Getting It Right - Interlude


She probably wasn't even coming.

Rubbing the back of his head, he debated how long to stay at the suggested rendezvous before taking the hint. He knew she was still low-key pissed off after all, and he could well believe her determination to snub any offer that could be perceived as an act of charity. Hardly fair, considering the risk he was taking in reaching out without permission. He shifted impatiently, the rough bark of the tree scraping against his shoulder blades.

Okay, so maybe he was feeling a little guilty. Maybe he couldn't get the accusing look on her face out of his head. Maybe he couldn't forget that glimmer of vulnerability he had seen under the glaze of bitterness in her eyes. He glanced at his cell again. Fuck it. If she wanted to wallow in spite and stubbornness, fine. But she couldn't claim he hadn't tried.

Letting out a gruff sigh, he pushed away and straightened up. His boots scuffed in the muddy grass as he made to turn them around, ready to take their usual route through the park, but a flicker of movement at the periphery of his vision made him pause.

Her stride was brisk but graceful, making hardly any sound to announce her approach, full of an athletic litheness that demanded admiration. Her hands were buried deep in the pockets of her faux fur jacket, giving her shoulders a slightly defensive hunch, and a few platinum locks fell free from the angora cloche hat that swaddled her head. Thermal leggings hugged her curves and her (no doubt) frosty gaze was hidden behind the oversized sunglasses she had deployed against the low winter sun.

She looked like a Hollywood starlet from the 60s or some shit. And the overall effect was so fucking hot, Puck had to fumble to find his scowl again.

"Nice of you to finally join us. Did your mani-pedi overrun?"

Quinn completely ignored the scornful comment, her attention now fully fixed on the pushchair that sat under his grip. Her steps seem to falter and slow as she drew closer, as if she feared her mere presence would somehow distress the little girl who dozed away under the retracted hood.

Finally seeming to steel herself, she knelt down beside the stroller and removed her glasses with slightly trembling hands. "How long do we have?" she asked quietly, her gaze never moving from Beth's face as she absorbed every detail with a soft awe that was nearly reverent. Forever wouldn't be long enough.

"About an hour."

She nodded, lips pressing together with stoic determination. Her fingers itched with the urge to stroke the apple of her baby's cheek, to tuck an errant blonde curl back into the furry hood of her tiny jacket. But Quinn didn't dare disturb the peaceful tableau; was terrified of the screams and sobs that might follow as Beth recoiled from her touch again.

Puck shuffled restlessly, uncomfortable in the heavy silence and stillness.

"She doesn't usually nap long. If we walk, she'll probably wake up."

Quinn hesitated but Puck started up the stroller before she could voice her doubts. Quickly catching up, she fell into step beside him while keeping an ever watchful gaze on their sleeping daughter, as if the child was in danger of being whisked away from her by a malicious gust of wind.

The awkwardness dragged on for a few more minutes, until Quinn figured she should make some effort. Puck was never going to willingly engage in small talk. Gritting her teeth only briefly, she broached the most pertinent subject to their current situation.

"So where is mother dearest, anyway?"

"Faculty meeting."

The answer was curt, the question clearly expected. Quinn chanced a glance at his expression, which was tight and tense. She knew he was taking a chance with his visitation privileges by going behind Shelby's back like this.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to snitch on you. No point us both being black-listed." Quinn's voice dropped to a mumble that she half hoped he wouldn't hear. "I do… appreciate it, though."

The footballer turned his head in surprise at the grudging words of gratitude, but she was already looking the other way, her gaze shielded from unwanted attention and posture stiff. It was an all too familiar sight these days.

Puck frowned to himself.

The former Cheerio had always been a girl of contradictions. The Queen Bee and Bitch of the Unholy Trinity, perhaps the only one of them all who could hold her own against Santana at her fiercest. The perfect girl next door, pious and chaste, with a sweet smile and homely style. A fun and quick witted friend; one edged with an underlying urge to rebel, to defy expectations. It was what he found so intriguing about her, even beyond the pure sex appeal she oozed from every pore. Why he hadn't been able to stay away from her even once she became Finn's girlfriend. Why he had broken the most sacred of guy codes. Why he had been willing to raise Beth with her, if that was what she had wanted.

He barely recognised that girl any more.

Quinn certainly had always had a superior attitude, protected her status with a sharp tongue and array of underhanded tactics. But the girl he had known had also been bright and warm, willing to be unguarded and still excited by life. She could be tender and shy in some moments, silly and cheeky in others. There was no trace of that softness in her now. It had been frozen down under the aloof iciness that had become her second skin. He might not be the most perceptive guy in the room most of the time, but even he knew something was amiss. Puck had felt the distance that kept her apart from the rest of the club, the lack of connection, the impersonal facade that had built up between them all. It was like she was there, but she wasn't really. She didn't let anyone get close any more.

Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely accurate.

"Can I ask you something?"

She looked round as he spoke, suspicion drawing in the corners of her mouth, but he ploughed on before she could shut him down.

"What are you doing with him?"

There was no need to clarify who the 'him' in question was. Quinn dismissed the rebuke with a roll of her eyes, in no mood to endure the sanctimonious judgement that seemed to accompany every word and look directed her way.

"Having fun."

"St. James doesn't do fun. He does selfish manipulation."

She laughed, the sound cold and cutting on her satin lips. "How exactly is that different from anyone else?"

Puck clenched his knuckles against the urge to turn and grab her arms, to force her to listen. He honestly didn't know why his concern insisted on manifesting as aggression, but it seemed the habit was too ingrained to break now.

"He's just using you."

"Maybe we're just using each other."

"Quinn –"

"Besides," she challenged angrily, turning to face him and bringing them both to an abrupt stop, "since when is it any of your business who I fool around with?"

He opened his mouth, ready to retort that he still cared about her and that gave him the right to watch her back, that he had dibs on beating up anyone who hurt her, but a sudden burble of agitated sounds interrupted their argument.

Quinn immediately tensed, a look of pain and longing tearing her expression, and Puck glanced down dumbly at their young charge. Beth was squirming in her seat, intermittently crying and shrieking as she tugged on her shoe and kicked her legs.

"She wants to walk."

Quinn met his eyes briefly, neither quite aware of the trepidation or subtle nod of encouragement that passed between them. With a deep breath, she moved forward and lowered herself down in front of her daughter, smiling as calmly as she could. Beth spared her only a cursory glance of curiosity before returning to her task of trying to capsize the pushchair. The teen murmured soothingly and undid the buckles for her, making sure to keep a careful hold as the toddler lurched unsteadily to her feet. Without even a pause of consideration, the little girl latched onto her fingers for support and promptly set off towards the grass, delighted at her freedom.

