Chapter Two. Hope you enjoy. Thank you for your thoughts on chapter one!

We like to party. We like, we like to party. D-I-S-C-O. EVERYBODY DANCE NOW.

This is how Brittany has titled the Facebook event she's posted and invited what looks like every New Directions club member ever to.

Santana grins to herself, and scrolls mindlessly through the list of invitees, amazed that they let some of these people in. Some of these faces she doesn't even recognize.

It's coming up to Brit's twenty first. This invite is the Ohio leg of a two week long extravaganza. Brittany had called her a couple of days ago to explain that there was to be a past, present, and future theme, and that Santana was expected to attend all three.

Brittany's past was New Directions and Lima. Present is a dance school on the outer edge of San Francisco, where Brittany spends her time surrounded by other freakishly long limbed flexible people. Santana's been to visit a couple of times, and had returned each time with a new determination to re-start some kind of Cheerio's training, because if she can't compete height-wise she can at least make sure she's just as athletic.

She and Brittany… are on a break. A pause, she guesses. Because it is fucking far from one side of the country to another, and they're both crazy busy, and if they're honest with themselves, they both need human affection and some kind of body to press into just to stay sane.

Rachel, when she's being an obnoxious harpy, calls it mutual and consenting sleeping around. Santana likes to respond with the phrase 'just keeping my hand in' with accompanying gestures, mainly because it makes Rachel blush purple and Kurt nearly pass out.

Such a pair of prudes, those two.

So yeah, maybe it is mutual and consenting sleeping around, but it is working. They're happy, and when the stars align or the dance school opens a branch in New York, they'll be even happier. But they're doing okay right now.

(Not to mention the sex when they do meet up is pretty out of this world.)

Santana double clicks on Brittany's face, because Facebook is telling her that Brit is online, and the little request box goes green, before enlarging.

'Hey B, how's it… what do you have on your face?'

Brittany squints at her a little, before grinning.

'Hey! You look hot. Umm, they are tiger strips, and this is a mustache. Don't worry, they're not real.'

Santana resists the temptation to touch the screen, because this one is already covered in finger prints. (The angle of the camera means Brittany can't see if Santana is feeling like a hopeless sap, and just wants to touch her.)

'Okay' she drawls, hiding a grin, 'new question; why do you have that on your face?'

Brittany leans out of the screen for a moment, reaching for something that turns out to be a banana. She points it at Santana before explaining.

'Oh, well, one of the kids at the Wiggle club said she thought my dad must be Tigger. So, you know, I figured I'd see if I could rock that look.'

Santana glances at the clock. It is early evening. Wiggle club finishes at half ten.

'And you've been rocking it for the rest of the day?'

Brittany has a mouthful of banana, so just nods and shrugs, sat back in her chair, looking perfectly content. Santana attempts to fill in the blanks.

'And the mustache because… tigers look better with mustaches?'

Brittany swallows. 'Uh huh. And also, a day without a fake mustache is a wasted day, in my opinion.'

Santana smirks, until Brittany blushes, and looks away. 'Have you seen the guest list? I included everyone because glee club was always the most fun when you were there rolling your eyes about the people you didn't like.'

Santana actually caves this time, and slides a finger down the screen, just over Brittany's cheek, unseen.

'Looks good B, though I won't be upset if some of those losers don't show. Have you double-checked with the important people?'

'Yeaah, worked out perfectly. Kurt and Rachel were visiting that weekend anyway, that's why I picked it. Quinn says she can rearrange some stuff. 'Cedes has said yes, and the rest of them haven't got a reason not to come, as far as I can figure.'

Brittany grins at her, with a smile that reminds Santana of so much that she can't really help the fact that she's suddenly really distracted.

'B. You haven't checked with me yet?'

Brittany waggles a hand easily.

'Duh. You'll be where-ever I tell you to be, okay? Ain't no river wet enough, that stuff.'

