Sorry for the filler chapter =(
Part Two: Tell Her, Don't Tell Her
It was nearly eleven at night when a knock came at Rachel's door and Santana finally peeked her head inside the door. "Is it okay if I come in?" she asked in a voice so small it was unbefitting of Santana Lopez.
Rachel nodded, abandoning her Music History 1 homework for the time being. Santana came and sat on the very edge of Rachel's bed next to her and Rachel rolled her eyes. She grabbed Santana's forearm and pulled the Latina closer toward her. Santana got the hint and wasted no time in moving to sit next to Rachel.
"I'm sorry I've been so angry at you, Santana. It was uncalled for and misplaced," Rachel told her.
"It's okay, Rachel," Santana answered without hesitation. "I think I'm starting to understand."
The diva's brow furrowed. "Understand? Understand what?"
Santana looked at her very seriously. "Do you love Quinn?"
The question came seemingly out of nowhere and it caught Rachel off guard for a moment. Regaining some of her lost composure, Rachel replied simply, "Of course. I care greatly about Quinn. She's my friend."
Impatience and patience war within Santana's facial features. "Rachel, that wasn't what I asked you. You know what I'm asking you, and I know that you know what I'm asking you, so let's be honest."
Rachel hesitated and held her tongue because she wasn't exactly certain how to answer that question. Yes, there was something there between her and Quinn; it's also true that she couldn't deny she had always been rather taken with the gorgeous blonde. Quinn was the most beautiful girl Rachel had even seen, but she's always known there was a lot more to Quinn than that. Quinn was clever, just as sharp-witted as she was sharp-tongued, strategic as a modern-day Athena, calculating, effortlessly poised, intimidating, and just a bit too spontaneous for her own good. But under the untouchable image that she projected, there was a part of Quinn that was also lonely, insecure, and vulnerable, always desperately and subconsciously reaching out for something or someone to grab onto. A friend. Someone to love her.
Which was exactly why Rachel never gave up on trying to be Quinn's friend, no matter how many times Quinn turned her down, because that was another thing she admired but drove her crazy about Quinn: her determination. Somewhere along the time of bribing Jacob Ben Israel not to go public with Quinn's pregnancy on his blog, singing and dancing and performing in Glee Club, being slapped by the blonde at junior prom, and helping one another find their way throughout their senior year, Rachel was starting to realize that she had fallen a little bit for Quinn, but she knew nothing could ever come of it, so she banished the notion to the very back of her heart and mind and locked it up there.
"You can never tell her or give her any hint about this, Santana," Rachel replied, consciously skirting around the question. "But it's possible that you're right in your assumptions, but that is all you're getting out of me."
Santana nodded acceptingly. "I got your back, Rachel," she said. "And I'm glad you told me." She bumped her shoulder into Rachel's and Rachel returned the affectionate nudge before resting her head on Santana's shoulder blade.
"Is Quinn staying the night?" Rachel inquired impassively.
"I think so. Why?"
"I just wanted to know how many people were in the loft in case of emergency," Rachel replied.
Santana scoffed before breaking into soft laughter. "That is the lamest excuse you have ever come up with, Rach," the Latina snickered. "Come on, admit it, you wanna know if you have an opportunity to get your Quinnie-cuddles on tonight."
"Santana!" Rachel shrieked indignantly. She grabbed a pillow from behind her and promptly whacked Santana over the head with it.
The Latina's dark eyes glittered wickedly as she grabbed a pillow of her own. "Oh, it's is so on!" she declared just as Rachel dove off the bed to duck for cover.
As Santana hurled her pillow toward Rachel, the door opened just in time for the airborne pillow to smack an unsuspecting Kurt directly in the face. There was a long silence as both Rachel and Santana studied Kurt's stunned expression, and then they both burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"So this is what goes on while I'm in New Haven," Quinn's silky voice remarked playfully from over Kurt's shoulder.
Kurt turned to look at her. "You have no idea," he grumbled. "It's like living with Thelma and Louise."