Quinn felt her heart expanding painfully at the feel of the tiny, tight grip on her hand, the rush of relief and joy and anxiety overwhelming all other thought. She heard herself giggling at each clumsy step they took together, smiling so widely at Beth's happy babbling that her cheeks began to hurt. When the child turned her face up to hers to give an excited squeal, Quinn could see the faint brush of freckles that crossed her nose. She felt her chest tighten and squeezed her hand as hard as she dared. Her perfect little girl.

Puck couldn't help his grin as he watched them. The change in the cheerleader was striking. Her expression was suddenly rapt with affection and love, her eyes laughing along with her lips, an easy lightness in her demeanour that he had sorely missed. She finally looked like herself again, the girl he'd only caught glimpses of over the last few years. She looked... happy.

Slowly, he walked over to join them, absorbed in his thoughts. By the time Beth had plonked down on the ground, now engrossed in plucking fistfuls of grass while Quinn fell to her knees beside her, a frown had taken over his features.

"We really screwed up, didn't we."

Quinn gave him a sharp look and he hastened to clarify his statement.

"The Glee Club."

She didn't respond, giving Beth her full attention once more as the small child demanded her hand in which to place the freshly plucked grass. The student accepted her gift with all the appropriate enthusiasm, and Beth beamed proudly before returning to her gardening.

Puck carried on, keen to elaborate on his epiphany while it was still somewhat coherent.

"We spent all this time focusing on Santana and Kurt and whoever else was having a crisis, that we completely overlooked what you were going through after Beth was born. We didn't pay attention to the aftermath."

"What else is new," she muttered, not taking her eyes off her daughter, a gentle smile still hovering on her lips despite the bite in her tone.

"We none of us looked closer or checked in with you." Puck examined the girl before him with a sad tilt to his head. "And you're a fucking mess. Have been ever since I knocked you up."

Quinn scoffed, throwing him a disdainful glance. "Don't flatter yourself."

Sighing, he stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders a little uncomfortably.

"I'm – I'm sorry, Quinn. For not seeing how much you were hurting. For the Glee Club not being there for you."

There was a moment of silence. Quinn kept her gaze trained on Beth, Puck's on his feet. It was soon broken by a series of insistent exclamations, as the little girl signaled her desire to stand up and the teenager quickly took her hand again to assist.

He watched the two girls weave a slow and wobbly path back to the stroller, Beth chattering away and Quinn making a valiant attempt at her side of the nonsensical conversation. The sight caused his chest to burn with both pride and guilt.

Puck decided then and there, that he would do better.

/o/

"Sweetheart, can you get the door?"

Rachel tossed the dishcloth onto the counter, happy for an excuse to escape her chores. When she dutifully answered the persistent knocking a moment later though, she suddenly regretted her initial eagerness.

"Hah! She lives! You owe me ten bucks and a foot massage."

"Not so fast, my body snatcher theory could yet be proven true. Let's make really sure before I have to endure your garish toenails wiggling in my face again."

"Thanks for reminding me, they need a second coat."

"Don't look at me –"

As her two teammates continued to jibe back and forth on her doorstep, Rachel half considered if she could just sneak the door closed again without them noticing. Unfortunately she wasn't fast enough, and she felt her dad approach from behind her just before his warm, booming voice filled her ears and drew the attention of her bickering friends.

"Hello boys, good to see you. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Returning to the objective of their unannounced visit, Kurt spread his arms wide with a grin that was more than a little threatening in its gleeful innocence.

"I'm afraid we have come to steal your daughter for the evening and hold her hostage to chocolate, pedicures and Judy Garland!"

Hiram Berry chuckled as Blaine held up a tote bag in demonstration, a slightly apologetic smile on his face as he subtly elbowed his boyfriend in the ribs.

"If that's alright, of course."

"Blaineee –" whined the teenager, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "It defeats the point if you ask for permission! We discussed this!"

Hiram dismissed the domestic tiff with a wave of his hand and a gently amused expression. "I quite agree. Do come in, won't you. I suppose I can always make Leroy help me dry the rest of the dishes."

Before she could voice an opinion on the matter, the door was swung wide and Kurt had an arm around her waist, ushering her away while Blaine exchanged the necessary politeness with her ever obliging father. Rachel managed one indignant look over her shoulder, only to see her dad give his blessing for her abduction with a wink, and then she was being practically manhandled up the stairs by her surprisingly strong best friend.

"What are you really doing here?" she demanded in a peevish whisper.

"Exactly what I said," Kurt replied, his delicate features almost pixieish in their cunning. "How dare you accuse me of having an ulterior motive."

Ignoring her protests, he cheerfully bundled them into her bedroom. By the time she had wheeled around and planted her hands on her hips with an affronted splutter, Blaine had joined them and the door was closed, preventing any more of her attempts to elude them.

"What the hell, guys! What's with the ambush? If you'd bothered to call, I would have –"

"You would have fobbed us off," Kurt finished briskly. "Like you have with every other attempt at contact for the last three days."

"I – I haven't done that."

Kurt raised a reproachful eyebrow and Blaine frowned, looking uncharacteristically serious. Rachel knew her denials fell flat, and she tugged at her fingers anxiously.

"So I've been a little quiet," she mumbled defensively. "So what? It doesn't mean you have to rush over here and run an intervention. I just wanted some time by myself. Is that a crime?"

"No," said Blaine."But we thought –"

"You left us no other option," Kurt interrupted with a huff, less inclined towards tactful cajoling than his other half. "You've been avoiding us both like the plague, making excuses, barely acknowledging messages and ignoring calls completely. You even blew off our trip to the mall yesterday –"

"I wasn't feeling well –"

"Rachel," he blurted impatiently, sick of beating around the bush. "I talked to Finn."

Of course he did.

Her gaze slid away in the beat of silence that followed. Letting out a deep breath, Rachel turned and sat down heavily on the end of her bed, feeling strangely numb and suddenly very tired. She'd known this was coming; that they would corner her eventually. Successfully evading her persistent best friends was no easy task, and one that she could only pull off for so long.

"So now you know."

