Rating: T. Super light M just for language and alcohol.

Pairings: Pezberry. There's some pretty heavy Brittana too.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just a computer and an imagination.

A/N: Inspired by Enrique's Bailamos, which is also not mine. All mistakes are mine.

You're obviously tired. Waiting tables for eight hours straight in a seedy bar along the main drag isn't exactly what you had in mind as your fancy job in the city. The job that you told everyone you'd have after school. Greedy eyes leer at your sculpted body and customers purposely push napkins off their tables just to see you bend over, hoping for at glance at some uncharted territory. There are large, sweaty hands constantly grabbing at your ass twenty four-seven. The rhino sized boss you have watches you like a hawk, so the entire time you just have to smile and nod along and pretend like nothing's wrong. But everything is wrong.

Brittany moved out of the apartment you two have shared since your first year in New York. She kissed you one last time and fondly put a hand on your cheek. Then she was gone, plane ticket in her hand and her bags long packed and already in the cab. It hurt like a bitch and it still does, your insides sting and your heart feels like its been hung out to dry, because you two have history, a storybook romance so to speak. She was your high school sweetheart, the girl that you'd give everything for. You followed her to the city to support her big dreams to make it as a dancer. She attended Tisch on a scholarship while you went to Columbia and studied law. You were her biggest fan, always skipping classes to hold her hand during auditions and screaming at the casting directors when she didn't get the part.

When she tells you that she has gotten a job in one of the shows she auditioned for, you are overwhelmed. You hold her tight and dance with her around your small kitchen. You twirl her around and she follows your moves with perfected grace. A step to the left and a dip to the right, you're not sure how long you've been swaying like a madwoman, but you don't care because all you can think about is the fact that this is the best dance that you've ever shared with someone. When you partially break the hug, you note that she isn't smiling right along with you. You ask her why and her shoulders slump and she motions for the two of you to sit down. You start to worry a bit and you grasp her pale hands.

"Britts? Honey? W-what's wrong?" She sighs and her eyes are already glistening.


"B, what about Californ-."

"The show is in Los Angeles. I have to move with the show if I want to keep the part. I leave in two weeks. Please don't hate me San."

The breath you were about to take is choked on and suddenly you can't feel anything but the slow pounding of your head and the serene chill of the steel chair you're sitting on. It's the only thing keeping you from falling fall straight onto the tile.

Your first reaction is to curse; it's a normal occurrence knowing your vocabulary, so you do. It seems to help during the beginning but when you start to run out of words to say, you feel the warm tears that are pooling around your eyes and the tentative touch of pale hands holding your shoulder. Brittany bites down on her lip and from that point on the rest is a blur.

For the next two weeks, you sleep on the couch and flinch anytime your girlfriend (ex-girlfriend) tries to speak to you. The voice that once used to laugh the sweetest of melodies, suddenly feels cold and broken. You can't stand it so you put on a fake smile and help her pack. It's what a good friend would do. But with every duck themed piece of clothing you tuck away, every polka dotted bra or lumberjack hat, its like individual pieces of your soul are falling into her suitcase. You can't do anything but tremble when you watch your heart being stripped right out of your chest when the yellow cab pulls up and steals your lover away from you.

You really want to hate her for this. Just as things were looking up, the sky had to come crash down on your parade yet again. You want to run after the taxi yelling profanities and a part of you wants to burn the things she's left in the one bedroom space that you shared for so many years. You try to be angry, but all you feel is your body go numb, no sensations to send shivers down your spine, no breathtaking kisses, nothing. Blank thoughts course through your mind, your passion has died and bitterness overcomes your system.

You decide to get on with life, however difficult that may be, because you're a Lopez and Lopez's don't sit around and mope. The next months are difficult, and every time you see a blonde head around you, you check their face.

After a while you start to get into a groove of things. You head to an early lecture at the school, and then take the subway to work, changing in the less than charming public restrooms. After your shift is over, which was awful by the way. One asshole thought that he was entitled to cope a feel, being that it was his 30th birthday. And really how lame is that? Spending the big three one in a B rated bar, when outside that rusty push and pull door, are a million possibilities just waiting to be made into a night to remember. Instead he decides to spend it in a cheap beer, throwing back cheap beer and stomach wreaking hot wings with a couple of his buddies, who are also as appealing as the city's public bathrooms. You're not even sure that whatever shit Zizes is putting in the sauce is legal in the country, but it gets all over the floor and you're forced to clean it up. Work brings down your mood down as usual and coming home to a desolate apartment isn't exactly the best feeling in the world either.