"Emma and Liv," Rachel seconded.
"Rachel and Monica," Santana added. She turned to the brunette who was still on the floor, "Which is kind of ironic considering you would be Monica and I would be Rachel."
"Oh, you'd definitely be Rachel," Quinn agreed drolly.
Santana chose to ignore that comment and turned her attention to Kurt. "Something you needed, Lady Hummel?"
He rolled his eyes but simply answered, "I wasn't sure whom was killing whom."
Santana simply rolled her eyes.
Quinn was leaving early on Saturday morning, which Santana thought was completely pointless, given that the girl hadn't even been with them for twenty-four hours. They hadn't even gone out for dinner or drinks or hit up any clubs; it was New York and there was no reason why Rosario Cruz and Emily Stark shouldn't have fun on a Saturday night. Not too much fun, like they had the night of the should-have-been wedding, but a little booze and busting moves.
"Are we really that unbearable?" Santana asked, watching Quinn gather the few things she'd brought along with her. "Come on, Q! What good is having friends in The City if you never come and hang out with them?"
"Leave her alone, Santana," Rachel sing-songed for the umpteenth time that morning. "Although I do somewhat agree." She turned her gaze to Quinn, "You should really come visit us more, Quinn."
"Yeah, 'cause you know we're, like, the only familia you have within a hundred miles of Yale," Santana agreed. "It's not good for you to be on your own so much. Kinda turns you into a raging sociopath."
"Santana!" Rachel scolded shrilly.
"What?!" the Latina snapped defensively. "We all know it's true. Loneliness plus Q equals cray-cray!Quinn. It's not an insult. . . okay maybe it's kind of an insult. . . but it's also a fact."
Rachel, who had her head in her hand, finally groaned, "Santana! Stop. Talking."
"No she sort of has a point," Quinn admitted honestly. "When I isolate myself I do kind of regress to HBIC-Quinn."
Santana nodded firmly to Rachel and spun her finger in horizontal circle near her head. Then she turned back to Quinn, "So you'll be back next week to stay the whole weekend, right?" The way she said it let it be known to Quinn that it wasn't really optional.
Quinn squirmed under Santana's hard gaze. "Um, well . . . don't you think it would be nice if you talked to you roommates before inviting me, Santana?"
"You're definitely coming next weekend, Quinn!" they heard Kurt yell from his bedroom.
Still feeling tense about the situation, Quinn turned her hazel eyes to Rachel, who had been studying her the whole conversation. In Quinn's eyes was a silent question, a request for affirmation that she would be welcome at the loft next weekend. The corners of Rachel's mouth quirked upwards as she grinned her approval.
"Okay then," Quinn sighed, feeling relieved that Rachel wanted her there. "I guess I'll be back here next Friday." She smiled at Rachel, and with a pink face, Rachel smiled back.
Three Weeks Later
"You should tell her."
"No, I shouldn't. It would ruin everything."
"Tell her."
"No."
"Tell her."
"Santana!"
"Tell her you love her!"
"Shut up, Santana. I'm not–"
"How does she knoooow,
You love her?
How does she knoooow
She's yours?"
"SANTANA!" Rachel yelled finally.
"What?! You're the one who made me watch the damn movie, now shut up and let me finish my song," Santana shot back. Just she was just about to open her mouth to continue the song, Rachel leapt up from her side at one end of the couch and put her hand over Santana's mouth.
"Stop," Rachel told her in a firm voice, before leaning back. The smaller girl lifted her monologue manuscript back onto her lap and returned her gaze to it. "You promised you wouldn't say anything."
"Actually, I think I told you I had your back, and Quinn's been here every weekend since your lovesick breakdown," Santana argued. At Rachel's leveling glare, Santana held her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine. But I'm telling you, the truth is going to come out and, with our luck, at the worst possible time and when we're least expecting it. If you tell her now yourself, at least you have control over how she finds out."