"Oh, honey." Blaine moved swiftly to join her, placing his bag of goodies aside and grasping her hand that lay limp on her lap. "It's gonna be okay."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Kurt stood in front of her, arms folded and a worried crease to his eyes. Rachel could tell from his tone he was hurt she hadn't confided in him, and the guilt stung somewhere down under the apathy that gripped her. She shrugged half-heartedly, a weak smile on her lips.

"It's not exactly something new and shocking, is it? I'm – I'm sure we'll work it out soon enough anyway, we always do. And I... I didn't think you'd thank me for bending your ear with the same old histrionics."

The mattress bounced under his lanky frame as he flopped down on her other side, promptly sprawling flat on his back dramatically. "Oh please, don't you know I live for the Finchel soap opera in my life."

Blaine squeezed her fingers, drawing her attention away from his less-than-helpful boyfriend.

"You should know better by now," he admonished gently. "We're always here for each other, no matter how crazy things get. Of course we'll give you time if you ask us to, just don't go all silent shut-in on us, okay? You know how panicky he gets."

"Excuse me?" came the shrill retort as Kurt leaned up on his elbows, fixing Blaine with an insulted glare. "You're the one who's been literally fluttering with concern all weekend. I had to take your phone away last night because you were stalking her WhatsApp online status all through dinner!"

"Only because all your insane theories were stressing me out! You thought she might have been sex-trafficked across the border!"

"That, or Vocal Adrenaline had locked her up in a basement somewhere 'til after Regionals –"

"The point is," Blaine cut in as he turned back to her, "we both care an unhealthy amount about your well-being. And we... well, we're worried about you."

"Yeah," Kurt muttered. "And if we hound you sometimes, it's only out of love."

Rachel was a little bewildered by their extent of their preoccupation over her emotional state. (And secretly rather flattered.)

"Well, I hate to disappoint, but my life hasn't quite turned into a late-night HBO drama just yet. I'm saving that excitement for my twenties."

"Complete with gratuitous nudity, obligatory intrigue, and your own obsessive fan base, I should hope."

"Naturally."

Kurt sniggered and she rolled her eyes. Pinching his thigh hard enough to earn her a testy yelp, Rachel turned back to Blaine with what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

"And I know you care, and I appreciate it, I really do. Sorry I've been incommunicado. I didn't mean to cause such rampant paranoia."

Blaine chuckled and she smiled, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. "But I'm–I'm okay. It's just been a... rough few days."

The mood instantly sobered, neither boy missing the quiet catch in her voice. Kurt sat up, shifting to rest his back against her corner bedpost to better converse with them. Blaine saw the way her eyes dropped to the floor under their respective examinations; felt the way she stiffened beside him, tensing with reticence.

"It's okay to not be okay, you know."

"Exactly," Kurt chimed in with agreement. "Just 'cause you guys have pulled this stunt so many, many, times before, doesn't mean it hurts any less."

Blaine grimaced. "Real sympathetic, man."

"What? It's true!" Kurt flicked his wrist defensively. "You missed the first year of New Directions, remember? It was wild. Lust triangles, who's-the-daddy drama, more hookups and breakups than a series of Temptation Island, forbidden love and secret affairs – the whole shebang."

The teen tapped his chin in thought, oblivious to his boyfriend's incredulous expression. "To be fair, I should have actually clocked Finn's romantic funk sooner. God knows, I've seen it before enough times."

"What did he tell you?" Rachel murmured, glancing up nervously.

"Not much," he admitted. "He's being almost as difficult as you. I gathered something about you guys going on hiatus for a while? Other than that, I got a few grunts and grumbles and then he took the rest of his lunch upstairs. So rude."

"Well, that's pretty much the gist." She sighed and dropped her chin into her palm, slumping over her knees again as her voice lowered to a frustrated mumble. "I don't know why he's insisting on causing such unnecessary misery for us both. We belong together, he knows that as much as I do, but I just can't make him see sense over this. The whole thing is so stupid."

Kurt hesitated, exchanging a cautious glance with Blaine over her bowed head. His boyfriend looked equally unsure, so he decided to just bite the bullet.

"Maybe. Maybe not," he said carefully. He crossed his legs and leant forward, a confidential arch to his brows. "I think you both might have missed out a certain detail, like say, the impetus for this latest couple's drama."

Rachel stayed stubbornly silent, refusing to meet their eyes. She really didn't want to talk about that particular sore subject.

"Come on, give us a little credit, would ya?" He tilted his head, trying to read her averted face. "It doesn't take a genius to deduce why Finn might be a tad bent out of shape right now."

"Kurt..." Blaine warned softly, conscious that pushing this point right now might do more harm than good. They were there to comfort after all, not interrogate, no matter how insatiable his boyfriend's appetite for gossip might be.

Rachel startled them both by abruptly removing herself from the bed. They watched as she crossed the carpet to her dresser, where she hovered uncertainly for a moment before settling on a purpose in methodically tidying up her jewellery box. Her movements were sprung with tension, and when she did finally speak her voice was thin and tight, forced out through clenched teeth.

"I told him that was nothing. J-Jesse was just pulling a power trip that's all, taking advantage of my dedication. He caught me by surprise. I mean, I do understand why Finn might be upset, but he's honestly overreacting about it all –"

"Rach," Kurt interrupted her monologue a little warily, casting a side look at Blaine as he spoke. "We were there too, you know."

Her hands stilled, shoulders curving in protectively as she drew a quiet breath, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"And that... was no stage kiss."

"... You're right," she conceded quietly after a very pregnant pause. Lifting her chin, she turned around to face them with determination. "It was a dirty trick that I fell for. Nothing more."

There was another loaded beat of silence.

"Are you sure?" Blaine finally ventured, his brow heavy with concern.

She blinked in confusion, hesitating just long enough for Kurt to cut in with a question that managed to be both demanding and tentative.

"Rachel, seriously, what's going on with you two?"

She suddenly felt like laughing. Or maybe screaming. Light hysteria fizzing up her throat and behind her eyes, building in pressure, like a geyser bubble begging to burst. Her gaze flitted away from their faces, skimming over the familiar artefacts of her room in an effort to find an anchor for her composure. She barely even realised she had resumed speaking, words spilling from her in an anxious ramble, anything to cover the frantic scramble of her thoughts.

"It's nothing. I mean, it's... Jesse's just being true to form, isn't he? He's trying to... to mess with my head, deliberately provoking Finn, stirring up trouble! It's how he amuses himself. It–It's who he is. He's always been manipulative and selfish, and I–I know that. He just wants revenge for New York. To hurt me for humiliating him, for bruising his ego. You think I don't know how he played me in that moment? You think I don't want to knock him into the ground for it?!"

