Author's Note: For anyone complaining about the lack of Faberry in this story… yeah, I get it. It's slow and probably sometimes boring if you're here only for them. I just kind of write whatever interests me, and Brittana, Pezberry, and Pieberry sometimes need their place in the sun, too. This story went from being about Rachel and Quinn to being about the Unholy Square sometime around chapter 12 and hasn't really let up since then. It'll always be Faberry first (in my opinion, at least) but it'll probably never be Faberry only.

Rachel, as she's getting used to having other people that care about her, is finding that she doesn't have to rely on Quinn solely for that. Also, she's dating someone else that she's falling for, and that lessens her crush on Quinn much like it did when she dated anyone else (Finn, Puck, Jesse). Quinn, God bless her, is both hating this while also enjoying the fact that the less focus Rachel has on her, the easier it is to deny her true feelings. As long as Christy's not around, anyway. Then her jealousy spikes, but she's choosing to view it as protectiveness because she's so very, very closeted.

I hate having to explain this story, and a very heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone else who hasn't needed it and has just accepted this story for what it is. I just didn't want anyone to start hating this story because of the lack of Faberry. It's just where they are in their respective lives right now. It won't last long, so suffer through if you need to. I like to think my writing these other characters is engaging enough to hopefully fill the Faberry void, but if not, I understand, and I appreciate you suffering through this chapter/part of the story.

Another quick note… If you ever see these long Author's Notes again, don't worry. I'm almost definitely never putting this story on hiatus. I love it too much. These long notes are just me being overly wordy which I constantly am. So "no worries, snow flurries" as I recently read again in one of my favorite stories ever. :-)

If you've never seen the U.S. version of the video for "These Words" by Natasha Bedingfield, go check it out. It'll probably make this chapter make a little more sense. If you don't, parts of this may be confusing.

Remember, if you ever have questions about this story, feel free to leave them in a review, PM me, or ask me on Tumblr. And while I can't respond to anonymous reviews on here, I'll always respond to anonymous asks on Tumblr.

Lastly, thanks for all the reviews, all the follows, all the favorites. I can never say enough how thankful I am for every single one, including the critical ones. You're all my little nuggets for taking your time to read this, and I love all of you.

-DJ

Rachel was dropped off at Santana's house by Leroy Sunday afternoon. She'd had to wait until Santana and her parents were back from church, but her message had told Rachel to come over any time after that. She noticed, with some annoyance, that it had told her to come over rather than asking her to come over. Specifically, it had said 'Bitch you needs to get over here and help me after church. This is all your fault.'

Rachel rang the doorbell once and waited. The Lopez house wasn't the 'baby mansion' that Quinn's house was, but it was still impressively huge. Rachel had only been over there a couple of times since the Christmas movie marathon, and even then it had been with Brittany, Quinn, or both. Every other time Rachel and Santana had hung out alone it had been Santana randomly showing up at Rachel's house. The Latina asking (demanding) her to come over was a first.

Maribel Lopez answered the door, smiling sweetly and saying, "Rachel. What a lovely surprise."

"Thank you, Ms. Lopez," Rachel said, returning her smile. It wasn't nearly as forced as it had been a month ago. She still got a little nervous around the older woman because she was scarier than Santana had ever been, but she was also one of the most pleasant women Rachel had been around. It was an odd combination when Rachel stopped to think about it, but it made sense, too. She was what Rachel imagined the adult version of Santana would be. Pleasant and cordial (eventually… hopefully), but still with that undercurrent of intimidation. After a few exchanged pleasantries, Rachel asked, "Is Santana in her room?"

"No, dear, she is waiting for you in the basement," Ms. Lopez answered. "Tell mi idiota that if you two want snacks or drinks to let me know."

"I will," Rachel said, again flashing a smile before she headed down to the basement. She took the steps down, good hand gripping the banister, looking around as she went for Santana. Rachel didn't see the other girl immediately as her foot hit the basement floor.

"Santana," Rachel called out nervously, looking around the room.

Suddenly, pap-pap-pap-pap-pap-pap-pap-pap-

"AIEEEEE, OW, OW, OW, STOP, SANTANA, OW, STOP!" Rachel screamed, holding her hands up to block her face as little yellow foam darts pelted her relentlessly.

The storm of darts let up as Santana said, "Okay, first of all, that didn't hurt, you big baby. Stop being such a… you. And b, you're lucky I'm not smacking you with something harder. Fortunately for you, I've been told repeatedly by two overprotective blondes that ever since your little slice n' dice misadventure I'm not allowed to actually hit you until you're all healed up. Speaking of… when are you getting out of that tendon brace?"

"Like I'm telling you," Rachel said, finally feeling safe enough to lower her hands. "You only care because you want to know when you can actually hit me."

"That hurts, Berry," Santana said, mock injury in her voice. Now that Rachel's hands were down again, Santana started back with the rain of darts, repeatedly pulling the trigger until the clicks came up empty. Contrary to her actions, she said once she was out of ammo, "You think after these past few weeks I'm really just interested in hurting you? I thought you'd know me better than that by now."

"I'm sorry if it's hard to put nine years of antagonism behind me," Rachel said, bending down to help Santana who had started to pick up the foam darts. "Especially when you're still constantly mocking me with the names and bombarding me with projectiles."