Those aren't the words, but that's not the point. Santana smiles, and murmurs low, soft and easy.

'Can't wait B.'

Brittany bites her lip, and leans into the camera conspiratorially.

'Did you spot that I'm not wearing anything other than this t-shirt right now? Is that why your voice has done that thing?'

'Just a t-shirt, a mustache, and some tiger stripes?' Santana corrects, once again amazed that she can be both aroused and on the verge of laughter. 'It's pretty sexy.'

Brittany nods firmly, while reaching for hems.

'We should totally do something about that.'

Quinn clicks accept without even thinking about it. She then checks her planner and discovers that there will be one seminar meeting with her tutor that she'll have to re-arrange, but she's confident that she must have accumulated enough credit for it to be allowed.

She isn't even sure why the guest list makes her throat tighten, but there it is. This is a lot of past to be confronted with at once, she supposes. Some of these people will remember a version of her that Quinn has quietly and calmly been trying to eradicate, since she arrived at Yale.

Brittany had included an addendum to Quinn's invite, that she could bring a guest if she wanted, as long as the guest didn't mind doing a quick audition for the glee club on Brittany's doorstep, so they could become an honorary member of New Directions and thus not break any of the requirements for entry.

Quinn had planned to decline the offer politely, but finds herself reconsidering, turning it over and over in her mind. It would be satisfying, she imagines, to bring along someone presentable and friendly, just to demonstrate to everyone that, look, she did manage to turn into a fully functioning adult, and can attract normal people to her, as both friends and lovers.

She then realizes that her current thought-process is not one that any normal, fully functioning adult would have, and so scraps the whole idea, berating herself silently.

She should want to bring a friend because they're a friend, not because of what it says about her…

Thankfully, her phone lights up, dragging Quinn back to reality, and away from another downward spiral of self-analysis and second guessing.

It's Rachel.

Hi! I noticed you've said you're coming to Brittany's celebration. I'm planning on attending too! This is exciting, it will be great to have a moment to catch/ share horror stories from final year. When will you be travelling? X

Quinn bites her lip, and then shuts her laptop with a sigh, stretching out on the bed to apply herself to the time consuming challenging of replying to Rachel.

Brody doesn't mean to bounce when he walks, it just seems to happen when he's in a good mood. Which he is. Particularly today.

Flowers; he decides. He'll buy flowers.

Roses are something of a cliché, lilies remind him of death, and tulips are beautiful. Case closed.

He buys the biggest bunch he can carry, and winks at the girl as he pays, because why not spread the love? She feels appreciated, he feels magnanimous in his generosity with affection, everyone's a winner.

Rachel's bound to be pleased for him. He imagines her face, her reaction when he tells her. Bouncing up and down is certain to be involved. Squealing and hand clapping is a strong possibility.

On the subway, inside his head, he rehearses how to tell her.

So…you know how I'm always auditioning for shows…

Guess who's actually employed…?

Santana is going to be so pissed that her prediction of my career as a male gigolo has been postponed…

Too soon, the moment has arrived, and he's faced with his girlfriend, who is surrounded by baking paraphernalia.

'Hey! You are just in time to try pecan and coffee vegan cupcakes, and I want an honest critique this time, none of your usual everything tastes delicious tricks, because last time they really didn't and Kurt nearly….flowers? Why are you carrying so many flowers?'

Brody places them on the kitchen table and walks over to Rachel until she's pressed between him and the kitchen counter. When he kissed her she tastes like coffee icing. She grins shyly at him when they break.

'Ummm, hello? Did I stumble upon your favorite cupcake flavor?'

Brody reaches up to brush some stray flour from Rachel's cheek, before kissing her again.

'No, although they smell amazing. I'm just hyper-aware today of how lucky I am. And you're a big part of that.'

Rachel looks at the flowers over his shoulder, and tucks her arms into her chest, fingers pressed to lips.

'Okay. That figures, I suppose.'