Truth was she'd fantasised about doing just that in graphic detail many a time over the last few days. After that awful conversation with Finn, she'd wanted nothing more than to track that boy down and tear him a new one for the mess he had made of her life. Her fingers had poised over his number in the early hours of her sleepless nights since; unspoken words cutting up the inside of her mouth like metal sawdust. Her throat stinging from the phantom shouts and screams that longed to escape.

But instead she had retreated into silence and denial, locked herself away in the safety of her house and family and simply left her emotions to stew. Anything to put off a reckoning she feared she wasn't totally prepared for. Not yet anyway. Rachel had tried so hard to train herself out of damaging confrontations; taught herself to curb her blunt words and heedless approach to others, to attempt to articulate her feelings in a more constructive manner. She knew how much letting her heart and mind speak freely could cost her.

And she knew, from painful experience, just how much more dangerous any confrontation with him could be.

She needed to be smart about this. It was critical she was in the right frame of mind, in full control and clear headed. Her convictions had to be bullet proof, her wits sharp, her fury righteous. Not to mention the little fact that her headlining musical debut was less than four days away – and Rachel was determined that nothing, nothing, was going to impair her performance as Maria. She'd worked too hard, sacrificed too much, waited too long. This was her chance to show what she was truly capable of, that she deserved the hype of her own publicity, that her dreams were attainable after all. Her life may be falling apart, but the show must go on. At the end of the day, Finn and Jesse and NYADA and the rest of the world would just have to wait their turn.

And she said as much now, stressing the point with such feeling that they could be left in no doubt as to her priorities and loyalties.

"B-But I won't let his cruel games distract me," she rushed on, deaf to the slight tremor in her voice, too busy shaking her head in resolve. "The musical comes first, and my performance has to be groundbreaking, and I... I don't have room for anything else right now. Jesse may have thrown a wrench between me and Finn for the moment, but it won't last. We'll come out the other side, stronger than ever, and another few months and I won't ever have to deal with Jesse and his mind tricks ever again, and everything will be fine and as it should be –"

Rachel drew in a deep breath, raising her eyes to the ceiling in a last desperate bid to hold back the waterworks by sheer gravity. Yet before she could try and reach for further words, the air was stolen from her lungs by an abrupt and crushing hug.

So tired of thinking, she instinctively surrendered to the embrace, sinking gratefully against his body and breathing in the pleasant aroma of his lavender closet sachets.

"It's okay, Rach..." The words were a murmur against her head, soft and soothing. She felt the patch of his sweater under her cheek growing damp, her breath coming in short, shaky gulps. His arms tightened around her back. "It's all gonna be okay."

She was about to try and pull away, conscious that she was somewhat ruining his cashmere blend, when she heard a tut and sigh behind her. Kurt soon moulded his own frame against her spine, resting his chin on her shoulder, and effectively sandwiching her between them. Rachel choked out a muffled laugh, smiling through her tears, and feeling her heart swell with gratitude for her busybody friends.

After a long few moments and a lot of sniffing, Kurt gave her a last big squeeze around the middle before breaking up the group hug with a loud declaration.

"Right! Enough of all this weepy teenage melodrama, I think. Time for a really gut-wrenching decision."

Rachel hastily scrubbed at her cheeks, stepping away even as Blaine kept a light but steadying hand on her lower back. She patted down her hair as they both watched Kurt jump back to her bed and rummage around there with a concerning amount of enthusiasm. Rachel saw him upend the tote bag they had brought, frowning slightly at the mess he was making, and then turn back to them with his hands behind his back and a suddenly deadly serious expression.

"I'm afraid, Rachel, you're going to have to make a very difficult choice. Possibly the most important one of your life."

At the suspicious looks he received, Kurt broke his deadpan performance with a mischievous grin and whipped out the two DVDs from behind his back.

"Babes on Broadway or Meet Me In Saint Louis? The suspense is killing me."

/o/

He should have known things were going too smoothly to bode well.

Despite the various simmering tensions and apprehension behind the scenes, everyone was remarkably focused. Almost, dare he say it, professional. Whatever friction was marinating backstage, it seemed the imminent threat of opening night had brought everyone together in their determination to make all the blood, sweat and tears worth it. Their jobs more or less complete, the four directors had been able to just sit back and observe the finished performance for once, exchanging only hushed whispers at various checkpoints. Emma had a few minor costume adjustments to make, Beiste mainly beamed with pride at the sturdiness of the set, while Artie was getting emotional at the prospect of a live audience finally judging his artistic vision.

Even he had to admit the production was looking very sharp and clean. Any technical issues had been located and ironed out, vocal performances were strong, and overall the dress rehearsal had gone off without a hitch. Jesse wasn't superstitious as a rule, but he was also aware that live theatre was a discipline prone to being beset by unforeseen dramas. It was part of the thrill of it, gave the rush of adrenaline he craved, but it didn't mean it wasn't still a hassle.

Time had been called for the night and the cast was heading to gather their things, before filtering through to the bathrooms to get changed. The chatter was boisterous and jittery with anticipation, the laughs a little too loud, the auditorium wired high with excitement. The evening was late, but last minute nerves held back any exhaustion from manifesting just yet.

Jesse was busy making his own way through the hustle of backstage, absently checking his phone while he slung his bag over his shoulder, looking forward to some fresh air on the other side of this crowd of noise and perspiration. However he wasn't distracted enough to miss the subtle change in the air, the drop in tone of the surrounding voices, the conspicuous looks of intrigue that quickly centred upon their Anita.

Santana was standing perfectly still, her spine poker straight and expression frozen somewhere between pain and apoplectic rage. Her eyes were cast down at a scrap of paper that was gripped between her flexed fingers, the seemingly innocuous note having been found pinned to her school bag only a moment earlier. The tension radiating off her stiff shoulders was enough to put her cast-mates' survival reflexes on edge, as if suddenly alert to a dangerous presence in their midst.

While the others watched at a safe distance, Brittany pushed her way to the front, propelled by some instinctive radar that was attuned only to Santana's emotional state. The blonde firmly plucked the note out of her hands and scrunched it up into a ball that she tossed over her shoulder, not even sparing it a glance.

"Babe, it's alright..." she entreated softly, reaching for the Latina's face with a tender touch, anxious to bring her back from the dark place she had slipped into.