"Bombarding you…?" Santana repeated in wonder softly before raising her voice. "Bitch, it's your fault I'm stressing over this! I could have been 'bombarding' you with sticks or rocks. It's only because B and Q like you that I went out and got this Nerf gun just for you. Figured I could take out all this aggression I have for you without actually hurting you. So you're welcome."

"What did I do?"

"You're the one that told me I should sing to Britts," Santana said exasperatedly. "You're the one that said I should find the perfect song to tell her exactly how I felt in front of the whole Glee club so she'd know I was serious. Just me up there in front of everybody saying I'm gay and I'm in love with her. And now nothing sounds right and everything sounds the same. And stupid. And it's all your fault, Berry."

"And how is that my fault?" Rachel asked, standing with a handful of foam darts held to her chest.

"Because you… because it was you that…" Santana paused, anger evaporating. She scrunched her eyebrows, thinking. "Hold on, I know this one…"

Rachel looked just as confused as Santana before realizing what wasn't being said there. "Is it possible," Rachel asked, moving to dump the foam darts on the couch, "that you just wanted me over here to help you pick out a song and rehearse, and that you're maybe too scared of what Brittany's response to said song is going to be to realize there were probably nicer ways to ask me?"

"…no," Santana said petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I guess since you're here, I'll let you help me pick out a song since you seem to be so gung-ho about it." She stared at Rachel for a moment who was constantly exasperated by Santana, either from her vulgarity, rudeness, or seeming enjoyment of teasing Rachel. She started to wonder why she was even friends with her… until Santana's expression softened and she asked, "But seriously, Berry. When do you find out about your hand?"

They both took seats on the couch, foam darts between them. Rachel reached over and took the Nerf gun from Santana, looking at it and trying to figure out how it opened so she could start putting the darts back in.

"A week from tomorrow," Rachel said, unable to keep her voice from giving away how nervous she was, how frustrated. "I already know what they're going to say, though. As of right now, I can only move the index finger and thumb on my left hand. The other three fingers have almost no feeling in them and no movement. They're probably going to suggest either more surgery or say there's nothing they can do for me. I'm not stupid. I've done the research on cases like mine. It's usually permanent."

"Shit," Santana said, taking the Nerf gun back from her and opening it. She put a couple of the darts back in before handing it back to Rachel. As Rachel started putting the darts back into the gun, Santana continued. "I'm sorry. I know it has to suck. I mean, you're totally like Nemo with your little gimpy fin. Or, like, crab claw, I guess, since you're basically pincher girl with the left hand, now."

Rachel looked up almost horrified by how casually Santana was putting it.

"Sorry," the Latina said again. "I just meant that… I don't know. Fuck it. I suck at sympathy and being all sweet and caring and shit. But just because I suck at saying it doesn't mean I'm not feeling it, y'know? So… yeah. Sorry."

"Thanks," Rachel said, finally getting all the darts back into the Nerf gun. She closed it up and pulled back the… arming… thingie. Whatever it was called. Once it was ready to go, she pointed it at Santana and shot her a couple of times in the stomach. "So… song for Brittany?"

"Yeah." Santana stood and walked over to one of the chairs, taking from it a yellow legal pad and pen. "I've been making a list, but nothing really sounds right." As she was turned to the chair, Rachel shot her a few more times, this time in the butt, and giggled. "Easy now, fun size."

"Sorry," Rachel said, still smiling. "I've never had one of these before. I get the appeal." She let off two more, hitting Santana in the stomach and chest. "It's very fun."

"Then happy birthday, Berry," Santana said, walking back over and taking her seat next to Rachel. "Consider it a gift. I'd ask Britts, though, before using it around Babs. I don't know if she'd chew on the darts or try to eat them or whatever, but I can't imagine rubber or foam being good for her."

"Thank you," Rachel said. "I'm going to hug you now." She sat up on her knees and moved forward to hug Santana only to be stiff-armed and pushed by the Latina, causing Rachel to fall back against the arm of the couch. She sat there, looking up at the Latina who wasn't even paying her any attention. "Ow," Rachel deadpanned, though it was the lack of attention that hurt her the most.

"I warned you about that hugging shit, Berry," Santana said, starting to twirl the pen while looking down at the yellow pad. "And I know Britt's not here for you to take out your hugs on, but that doesn't mean you get to be all touchy-feely with me. Especially over some toy gun. No me gusta."

"Lo siento," Rachel said, sitting back up, causing the Latina to smirk even as she studiously ignored Rachel in favor of her rejected song list. "So what have you come up with so far? Can I see?"

Santana sighed, handing the notepad to Rachel. The artists she had chosen were all really good picks vocally for Santana. Adele, Rhianna, Amy Winehouse, Alicia Keys… but she could understand also what she was saying. They all had that same feel to them, and Santana was trying to make a new start with Brittany. No lying, no hiding, no manipulation. She just wanted her.

It was kind of beautiful and awe-inspiring, and of course Rachel was insanely jealous. She just wanted someone to love her unconditionally like that. She thought she'd had it so many times, over the last year and every single person had let her down. Now this thing with Christy… Sure they'd only been together a couple of weeks, but…

Rachel sighed, which caused Santana to look up from her nails and over to Rachel. "What?"