Brody grins at her (and really, how can he not?) and leans down to bite gently on her earlobe.

'And the other part, well… I went to a call back today…'

Brody's got a job.

Brody's got a job on Broadway.

Brody's on Broadway.

Rachel thinks she reacts appropriately, but she cannot be sure. She pretty much went for default shocked/amazed/delighted multiplied to the nth degree, and it seems to pass muster.

The rest of the afternoon is spent listening to Brody ring various family members, and fill them in on the news.

Yes, they are going to pay him real money.

Initially only a member of the chorus, but he's sure that understudy opportunities will come up.

Starting in two weeks. Replacing a cast member who is relocating.

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Yes, it is a real show.

Yes, he's told Rachel. She's here now, actually.

Brody glances up at her from the sofa at that point, but Rachel smiles apologetically and shakes her head, because she doesn't really want to be embroiled in a conversation with Brody's grandma at that point. Brody just winks, before continuing the sentence without a break.

'But she's heading off to a dance class now, so you'll have to speak to her another time. She sends her love.'

Rachel has met Brody's grandma once, last Christmas. She remembers a vaguely confused but kindly old lady with a halo of white hair. She'd taken Rachel aside at one point and made her promise that she and Brody would always make each other happy. It had seemed like a big request, even when surrounded by Christmas lights.

Abruptly, Rachel rises from the sofa, and heads to her room, passing Brody close to kiss the top of his head as he talks.

She doesn't need to go the dance class. But she's going anyway.

After a blank subway ride, she remembers that she hates dance class more than enough to rule out any voluntary extra practice, and detours into a coffee house instead.

She thinks about ringing Kurt, and then rings Quinn instead.

'Hey, everything okay?'

Quinn sounds worried, and Rachel chides herself for ringing about something this trivial. She and Quinn don't do phone calls. They do texts and emails and smiley faces and occasional day trips; phone calls are for immediate problems.

'Yes, hello, sorry, no emergencies, I just needed to speak to someone, and Kurt's at work and Santana isn't picking up.'

Rachel has no idea why she lies, and panics briefly that Quinn will know, somehow, that Rachel hasn't even tried to speak to Santana. Quinn voice sounds unsure for a moment, but then she seems to commit to the conversation.

'I, okay, let me just… okay, I can talk now.'

Dammit, Rachel should have started the conversation with a query about whether Quinn was free for a conversation. She tries to make up, belatedly.

'Oh gosh, I'm not interrupting anything am I?'

Maybe Quinn was with friends. Or in the library, frantically finishing an essay. Or in the changing rooms of the gym. Or on a date!

Quinn laughs a little, though Rachel doesn't remember saying anything funny.

'No, I was just in the kitchen, and the people I share with are crazy nosy, as you know. I'm back in my room now. I can talk.'

Rachel knows she should get to the point, having interrupted Quinn's kitchen time, but can't seem to keep control of her tongue, which flies off in its own direction.

'You didn't leave the gas on or anything did you? Because I heard of someone who got distracted and left the hob on, forgetting that they'd put an unopened can of soup on top of it, and an hour later the tin had absorbed so much heat it just exploded and they'd painted the entire ceiling in minestrone, plus not to mention the dangers of flying soup tin shrapnel, and I would hate for someone to be maimed just because I'd distracted you by ringing up out of the blue.'

There's a brief pause in which Quinn appears to absorb this, and then she replies.

'I haven't left the oven on. And I don't like minestrone, so I think we're safe there.'

Rachel plunges on. 'I believe it would be a hazard no matter the type of soup Quinn, so do you need to go and check everything is off? I'm fine here, I can just wait. Or you could ring me back when all appliances have been unplugged.'

Quinn actually laughs at her this time, which is fine, Rachel can completely understand the impulse.

'Rachel, seriously. I was making a sandwich. Peril and risk of death is not involved. So do you want to tell me what has made you flip out like this? Or shall I run you through the fire alarm routine of my dorm until you're calmer?'

