9.
Rachel's heart hurt as she watched Quinn avoid her gaze over the next couple of days. She had thought everything was fine, that they were back to themselves and Quinn wouldn't leave her alone again, but she had been sorely mistaken. Every time she saw Quinn, Rachel's stomach knotted and she wanted to vomit.
Which was exactly what had her in the bathroom following a lunch period where Quinn had stormed off to God-knows-where.
"Berry, listen, we gotta—" Santana's voice echoed throughout the second-floor women's restroom, but her voice was abruptly cut off when she heard the guttural noises issuing from the room. The Latina rapped lightly on the door of the stall Rachel had locked herself into. "Hey, hobbs, unlock the door, a'ight?"
The tiny girl reached back weakly and slid the lock open just as another wave of nausea hit her. She felt hesitant fingers thread through her hair, and, for a brief moment, she thought Santana might be planning on dragging her from the bathroom by her brunette locks. But then the hair got pulled gently to the back of her head and held there until her stomach stopped heaving.
Santana left long enough to grab some paper towels and wet them, before turning back to hand them to Rachel and crouched down to eye-level with her again. "You sick or. . .?"
Rachel pulled in a shaky breath and held it, only releasing it when her tears overwhelmed her. "Quinn hates me," she whispered brokenly. The diva shook her head and let out a bitter laugh. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this."
"Come on." Santana gripped Rachel's arm and helped her to stand on her shaky legs and move over to the sink. More paper towels were run under cool water and wiped across Rachel's clammy face.
"Why are you being nice to me, Santana?" Rachel asked brusquely.
" 'Cause Q would kill me if she knew I let you suffer like this alone, and so would Britt, for that matter," Santana answered simply, continuing to run cool water over Rachel's flushed cheeks. "Besides, I guess you don't make me hate you all the time now. Or something."
"Why would Quinn care if you left me like this?" Rachel demanded petulantly. Her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes hardened, creating a physical and psychological barrier between herself and the Cheerio. "Quinn's made it perfectly clear-"
"Shut up, before you say something stupid about something you obviously know nothing about, alright?" Santana snapped, finally losing her cool even for a moment. She took a deep breath to calm and collect herself. "Look, Q's hurt too, okay? She never intended for you to find out about her feelings for you. And if you didn't want her back in your life because of her girl-crush on you, you shoulda told her yourself, instead of sending Finnept to tell her to back the hell off—"
Rachel stepped back, out of Santana's reach, and caught the girl's paper towel-holding hand in her own. Her eyes reflected pure confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Santana's brows knitted together. "What do you mean 'what am I talking about'? You sent Hudson to tell Quinn that you're done with her," the Latina said with uncertainty. ". . . Didn't you?"
Visibly deflating, Rachel took a step back, holding her stomach and folding in on herself. She wasn't sure what to contend with first: Finn's invasive manipulation (was he even capable of being manipulative?), the fact that Quinn believed Rachel didn't want her after all that had transpired over the past weekend, or that Quinn (Quinn Fabray!) apparently had a 'girl-crush' on her.
The Cheerio watched her carefully, trying to figure out just what the hell was going down right now. "Holy shit, you had no clue," she realized aloud. Santana circled Rachel so the two girls were face to face again. "You didn't have a clue that Q. . .?" Santana stood up straight and her eyes widened, "God damn, Quinn's gotta kill me, when she finds out you heard it from me!"
"No," Rachel said blankly.
More confused than ever, Santana questioningly repeated, "No?" What the fuck is Berry on about now?
Rachel's brown eyes blinked like a sleepy child's as her gaze met Santana's darker one. "Quinn isn't. . .. She doesn't. . . I mean, she's not. . .." Rachel sighed. "She's Quinn Fabray, for Barbra's sake! She's the former head-cheerio, president of the God Squad, devout Christian girl." Rachel's gaze that was locked with Santana's saddened before she dropped her head. "As much as I would like to believe you, Santana, it's just not possible for Quinn Fabray to have any more-than-platonic feelings for me. She's the straightest person I've ever met."
Santana fixed her with an impatient, skeptical stare. "Look, Berry, I know this is a whole hell of a lot to process, but I'm still kind of stuck on the part where you had no clue that your boy-toy was tellin' Q to back up off you."
In less than a second, Rachel's dazed denial was gone and her face turned furious. "Ooh!" she shrieked in anger, "When I get my hands on that boy. . ." Again, Rachel's emotions flipped like a switch and her eyes were suddenly pained and horrified as she looked at Santana.
"Oh my God, Santana. Quinn! She thinks that I hate her, that I don't want her. . .. That's why she's been avoiding me all week, isn't it? I really am going to kill Finn." She grabbed Santana's wrist and began dragging her from the lavatory, "But first, we need to find Quinn and explain."
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