Santana roughly pulled out of her arms, suddenly spurred into action. "Don't," she all but spat at her girlfriend, the indiscriminate anger bursting free in white hot waves. Backing up a step, she seemed to flinch at the hurt that crossed Brittany's expression, but destructive defensiveness was all she knew. And Santana just couldn't deal with this, or other people, right now.

"Just... don't."

With that last desperate whisper, the cheerleader turned and stormed away in full costume, pushing through the rest of the startled cast in a flurry of blood red ripples and vicious hairpins.

Brittany instantly followed.

Awkward quiet lingered briefly in the wake of the couple's dramatic exit, before the murmurs of speculation and concern slowly started up again, quickly reaching a fever pitch.

Jesse didn't hesitate to retrieve the offending item that had coincidentally landed near his foot. Smoothing out the paper, he read over the words with an impassive expression. Handwritten. Rookie mistake.

Hope you enjoy play acting as a real girl. Dykes and whores belong in drag anyway.

The former Carmel student rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Lifting his gaze, he took in the fervour of gossip and anxiety around him, heard the distant sound of raised voices.

Opening night was two days away.

This was just what they needed.

/o/

Artie had been quick to panic, cornering him on his way out the school last night for an impromptu crisis meeting.

"You don't know what Santana is like," he insisted, pushing up his glasses in agitation as he continued to spiral, flapping neurotically like a character in a Woody Allen film.

"Temperamental doesn't cover it. If she quits, we'll have to cancel the whole show run! And we can't afford to cancel, Coach Sylvester will have the school board lynch us for wasting funds and the Glee Club will be cut in retaliation. I mean, well, I guess Tina could potentially read in for one night, in a dire emergency, but there's no way she can get up to speed in time and the performances will suffer and everyone will think we've just put on a sub par production and all my work will be for nothing! And if Santana goes, so will Brittany –"

"Allow me to explain about the theatre business." Jesse cut off their director's meltdown with a wry lilt. "The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster."

At the blank look Artie gave him, he mentally sighed. No doubt Rachel would have appreciated the aptness of the Stoppard quotation, but he'd barely caught more than a glimpse of her outside of rehearsals lately.

"Nevermind," he said, raising a hand impatiently to signal an end of the conversation. "I'll handle it."

And he had. Well, he'd put the wheels in motion so to speak. Which was also partly why he was currently crossing the busy McKinley parking lot, keen to get off campus for more than just his lunch.

He skirted around a stoner who was lurching about haphazardly on an electric scooter, pulled the key from his pocket and looked up only to find a certain blonde Jet member leaning against his car door, clearly waiting for him while she enjoyed basking in the sun like a pedigree Persian cat.

"Ahem," he coughed pointedly to get her attention, a grin betraying him as she blinked open those glinting green orbs with a nonchalant gaze. "You better not be scratching my paintwork while you work on your tan."

She pursed her lips in a restrained smile, pretending to cast a disinterested glance over the impeccable, ebony motor machine she reclined against.

"Oh, is this your particular substitute for masculinity? They all look alike to me."

"Tsch. A more insecure guy could easily take offence at that. Luckily, I have nothing to overcompensate for. Wouldn't you agree?"

Quinn smirked, casually flipping him off, to which he just laughed. The car's indicators flashed and he walked around to the driver's side, opening the door to toss his jacket and bag in the back-seat.

"I assume you're here for a reason, or are you just fulfilling your teenage loitering quota?"

She turned around to meet his face over the low roof, crossing her arms on the shiny surface between them with a coy smile.

"I feel like eating something edible for lunch, and it seems that option is not available on the cafeteria menu today, so I figured you could offer a lady a ride into town."

"Point one out to me, and I might do."

"Dickhead."

He winked, dark eyes twinkling in the midday sun.

"Tell me why, exactly, I should allow you the privilege of enjoying this luxury vehicle when you were just insulting it so callously?"

"I was insulting you, not the car," she corrected, leaning back to give it an appraising sweep of approval as she continued. "And to answer your question: because it will set tongues wagging, because you're not the only one who looks good in expensive black, and because you can't resist a chance to show off."

Jesse gave a reluctant sigh. "Alas, your logic is sound, so I suppose I must honour it."

She grinned in triumph, quickly letting herself inside and stretching out on the soft leather with a purr of appreciation. Jesse slid in beside her, chuckling. Turning the ignition over, the car rumbled smoothly to life under them, the Bluetooth connected and Quinn instantly began flicking through his playlists with unabashed judgement.

"Hey!" He batted her fingers away from the screen. "Unacceptable passenger behaviour. A man's music is his sacred kingdom."

She rolled her eyes. "Afraid I'll find your secret hoard of campy show tunes and cheesy power ballads? Little late for that, VA boy."

"Excuse me, don't lump me in with your club's musical limitations. Some of us actually have good taste."

"Oh yeah? We'll see about that."

The scuffle for control continued for another few seconds, elbows knocking and hands swatting, until amusement finally got the better of them and Quinn collapsed back in her seat with a groan of submission.

Jesse turned off the media center entirely, just to forestall any further meddling, before slumping back in his seat also. The lazy smile on his lips quickly hardened as he caught sight of a figure across the parking lot in front of them.

She was standing at the bottom of the steps outside the school, at the edge of a small huddle of fellow teachers, but her attention wasn't on her colleagues, her gaze already having settled on them before he'd even had a chance to realise they were being watched. Now her eyes met his and locked, cool and unreadable, sharp with a calculating scrutiny.

"Seems we have an audience," he said as offhandedly as he could. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn frown for a moment as she turned to look out the windscreen, before she snorted under her breath as she clocked the same thing he had.

"I'm past caring about everyone's condescending disapproval." She shrugged and cast him a teasing glance. "Though I suppose... it must be a new and unsettling sensation for the former golden boy."

Jesse smiled tightly, dark humour flashing through his eyes as he turned back to his companion. Quinn faltered briefly at the look on his face, her lips parting in a rush of anticipation a moment before he caught her neck and pulled her in for an impulsive kiss.

It was stupid. It was reckless. It was an overt act of disrespect. But as Jesse felt Quinn embrace his twisted display of defiance with equal relish, he found he didn't care. It was a self-sabotaging instinct that he was all too familiar with after all, and that old desire to flout authority, to defy command and break the hold of influence, was one he had never quite managed to leave behind.

