause, and we can hand out those flyers we were making."
Quinn shook her head and Rachel felt her stomach sink.
"Quinn, I have to admit I don't know what to do right now," she said. "My dads are counting on me."
"Are they? Or is this about what youwant to be doing?"
"If you'd come with me I think you'd see it's a big job, running that tent."
"Look, Rachel?" Quinn started, trying to keep her voice as low as the din of the parade would allow. "I'm not comfortable here, all right? I didn't grow up with two gay dads, and I haven't been sleeping with my best friend for four years. I don't fit in with these people."
"Quinn, 'these people?'" Rachel repeated. "Look, Quinn, you may not look like them or act like them, but I think it's fair to say that you do have something important in common with them. Being here is a chance to celebrate that."
"I'm not in the mood to celebrate."
By the look on Quinn's face, it was clear that she meant it. Rachel stood firm, her eyes sad but her fists clenched at her sides.
"Okay, whatever. I can't be here anymore," Quinn said, ending the standoff. "If you can't leave I'm going to find a Starbucks or something. Text me when it's time to go home."
She turned on her heel and began pushing her way through the crowd. She didn't wait for any further discussion and didn't leave Rachel with a goodbye.
Rachel leaned back against the brick wall of the hardware store and put her head in her hands.
...
The drive home from Columbus to Lima was less than two hours long, but Quinn's shoulders locked up tight only half an hour in. She kept moving her hands from the top to the bottom of the steering wheel, trying to at least transfer the tension to different parts of her muscles. It didn't really help.
It was the one saving grace that the car was quiet. Santana and Brittany were all into each other, snuggled up in the back seat, and thank God for that. If she had to hear Santana mouthing off or Brittany babbling nonsense right now, she would fucking snap. As in, this car would be in the drainage ditch next to them instead of between the white lines on the asphalt.
Rachel was staring sullenly at the road ahead. Oh, she was definitely pissed, but that was fine, too. Let her sulk – it meant quiet, quiet, quiet. Quinn passed car after car, weaving between the right and left lanes to pass anyone going less than 70mph.
Santana and Brittany got out of the car at Brittany's house with barely a word of goodbye, groping each other the whole way up the sidewalk. Quinn turned away in disgust, ready to leave tire tracks from taking off so fast.
She reached for the gear shift by her right thigh, but Rachel's hand was already there.
"Stop."
Quinn turned to look at her, her eyes shooting daggers. She was NOT in the mood to be hindered.
"Quinn, what's going on?" Rachel asked.
"Nothing." She eyed the gear shift under Rachel's hand pointedly.
"Don't give me that," Rachel said.
Quinn's heart skipped a beat. Oh. So she was going to push?
"Move your hand," Quinn said, her voice quivering.
"No. Talk to me, Quinn."
Quinn felt like all the air was being sucked out of the car, that the walls were all closer than they had been a second ago.
Rachel, please don't do this to me. I need to go, I just need to go.
Rachel took a shaky breath. "Quinn, look, you can't just take out your upsetness on me, okay? If there's something wrong, you need to talk to me, not snap at me."
Quinn's mind raced a million miles an hour, just fast enough to keep pace with her heartbeat. She couldn't, COULD NOT, handle a fight right now.
"Quinn," Rachel said again, gently. "What's wrong?"
I am trapped. She has me trapped. I have to open this car door and run.
But her body was as frozen as her words, her eyes steely and fixed out the front window.
Rachel, really? 'What's wrong?'
Was she really supposed to answer that? And answer it how? With the mess in her head? The mess of rainbow flags, rainbow flyers, Christian men, little girls with folded hands, church ladies, lesbians with babies, college girls in basketball shorts, Santana openly checking out girls, Santana and Brittany kissing on a public street? Or some of the million other things that were currently conspiring to make the skin on her back crawl?
"What's wrong?"
"Quinn," Rachel started again, and Quinn wanted to scream on that syllable alone. "I can't help you if you don't tell me how."
TELL YOU HOW?
Oh God, she felt like she was falling. This wasn't her Rachel, it wasn't, it wasn't. Her Rachel understood, her Rachel forgave her. What was she doing?
Noticing a tear sliding from each of Quinn's eyes, Rachel moved her hand from the gear shift to Quinn's shoulder.
"I know you're upset Quinn. I know it's been a difficult few days. But you can't take that it out on me, Quinn, it's not fair. I was so excited about today, and it was ruined. And Quinn, I don't think I did anything to deserve that. We're on the same team, okay? We need to act like it."