"Nothing," Rachel said, though she knew her tone betrayed her. She really was a terrible liar, wasn't she?

Santana looked over, arching an eyebrow at her. "Uh-huh."

Rachel sighed again. "Okay, not nothing. I'm just jealous of you."

"Well, duh," Santana said, going back to her nails. "I'm magnificent."

"No, not that," Rachel said, putting the pad down. "Just… you and Brittany… you're going to have this amazing relationship, and I'm jealous of that. I've never had that. Noah was never the right fit for me-"

"Wanky."

"and Jesse was- Wait. How is that even sexual?"

"Just imagining you and Puck 'fitting' together." Santana smirked.

"Well, can you please stop?" Rachel asked. "Knowing you're picturing me having sex with someone is somewhat unsettling while trying to continue this new-founded friendship."

"Fine," Santana huffed. "But only since you asked so nicely. Spoil sport. Now you were boring me with the details of your failed romances…?"

"Right," Rachel said, shaking her head. That wasn't even close to right, but it was like Quinn had told her. Listen to the message and not the words. "So Noah and I weren't a match, obviously, and Jesse- while exactly what I wanted in a leading man- was less than desirable in other areas. He was condescending and pretentious and… not very vegan-friendly."

Santana snorted a laugh. "Is that how you're choosing to view your breakup with Jesse? 'Not very vegan-friendly'?"

"Yes." Rachel crossed her arms and huffed when Santana laughed at her again.

"Sorry, sorry," Santana said, covering her face to hide her continued smile. "Go on. I'm sure you have a point here somewhere."

"I do," Rachel said grumpily. "And if you'd quit interrupting, I'd have made it already."

"Then please continue, Berry," Santana said. "This is actually kind of hilarious."

Annoyed, Rachel continued anyway, never one to pass up the spotlight in a situation. "So… where was I…? Oh, yes! Jesse and Noah weren't right for me. I thought for a while that Finn was, but seeing him with Missy… it's like they make far more sense together than he and I ever did. I admit to having to deliberately diminish the intellectual level of some of my vocabulary choices when having conversations with Finn, and that wasn't fair to either of us. And that's just one example. He and Missy, though? They seem to be more on the same level intellectually while having more common interests than Finn and I ever did. Add to the fact that I'm what some might call 'high maintenance'-"

"You think?"

"-while Finn seems the type to be unable to keep up with someone of my caliber." Rachel paused, registering Santana's comment. She stared at the Latina and suddenly felt like sinking down into herself. Physically, she started withdrawing into couch, biting her lip in uncertainty. In a smaller voice, she asked, "Am I… am I too high maintenance? Do you think that's why people don't like me? Why Christy won't be my girlfriend? Why… why no one loves me?"

Santana looked up, startled by the sudden change in Rachel's demeanor. "Shit, Rachel, I'm sorry," Santana said, sliding over and taking Rachel in her arms. Surprisingly enough to both of them, Rachel let her.

While Rachel sometimes felt like she was getting better, every now and then something would seem to fall on her out of nowhere and send her spiraling down into one of these depressing states. It wasn't like the panic attack/breakdowns she would have. Those were clear in what triggered them, and there was medication she could take to move past it. These depressing moments were sneakier but, thankfully, weaker.

They would hit at random times, brought on by the smallest of things. They would cause her to start crying over thinking about a sad movie or would hit her as she was trying to go to bed when she was thinking about school or the past or anything really. Sometimes she would step out of the shower, so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize she'd been crying until she saw the redness of her eyes.

Dr. Richards had said this was normal, a side-effect of moving on from the suicidal mental state, and that the antidepressant she was on should (and thankfully did) prevent her suffering more of them. Still, there were times like today when something would take her by surprise and she would start crying like she was doing now in Santana's arms. She just felt so… fragile… sometimes.

And to be fair to the Latina, Rachel knew she was joking. That it was just an offhand comment thrown out by Santana and not a real barb aimed to hurt her. Still, there was something about it that hit too close to home for Rachel's insecurities, and she couldn't help but feel like it was true. Like that was part of the reason no one liked her.

"No, no, estrellita," Santana whispered, stroking Rachel's hair as the brunette cried in her arms. "No, shhh… It was a joke, a stupid joke. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I know, I know," Rachel said, pulling back eventually. She bent over some, pulling at the hem of her t-shirt to wipe her eyes. It was part of the assortment of clothes that Santana had bought for her, a formfitting pink and white striped t-shirt. She felt there was probably something symbolic in that, but she couldn't figure out what at the moment. "Just ignore me."

"No," Santana said, removing Rachel's hands from her shirt. She reached out with the sleep of her own long-sleeved t-shirt and wiped at Rachel's eyes. "Seriously, Rachel, I'm sorry. I don't think you're high maintenance."

Rachel paused to look at her in disbelief.

"Okay, that was such a lie," Santana corrected. "I think you're probably one of the highest maintenance girls that I've ever known. But only because you know your worth. You're worth every extravagant demand you make on people, be they friend, family, or significant other. All these other girls, they let themselves be treated like trash. I have never and would never make fun of you for demanding that you be treated like an equal in a relationship. Unless you get back with Finn. Then I'd have to cut a bitch, but only because you demanding to be his equal would be you lowering yourself."

