A/N: She's back! She's back! My muse, I mean. Sorry it's been so long, but try as I might, I just couldn't get any traction with this story. I finally had to just scrap some of my previous efforts and start fresh. Musey apparently liked this and is presently trying to dump three chapters into my brain simultaneously. I'm expecting at least 4 chapters after this one. If all goes well, I'd love to finish this story by Mardi Gras ;-) but it may take longer. If you're still with me, thanks!
I don't own Glee. If I did Finchel would have been a tiny bump on the road to Puckleberryville. Neither do I own "Barbie Girl", "Just You Wait", nor "What's Your Number?" (very obliquely referenced).
"You did what?" Rachel's voice couldn't be described as anything other than a shriek.
"Would you chill the fuck out? It's not that big a deal."
"No, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! You can NOT do this to me." She and her traitorous former friend were in a cab headed back to their apartment, and while Rachel was certain she was going to have a stroke, neither the cab driver nor Santana seemed the least concerned. Prior to this disaster, Rachel hadn't gone out in months. At all. She had patiently and repeatedly explained to Santana that she was in the last half of the last semester of her college career. She was very, very busy. It wasn't a big deal, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with their little trip to New Orleans. The week after finals Santana had finally demanded that she meet her for dinner with some friends, guy friends. She'd sweetened the deal by choosing one of Rachel's favorite places - one with an extensive selection of fresh, local, organic, vegan options. No pressure, just dinner as a group. Since Santana usually tried to push her into slutty clothes and loud clubs, just dinner should have been a big flashing warning sign. Hindsight never is very useful, is it?
Missed warnings aside, when she arrived at the restaurant and actually saw Santana sitting in the middle of the small dining room with Puck and Sam she should have turned around and walked back out before they spotted her. She would have, but she was momentarily stunned. How was this even possible? He didn't know anything about her. Then it occurred to her that Santana must have kept in touch with Sam. Well damn. As she stood frozen, studying the small group waiting for her arrival, she noticed right away that Puck's hair was a bit longer now, and just as quickly she was wondering how it would feel to run her fingers through it. What would the texture be? It was so short the last time. His jaw was clean shaven and looked every bit as bitable as it did when he was scruffy. She took in his well worn jeans and snug t-shirt with the faded words "Free Licks" across his chest, and couldn't stop herself from pondering whether he was advertising a product - like the guy passing out warm bites of pretzel at the mall - or was it a service he was offering. That thought had her face, along with other parts of her, flooding with warmth. And then she realized that, crap, crap, crap, the reason she could read his shirt was that he was half way to her, moving deliberately with that aggravatingly sexy smirk on his face. Her opportunity for escape was gone.
"I can't do this to you? Not everything is about you, Rachel. In case you missed it, they're here for a reason. While you were busy taking calls from Captain Tedious, Sam was telling me how well his interview went. He has an awesome opportunity but they need him to start like yesterday. He wants to take it, but how much do you think it will cost them to stay in a hotel till they find a place? Maybe he should just turn them down and make it convenient for you." Santana's tone was harsh and condescending, but Rachel was years beyond second guessing herself at Santana's word. She had every right to be angry.
"Not about me?" She was shrieking again. "Guys we barely know and never expected to see again have been invited to stay in our apartment, and it's not about me? You tricked me into a dinner you knew I would never agree to, and it's not about me?"
Santana's tone softened a bit. "Okay, fine. That part was a little about you. I thought it would do you some good to see him again, and yes, I knew you wouldn't agree. We get back from Mardi Gras and you turn into an old maid - but you don't want to talk about it. You mumble his name in your sleep - but you don't want to talk about it."
Rachel's face flamed and she studied her hands in her lap. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She, of course knew exactly what Santana was talking about. While her conscious mind was certain that it was best to forget the entire episode, her subconscious had yet to get the memo. Some of the dreams were very sweet, like the one where he was playing guitar for her on a park bench, a little dark haired boy between them, or the one where they were kissing in the rain while the people around them scurried for cover, but some of them . . . will, she was just grateful that she had merely mumbled his name.
"Somehow something changed for you that night. It's like you quit trying. I feel like it might be a little my fault, okay?"
Against her will, Rachel felt her anger slipping a bit. As ridiculous an misguided as it was, Santana was somehow trying to help. "I'm fine, really."