When they broke apart, his breath was uneven against her chin, his thoughts struggling to order themselves again. He was vaguely aware of Quinn tilting her head, finding Shelby's gaze once more through the milling students, giving her a smirking wave with her little finger.

"We should get going," he muttered at last, keeping his gaze low as he abruptly revved the idling car, pulling them out and away from the parking lot, the school, the potential consequences of his actions.

/o/

He was a finalist.

A finalist.

Him. Kurt Hummel. Bully fodder, slushie survivor, eternal sidekick, beta gay and glee club second fiddle diva.

Even with his rather lacklustre credits and experience, NYADA had still picked him out for a shot at stardom. They deemed him worthy of their attention, they recognised his potential. His dad was right. This meant everything; this was validation, this was what it felt like to be winning at life for once.

Ducking and swerving around his fellow students, he felt himself getting breathless just at the prospect. He knew he must look ridiculous – practically skipping on air through the corridors, holding a single sheet of paper aloft like it was the Olympic torch and grinning as wide as the Cheshire Cat – and he couldn't care less. Nothing could touch him right now. Nothing could bring him down. He was a man on a mission.

After all, there was only one person in the world he wanted to share this landmark moment with immediately, even more so than his dad and Blaine.

And he all but flew to her.

"Rachel! Rachel!"

The brunette looked over her shoulder, forgetting all about her locker and the bag at her feet as she saw her best friend crash through the nearest doors, oblivious to the disgusted looks of those he barged out the way in his rush to her side. She barely had time to utter a greeting before he reached her, only just managing to pull himself up in time to avoid a collision that would have sent them both sprawling to the ground.

"Rach! I–I'm –"

He was having trouble getting the words out, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright, voice pitched high with emotion. Rachel felt herself smiling back despite her bemusement, his obvious delight proving infectious. Before she could attempt to calm him, he thrust a cream coloured sheet of paper and ink under her gaze.

At the sight of the official NYADA watermark, she quickly snatched the letter from him, devouring each word that followed and unable to prevent the cramp that formed in her stomach at the implications.

"I'm a finalist," he breathed in awe, having somewhat regained his composure at last.

"Oh, Kurt..." Rachel kept her eyes on the letter for a second longer, determinedly organising her burst of conflicting feelings into the right priorities. Looking up, she met his face with the biggest smile she could muster. "That's brilliant!"

Grabbing him into a hug, she closed her eyes tight and ordered herself to not give into the crippling anxiety; the dread that writhed in her gut like a poisonous viper. She firmly reminded herself that this moment wasn't about her. And she was happy for him. Her joy for her best friend's success was pure and giddy, and she refused to allow any other thoughts the chance to diminish that. He deserved this.

"Oh my god, congratulations!" She pulled back with a grin and smacked him affectionately on the shoulder. "See? I knew you would do it! You should have had more faith."

He rolled his eyes, promptly taking back possession of the precious letter. "Oh yes, silly me, how could I ever have doubted the infallibility of Rachel Berry's decrees."

"Silly boy indeed," she chided, crossing her arms smugly. "I'm always right."

Kurt snorted, returning his focus to the writing in his hands, as if to check the words were still there. That he definitely hadn't misread it. The shock was slowly fading, his expression turning soft with wonder.

"I can't believe this is really happening."

Rachel felt her chest tighten and quickly swallowed down the thickness in her throat.

"I'm so proud of you, Kurt. Really."

He looked up again with fresh excitement.

"What did yours say?"

Her smile trembled for a second, the hairline crack in her resolve that threatened to shatter completely under the slightest pressure. Frantically, she tried to fortify the defences that guarded her selfishness and jealousy; fought against the urge to breakdown in front of him. Please don't make me say it.

And yet, ever compelled to fill the sudden protracted silence and unable to witness Kurt's blissful ignorance a moment longer, Rachel realised she was just going to have to rip the band-aid off.

"I-I haven't... I didn't get one."

God, the awkward sympathy in his face was even worse. He hastened to reassure, to suggest hers was just delayed, that no news was still good news. Rachel forced herself to mumble some agreement, unwilling to be the rain on Kurt's parade, but she could sense the maw of fear slowly closing around her lungs, sinking its teeth into her distress, pushing up the panic and resentment.

"It's okay, honestly," she insisted, trying to convince herself as much as him. She turned back to her locker to avoid his eyes, only to find herself staring blankly into the stack of Calculus notes she had yet to file away. She shook her head as if trying to wake from a bad dream. "It's f-fine. I've still got to hear back from Pace, Marymount and Michigan anyway."

"Michigan!"

She frowned and Kurt winced as he immediately bit his tongue, abashment colouring his features.

"It's just... that's so far away," he added a little petulantly.

Rachel sighed, feeling at pains to point out that it was hardly her first choice. Did he really think she wanted to be anywhere else come fall except in a Brooklyn loft apartment with him, exploring the city of her idols and rising through the ranks of NYADA together? Did he appreciate how hard it was to mask her worry that she may ultimately never get out of Lima? To ignore the increasing likelihood that her hopes and dreams were in the process of collapsing around her ears?

"Well, I guess that doesn't matter really," Kurt was saying, dismissing his previous concerns with a careless certainty. "Since I'm sure your letter is coming and we'll both be auditioning for NYADA soon enough. I mean, obviously, of course you're getting in –"

"What if I don't, Kurt?"

She didn't mean to snap. She didn't mean to turn on him with an accusing tone and bitter eyes. Rachel wanted to put on a brave face, to leave his happiness unsullied, to be a good friend despite everything that railed and wailed inside her. But now the boiling tar of grief and self pity had tipped over the battlements, and she could do nothing but watch her friend's face crumple as she dragged them both down in her wallowing despair.

"What if I don't get accepted by any of them? What if I'm just not good enough to make my dreams come true? What then? I have nothing without them, Kurt! No future, no purpose, no boyfriend, no chance of true happiness. If I didn't even make it to the finals... what's left for me? You'll see, you'll all go off and make something of your lives, and I'll be stuck here, alone, still making the same mistakes..."

Stricken tears rose through her voice, gathered in her eyes, and she cursed herself for crying in front of him for the second time this week. It was getting embarrassing. Rachel hated feeling weak, but her heart suddenly felt just too small for all the stress it harboured, and she knew instinctively that the pressure needed bled if it was to survive.

"I-I don't know who I am without this, everything's slipping away, and... and I have no idea what I'm doing!"