Oh Jesus, now a lecture? How could Rachel not see that she couldn't take one more word, that she was beaten? Quinn wanted to die, to just, curl up and make it stop.
How, how, how, Rachel, are you making this about you?
"Quinn, I'm just trying to be honest and share my feelings. Because we'll never make it if we don't do that, Quinn. It's the only way we'll move forward."
I think I'm drowning.
Quinn wobbled in her seat. Open the door and throw up, or shift into drive and go?
Quinn put her hand on the gear shift and peeled away from the curb so fast it pushed Rachel back in her seat.
"Quinn, slow down," Rachel said breathlessly as Quinn hit fifty five on Brittany's residential street.
Fuck you, Rachel.
She had Rachel to her doorstep in less than five minutes. Rachel slammed the car door and ran to her front porch without saying another word.
...
Sunday, July 24 / 9:42pm
"Britt."
Brittany stared blankly at the television.
"Hey, Britt."
Brittany finally snapped to attention the third time Santana called her name.
"Why are you so spacey lately?"
"I don't know," Brittany shrugged, gaze falling on Rachel, who was curled up asleep on the couch between them.
Santana followed her line of sight.
"If you have any ideas, I'd be glad to hear them," she said.
"Maybe we should call Kurt," Brittany said. "Don't they like a lot of the same stuff?"
...
"So can you, like, do something Barbra-related to cheer her up?" Santana asked after she finished explaining the situation to Kurt. She paced the floor in Brittany's kitchen, out of Rachel's earshot.
"Mmmm," Kurt said pensively. "I'm afraid that's not the trick this time. Think back, Santana. What pulled me out of my funk over Finn? Liking Sam. What cheered me up when that crashed and burned? Meeting Blaine. And what did you do while Brittany inexplicably eschewed your affections in favor of Artie's?"
"Well . . . I did Rachel." Santana paused, thinking. "So what are you suggesting, we hire her a hooker?"
"Uhh, nooo," Kurt clarified. "I'm suggesting we take her fishing. The sooner we get her out there, the sooner Rachel will see that Quinn ain't the only scary, hot blonde in the sea."
"But where? There's not exactly a scene for gay kids in Lima. Is there?"
"Wednesday night. Sixteen and over night at The Pink Pegasus in Toledo. Blaine will drive; we'll pick you three up at 8. Oh, and Santana? Make sure you run interference on Rachel's attire. Blaine and I have a reputation to uphold."
...
Wednesday, July 27 / 7:48pm
"This is the first time I've worn makeup in a week," Rachel remarked as Santana worked her mascara magic on Rachel's lashes. "I suppose that's progress, right?" she asked wearily.
"Quit blinking," Santana said.
"I like your outfit," Rachel said shyly. "I meant to tell you that when you came to get me, but it depressed me because I was in a hoodie and Mickey Mouse slippers."
"And now that you're in my clothes you feel free to check me out?" Santana asked, not bothering to hide her amusement.
"You have a way with jeans and a tank top, that's all I meant," Rachel said, blushing just a little.
"Well I'm wearing a jacket too, Berry, so hopefully you'll be able to control yourself."
"Hey guys," Brittany said, knocking on the bathroom doorframe.
"It's about time," Santana said, "You were supposed to— wait, why aren't you dressed?" she asked as she turned to see Brittany in yoga pants and a t-shirt.
"I decided not to go," Brittany said.
"Yeah, I see that. Why?"
"I just don't feel like it," she shrugged. "And I have some stuff to do. But you look super hot," she said, kissing Santana's lips. "All the girls are gonna love you." Santana smiled despite herself.
"You guys are so lucky," Rachel sighed. "Do you know that Quinn never called me hot? Not once."
"You look super hot, too, Rachel," Brittany said, and kissed Rachel on the forehead.
"Of course she does," Santana said, trying to play it cool to cover the fact that her heart had just melted into a puddle. "She's wearing my black dress. That thing is incapable of failing to get you action, Berry. Trust me."
"Rachel, Kurt says when you see the dancers they hire for the tables you won't even remember . . . you know who," Brittany said.
"All right though, no more talking about she-who-shall-not-be-named," Santana chastised. "That's it, y'hear?"
"Fine with me," Rachel said.
"All right, Berry, you're done. Get outta my way now."
Rachel smiled and retreated into Santana's room.
"Are you mad?" Brittany asked Santana as she finished touching up her own makeup.
"I guess not, if you really don't want to go. I was kind of looking forward to it though. You know, like, dancing with you. It was fun at the parade, or whatever."
Brittany smiled. "Well, they have it every month, right? What if I promise we can go next month, just the two of us?"