You sigh and make the six-step trip to the kitchen. It looks like a night spent with two of your best men. Ben and Jerry. It's been you and the guys for the past few months. You're pretty sure Brittany left a couple rom-coms in the closet, so you drag your feet across the floor again and pop one into the DVD player.

Halfway thorough the opening credits, you're about to take the first bite of some slammin' Phish Food, when your cell phone rings. You slide your thumb across the screen and the caller is identified as your right hand gay, Sebastian. You crack a small smile because the picture is of him smirking at the camera all while holding a small meerkat. You said that he should've stolen it from the zoo, being that it would have been like a son to him and it would be a better pet than a dog, but both of you were pretty sure that the zookeeper with the puffy pyramid man boobs would have called security on you. It seemed like an okay idea at first, but you two had already provoked the manager, Finn, by asking him to take a family photo by the giraffes. It's safe to say that they have pictures of the two of you hanging up in their staff room.

You catch yourself daydreaming and answer your phone. A slightly scratchy voice runs through the lines.

"Okay loser here's what we're going to do. I know that you've already made a date with Phish Food and some film with some star crossed hetero lovers or some shit, but I need you to take off your fat clothes and put something hot on. Its been months since you've been out with us and you need a little Santana time."

You shoot a playful frown at the ceiling and sigh into the receiver. "Hi Seb. Nice to hear you too."

"Wow Lopez. Losing our fire, I see."

"Fuck off."

"Normally I'd take that offer with open arms, but you have to understand, I've been missing my best bitch, she hasn't been around lately, so don't even try to play stupid with me."

You lift yourself off the couch and start to pull off your sweats before he can even finish his next sentence. Once your friend has his mind set to one thing, there is absolutely no turning back. "Ah yes, I see we aren't arguing this time. So like I stated before, get something sexy on and meet me outside in… oh about 30." The line dies and you gaze longingly at the abandoned carton of ice cream.

You step into the bathroom and start stripping down. While leaning into the mirror, you take a good look. There are dark bags under your normally sharp eyes and there's a smudge of hot wing sauce on your neck. You grimace at the picture that you see and shiver a little when you wipe the toxic concoction off of your neck.

When you step out of the shower, you feel refreshed and when you take a second look in the mirror, the bags are still there but a small grin adorns your exotic face. Cheekbones are raised and after putting on the little red number you bought a while ago, you start to feel a little more like yourself.


A huge ass Escalade pulls up outside about ten minutes later, it's starting to rain so you rush out as fast as you can in your black heels. Sebastian honks twice and when you open the car door, you're hit with a loud 'hello' from the other people inside. Kurt is sitting up in shotgun, and he waves shortly at you. You could never fully understand Kurt and Sebastian. In high school they both went after the same guy and were constantly at each other's necks. But put them both in the same room for four years of collage and what you ended up getting was a judgmental gay power couple in the form of Kurt and Sebastian. You're okay with this because the boy they both went after had eyebrows the size of Texas, and the fashion sense of a small woodland creature. But hey, that's just your opinion.

In the middle section Tina and Mercedes are squished together laughing at something on Tina's blackberry. You tap Mercedes on the shoulder and she faces you. She gives you a sweet, sympathetic smile and offers a hug. You take it and hold on with everything you have. Its love and compassion and you'll take it in whatever form it comes. Even though you're a badass, you still like hugs and Mercedes is warm and feels like home, so you squeeze a little tighter than usual.

You notice two more sets of eyes on you, and see Mike and Sam looking at you from the back. Both were closer to Brittany than they ever were to you, so the tension in the car feels slightly off. But stern looks from their respective girlfriends and both boys are forcing out half smiles and you jump at the opportunity to severe eye contact and take a seat next to Mercedes.


The club is packed, which is to only be expected for a Friday night. Kurt helps you out of the seat and then you take his hand and put your game face on. The line is long, but Tina and Mike know the owner, so all of you shove your way to the front and are ushered in by the bouncers. You smirk at the sound of the groans of the other people in line and by that point; you start feeling a little bit more like yourself again.

As soon as you pass through the curtains, the smell of sweat and alcohol hits your system. No one except Tina has been here before so she takes all of you to a private table in the back, where you put down you purse and phone.

Suddenly you feel a bit out of place. Everyone is paired up except you, but Sebastian notices and he whispers something to his boyfriend. Kurt leaves with the rest of your crew of misfits while Sebastian slides up to your side. He starts to pull you out of the back room and his talking quickly turns to yells, as the music gets louder.

"So Lopez, tonight is for you. Drinks are on the house. Just let loose, we hate seeing you so disheartened and shit, it's not like you at all."