Kurt quickly folded her into his arms, catching her sobs in his chest and pressing her painfully close, like a tourniquet trying to staunch a gushing wound. "Come 'ere, shhh..."

Rachel wanted to say she was sorry, to pull herself together, to believe him when he said her dreams weren't dead. But the ugly truth was that she was horribly selfish and needy and desperate. So she said nothing as Kurt rubbed her back and rested his cheek against her hair, allowing herself to accept his comfort with a guilty sense of relief.

/o/

Jesse made sure to position himself in a prime viewing spot at the appropriate time, determined not to miss any of the fun.

He propped his shoulder against the school wall, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and took a moment to admire how everything had come together. He smiled as he remembered the characteristically smug message she had pinged back in confirmation.

It's done. Next time you contact me out the blue, calling in a favour, at least try and come up with something a bit more challenging for me, will ya?

He was actually impressed at the speed at which she had pulled it off. He had been prepared to give her until at least the end of the week, but he certainly wasn't complaining about her efficiency. Ruby had clearly rapidly developed her hacking skills since graduation. Of course, he had already done most of the grunt work for her. Once he had a name, her job had been relatively straight forward really.

McKinley didn't have anything on Carmel in terms of gossip groups, and it hadn't taken him long to source the grapevine for the information he wanted. Sleuthing was easy when you had the right access, a methodical approach, and an effortlessly disarming charisma. Maybe Santana hadn't been far off in her initial assessment of him back then. He certainly knew everything about being a double agent.

An extra long whistle screeched from the fields behind the building, causing him to raise his head from his thoughts in anticipation.

Show time.

On cue, the McKinley rugby team began to spill out of the school in a flurry of letterman jackets, loud banter and excessive shoulder-slapping. Still riding high on the adrenaline of a successful training session, they quickly began to disperse across the parking lot, heading out to enjoy what was left of their evening. Shouts echoed, doors slammed and engines revved.

"What the fuck!"

The curse bellowed from a particularly stocky jock, sporting a crew cut and a thunderous expression as he stared dumbly at the bright yellow accessory that his front driver's wheel had recently acquired.

"Oh, nice one, man," grumbled one of the two other guys who had accompanied him to the vehicle, presumably his erstwhile passengers. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing!" he spluttered in furious frustration. "I don't know what this shit's about – someone's gotta be screwing with me!"

"Woah, Kyle, your old man's gonna kill you."

The athlete threw his head back with a loud groan. Dropping his duffel to the ground, he kicked in vain at the heavy mechanical clamp, swearing in pain and futility as the stubborn boot refused to be budged.

Jesse failed to suppress his laughter, the sound just audible enough to draw their attention in his direction.

"You find something funny?" Kyle growled as his gaze landed on the smirking boy a few feet away, one who was clearly enjoying the scene of his indignity too much for his own good.

Jesse straightened subtly in response to the challenge, his smile light but eyes hard as he met their stares evenly and said nothing. He watched as the student proceeded to stomp up to his corner, the guy's goons following quickly in his wake.

"If you saw what happened to my ride, you better 'fess up, buddy."

"Afraid I can't help you there. Looks like it might be worth your time investing in a solid pair of bolt cutters though."

"Hey, watch it, asshole –"

"Or maybe," he continued on with an idle shrug, "you simply need to be more careful who you piss off in future."

"Oi, wha's that supposed to –"

"You know who did this?!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Jesse eyed the fuming vehicle owner in front of him with a softly taunting gaze, a look that he had refined to a perfected art over the years. "Perhaps instead of going around making baseless accusations that can't possibly be proved, you would do better to refine your note-taking skills." His affable smile turned razor edged. "Just a suggestion."

The sidekicks exchanged confused looks at the cryptic comment, but Kyle's face flushed puce with anger.

"The fuck did you say?"

The jock stepped forward menacingly. Jesse's fists clenched inside his pockets, but he didn't glance away or stop smiling,

"Wait, did that bitch put you up to this? Trying to defend that slut's honour? You her latest beard or something?"

He raised an eyebrow in amusement at the increasingly ludicrous allegations, which only seemed to spur the other boy on in his deranged rant.

"She had that coming anyway! Whore had the nerve to sleep with me and then comes out as a dyke! People were sayin' I turned her gay! She fucking humiliated me!"

"To be fair, you do seem to be the human equivalent of a participation trophy. Can't blame her for wanting to move up a few leagues."

A muscle popped in Kyle's neck, his jaw hanging open as he struggled for words to express his rage, glowering hard enough to surely give himself a headache. His mates dutifully squared up behind him in support, flexing the bulk of their height and girth in warning, unaware that this particular adversary was long since immune to such primitive tactics of intimidation.

"Better mind that smart mouth, pretty boy."

"Oh? And why's that?" The older teen adopted an expression of innocent curiosity; one refuted only by the jeering glint of his eyes. "If I said anything to offend, I assure you, it was purely intentional."

The hostility was anticipated, but the sudden and direct swing at his face was a little more surprising. Luckily, Jesse had honed exceptional reflexes over his career and dodged the blow almost without thinking, making his attacker grunt and swear as his fist collided with the brick wall just behind his head.

Well, that escalated quickly.

Clearly this guy had a pathetically low trigger threshold, and lacking the wits and basic articulation to win an argument, he could only resort to brute force to try and get his point across. It was tiresome and lacked an ounce of finesse, but that was par for the course with this lot.

There was a second of delay as his teammates caught up with the situation before also jumping into the tussle, and Jesse was soon occupied with the exerting task of keeping three sets of groping hands off his person. He managed to hold his own pretty well at first, giving as good as he got, if not better. But there was no escaping the fact that he was outnumbered, and he found himself countering one hit, only to catch another one in the abdomen. The low blow hurt like hell and stole his breath for a moment, forcing him to hunch up and step back with a grimace.

There was no way he would ever pull out of a fight, but he didn't much like his odds at this rate.

A timely intervention certainly wouldn't be unappreciated about now.

/o/

The school doors banged shut behind her as Santana blew out into the parking lot, fresh out of Cheerio practice and more than ready for a quick detour to the Lima Bean for a little pick-me-up before rehearsal started in about twenty minutes. She was aching all over. Coach Sylvester had been menopausing pretty hard tonight, her bad mood no doubt enhanced by the impending opening of the musical, and she was determined to make everyone involved with it suffer.