"I guess if it isn't totally lame."
"Will you come over when you get home? Just text me and I'll come down and let you in."
"Okay," Santana agreed with a smile.
Blaine honked from the curb outside right on cue, and Brittany kissed Santana good-bye.
...
"What did Brittany mean by 'stuff to do'?" Rachel asked as they closed Santana's front door behind them.
"No idea," Santana said.
"So you brought a flask, right?" Rachel asked earnestly. Santana pulled aside the left side of her bra to reveal a glimpse of metallic silver.
"Excellent," Rachel said. "That, combined with the much larger one I have in the false bottom of my purse should be just enough to get me through the evening."
Blaine whistled as the girls climbed into the back seat. "Lookin' good, ladies," he said.
"Where's Britt?" Kurt asked, puzzled.
"She decided not to come," Santana said, already tired of that question.
"I'm depressing her," Rachel said.
Santana's head snapped to the right to look over at Rachel.
"All right, next stop, Puckerman's," Blaine announced as he pulled away from the curb.
"Why?" Rachel and Santana asked in unison.
"He's coming with us," Kurt smiled. "Him, Sam, and Mike are tagging along. It's for moral support."
"Okay, now I'm excited," Rachel said, grinning.
"Not Finn, right?" Santana asked, leaning forward, ready to wrap her fingers around Kurt's neck.
"I'm not an idiot, Santana," Kurt replied.
Behind him, Rachel took her first swig of vodka.
...
"Damn, moral support is expensive," Puck said as they all gathered in the entranceway of The Pink Pegasus, just beyond the cash register and next to the bar.
"Thanks for spotting me, man," Sam said. "I'll get you back once it rains and I get my next lawn mowing job."
"No problem, dude," Puck said, smacking him on the back. "Just means you're my bitch for the night."
"You like, might not want to say that here," Sam said, glancing around them.
"I did it!" Rachel said, finally rejoining the group after a very long purse rearrangement procedure. "I got it in! I am such a BADASS."
"Rachel, people can hear you," Santana said. "God, we have got to keep you away from the bartenders and bouncers. You smell like you took a damn bath in a vodka martini."
"Sorry, I got excited," she apologized in a stage whisper. "Kurt, Blaine! Who are these hotties?" she asked, making a beeline for the group of guys at the bar.
"Hey Rachel," Blaine said, turning around, as the rest of the group shuffled over uncomfortably. "These are our friends, Todd and Ethan, Jarrod and Ryan, and Terrance and Raymond."
Santana would never remember any of that, but she had to admit that it really was something to see. Kurt and Blaine had like. . . friends. Really, REALLY gay ones. Like, air kisses gay.
"How do you guys know each other?" she asked. "Do you all go to Dalton or something?"
"I used to," Ethan raised his hand enthusiastically. "I was a senior when Blaine came in as a freshman. He totally stole all my solos, but he was so adorable I barely even minded. Now I go to Toledo with all these bozos."
"Toledo?" Santana asked.
"Class of 2015," he said with a smile.
"So your turn, Rachel," Ethan continued. "Who are these hotties?"
Rachel smiled. "This is Santana. And these are our friends Puck, Sam, and Mike."
"Puck, huh?" Jarrod said with a wink. "Sounds mischievous."
"It totally is," Rachel said, as Puck tried to look less uncomfortable.
"Let's get some sodas," Rachel said enthusiastically. "I need mixers."
"Rachel, seriously, can it," Santana hissed at her. "If you get us tossed before I see those damn table dancers, I'm gonna be so pissed at you."
They scored a booth along the back wall as another group was getting up and heading for the dance floor. Rachel, Santana, Puck, Mike, and Sam all piled in, and Rachel surreptitiously poured vodka into her Diet Coke under the table. Santana and Puck stared at a pair of girls making out on the dance floor.
"So who wants to dance?" Rachel asked enthusiastically three minutes later, slamming down her empty glass.
"I'll dance with you," Puck said.
"Excellent. Let's go, Noah," Rachel said, and began shoving Santana aside to get out of the booth.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Puckerman," Santana warned as the two of them walked toward the dance floor.
"I think I'm gonna dance, too," Mike said.
"Oh man, we're never gonna be able to get him home once he starts dancing," Sam smiled, before turning back around and realizing that the only remaining person at the table was Santana. "Um, I'm going to go . . . get another Sprite. Do you want something?" he said, awkwardly downing the remaining third of his glass, realizing he should have gone with the men's room as his escape route instead.
Santana glanced at her nearly-full glass of Diet Coke. "I'm good, thanks Lips."