You smile at your friend. "Didn't know you were going soft on me Smythe." He mock glares at you and shoves you towards the dance floor without another word.


After a few songs, you finally start to feel comfortable on the dance floor by yourself, but when a cute girl with dark hair asks to dance with you, you have to refuse. Although she has a pretty face and hard-set blue eyes, you can't bring yourself to say yes. The last girl you danced with didn't exactly leave you scar free. And you also know that this girl isn't looking for something serious by the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder over at a feminine figure, standing near by. You see the pleading in her eyes and instead of dancing; you take her to the side and start to talk with her.

You learn that her name is Harmony, she's majoring in drama over at NYADA, and she wants to cultivate a career on Broadway. You conclude that reason she asked to you dance was because of the girl standing a little distance away. She's obviously using you to make her jealous and you're okay with that, because they'd look so good together, you just can't help it.

When the song that was playing, ends, she thanks you softly, as if knowing that you know. You watch her walk toward one of the closer tables to see if Harmony's technique worked out. Both girls have made their way to the bar and you smile fondly at the way the girl with caramel colored hair is all over her. They're both wrapped up in each other and they start to head towards the door together. The girl you were just dancing with flips her hair and gives you a winning smile on her way out. You chuckle to yourself and shake your head and offer her a thumbs up.

When both are out of site, a wave of thirst hits you and your feet start guiding your towards the bar. You make your way through the masses of bodies and take a seat on one of the leather stools. You think everything is much better here, than anything at work. Maybe you should apply for a job here instead. If Tina knows the owner, then chances are good that they'll probably say yes.

A delicate, slightly nasally voice breaks you out of your thoughts and when you look up, a blonde with short hair is staring at you with bored hazel eyes. "What can I get you?" The stool you're on is pretty tall and you peer over at her to take a better look. She's wearing dark jeans tucked into expensive looking boots and is showing off a fit body under an off the shoulder rose colored shirt. Very attractive, but her facial expression makes you think that she has a stick permanently shoved up her ass, for lack of a better phrase. A raised eyebrow and a flustered scowl wreck her baby doll features.

You feel like asking if there is indeed a stick stuck up there but decided to play it safe instead and ask for an Asian Fusion, the bar's best seller. The bartender shoots you an annoyed look but turns around anyway and starts mixing your drink.

You swivel your stool to face to dance floor and a tall figure plops down beside you. He is well built, and maybe in a different world you could possibly have been attracted to him, but your sexuality isn't going to change anytime soon and the dead animal on his head is a total turn off either way. You mistook it for a small woodland creature, maybe a squirrel or a small ferret.

He catches you staring and throws a charming grin your way, his eyes rake down your body and you have the sudden urge to roll your eyes. You're about to tell him off, but he beats you to the punch.

"Hi, Santana right?" You nod and ask him how he knows that.

"The name's Puck. Me and Q over here," he gestures to the stern blonde standing behind the bar that you glance over again at. She glares at you… again. "Went to high school with Tina. It seemed like everyone was getting out of our hometown so a few of us Lima kids rented a place together. We all lived together for our first two years here in the city. Q here-." He was cut off.

"Puck, you do realize that my name isn't Q?"

"Sure. Santana meet Quinn. Quinn, I assume you've already met Santana?"

The blonde with the cropped hair gives you an unimpressed once over then does a mock curtsy in your general direction. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

You decide that you don't like this Quinn chick much, but you thank her anyway when she hands you your drink. Puck's strong voice breaks in beside you.

"You'll have to excuse Quinn. She's just cranky all the time, you know being a pressed lemon and all."

"Take it back."

"What? You are, but hey I don't really blame you. Everyone is hot for my Jewbro."

"Ew. Berry? Hell no."

"Lies. You're blatantly lying to me. I see the way you stare. Actually when she picks you to d-."

As Puck turns around to face Quinn, you begin to feel sort of out of the loop, so you question both as to who this person is. Both Quinn and Puck start talking at once but they are interrupted by the introduction of a song playing over the speakers. The beat feels smooth, yet soft in it's own right. People stray off the dance floor and it's the emptiest that you've seen it the whole time.

A squeal breaks your train of thought and when you look back Tina and Quinn are exchanging quick hugs. Then Puck wraps the raven-haired woman up into a bear hug. Kurt and the rest of your entourage slide into the seats surrounding you. Most of them are huffing and puffing, and you realize that they've been dancing pretty heavily.

Sebastian orders drinks for the whole crew and holds his glass up in an attempt to make a toast over the growing sound of the song.

"To Santana!"

