A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Okay, a) I know what a gremlin is, so please no messages about how I'm writing things wrong. There is a reason for my madness. b) These will not be in chronological order, as this is a collection of drabbles and not an 'official' story; basically, I will write them as the inspiration comes (though if you must know, this is second out of what has been written at this point). c) Is there anything else...? Nope, can't think of anything else other than reiterating that these take place in the same universe as chapters 102 and 103 of Scraps.

Slapping the note Rachel's father had scrawled for her onto the piano in front of Mr. Schuester, Santana stared challengingly at him, arms crossed with her eyebrows up.

"Santana…?" he asked, frowning and picking up the note, "What is this?"

Santana rolled her eyes. Dropping her arms to wave her hand at him in a get on with it motion, she barely waited for him to do so before stalking over to a free seat in the back of the risers.

Mr. Schuester quickly read the note. His eyebrows furrowing, he looked up, "Do you need to see the nurse?"

Starting to nod, Santana stopped, looking frustrated. So, instead, she stared at him severely, only relaxing when he grew uncomfortable and nodded, looking away with a muttered, "Right."

Triumphant, Santana sat back, crossing her legs and glaring into space. Agitation starting to cross her face, she sat up when Rachel walked into the choir room five minutes after she usually did and five minutes before class was supposed to start. Opening her mouth, she managed to keep silent until Rachel was slipping into the seat next to her. "You're wearing the same clothes," she accused quietly, hand coming up to grip Rachel's arm.

"I know." Patting Santana's hand, Rachel managed a small smile, "But it's okay, Santana. Did your note work?"

Santana narrowed her eyes. "It didn't. But, yes. I'm going to let you change the subject." Then, looking around the room and determining they weren't drawing too much attention, she softened her expression. "Rache," her hand slid down to squeeze Rachel's before quickly letting go, "Who didn't slushie you?"

Sighing, Rachel shook her head, pushing her hair behind her ear. "It's okay," she whispered, briefly meeting Santana's eyes, "I'm used to it."

"I fucking care if you're used to it," Santana snapped huskily, "Don't tell me who did it."

"Santana." Pressing her fingers to the back of her hand, Rachel smiled at her, "And do what with the information? Tell them to continue slushieing me? Hun." Her voice dropped even more, stroking Santana's hand as she pulled away, "You're sweet, but we're still working on reversing this."

Glaring at her, Santana slowly, reluctantly shook her head in sharp, jerky motions. "I love this."

Rachel nodded, shoulders dropping. "I know, San. I do too." She bit down onto her lower lip, eyes dark, hands curling in her lap, "I'm so sorry."

"Since when are you two so chummy?" Puck interrupted, straddling the chair on the level below them and cocking an eyebrow.

Blinking and sliding a neutral expression on her face, Rachel twisted her body in her chair so she no longer faced Santana. "Santana has laryngitis," she answered perfunctorily, "I'm just giving her health tips."

When Puck looked at her, Santana coolly met his gaze.

Running his hand over his mohawk, rocking the chair back and forth, Puck smirked. "Health tips that involve any lesbian-type meeting of your bodies?" he started suggestively, wincing and yelping when Quinn, walking behind him, whacked him on the head.

"Puck, enough. Don't make me throw up."

"Didn't think you were one for homophobia, Quinn," Mercedes commented from the bottom row, not bothering to look up from the nail polish she was currently applying to her nails.

Quinn rolled her eyes, "Because I'm not." Sounding exasperated, she took the seat next to Puck, "It's the thought of Santana and Rachel together that makes me nauseous."

Growling indistinctively under her breath, Santana crossed her arms and shifted in her chair. Looking at Rachel out of the corner of her eye, she let herself feel some pride when it was obvious Rachel was more amused by the discussion than offended.

"What about me and Santana, hypothetically, would be nauseating?" she leaned forward, interrupting Mercedes', "What now?"

"Really?" Turning in her seat, Quinn gave Rachel a searching look, pursing her lips, "I'd think you would be leading the anti-Rachel-and-Santana ship."

Glancing at Santana, Rachel shrugged. "Sure," she started, voice pleasant but purposefully mild, "The initial thought of a relationship between Santana and me would be preposterous…"

Santana managed a snort, affixing a bored glare onto her face.

"Preposterous," Rachel repeated, stressing the word, "I believe, if I were to guess how the dynamic between us would work out, it… May not be too bad…"

"It would suck," Santana rasped deliberately.

Her eyes flickering over to meet Santana's, Rachel carefully lifted one corner of her mouth up. "Save your voice," she answered sweetly, "Or you could permanently hurt your vocal chords."

Santana put her hand up in a taunting gesture, scowling.

"Right." Shaking her head, Mercedes went back to painting her nails, "They would never work."

Puck studied the two of them again. "I don't know… I could see it," he mused. After a beat, he grinned, "And it would be hot."

Using her foot to push against the back of Puck's chair, tipping him backwards as Mr. Schuester called a beginning to the class, Santana pulled her phone out of her pocket. Worry, she typed out, sending to Rachel, I don't luv u. And ur wrong. We're TOTALLY horrible.

Rachel's smile when she checked her phone five minutes later made a broad smirk spread across Santana's face. And when she received Rachel's Thank you, San. I love you too, she was only just able to turn that smirk into a glare when Quinn turned a shrewd look in her direction.