"You are not fine, and don't give me that 'busy with school' bullshit. You. Gave. Up. You bought a goddamn cat, Rach. And not in a normal way. You bought a cat and you're disturbingly bonded with the mean little shit. You'd rather stay home and sing that man-hating British song to your cat than go out with me. If that doesn't scream old maid-"
"I did not give up! I'm just being practical. He's only mean to you because he knows you don't like him, and it's not a man-hating song. It's a Broadway classic. Besides, his name is Henry Higgins. What else would I sing to him?"
Santana couldn't contain her snort of laughter. "The fact that you think song choice is the issue here is priceless."
Suddenly Rachel found her anger again. "No, that is definitely not the issue. The issue is that I will not have that man staying in my apartment!"
"It's our apartment, and they're my guests. Anyway, if anyone should be pissed off right now, it's me," Santana retorted. "When were you going to tell me about 20-year-plan-Ken? Last I knew you were dodging his calls. Now you're what? Back with him?"
"Thanks a lot for sharing that little nickname with the guys, by the way. I certainly hope Garrett couldn't hear you." As an after thought she added "And his genitals are not smoothed over." It sounded even more ridiculous when she said it out loud, but the whole Ken issue just got under her skin. Even Kurt, her long time frenemy turned ally, was in on it, and he barely tolerated Santana. They had this whole spiel worked out with a list of accessories (framed MBA, tailored suit, and a pile of daddy's money), a song (to the tune of Barbie Girl), and even a disclaimer (vibrator not included). They thought they were hilarious. Rachel was not amused.
"Whatever. You jumped up to take a call in the middle of dinner, shockingly bad manners, Miss Berry, and I felt they deserved an explanation."
Rachel knew Santana wasn't the slightest bit concerned about her manners and was just being snarky, but she was right none the less. Under normal circumstances Rachel wouldn't even think of taking such a call, but it had been a welcome intrusion. She had initially joined the table with her guard and her willpower both turned all the way up, but before she even realized it she had started to slip. Just sitting near him made her body hum with awareness, and they'd fallen back into playful, comfortable conversation with shocking quickness. Fortunately Garrett's name lighting up her phone had brought her back to reality.
Noah Puckerman and everything he made her want was not reality. It was a fantasy, and a dangerous one at that. She'd do well to keep her heart safe and stay far away from him. She meant what she said about being practical. She had learned something on her little trip down south. Before that, she had believed she was more mature than the silly, lovesick girl she was in high school, but now she knew she wasn't. She was as susceptible to unsustainable romantic fantasies as ever, and Noah Puckerman fit squarely into that category. His own words made it abundantly clear that he had the romantic attention span of a puppy after an espresso, while Rachel was a forever kind of girl. Given the quickness and intensity of the connection she felt with him, she knew that if she allowed herself to fall for him, she'd fall hard. At least she was smart enough to recognize it now. Rather than allow herself to be crushed over and over till she became a broken and bitter spinster, snapping at children and mumbling to herself in the street (And no she was not being overly dramatic. It was a highly likely outcome given her temperament), she'd decided to be realistic. Practical. And she was fine with that.
"And don't think you can just dodge my question. You've been avoiding him like genital warts for months, and all the sudden it's back on? What the hell?"
Rachel gave a long suffering sigh before repeating the explanation she'd given not an hour ago. "As I told you in the restaurant, we had a very productive conversation earlier this week, and I feel that he now understands my point of view."
"You had a productive conversation. Be still my heart," Santana deadpanned. "Rachel, he's so wrong for you. He doesn't get you, and you have nothing in common. Nothing."
"That's not true," Rachel huffed, glaring at Santana while she struggled to come up with a better answer. Garrett was a wonderful, thoughtful, handsome guy, but they were in fact very different in many ways. It was the reason she'd broken up with him in the first place. She finally spat out the only thing she could come up with. "We have animal rights in common. Ha!"
Santana rolled her eyes at Rachel's victorious tone. "Yeah, sure you do. I never bought that shit for a minute. I think he saw a hot girl working at a fundraising booth and donated a chunk of daddy's money so he could pick her up. I bet it was the first time he ever gave the owls, or the turtles, or whatever the fuck animal you were saving a second thought, but hey, what do I know?"
"Not much. And what's going on between Garrett and I is none of your business. I'm done talking about this." Rachel squared her shoulders and turned her face to the window of the cab, and Santana let it drop. Clearly Puck couldn't have come to town at a better time. Even if nothing came of it, maybe he could distract her enough to stop this Garrett thing. And she knew he would be staying with them. While most people might not know it (considering the way Rachel still occasionally sailed way past tactful) Santana knew she didn't actually like to be the bad guy.
A/N: I'd love to hear what you think. Next - Puck's perspective (aka - the guys move in).