Your friends echo the words and a shit-eating grin overcomes your face. All of your friends are completely wasted, except Kurt, the DD and all, that shit is very important. Their words slosh together and Sam and Mercedes are already getting pretty handsy.

Despite being almost out of her head, Tina is able to compose herself to ask Quinn a question. "Where's your new star act?"

The blonde never answers, instead you and everyone else is left staring where Quinn's eyes are focused. The stage that was partially empty a minute ago is now completely isolated. The sides of the club are packed with people and you begin to wonder what's going on.

"Tina, I think this will answer your question."

The lights go dim and a smooth track of a Spanish guitar comes over the surround sound speakers. The introduction reminds you of songs that your older sister, Gina, would play in her car when you were younger. When the first lyric comes on, you mouth the words.

Esta noche bailamos.

You're about to start the next sentence when you realize that it's not Enrique singing your sister's favorite song. The voice is strong and feminine, and it feels like someone is whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Your skin breaks out in goose bumps and you feel your eyes searching the floor for the owner of the voice.

Tonight we dance.

I leave my life in your hands.

Beside and behind you, everything has frozen. Kurt and Sebastian are both impersonating fish and are following your example by squinting their eyes, trying to use their gay-vision to see into the dark. A thought comes to mind and you look to Puck who is now leaning over the bar counter. Puck's leer had turned into a fond smile and there's a hint of softness in his light brown eyes. Leaning across the bar next to him is an equally dazed Quinn. Her bitter scowl replaced with a toothy smile, and a rosy blush adorning her cheeks. Your jaw drops at the sudden change in attitude and as you turn around, the introduction reaches the end of its build up.

Don't let a moment go by.

Nothing can stop us tonight!

Once the unknown singer hits the last note, a light hits the stage and you're hit with a vision of something you will never forget. Your eyes start at her feet and slowly you make your way up. The singer is short in stature but her toned, tan legs go on for miles. Once your reach her face, you find it hard to breathe. She has beautifully shaped features, a cute partially rounded chin and cheekbones placed perfectly to frame her nose. You can't see her whole face due to the amount of space between the two of you. There's something inside of you that's moving your feet forward towards the brunette. When she hits the chorus, you wonder how a voice like that is coming out of a body that small.

Bailamos! Let the rhythm take you over,

Bailamos! Te quiero amor mio.

You're getting steadily more and more impressed by every passing moment. Her voice feels like it was made for bigger numbers. Like it shouldn't be able to sound this good on a bilingual song, but she pulls it off anyway. Her hips fall into a steady rhythm during the instrumental interlude and you stalk forward even more towards the floor. You want a better look and something about this singer makes you want to throw yourself at her feet. Its so not your style, but you can't help it with this girl. With one last roll of her hips, the clubbers are hooked and no one dares to look away.

Tonight I'm yours.

We can make it happen, I'm so sure.

When you finally reach the edge of the makeshift stage, you realize the performer is making her way towards your end of the floor. As she dances, her body floats. She is elegant, but maintains the sex appeal of the song. And before you know it, she's singing straight to you.

Bailamos! Gonna live this night forever.

Bailamos! Te queiro amor mio, te quiero!

As the club starts to take parts in the verse, you take the opportunity to study this woman. Her eyes are a deep chocolate brown, and her full lips are the most beautiful shade of pink that you've ever seen. She takes the end of the verse and whispers it into your ear, a hot breath tickling the side of your neck. When she pulls away from you, her eyes are shining with mirth and she grabs your hand and starts to pull you onto the dance floor. You panic slightly and pull away, and once again you are faced with the situation of choosing to go dance or stay stationary. You opt for the second choice because all you can think about it the last dance around the kitchen that you and Brittany shared before she told you. You thought it was perfect in the moment but now it seems like the canon to your ship. Dancing solo is still okay and you can handle that shit, but throw in a partner and then there's instant obligation to put twice the effort into it.

The girl pouts prettily and when a disappointed frown comes over her face, you feel like screaming at yourself for not taking a risk. But you refrain as you watch her pass you by, she gives you a wink anyway and makes her way towards the bar.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea for the short brunette as everyone is transfixed on her every move. When she reaches her destination, Puck lifts her on top of the bar's counter and she takes a seat right next to Quinn upper body. The blonde is blushing profusely now and when the girl sings directly to her, her face flames a candy apple red. She takes the blonde's hand and drags her over the counter, to the floor.

Quinn takes the girl's waist and they start to move to the music. Quinn seems to be concentrating on keeping a steeled face, but when the brunette grabs her by the waist, twists her around and proceeds to lead, the blonde breaks out into a full fledged grin.