Rachel giggled, wiping her eyes while Santana thought about it for a second. "Actually, scratch that. All of those dumbasses you've dated- Puck included- were all beneath you. You're better than them and deserve to be treated as such. And if Christy is too fucking stupid to realize what she has then I may have to smack some sense into her, too." Looking seriously at Rachel, Santana asked, "Do I need to talk to her?"

"What?" Rachel questioned, sliding back. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, estrellita," Santana said, smiling and cupping her cheek. "You're best friends with the woman I love. And while I may not like you all the time, it does earn you special privileges. So just say the word and Christy's ass is mine. And not in the good way."

Rachel laughed again, saying, "No, no. It's okay. I mean… it's not, but I get why she is the way she is. I just hate it. In fact, I- OH!" Rachel shot up from the couch, an idea suddenly hitting her. "I was actually talking to Judy on Facebook the other night about this exact situation and my inevitable breakup with Christy when she goes to school in the fall. So Judy linked me a song by Garth Brooks called, 'Which One of Them' and I think it may describe your situation with Brittany perfectly."

"Hold up," Santana said, raising a hand as she stood. "Full stop. Judy?"

"Judy Fabray."

"Quinn's mom?"

"How many Judy Fabrays do you know?"

"You're friends with Quinn's mom on Facebook?" Santana asked again.

"…yes?" Rachel looked suddenly unsure. She was friends with her dads on Facebook. And she liked Judy. They actually had quite a few things in common. Why wouldn't they be friends on there? "Is that weird?"

Santana shook her head, sighing. "For you, probably not. For any normal teenage girl? Yes, definitely. You don't befriend your friends' parents on Facebook. Even if you're somehow lame enough to be friends with your own parents on there"- Rachel's face fell, causing Santana to stop, shutting her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course you are. Dios mio, Berry. Do you not know anything about being popular? Haven't you at least, like, gleaned enough off of us over the last few years that you can figure out some of these things for yourself?"

"…no," Rachel said, looking down.

Santana reached over and pulled her into a hug. "Don't you start crying again, estrellita. I'm a bitch, and you should know by now that I don't mean anything seriously. I'm just spouting bullshit. Ignore me. Fight back. Do whatever. Just please, please don't cry anymore. You have, like, the saddest cry face in the world and it melts my black little heart, okay? I mean, understandably, if you told anyone that I'd have to beat you silly, but it's true. You and Britts and Q? It kills me to see you bitches hurting."

"Why me?" Rachel asked, tears stymied for the time being. She pulled away from Santana so she could look up at her. "Why now? You used to hate me. Why do you suddenly care about me now?"

"Honestly?" Santana asked, causing Rachel to nod. "Honestly, it's because you tried to kill yourself. I mean, I kinda-sorta like you now because you're actually funny and helpful and a little bit of a badass a few times now, but the reason I don't want anything bad to happen to you ever again is because you tried to kill yourself. I figure you've had enough bad shit happen to you, and I'm sure a large part of that was my fault. So this here? Me being protective of you now? It's not just because you're Britt's friend or Q's friend or- God help me- my friend. It's contrition, too. Which basically means I got your back for life."

"Contrition?" Rachel questioned. "But you don't owe me anything. I don't blame you."

"Doesn't matter," Santana said. "I blame me. And I'm sure as shit that God blames me. So it's about you, but it's not about you, if you get me. I'm doing this for me and for God. To put us straight. So enjoy the benefits, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel said, nodding and forcing herself to smile. She wanted to argue more with what Santana was saying, but it was so like what Quinn had said that she really couldn't. Though Quinn had been sure to reiterate that she actually really liked Rachel now where Santana didn't seem to care so much about that point.

"So…" Santana said, chewing her bottom lip. "Where were we before you brought the melodrama? Oh, right. Q's mom. You know what? That's cool. Be friends with Judes. I'm sure she needs all the serious up friends she can get since all her fakies dropped her when the Fabray family imploded. So it's cool. Whatevs. Just stay away from my mom."

"Your mom actually scares me," Rachel said, "so no problem there."

"Yep, that's my mami," Santana said proudly before waving her hand to change the subject. "But you were telling me about a song…?"

"Oh, right, right," Rachel said. "I don't have it with me, but it's an older country song by Garth Brooks. Apparently Judy used to be a huge country music fan when she was younger, so she's been trying to broaden my musical horizons by introducing me to some of her favorites. She started with Garth Brooks." Rachel paused, looking up at Santana. "I could sing it for you, if you'd like? It's pretty short with not a lot of accompaniment, so it wouldn't' sound too different than what you could sing for Brittany."

"Sure, small fry," Santana said, sitting back down on the couch and looking up at Rachel. "Entertain me."

Rachel took a couple of steps back away from the couch, almost tripping over the large coffee table. She moved around it, putting it between her and the Latina. Looking down at Santana, she sang straight to her.

She tried to imagine what it would be like singing this for Christy, tried to imagine what her response would be. Would she even care? Would it make a difference? She wanted so much to be Christy's girlfriend, but she wanted everything too much. Wasn't that what she had said before? Maybe 12this- she, Christy- was another one of those things she wanted too much.