Santana sighed to herself as she watched her friends scatter to different corners of the club. A few yards away on the dance floor, Rachel seemed to be having a good time, at least – though with that amount of alcohol in that tiny little person, that was bound to happen. They would have to keep a good eye on her; a broken heart and a bottle of vodka could be a messy combination.
Sam came back, sliding resignedly into the booth next to Santana. "The service is, like, really fast here," he said disappointedly.
Santana scowled at him. She really should have had some foresight with the whole cheating on him with Berry thing, because this was starting to get awkward.
"Rachel seems good tonight," he said, after fiddling uncomfortably with his straw paper for a while. "I think it was a good idea to get her out of the house."
"Yeah, well, she's cried all over every surface of mine and Brittany's houses," Santana said. "It was time."
"So, has anyone checked on Quinn?" he asked. "She wasn't in church this week, so."
"She's ignoring me," Santana said with a shrug.
"It's just, you're being such a good friend to Rachel. I hope someone is taking care of Quinn."
"You can only take care of Quinn when she lets you," Santana said. "You know that."
He pursed his lips and nodded gently.
"So you're dating Wee—uh, Mercedes?" she said, trying to stave off an awkward silence.
"How did you know about that?" he asked, lowering his head and his voice.
"Uhh, maybe because you're about as subtle as Kurt's gold sparkling bow tie."
"We just had our six-week anniversary," he beamed. "It's going so great."
"Wooo, yay."
"Like it or not, I have you to thank," he continued. "If she hadn't felt so bad for me after you embarrassed me in front of the whole Glee Club. . . twice . . . it might never have happened."
"You're welcome," Santana said, and they descended back into silence.
"Umm, what's going on out there?" Sam said suddenly, leaning out of the booth for a better view of the dance floor.
"What?" Santana said, elbowing him out of the way.
"I think Rachel and Puck are getting bounced."
It appeared that at the center of the dance floor, things were heating up between Rachel and Puck. His hands on her ass didn't look good, but it was probably his pelvic thrusting that crossed the line.
"Hey, HEY, that's enough," the female bouncer was saying as she stuck her arm between them. "This is supposed to be a safe place. Take that to the twenty other clubs where it ain't a big deal."
She shooed them from the dance floor and they slunk back to the booth with their tails between their legs.
"Worth it," Puck said as he sat down.
Santana punched him in the arm. "What did I say?"
"If I weren't drunk I'd probably be really embarrassed right now," Rachel said cheerily.
"Dude, did you get any pictures?" Puck asked Sam.
"Dude, why would I take pictures of that?"
"You all right, Berry?" Santana asked, still glaring at Puck.
Rachel was already distracted. "Oh my gosh, look at Mike," she said, covering her hand with her mouth.
They followed her indication to the dance floor, where Mike was shirtless, sweaty, and gyrating with an equally shirtless, most definitely homosexual guy.
"Now this, I'm taking pictures of," Sam said, pulling out his phone.
"They're like four feet apart," Puck said, scoffing. "He likes to dance, what's the big deal?"
"Jealous much, Puckerman?" Santana smirked.
"Uh, dude, what's she talking about?" Sam asked.
"Mike is Noah's big, gay crush," Santana clarified, "Second only to his man-wife, Finn."
"Shut it, Lopez."
"He threw you off a cliff," she added, sticking her chin out at Sam. "Now gets up, I'm getting another round."
"Get me a Diet Coke!" Rachel yelled enthusiastically.
"But he's totally leading that guy on!" she could hear Puck saying as she walked toward the bar.
...
"Can I buy you a drink?"
The voice came from her right as she waited at the bar for her their Diet Cokes.
The girl was smokin', with dreadlocked hair and dark skin, and barely any clothing covering it. Santana's cheeks felt immediately hot.
"Uhhh, thank you. . .I mean, no thank you," she said shyly, "I'm with someone."
"Who, that little brunette that was mackin' on that dude a minute ago?"
This girl had been watching her, Santana realized, as a little flutter rose in her stomach.
"No, that's. . . she's just my friend," she said. "My girlfriend is at home."
"What, she let you out looking like that?"
"I guess so," she shrugged. "But thank you," she said again as the bartender handed her the drinks she'd ordered and she slipped past the girl back toward the table, smiling to herself.
Kurt and Blaine and two of their gays had joined the booth when Santana got back. Santana didn't really speak glitter, so she tuned them out. Rachel spiked and downed her drink in the span of about ninety seconds.
"I want to dance with Sam!" she announced, grabbing his hand.
"You might regret that," he said, but followed her to the floor.