Both of them show surprisingly well-executed dance moves, they bring their movements together and you wonder if this is Quinn's first time dancing with the brunette. It looks like a battle between fire and ice, the shorter girl leads with slightly sloppier moves but overtakes the mistakes with passion, heavy hip movements drive her part, and you decide that she's the fire. In contrast, Quinn holds her head high, her posture is impeccable and the way she dances is precise and frigid, she's the ice. You don't know why but a spike of jealousy flows through you when the singer kisses Quinn's cheek and lets her go back to her post at the bar.. You haven't even met her yet but there is an obvious attraction growing in you.

As the song comes to a close, the whole club is jumping again and her face disappears from you line of vision once the crowd overcomes her. You suddenly feel dizzy and you claw your way back to your empty seat. Your friends all have their jaws on the floor, and as the steady beats of a bass sound in the background, there is absolute silence in the area where you're standing. No one is moving and the only one half conscious is Puck, who is wearing a proud, somewhat dazed, smirk on his face.

"Some show, huh? Only one song and she had them on their knees."

All anyone can do is nod dumbly and stare off into the distance, into the small patch of the floor where the brunette disappeared. Sam wipes a line of drool off his face. Everyone's eyes return to focus as a small blur of dark hair jumps into Puck's arms. A muffled scream reaches your ears and once again, everyone is left staring at the brunette when she unravels herself from the mohawked man's arms. The girl is shaking with excitement and when she opens her mouth to speak, the words are jumbled and it takes a strained ear to understand fully what she's saying.

"NOAH! How was I? Did people like it? How did you like it? Did I look nervous, because I wasn't? How's Quinn, because do remember the last time we-."

"Calm down babe. Let me introduce you to some people first. And yes, you were perfect, better than anything that I've ever seen."

You feel sort of embarrassed as Puck starts to give the introductions, you did shoot her offer to dance down. He introduced her as 'Rachel Berry', and when he comes to you, the girl's eyes flash with recognition. Her whole body language changes and she eyes you up and down. She places her small hands on her hips and stares.

Normally when you get checked out, it's with ill intent and you feel like scrubbing your skin clean to get the creepy feeling off. But when Rachel looks you over, you feel warm and tingly and you can't help but smile. She sticks out her hand, and you shake it.

"Santana Lopez."

"It's a pleasure, but I'm positive that you owe me a dance."

You shake your head back and forth and she gives you the same confused look as last time.


As the evening progresses, the bar starts to empty out. Puck invites you and your group to stay behind to chat and have a couple more drinks. Rachel tells everyone that he just wants help cleaning up the joint because their janitor quit last week.

So when the final person leaves the club's front doors, Quinn and Puck grab trash bags from the stock room and hand them out to everyone in the place. You look around and notice the amounts of trash piled up. You're not sure why you're spending the rest of your night picking up trash, but you do anyway and the fact that Rachel has also stayed behind makes the job a little more bearable.

Watching your friends pick up cups and scraps, while intoxicated has to be one of the best things that you've ever experienced. Mercedes fills up a bag, while Sam sneaks by to empty the contents all over the floor. Sebastian is trying to cope a feel of Puck with Kurt standing next to him and the two Chang's are currently ignoring the world around them and slow dancing on the isolated DJ set up.

"Its time to go home," Kurt sighs. "I think my children have had a little too much, not like that's unusual or anything but yes, I believe I'm going to have to take them home."

When all of your friends start to stumble out, with forceful shoves from Kurt, you realize that you want to stay. Kurt looks at you with tired eyes and asks you how you're getting home.


"Be safe Satan, I know everyone else is too smashed to do anything right now, but I'm sure that if you went missing tonight, posters of you would appear on telephone polls immediately. Plus, where would we bury you? We all know that I'd never be satisfied with a burial without you there."

You know Kurt means well, and just wants the best for you, so you give him a hug and he warns you again to be careful. When you can't see the red lights from Sebastian's car anymore, you return inside and are shocked to notice that the whole place is almost done.

Puck is nowhere in sight and Quinn already has her jacket on and keys in hand. The blonde walks over to Rachel who is sweeping the bar area up. As Quinn starts to speak you can hear that she is trying to contain the eagerness in her voice. You've done that many times and you can simply tell, that this girl likes Rachel but is too blind to see it. Puck was right.

"Hey Berry. Do you need a ride home?"

"Oh that would be perfect Quinn! Jesse is out on another blind date and I let him take the truck. I hope that I won't be too much of an inconv-." She stops halfway when she notices you standing alone near the door. There's a long pause and finally she starts to speak again, her eyes still trained on your face. "On second thought, I think I'll make sure that our friend Santana here gets home safe. Her friend seemed pretty intent on her safety."