"Oh the girl at the bar, she bought me a beer
And she'd like to know if I'm new around here
And the girl that I danced with, said she's all alone
Her friends have all left, and she needs a ride home

Oh and there have been others that gave me the eye
But if they only knew they were wasting their time
There's only one love I could give my heart to
But you didn't want it and you broke it in two

So tell me which one of them will be you tonight
Which one will hold me in your arms so tight
I've forgotten what's wrong, given up on what's right
So tell me which one of them will be you tonight

So I'll just smile and pretend and she'll never know
What she's up against when she's holding me close
You're all that I wanted, you're all that I need
And when I close my eyes, honey, you're all I see

So tell me which one of them will be you tonight
Which one will hold me in your arms so tight
I've forgotten what's wrong, given up on what's right
So tell me which one of them will be you tonight
Which one of them will be you tonight"

Rachel wiped a stray tear from her eye as she finished. Sometime during the performance she'd started crying again, the song hitting a little closer than she'd wanted it to. Plus, she was naturally a crier when she sang solos. She couldn't help but put everything she was out there for people to see, to experience, when she sang. Thankfully, Santana knew enough not to make a big deal of it this time.

"That was beautiful, Berry," Santana said, patting the seat beside her for Rachel to sit down on. "It's not really something I could see myself singing, though."

"Maybe that's your problem," Rachel said, joining her on the couch. "You said nothing sounded right. That it all sounded 'stupid'. Maybe that's just your subconscious telling you that you need to step outside your comfort zone. That since you're doing this big, scary new thing for Brittany that you can't continue doing the same things you've always done and get by."

"We are still talking about singing here, right, Berry?" Santana asked.

Rachel just shrugged. She might be still sort of scared of Santana, but she also wanted to look after her best friend and make sure the Latina was going to treat Brittany right. They left it hanging at that for the moment.

"Even if I was going to branch out and do something different," Santana said eventually, "I don't think that would be the song to do it with. I think it would just kind of make Britts feel guilty for shooting me down last weekend, and that wasn't her fault. It was all mine."

"Yeah, maybe," Rachel said, shrugging again. She agreed with Santana that it was her fault but not so much about the song. Still, it was her choice.

After a moment of silence, though, Santana asked, "So what was your point while ago when you were talking about ex-boyfriends?"

"Oh." Rachel shook her head, having forgotten momentarily about that. "Just that I'm kind of jealous of you and Brittany. You're going to have this perfect relationship, and I've never had that."

"I doubt it'll be perfect," Santana said. "I'm sure to screw it up eventually."

"Probably," Rachel said, causing the Latina to glare at her. "But you're made for each other. You're like… soul mates. Everyone can see it."

"Maybe," Santana agreed as nonchalantly as she could while grinning like an idiot.

They suggested songs, genres, and artists back and forth for another half hour while taking turns shooting foam rubber darts at each other as one would pace or get up to get a bottle of water or because Santana was apparently "never singing Barbra Streisand in my life" even if Rachel said it was "the perfect song". They hung out like friends, and for Rachel Berry to be hanging out with Santana Lopez like friends was just insane to her. To both of them. And yet they enjoyed it. Mostly.

"This shouldn't be so hard!" Santana shouted. "It's Brittany! How difficult can it be?"

"Very, apparently," Rachel said, shooting another at Santana and hitting her in the crotch.

"Hey!" Santana stopped to look at Rachel. "I really don't want any phallic-shaped objects around my vajayjay, okay?"

"I feel like an older Brittany and some of her 'adult toys' are going to have a problem with that one day," Rachel said, unable to keep from giggling at Santana's reaction.

"Rachel Barbra Berry!" Santana said, sounding scandalized. "Did you just make a vibrator joke?"

"…yes?"

"Good on you," Santana said, holding her fist out. When Rachel just sat there on the couch staring up at her, Santana added, "You make your hand into a fist and bump mine with it."

"Oh!" Rachel said excitedly, sitting up straighter. "I've never done this!" She made a fist with her good hand and swung at Santana's who was thankfully quick enough to pull her hand out of the way.

"Jesus, Berry!" she yelled. "You're not trying to break my hand. Here, hold your hand out." Once Rachel had, Santana almost softly bumped hers against. "See? Now you try." And that was how Rachel Berry became semi-proficient at fist bumping.

They went back to looking for the perfect song, breaking out Santana's laptop and randomly searching through YouTube. After another failed hour, Rachel randomly asked, "Who's your favorite singer?"

"Natasha Bedingfield," Santana threw out automatically, surprising Rachel. She was one of her favorites, too. When Santana looked up at her looking slightly embarassed, she explained, saying, "What? I know she's all pop-y and shit, but she's a hot blonde that can sing. Like we don't both have that type. And besides, Brittany got me hooked on her." But something else was on Rachel's mind. "What?"

She was already changing the words in her head, but it could possibly work. Maybe changing the words would be stupid, though. Maybe Santana could just explain instead. That might would be better. Changing the words of the chorus would be easy enough, but the entire song was basically about writing a song, so it might be weird or difficult to change part of it without changing all of it. Hmm…

Again, from Santana, "What?"

Instead of answering, though, Rachel just smiled, singing, "These words are my own. From my heart flow. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Santana took over the next line. "There's no other way to better say I love you, I love you." They paused, looking at each other. "Berry, you're a fucking genius! Do you know how many times I've heard Brittany say she wanted one of those dancing boomboxes after seeing that fucking video? That song is perfect!"