Reaching her car, she briefly registered the sound and sight of a commotion over on the far side of the lot, the small scuffle half-obscured in the lengthening shadows of the school buildings. Whatever. The Latina dropped her gym bag into the trunk and tightened her ponytail. She was fully intending to ignore the whole thing, in no mood to play the reluctant hero for a bunch of knuckleheads – when she just happened to catch a glimpse of a familiar dark mop of curls through a gap in the fray.

Seriously?

Santana paused for a moment before swearing loudly and slamming the car shut again.

Could that fucking boy not stay out of some kind of trouble for more than five minutes? If he wanted to get his ass kicked into intensive care, he could damn well wait until after the musical was finished. With an irritated flick of her heel, she beeped the alarm on again over her shoulder and stalked off across the tarmac, her white sneakers kicking up loose grit like a twister gathering debris into the eye of the storm.

/o/

Jesse had just forced himself to straighten up against the pain in his ribs, when a perfectly manicured hand abruptly clamped over his opponent's shoulder.

"Hey, ass goblin, pick on someone your own size!"

Turning around sharply at the interruption, Kyle sneered at the sight that met him.

"Ah, the lezzo slut herself! Think you're real clever do you, getting your fancy hag here to boot my car? I oughta teach you both a lesson!"

Santana flashed a dangerously sweet smile.

"Me first."

He barely had a chance to process her words before she seamlessly executed a pointed high kick, one that hit square in his groin with such force and precision that Jesse couldn't help but wince at the sight.

Who needed martial arts when you had cheerleading skills that could fell a man in a single blow.

The jock made an almost inhuman sound as he slowly crumpled to the ground at her feet, where he immediately curled up in the foetal position, his face turning crimson with pain. The Head Cheerio spared him only a fleeting look of disgust before turning her gaze on Jesse, who stood there quietly regaining his breath and holding a hand against his side, but somehow still managing to smirk.

"Don't pull any punches, do you?"

She scowled in reply and seized the front of his jacket, yanking him roughly away from the remains of the fight. The other boys recovered from their shock just enough to hastily retreat out of her reach as they passed, hands hovering protectively near their own family jewels just in case.

Santana pulled him all the way over to her car, where she finally let go and rounded on him with a searing glare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded furiously. "I don't need anyone fighting my battles for me, least of all you!"

"Wasn't trying to." Jesse remained nonplussed at her anger as he set about straightening his attire, smoothing down the wrinkles her fingers had left. "You think I need an excuse to put those idiots in their place?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, her tone scathing.

"Seemed to me like you were in the process of getting your ass handed to you."

"Appearances can be deceptive."

"Spare me the lame bravado, Danny Zuko. Don't you ever get sick of your own bullshit?"

"Back at you, Rizzo."

"Hey, I don't bullshit. I slay. There's a difference."

She turned her attention away towards the whimpering form by the wall. There was a pause before she muttered in a low voice, "It was him, wasn't it?"

Jesse said nothing, but that was answer enough.

Santana huffed, tucking her arms into the folds of her Cheerio jacket. "Should have known. That jerk always did have a pitifully fragile ego and overblown sense of importance. Not to mention, the worst sex I ever had."

"Worse than Hudson?"

She looked back at him, the set of her mouth softening with grudging amusement. "Okay, a close second."

He cocked a grin in return and the mutual moment managed to break the lingering tension in the air. The Cheerio eased her posture with a sigh, sparing a final glance over at the latest recipient of her infamous wrath.

"Shame I'm not wearing my stilettos."

"Quite."

"How did you find out, anyway?"

"An assassin never reveals his secrets."

Santana rolled her eyes.

"And booting his car was the best you could come up with?"

"Oh please. That was just for fun."

She raised an expectant eyebrow and he allowed himself a smug smile.

"Let's just say, there's been a few additions to his permanent record and I'll be very surprised if he graduates this year."

There was a beat of consideration.

"Not bad," she admitted at last, a reluctant gleam of respect warming her gaze; impressed despite herself. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all."

"You flatter me," he said sarcastically, before an unexpected look of sincerity crossed his face. "I wasn't trying to step on your toes, you know."

Santana studied him dubiously for a long moment. "Why then?"

She was actually curious. She wanted to know why he would ever step out on a limb for her. Even if it was only to satisfy a vindictive impulse that rivaled her own, the fact remained that Jesse St. James was the last person she had expected to throw his hand in on her behalf, however briefly.

"Matter of principle, I suppose." At her sceptical expression, he shrugged and went on. "Believe it or not, I do actually have some. No one fucks with my cast."

She scoffed, though it lacked any real disdain.

"Besides," Jesse added with a smirk, "you earned some pretty nice credentials for slapping Hudson like the little bitch he is. Felt like I owed you."

Santana laughed outright at that. Leaning back against her car with a half smile, she appraised Rachel's ex with fresh appreciation. It was interesting to see someone else who resented the quarterback just as much as she did. They had that in common, if little else.

"Yeah well, it nearly got me suspended, but totally worth it."

"I'll bet. I wouldn't mind taking some heat either to get to feel that kind of satisfaction."

"I'm surprised you've held it together so far, to be honest. You must be itching to lay into that pathetic excuse for a 'rival' on a daily basis." She lifted a neatly stencilled brow with sly interest. "Gotta be frustrating. Given the history there, I don't think anyone would hold it against you if you did."

His lips crooked wearily. "Pretty sure Rachel would."

"Ah, so that's the reason for the uncharacteristic restraint."

"We'll see. I'm still human."

"Well, when you do finally crack, just promise to wait 'til I'm around. Would hate to miss that show."

Jesse laughed. "It's a deal."

Out the corner of her eye, Santana noticed that their opponents had since skulked back into the sewers to lick their wounds in private. Good riddance. A quick glance at her watch confirmed there was no time left for a caffeine trip now. No matter. Turned out kicking a bigoted oaf in the nuts was a better boost than any espresso the Lima Bean could offer.

Basking in the serene gratification that only came from a vanquished foe, the cheerleader straightened up and turned back towards the school, eager to locate Britt again for a quick pre-show make-up and make-out.

"Guess I'll see you in rehearsal then," she called, before turning around at the top of the steps with a parting taunt. "Unless you need to take a little breather between rounds, St. Balboa."

"Your concern is touching, but don't worry yourself." The Latina wasn't close enough to see the shadow that lingered under the tease of his reply. "Not my first rodeo."

~o~


AN I'm sorry it's taken so long to update! As ever, thanks so much to those lovely people who take the time to review, it means a lot. Happy New Year!