The singer smiles at you, while Quinn simply glares.

"Okay, but just call me if anything pops up. I want you to be- Puck would want you to keep safe," Quinn is getting flustered and you notice the pattern of her face turning all the shades of red when she talks to Rachel, hell is even near Rachel. "So just… Call me or whatever."

The blonde races out the front door and you can feel a rush of air when she passes you by. When the door slams, you hear nothing but the pitter-patter of the rain that's growing stronger by the second.

"Can you help me?"

You look to the side and see Rachel struggling to grab a power cord that somehow got stuck to a hook on the wall. She's in her heels, standing on a table, but she still isn't tall enough to get to the hook.


You take her place on the table and pull the cord off with ease, when you look down at her she's pouting and mumbling something about having her father's height. When you take the step back to the ground, you slip and loose your footing. A pair of warm hands encircles your waist to still you and you can't help but to lean into the touch. She turns you around and cranes her neck up to look at you. When she breaks the embrace you feel cold but follow her to the bar and when she sits, so do you. Her elbow leans on one side of the bar and her hand rests on her face. You marvel at how perfect she looks with half of her face smushed up against her hand and the way her warm eyes that stare at you with interest.

"So Lopez… You're a bit of a mystery to me. Tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell really, you seem a lot more interesting to me."

"C'mon I stayed behind to talk, so talk to me. I wanna know it all."

The way her voice curls at the end of her sentence sends shivers down your spine. Your first inclination is to bolt out of the bar, maybe pull a Quinn or something but she grabs your hand and smiles. Then you're stuck.

"Fine then, I'll start. My name is Rachel Barbra Berry and I'm a performer. I love to act, sing and dance and I just graduated from NYU last year. I'm currently trying to work my way up the entertainment business, starting with gigs like this. I'm 23, living with my best friend Jesse in an apartment a few blocks up from here. I grew up in The Bronx, raised by my two dads and my birthmother." She inhaled a deep breath. "There. Now you go."

"Santana Maria Lopez. I'm 24, training to be a lawyer. I grew up in Ohio and was in my high school glee club. I came out to my parents when I was 17 and was forbidden to enter my own house until the middle of my senior year. I followed a girl here to New York so she could achieve her dreams of fame and success," You pause and take a deep sigh before continuing. "She left me about four months ago. I'm working at a B-rated bar, coming home to a desolate apartment and… fuck."

"Beer? It's on the house, you know."

After you discreetly wipe some unshed tears away, you find a chilly glass bottle in front of your face and you gulp it down before you whisper a quiet thanks.

It looks like you're going to be here for a while.


"Really? You sent a girl to a crack house?"

"It was one time! I swear you do this kind of thing once and the whole world remembers it! She was going to steal all the attention and I was this close," She gestures to her strained fingers. "This close from being reduced to swaying in the background. I mean swaying. I was not meant to sway and look pretty!"

"I think you're pretty."

She looks at you, and you gaze back and then both of you start to laugh like maniacs. Holy shit you're wasted! Both of you are sprawled out on the bar's floor, laying out on neon table cloths, surrounded by bottles of empty beer. You pass her the almost empty bottle of jack and she takes a huge swig.

You steal the bottle back and frown at the emptiness of its contents. You mumble, "More."

When you try to pick yourself up, you find yourself falling flat on your back. It should hurt, but all you do is giggle and angle your body to look at Rachel.

"Puck lets you do this often?"

"No. This is new. He always closes up shop, but I couldn't find him so I assume that he has vacated the space already."

A comfortable pause takes over the sound of the area and you close your eyes. The shuffling next to you moves closer and when she grabs your arm, you feel the heat of the Rachel's body. She pokes you in the forehead and you crack one eye open.

"Why won't you dance with me?" A simple question that you can't ever seem to answer well. "I mean, I've asked you twice and both times you have said no. So why not?"

The buzzing of your body starts to leave and you lay spread eagle on the floor of the bar, both eyes closed. You think that this is the most relaxed that you've been all month, laying beside a girl you've just met, interlocked hands and the slow rise and fall of your chests.

"Do you ever feel like memories can be the most amazing things? Like the birth of a child or the moment where your father walks you down the aisle, or maybe your first kiss, however traumatic or fantastic that was. Its these kind of points in the average human life that let us reflect on the kind of people that we are. They're our namesakes; our memories are a collage of pictures on a wall that bring us together. Shared memories weave lovers, friends and even enemies together in ways unimaginable to the human heart. You never know what circumstances are going to contribute to your memories."