"Oh! OH! What if we made her one?!" Rachel yelled excitedly, jumping up from the couch and causing Santana to stop and stare at her. "We could give it white sneakers and some Cheerios pants! And the heart eyes on the speakers like in the video! Brittany would love that!" When she realized Santana wasn't saying anything, Rachel asked, "What?"

"Serious up?" Santana said, smiling widely. "If Brittany wasn't in the picture, I'd marry you for that suggestion. Just saying."

"If Brittany wasn't in the picture, I wouldn't have made it," Rachel countered, shrugging. After a moment, she laughed and said, "You know, it's kind of funny. I said basically the same thing about Brittany last Sunday."

"What?"

"Relax," Rachel said, holding up her hands. "I was watching a movie with Quinn and Noah thinking about moms and not having one, you know? And I really like Mrs. Pierce. So I just said something like 'If Santana doesn't get her act together, I'm going to marry Brittany'. Considering I'm trying to help you get her, though, I hope you realize that I actually meant it about as much as you mean what you just said about me."

Slowly, Santana stood from the couch, getting almost directly in Rachel's face who refused to back down this time because she hadn't actually said anything to anger the Latina. Taking her hand, she cupped Rachel's face, leaned down, and gave her a long- though somewhat chaste- kiss. At least for Santana it was, anyway. Still, it left Rachel slightly flushed.

Pulling back, Santana looked down at her and said with a small smile, "I believe I've warned you about trying to tell me what I do or do not mean, Berry."

Hours passed as they worked on the song in Santana's basement. A fact that Santana was sure to point out repeatedly since Rachel was apparently such a "slave driver". No matter that she got offended since both of her fathers' peoples were once slaves. It wasn't Rachel's fault that she wanted everything to be perfect for Brittany. Something that, when explained that way, seemed to calm Santana down somewhat. Adding the fact that Santana had asked her to sing backing vocals just made Rachel want to be even that much more perfect.

During a break from singing, they had made a run to Best Buy looking for a portable stereo. They hadn't had any luck seeing as most everything was iPod docks now that only looked like those large radios from bad 90's movies and not the real thing. And Rachel Berry was going to make sure they had the real thing. Something else Santana made fun of her for. She wasn't a perfectionist. She just needed everything to be perfect. … Okay. Whatever. Maybe she was. It's wasn't like that was a bad thing.

They'd tried Target afterwards- also failing there- before hitting the local Wal-Mart. Santana had been against being seen in a Wal-Mart, but Rachel's suggestion of trying a pawn shop was shot down and saw the Latina leading the charge. Apparently, Brittany wasn't "getting someone's used piece of junk for this". That may not have been a direct quote, but Rachel was generally against using foul language.

They had settled on a rather large stereo that Santana had angrily complained about having to carry throughout the store while Rachel searched for a suitable doll they could cut the legs off of to work as legs for the stereo. Disappointingly, they were unable to find one big enough.

Santana had solved the problem by questionably obtaining some child-size mannequin legs at the mall. Rachel used the word 'questionably' because Santana had rushed out of the store with the mannequin legs stuffed under her coat while a security guard chased her through the parking lot. As soon as Santana was back in the car that she had said to leave running, Rachel had sped off, driving the Latina's car at breakneck speeds away from the mall. Rachel had never helped commit crime before. It was rather exhilarating.

Back in Santana's basement, Rachel worked on attaching the legs to the boombox while Santana went through the song yet again. Santana complained every time she had to run through the song, but Rachel wanted it to be letter perfect for Brittany. She was her BFF after all. And in a quiet moment between song attempts, Santana had even given Rachel a somewhat heartfelt thank you for working so hard on helping her get Brittany. Foul language was even kept to a minimum.

It was during yet another run-through of the song when Ms. Lopez came down into the basement causing Santana to stop singing immediately. She reached over, killing the music a half-second later, causing Rachel to look up and see the older woman staring at the two of them. Rachel was sitting on the floor, using a glue gun to attach mannequin legs to the boombox while Santana avoided her mother's eyes.

"What are you working on, baby?" Ms. Lopez asked Santana, looking from her daughter to Rachel and back.

"Something for Glee," Rachel said at the same time Santana said, "Science project."

Ms. Lopez crossed her arms, staring suspiciously back and forth between the two of them for a long moment before settling on Rachel and smiling a sweet smile. Rachel knew that smile. It was the same one Santana had used just a short while ago when she'd talked Rachel into being her getaway driver. It was that manipulative 'you can totally trust me' smile.

"Oh, God, I'm the weak link, aren't I?" Rachel blurted out before anyone could say anything else. Santana scrunched her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, and Rachel was sure she would have been cursing under her breath if her mother wasn't right there.

"Rachel, dear," Ms. Lopez said sweetly. "Mi idiota of a daughter would not happen to be lying to me, would she?"

"I… I… um…" was exactly how far Rachel got before Santana started talking and put Rachel out of her misery.

"I'm sorry. You're right, mami," Santana said, facing Ms. Lopez. "I just didn't want you to hear me sing because I haven't really got the song down yet. I shouldn't have lied. That was wrong of me."