With an almighty effort, Rachel forces herself back on track.

'Brody has been offered a job. A chorus part on Broadway. How to Be Successful. He told me about an hour ago.'

There's a pause, and Rachel finds herself longing for Skype, because she wants to see, see how Quinn reacts rather than just hearing the edited version down her phone.

'That's…wow. Pass on my congratulations to him. He must be delighted.'

'Yeah… yeah' Rachel mumbles, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the opposite chair leg 'He bought over a big bunch of flowers for me. He's still in the apartment.'

Quinn clicks her tongue at her, and breathes 'Why aren't you with him?'

Rachel eyes her gym bag mournfully. 'I have dance class.'

There's a moment in which they both seem to consider this blatant lie, and Rachel takes a sip of too hot coffee, penitent.

'Rach…he's a year above you. He's been solid auditioning for the last six months, while you've been finishing your studies. It was always a possibility that he was going to get a role before you.'

Her tongue is burnt, her throat feels scalded. She tries to speak without wincing. 'I know. I'm happy for him. He'll be great, I know. He's great at everything.'

Quinn doesn't speak for a moment, and there's a background noise that makes Rachel think she must have just changed position. Maybe she's sat down. Maybe she's lying on her bed.

'And, this doesn't mean that you won't also be great.'

Rachel clears her throat, hesitant in case Quinn calls her ridiculous.

'It's just… approximately one in fifty of NYADA graduates make it on to Broadway. One in fifty. And so, the odds of both of us… I mean statistically…,'

Quinn cuts across her. 'You are not a statistic Rachel. You're phenomenally talented. Maths has nothing to do with it.'

Rachel tries to wrap herself in Quinn's words, tries to protect herself from reality.

'That's, I mean, there are lots of talented people here Quinn, and comparatively few places that we're all fighting for, and it's just a mountain of rejections to wade through, really. And some of these people can do everything, Quinn, I mean, it's insane, some of these girls.'

Quinn sighs, seemingly at her.

'You are still studying Rachel. You've had roles in the last two big productions NYADA have put on, and you were amazing in them, remember? The fact that Brody's gotten lucky has no bearing on your future success, because you do not need luck, okay?'

Rachel feels guilty, basking in Quinn's praise like this, but does so anyway.

'Do you think? I just… I feel bad, because he's so happy, and expects me to be happy, like any normal person would be, and I just can't help but think; one less chance for me.'

Quinn snorts at her, and breaks whatever mood there had been, and Rachel can breathe a little easier.

'Correct me if I'm wrong Rachel, but you aren't really cut out for male lead parts. You and Brody are not in direct competition, you know?'

Rachel grins a little at that, despite herself.

'Quinn! I know that, I just, I don't know.'

Rachel can tell Quinn's smiling from the way she answers.

'Nobody knows Rachel, because you are freaking out over nothing. This will probably be useful, actually. You'll go to cast parties on Brody's arm and mingle, look fabulous, make some contacts, that sort of thing. Whatever you Broadway types do.'

Rachel blows on her coffee and sips more carefully this time, casting eyes around the room.

'I'm not a Broadway type yet Quinn. But you're probably right. About it being good.'

Quinn laughs a little, and sounds as pleased with herself as she always does when Rachel finally concedes that Quinn is the saner of the two of them.

'I am always right Rachel. Yale, remember? And you've been an obnoxious Broadway type since the age of three, let's not kid ourselves here.'

Rachel's outraged, the type that makes her splutter even as she grins wide.

'Quinn! I'm wildly offended by that, I have to inform you.'

Quinn just giggles at her, and Rachel finds herself biting her lip in response.

'Whatever Rachel. Did you decide what you guys are doing for Brittany's party? Tell me quickly, as I'll have to go and check my unattended sandwich hasn't been stolen soon. Stolen or exploded.'

Rachel can tell already she's never going to hear the end of the minestrone warning.