"What up, S-Lo?" Puck said, raising an eyebrow. "You haven't been out there yet."
"I'll go," she said, "But if you try that shit you pulled with Berry you're going home with your balls in your back pocket."
...
Santana was not a fan of the music they liked to play at this club. It somehow managed to sound like disco, bad 80's pop, and musical theater all at the same time. Even the Kanye remixes sounded gay.
But she had to admit, between the table dancers (who finally showed up as promised) and the sight of Puck and Sam bouncing around like giant flannel yetis amid the skinny, preened queer boys, this was actually kind of fun. And Berry seemed good. Maybe not happy, exactly, but determined in that Berry way to have a good time.
She really, really wished Brittany were here.
But for now, there was Puck. He jumped in place a lot, and all of his signature moves revolved around air guitar and ridiculous faces, but he was fun. She let him put his hands on her hips and her back as they danced. It wasn't even weird. It felt kind of comfortable, actually – like friends having a good time.
Next to them, Sam twirled Rachel by the hand until she doubled over in laughter and fell against him. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, Santana leaned in.
"Berry, knock it off. You'll draw the heterosexuality police again."
Rachel withdrew her arms from Sam and whirled around, smiling big at Santana. Santana smiled back, and let Rachel wrap her arms around her instead.
...
Back at the table, Puck and Sam sat down, out of breath.
"Our turn," Kurt said, sashaying out to the dance floor with Blaine in tow.
"It just ain't fair, man," Puck said to Sam, as they watched Rachel grind against Santana as Santana laughed on the dance floor.
"Either of you boys want to dance?"
Puck and Sam pried their eyes away from their dancing friends to find a college boy in a t-shirt and skinny jeans standing next to their table.
"Oh, uhh. . . sorry, man, we have to stay with our friends' stuff," Sam said apologetically, gesturing to the purses and jackets strewn across the booth.
"How 'bout you?" the boy asked Puck.
"I. . . can't. It's a package deal," Puck said. "We're. . . you know, we're together."
"The two of you are a couple?" gay boy asked skeptically.
"Totally," Puck said, taking hold of Sam's hand. "He's my boyfriend so we only dance together. Sorry."
"It's true," Sam said, shrugging. "I'm his bitch tonight."
"Ugh, whatever."
"A package deal?" Sam said incredulously after their suitor was out of earshot. "You couldn't have just said we were straight?"
"Dude, I panicked!" Puck exclaimed. "Now get off me so we can watch the chicks make out. Whoa, wait a second -"
"Oh, this is not good," Sam said, gazing at Santana and Rachel on the dance floor.
...
It had been weeks since Rachel felt so good. Her head was dizzy and the music was loud, and her hands were on Santana's hips, which were moving like a lot inside her jeans. Rachel turned around, dancing, pressing her ass into Santana's hips. Santana laughed.
Rachel wasn't sure what was funny about it, but she didn't really care to know. She raised her hands above her head and encircled Santana's neck.
"You always make me feel better," she murmured, leaning her head back to speak into Santana's neck.
"What, Berry?" Santana said, leaning her ear downward. "I can't hear you, it's loud."
Rachel turned her head to say it again.
And then there was a situation. Her chin bumped into Santana's cheek. Which meant that Santana's lips were right there.
And the only thing that went through Rachel's head was, Oh,this is going to feel really, really good.
As Santana waited for Rachel to repeat what she said, Rachel pressed her parted lips against Santana's and slid her tongue inside her mouth.
Santana inhaled sharply in surprise, and her hands pressed reflexively into Rachel's stomach.
Rachel was encouraged by it, by the pressure of Santana's fingertips. She turned herself around so they were face to face, and ran the palms of her hands up Santana's sides.
Santana still smelled the same. Rachel noticed herself thinking that thought somewhere at the back of her mind, before the all-encompassing need to have her tongue wrapped around Santana's blurred every other thought out of existence.
Rachel whimpered and pulled Santana tight with one hand at the small of her back and the other behind her neck.
It felt so, utterly right – this dull pulse of heartbreak in the pit of her stomach, melded with the scandalous feel of Santana Lopez pressed against her. The flares of righteous anger in her chest at being pushed away, allayed by the relief of Santana's fingernails digging into the skin of her lower back.
Kissing Santana, it came with all of these distant-but-not memories, not explicit ones but of the gut variety, and they were bad memories of rejection and sadness, but they were perfect for right at this moment. Perfect for kissing Santana to the blaring music, while she was drunk, and clumsy, and enthusiastic.
She needed more. She pulled Santana harder against her.