"Yes, it was, baby," Ms. Lopez said, reaching out and patting Santana on the cheek a little harder than necessary, but still lovingly. "Now let me hear your song."

Santana took a step back, flustered. "Oh, no, you don't want to hear that. It's… I mean, it's not really that good yet. And I'm still working on getting it down. And, uh…"

"Nonsense, baby," Ms. Lopez said, smiling. "I love to hear you sing. You have a gift, mi corazon. A very lovely voice. And if Rachel is singing with you, it must be twice as good." She turned to Rachel and nodded. "You are really very talented, dear."

"Thank you," Rachel said, smiling a little more warmly up at Santana's mother. She might be the scary parent out of the Unholy Square's parents, but she clearly knew talent when she heard it.

Santana huffed, crossed her arms, and said, "Fine. But let me talk with Berry, make sure she knows her part."

As Ms. Lopez seated herself on the couch in anticipation of the performance, Santana grabbed Rachel by her good arm and drug her to the other end of the basement. Before Santana could say a word, Rachel whispered, "Don't worry about me. You can pick anything you want to sing to her, and I'll back you up. It doesn't have to be the song for Brittany. Just pick something and even if I don't know it I can harmonize along with you."

Santana released a breath, glancing back at her mom before turning back to Rachel. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Rachel automatically supplied. She bit her lip in thought, though, causing Santana to arch a questioning eyebrow. Rachel's jealousy momentarily surged again at the ability before she quickly let it go.

"What, Berry?"

"Well…" Rachel drawled out, looking back at Ms. Lopez. "I was just thinking… what if you just went ahead and told her what you're going to sing to Brittany. I mean, you're planning on telling your parents anyway, right?"

"…yeah," Santana eventually said.

"So why not go ahead and tell her now," Rachel suggested.

Santana shifted from one foot to the other, looking back at her mother who seemed to be growing impatient. "But what if…" she said, so nervous Rachel barely recognized her whispered voice. "What if she does like Quinn's parents? What if she kicks me out?"

"Then you'll come home with me," Rachel said, smiling to try and reassure Santana. "The guest room will be your room for however long you want it. My dads already said so. You could repaint it and everything."

"They'd really… you'd really do that after… everything?" Santana asked.

"We're family now," Rachel said, placing a comforting hand on the Latina's arm. "What is it you keep saying? I look out for mines."

They shared a smile for a moment before Santana suddenly reached out and hugged Rachel, quickly squeezing her before letting her go. "Thank you, Rachel."

A stunned Rachel stared at her. "You called me Rachel."

Santana waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Momentary slip, Berry. Won't happen again."

After taking a few deep breaths, Santana walked over to her mom, sitting down on the coffee table to face her. She reached out and took Ms. Lopez's hands, holding them still. "Mami," she said quietly, though it echoed in the silence. Rachel felt like she was intruding on a private moment, but there was no way to subtly go past them and up the stairs. "Mami, I have to tell you something."

"If you are pregnant, baby," Ms. Lopez said almost as a warning, "you had better not tell me who the father is because then I will have to go to jail for double murder. Especially if it is that Puckerman boy."

"No, no," Santana said, chuckling nervously. "It's nothing like that. It's kind of… the opposite of that?" Santana shook her head like that didn't even make sense to her. "I just… I have something I need to tell you. You asked me to sing the song I've been working on to you, but I'm nervous because… because it's a love song."

Ms. Lopez stared at Santana for a long moment betraying no emotions. "And you are in love, baby?" Her eyes darted past Santana to lock on Rachel's for a moment before going back to her daughter.

"I am," Santana said, nodding. She let go of her mother's hands so she could rub her own together. "But… I'm scared. I'm scared you're not going to like who I'm in love with. Or… you're not going to like the fact that I'm in love with them, I guess."

"Baby, I love you," Ms. Lopez said. "It does not matter to your father or I who you love just so long as they love you back and treat you with respect. We have always just wanted you to be happy, no matter who you are with."

"Even if it's with Brittany?" Santana whispered, tears starting to fall from her eyes.

"Oh, baby, come here," Ms. Lopez said, pulling her daughter from the coffee table to the couch and wrapping her in an embrace. She held her as she cried softly, rocking her back and forth and shushing her. Eventually she spoke, saying, "Brittany is a lovely girl, one who I already think of as one of my girls. I already love her. Not in the same way that you do, obviously…" She chuckled, trying and failing to get Santana to do the same. "But your father and I both adore her. We do not care that she is a girl as much as we care that she treats you the way you deserve to be treated. And that goes for you, too."

"But- but-" Santana pulled back so she could look her mother in the eyes. "The church. They- they say I'm wrong to love her. And you and papi, you've always said to follow what the church says. To do what God tells us to do and be a good Catholic and all that bullsh- crap," she finished lamely. "What about all that?"

"Santana, mi bebe, mi corazon," Ms. Lopez said, pulling her back into her. "I love God, I love the church, and I love you. These things are not exclusive from one another. And nothing will ever change that. Is what you are doing a sin?" Ms. Lopez shrugged. "That is not for me to judge, but… honestly, baby? I do not see how love can ever be a sin. I do not see how it is wrong for you to feel about Brittany the way your brother feels about Tiffany. Or the way I feel about your father. Love is love, baby. It is simple."