You open your eyes and look at the girl beside you. "Memories can be beautiful things. They can range as romantic as a lovers first touch or as simple as the moment when bought your first CD without your parents help. But flashes from the past also can be so negative and so damn hurtful. My ex-girlfriend told me she got a job in a show. God I was so elated. My girl was going to finally take the world my storm, she was finally going to prove all those bigot jerks from home that anyone could take what they wanted." You voice cracks and you take a long sip from the bottle. Your one handed grip on the container grows tighter. "Then she told me her job was in fucking California. Fuck me, it was awful. She left me for a job. Like who does that? Isn't love supposed to be like they show in the movies. The hero falls for the beautiful girl and then when the girl leaves, the hero goes after her just to prove how much they wanted her. Was I supposed to go after her? Was I?"

"Do you still love her?"

"To be honest, I think everyone still holds their first love close at all times. Like I mentioned, memories stay with us forever. And I had so many good memories with Brittany. I guess I still love her, but what am I going to do? I have a crappy apartment in a shady part of town and I work at a B-rated bar, what's moving going to do?"

"Lopez, you never answered my question about the dancing though."


"Santana, c'mon."

You suck in a deep breath. "I can't because… Its like she's still holding on to me. Dancing was her signature. It's the mark she left on me. And maybe I feel like I'm cheating on her when I take someone else's hand and lead them around. With every dip and twirl, its like I can feel her watching me."

Rachel stands up and offers you a hand, you don't fall this time. Both of you have taken off your respective heels and now the height difference is much more noticeable. She stands about two inches shorter than you and your chin goes down to level with her head.

"I have to go," You say.

You try to avoid the forlorn expression that the girl is wearing but as your hand reaches for your coat, a smaller one stops you.

"Stay. Just talk with me some more, you know you still owe me a dance. I refuse to let this go."

"Sorry, I can't. I have work and class tomorrow," You glance at the clock. "Well, today actually. Maybe later Rach."

"Can I be blunt? I like you, I feel insanely drawn to you and I have to idea why. Your laugh is contagious and every single time tonight that I've seen you sad, I want to cry right along with you. I've never had this with anyone before and I will not stop until I get you to dance with me."

"I like you too, you light up the entire room with that smile of yours but I have to go. I'm sorry."

"You know that you can't say that to a girl and just leave."

You ignore her in favor of slipping on your coat. You button up so black is covering your whole torso, but before you can grab for your heels, you're being pulled down and soft lips are meeting yours.

You're surprised by this sudden action, but Rachel's hands on the back of your head are preventing you from moving, so you give in to the action but mentally slap yourself for letting go. You break the kiss and move farther away. She whimpers at the loss of contact and once again a disappointed, hurt look crosses you face before a wave of irritation overcomes her.

"You need to open your eyes Santana. I like you, and you won't let yourself see that because you're too hung up on the girl who left you in favor of a job offer! Let go already."

"You wouldn't understand!" You shout, "I can't be anything without her. She's my perfect thing and now that she's gone, the only thing I can do is hold onto her memories for as long as I possibly can."

Rachel starts to plead with you, her hands have latched onto your arms. "Jesus! Let me try to mend your heart, to fix you, just let me try! I want to know more about you. But I need you to move on and look at me with fresh eyes."

You step out of her reach and by this time, you are fuming, fists balled at your sides, you finally make your exit towards the door.

"And by the way, you can be someone without her, there are so many other people who love you and care for you, take the group your were with tonight. They care and want you to be safe and protected. You are so much more than what you think you are. And if you ever need to talk, I'm always around."

You push yourself out the door, and you let the rain embrace your whole body. You close your eyes and turn your face up towards the sky. You think of Brittany. Your last thoughts were bitter yet even after time has passed, you still feel a connection to her bubbly smile and her baby blue eyes. A rush of sorrow courses through your entire being and you tremble at flashback of her walking out the door with her suitcase in tow. You stare out into the street where a bright yellow cab is making its way by. The color is annoying but easy to remember and among all the dull silvers, grays, and whites, yellow still stands out the most. They're made to catch your attention, tacky checkered patterns and bright lights attached on top, just to make sure that no one misses them. In the city, taxis pop up everywhere, everyone takes them and as much as you see them, they become a daily reminder of the place you live in.

But as the yellow cab picks up a person across the street, and zooms off to its next destination, running a red, and as it blends into the darkness, there's a feeling of disappointment. You were hoping that that exact taxi would take you home, a place where you could eat ice cream in your sweats with no one scrutinizing you for what you were doing.