"Well, hopefully by the time the truth 'comes out'– preferably in at least another ten or twenty years– I'll be over it, and my friendship with Quinn will be strong enough that it won't matter," Rachel said with finality. She went back to memorizing the monologue pulled from the script of Spring Awakening that she had to deliver for class next week, but she could feel Santana's fiery eyes on her. Rachel looked up to the Latina who was, sure enough, staring expectantly at her. "What?!" she demanded.
"So, and I'm just pondering aloud here, what happens when Quinn starts dating someone who isn't you?" Santana asked. "Because let me you tell you, Rachel, being friends with the girl you're in love with when she's making googly eyes at some dumb guy who doesn't even have a clue what he has when he has her, is not a particularly joyous experience."
When Rachel bit her lip thoughtfully but didn't say anything, Santana leaned forward and took the tiny brunette's hand. "Trust me, Rach. Don't wait to tell her, it'll just hurt you both."
Their conversation stopped at the sound of the door being slid open. "Honey, I'm home!" they heard Quinn's voice echo playfully throughout the loft.
Santana leaned into Rachel. "Now, doesn't that sound like something–"
"Shut it, Santana," Rachel snapped.
"Hello?"
"In here!" they yelled in unison.
Rachel whipped her head back around to Santana. "I mean it, Santana. Not a word, not a remark, not a hint, nothing," she hissed quickly, before Quinn came within earshot.
Quinn glided into the room, more than she ever walked. The light from the setting sun that was coming through the windows against the far wall hit Quinn's blonde hair when she came to stand in front of the two squabbling girls and illuminated Quinn's head like a halo. Rachel's breath caught in her throat, as was the norm when Quinn came around lately, and it was all the brunette could do not to choke on her own saliva. Many times over the years had Rachel thought about how unfair it was that Quinn was so beautiful, but now it was for a completely different reason.
"Hi," Quinn's harmonic voice greeted them. She eyed the two awkwardly acting friends. "What did I miss?"
Rachel subtly drove her elbow into Santana's ribcage as the other girl opened her mouth to answer. "Dinner," she lied, her voice just a few octaves higher than was normal for such a mundane answer. "Any suggestions?"
The blonde looked at her quizzically. "I thought we were going out tonight," Quinn replied, her gaze shifting to Santana momentarily.
"We are," Santana firmly stated.
Rachel tried to keep her heart from falling, because of course Santana and Quinn were going out tonight– they were both young and beautiful, spirited young women and Santana had dragged them both out of the loft at least once per weekend the last two weekends that Quinn had come to visit them. She hadn't yet gotten Quinn to agree to a night of bar-hopping, but it seemed that the feisty Latina had finally won even that out.
As she tried to squelch the jealousy that was again flaring up in the pit of her stomach, Rachel remembered that while Santana and Quinn were beautiful and intriguing and attracted partners like moths to flame, she was not and did not. Besides, despite her own inexperience, she knew how these things worked; only one was needed to be a wingman (or, in this case, wing-woman). Quinn and Santana had always been friends, and Rachel had once been their public enemy number-one; she had about as much interest in being a third-wheel nuisance now as she did when she was sixteen.
She was an actress, she reminded herself, and in a difficult social situations actresses tended to do what they did best– smile at the camera and improvise. So Rachel plastered on the most genuine smile she could muster while feeling like her heart was shattered on the floor.
"Okay," Rachel said, her happy tone sounding too enthusiastic even to her own ears. "In that case I'll just grab something on my way back to NYADA." She got up from the sofa and looked at both of them with that same smiling facade that was now hurting her face.
"You're not coming with us?" Quinn asked.
"Why do you have to go back to NYADA tonight? It's Friday," Santana questioned over Quinn. Her tone was blank, as if Rachel's announcement had taken her totally by surprise.
Rachel really hadn't gotten as far with her lie as to have an excuse for why she was going back to NYADA, so she improvised again. "Composition. Late night thing. I'll see you guys in the morning!" she said, throwing the last part over her shoulder as she began walking out.