Santana broke in her mother's arms, crying hard now. Rachel was crying, too. How could she not? It was like some Hallmark movie on lesbian acceptance. It was beautiful. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, watching Ms. Lopez comfort Santana, wiping at her own eyes, but when they started to talk lowly in Spanish to one another Rachel again began to feel like she was intruding and discreetly tried to make her way to the stairs.

"Wait, Rachel, dear," Ms. Lopez called from the couch. "You do not have to leave." Turning back to Santana, she wiped her daughter's eyes and said, "Honestly, I thought you were going to say you were in love with Rachel." She turned back to Rachel quickly. "Not that it would be a bad thing. Not at all. You are a very lovely girl."

"In love with Berry?" Santana asked, pulling a disgusted face and trying not to smile as her mother held her. "God, no!"

"And where was that disgust when you were proposing earlier?" Rachel asked sarcastically.

"Baby," Ms. Lopez said, again warningly.

"Rachel's joking, mami," Santana said. "It was a joke from earlier. We're just friends. She's actually trying to help me get Brittany."

"Oh," Ms. Lopez said, understanding dawning on her. "Okay, that makes sense. She is giving you singing advice. That is very sweet of you, Rachel."

"Thank you," Rachel said, blushing. "I think between helping Santana with the song and the stereo and offering her a place to live, I've really done my good deeds for today."

Ms. Lopez stiffened at what Rachel had meant as a joke, and Santana looked at her mother in alarm. "Mami?"

"What do you mean you offered her a place to live?" Ms. Lopez asked firmly.

Rachel swallowed, eyes darting from Ms. Lopez to Santana and back. "I just… I mean… she was worried that you might kick her out like Quinn's parents did when… when she came out to you so I told her that she… that she could come live with us if she needed to."

Ms. Lopez grimaced, turning to eye Santana. "You were worried about this baby?"

"Si, mami," Santana said quietly.

"Oh, baby," Ms. Lopez said again, wrapping her arms around her daughter. "If I had known that I would have talked to you before now about being gay."

"Wait," Santana said, pulling back. "You knew."

"Of course, mi idiota," Ms. Lopez said, fondly palming her daughter's cheek again. "You and Brittany are not as… quiet… as you believe yourselves to be."

"What?" Then what her mother said caught up with her, and Santana blushed as dark as Rachel had ever seen her. "…oh."

"Yes, 'oh'," Ms. Lopez said, rising from the couch. She walked over to Rachel and looked her in the eyes. "And you. You offer my daughter a home after everything she has done to you. Half of which I probably do not even know about?" She reached out and palmed Rachel's cheek like she had Santana's. "You are a sweet girl. Let me cook you something."

"Wh-what? No, no," Rachel stuttered out. "You don't have to do that. I was… It was nothing."

"You look out for my daughter," Ms. Lopez said. "You help her when she has been horrible to you. It is not 'nothing' to me, baby. You are one of my girls now, just like Brittany and Quinn. So now I cook something for you."

"You better let her do it, Berry," Santana said. "She's not going to let you leave without feeding you."

"Si, my daughter speaks the truth," Ms. Lopez said. "Anyone that will help look after mi idiota deserves nice things in return. It is our way of saying thank you, Rachel."

"And I appreciate it," Rachel replied. "I really do. It's just that I'm vegan so I can't really eat much of what you cook. No offense or anything. I'm sure it's delicious."

Ms. Lopez stared at Rachel, pursing her lips in thought. "There must be something I can do for you, baby."

Rachel looked over at Santana before a sneaky smile crossed her lips. She knew just how to rankle her friend. "Well… I could always use more Facebook friends."

Later on that night, Santana and Rachel were huddled under the blankets on opposite sides of Santana's king-sized bed. Santana had yelled at Rachel as soon as her mother had gone upstairs for pulling that Facebook bullshit after telling her explicitly not to- and in front of her, no less-, but it had lacked all of its bite. How could she be mad when her mom had been so accepting? And she knew she still had to tell her dad tomorrow since he was working a late shift tonight, but her mom had assured her that he already knew, too, and it likewise hadn't changed his opinion of her. Her parents were amazing. She just wasn't looking forward to telling her abuela. It was that conversation she was thinking of when she heard crying coming from the other side of the bed.

"Berry?" Santana called out in the dark. "Are you okay?"

"…yes," came the wet response from the dark lump to her right.

Santana reached out, putting hands on the girl and rolling her until they were facing each other. In her soft, Brittany-only voice, she asked, "What is it, estrellita?"

"I…" Rachel whispered before pausing. "For so long it's just been my fathers and I. No one's liked me. Now, I have you three, your mom and dad, Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, Ashley, Judy… It's like I have this whole new family since I tried to kill myself and if… and if I had succeeded…"

"But you didn't." Santana pulled Rachel closer, again choosing to hug her for the… fuck, she wasn't even sure anymore how many times it had been that day. Jesucristo, these crying girls were going to be the death of her. She couldn't take it. "You're here. It's all okay."

"I know, I know" Rachel said sniffling, burying herself in Santana's arms. "And I know it's probably temporary, but this feeling just still feels… foreign."

"What feeling, estrellita?" Santana asked, stroking her hair.

"This feeling. The one where I'm actually happy to be alive."

"Which One of Them" by Garth Brooks