Though, as it drives away, an oddly colored blue truck takes its place on the road. The deep blue paint job makes it look almost black; it blends in with the dead of night. The engine is extremely loud and it looks like it could give out any second, but despite the outer problems the couple inside look relaxed and safe. The car isn't in a rush to go anywhere and it waits patiently for the stragglers to cross the street before making a left turn onto a road lit up with lights.

It could be the amount of alcohol, or maybe you are finally having a small epiphany about yourself. If Brittany Pierce is a taxicab, bright, noticeable and everywhere at once, than Rachel Berry is that nosy, cozy, midnight blue truck.

By this time, your whole body has already been drenched in rain, your hair is sticking to your face and your coat is weighing you down from all the water it's collected. It's restricted your movement so you strip it off and try squeezing the liquid out.

When you're happy with your work, you make a determined step back towards the club, but don't get too far when you collide into an equally waterlogged body.

"What are you doing Rachel?"

The singer continually swipes at her bangs that at now pressed up against her forehead. She actually seems a bit nervous, but the vigor in her eyes comes back when she notices that your body was in the returning direction.

"So let me apologize for my brash behavior. I have no right to tell you to let go if you don't want to. I just really like you and want to get to know you better. And anyway isn't the hero supposed to go after the girl? I was busy waiting for my princess charming, but I, like any other good princess got immensely impatient. So here I am, I had to hunt down my heroine. Good thing she didn't get very far."

You can feel yourself letting go of your past with every word that she utters and you never want her to stop talking to you. Every sound that she releases makes you feel lighter and you can't help but lightly chuckle when she calls you her 'heroine'. It really feels like she's the one saving you, without her there would be no letting go, no sound of settling. But now that there is healing in your life, you feel complete. Its like the time Gina found the last piece of your puzzle during your twelfth birthday. You had lost the piece under the sofa during the Christmas of that last year and when your sister found it, you could finally put the puzzle away and feel proud of yourself for holding on that long. You were territorial about people touching it, and always got frustrated with yourself for loosing the part, but at the end you let Gina put the last piece in and then it was done.

You look at her and lean in, you can feel how cold her lips are but you don't really give a damn. You nibble gently on her bottom lip and then swipe at her upper, asking for entrance. Rachel smiles into the kiss when you pull her closer by the hips, and when she deepens it, you don't complain. She tastes strong like the drink she just had, but there's an undertone of sweetness from her actual lips, it's a mix of vanilla and cherries and you can't get enough. It's addictive.

The rain pours down on the both of you, a crisp gush of air floats by and when you shiver, she pulls you closer. The next thing you know, you're both running down 8th Avenue in heels and all you can think about is how warm Rachel's hand is compared to the icy Manhattan air.


When you wake up in the morning, your head is pounding and the room is spinning so you reach out to your left to grab the bottle of water you put on your nightstand the day before. But you can't feel it so you reach out more and end up falling onto a hardwood floor. That's when you realize that you're not at your place.

The floor is cold and smells like cleaning solution, which is a huge variation from the stained carpet in your room that smells of ice cream and wine. You can't find the strength to get up, so you sort of just lay there on the floor of a bedroom you're not sure how you got into. Fantastic.

About 15 minutes pass and there is movement from the bed, you force your body to get up and when you do, you finally open your eyes. The room has polished wood floors, which you've already gotten acquainted, and plain white walls, with one dark blue accent wall. The size is fairly decent and hanging on the walls are framed playbills and posters from Broadway musicals. When your eyes make it to the bed, you notice a mop of brown hair splayed all over one of the white pillows. You stumble across a pair of heels and flop onto the bed beside the figure. You know you it is before you rip the covers off, but you grin when you see Rachel lying face down in the bed, her arms reaching out for the spot that you just were.

You decide to take a risk and climb in again next to her. While she lightly snores, you brush her hair off her face and soak in how perfect she looks when she's asleep. Her eyes flutter every couple of minutes and her lips twitches whenever you brush your index finger over it.

You're about to lightly kiss her awake, when you're met with soft chocolate eyes.

"Good morning."





After effectively calming your hangover, the two of you make your way to the kitchen. The silence is calming and the whole time Rachel prepares the food, your arms are glued around her waist. It's pretty wonderful, actually, standing half naked in a kitchen on a Saturday morning.

Rachel brews some coffee and over the sound of the still pouring rain, you ask her something you've been dying to know ever since you woke up this morning and rolled out onto the floor.

"Wanna dance?"

From there all she can do is bite her lip and hum a sweet tune while you spin her around the kitchen. And yes, these are the kind of memories you could get used to.