Rock a Little

chapter four

It's either very late on Saturday night or very early on Sunday morning in Lima as Santana's large black van glides through the empty streets back to Casa de Lopez. Her parents are away for the weekend, and though she's absolutely dying to tell them the news that they've just been hired by a famous Broadway star to co-write and record her upcoming first album of non-Broadway material, she knows better than to wake them at this hour. Rachel, on the other hand, had no problem calling her two dads to let them know she's left the car in the club parking lot and while she's sure nothing would happen to it if it stayed there overnight, she lets out a sigh of relief when they tell her that they'll come out with the other car and one of them will drive it back home.

When they ask why she left the car in the parking lot in favor of piling into a crowded, sweaty van with three girls she's just met, Rachel shrugs and tells them it's important to start bonding with the people you're going to be working with as soon as possible - and since this is the band she's chosen to hire as co-writers and performers on the album of original material she's decided she wants to do, staying overnight at their place seems like a perfect way to begin. The shouts of surprise and excitement that erupt from the two men are so loud that everyone in the van can hear them through her phone. Rachel's smile is so wide, her laugh so infectious, that the others can't help but join in, and for a good minute or two it feels almost as if the van is running on emotion rather than gasoline.

She promises her dads that they'll get to meet these 'amazingly talented girls' before she has to leave for New York again and beams at Quinn, who's sitting next to her with a dazed, giddy look on her face. Tina winks back at her with a smile in the mirror over Santana's head, while Santana tries hard to keep from bursting into tears and smashing them all into a tree. It's all very real to Rachel, but to the other three young women traveling on the nearly empty late night / early morning road back to Lima, this feels very much like a dream – especially to Santana, whose mother happens to be a total Broadway freak, and a huge fan of one Rachel Berry in particular. The memory of Maribel Lopez calling Rachel 'the greatest young talent to emerge on Broadway since Streisand' bursts to the front of her mind, and she's glad that no one can see the blush of embarrassment on her face in the darkness of the van.

(Not that she would ever share that little tidbit of Lopez family information with the others, of course.)

Tina's phone rings, and the sudden illumination of her screen brings them all out of the momentary quiet of their shared reverie.

"It's Mike," she says by way of explanation, though everyone but Rachel already knew that. "Hey. You going home, or do you want to come over to Casa de Lopez to unwind a little?" she asks, sticking out her tongue at Quinn's rolled eyes. "Sugar and Kitty are following you? Shit. Can't you lose them?" She sighs, but there's no real anger in it; this is the usual game they play. Santana shakes her head, but she, like Quinn, is too happy to be bothered by the silliness.

Rachel enjoys the ease with which the three friends communicate, the wordless banter that flows between them in a silent, secret language of hands and eyes and facial expressions. A simple look from Santana sends Quinn into gales of laughter, which cuts off just as suddenly at a gesture from Tina, who's still on the phone with Mike.

"Okay, fine," she says. "They can come too. Just let them know that we have a special guest with us, so they can't be their usual obnoxious selves tonight. If they have a problem with that, tell them to fuck off and we'll see them at the next show or whatever. Got it?"

The looks exchanged between Quinn and Santana at the sudden, serious change in Tina's tone, the sharp, steely inflections in each syllable, reflect their surprise at the normally even-tempered bass player's vehemence, and Rachel doesn't miss them. She looks down, squirms in her seat. She knows full well that she's the 'special guest,' but she doesn't necessarily want anyone to behave any differently than they normally would, or treat her any differently than they would anyone else. She may be a star, but she learned a long time ago that she doesn't like some aspects of the 'star treatment' all that much.

Tina ends the call, muttering, "Boys. They can be so ridiculous sometimes." Then she twists in her seat to offer Rachel an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that."

"Sorry about what?" Rachel asks, genuinely puzzled. "I don't mind if your other friends join us. The more, the merrier, I always say. Half the people at our cast parties after shows aren't even in the cast, after all."

"Maybe, but I'm sure none of them are like Kitty and Sugar," laughs Tina, shaking her head, the blue streaks in her hair glowing faintly in the light from the dashboard. "Those two are...well, they're a handful, let's put it that way – especially after they've gotten a few drinks in them."

"But don't worry, Rachel – we'll keep them under control," Quinn says, patting Rachel's arm reassuringly. She blows a bubble, lets it pop, laughing softly when the exploded gum sticks to the tip of her perfect nose. "Um, that wasn't supposed to happen."

Rachel smiles; it's dark in the back seat of the van, but she imagines the pretty blush coloring Quinn's cheeks anyway, and it makes her feel warm inside. The pink-haired drummer's hand returns to her arm, settles there, and Rachel doesn't mind it at all. She turns her attention back to the long, dark road stretching before them, staring out through the windshield for a few quiet moments; then she surreptitiously sneaks a glance down at Quinn's own arm, at the raised vein that travels up and down the swell of her bicep, and feels warmer still.

Santana's watching the road too, but she's also trying to keep an eye on the two in the back. Quinn is a skilled flirt, a master player, able to cast a spell on a girl with barely more than a batted eyelash, a flip of her pink hair, a subtle flex of muscle. When the bubble pops, her eyes flash to the rear-view mirror, and she's only just able to suppress a low growl at the sight of Quinn laughing, lowering her head in faux embarrassment, drawing Rachel in, getting the smile she wants from the young Broadway star.

Damn, she thinks. I hate to admit it, but Q's got skills. The girl is good. A smirk draws a thin line across her face. But so am I.

"The bubble trick again, Q? Really? Is that your whole game now, or what?"

Rachel's eyes leap from Quinn's arm to Santana's delighted smirk in the mirror. The raven-haired girl throws back her head and laughs a full-throated, hearty laugh, at the glare Quinn throws her way, which Rachel manages to miss amid the music of Santana's laughter. When Santana's eyes return to the mirror, Rachel finds that she can't look away. There's an intensity in them, mixed with mirth, that captivates her.

"Come on, you two. Play nice," Tina interjects, immediately seeking to defuse the tension that's rising between her two bandmates. She's seen this kind of thing escalate quickly before, and she's not about to let anything ruin the good time this night had promised. "Can you just not both be alphas for once, please?"

A huff sounds from Quinn at Rachel's side. "Fine, fine. You're right, Tina. As usual. We shouldn't be fighting, not now. Not tonight. Not in front of Rachel."

Tina rounds on the still-smirking girl in the driver's seat. "San? Q's sent up a flag of truce. Got it?"

The smirk falls, but only a little. "Okay, okay, T. I got it." Her eyes move away, reluctantly, from Rachel's, towards Quinn, and her voice softens. "Sorry, Q. My best behavior for the rest of the night, promise."

Rachel, bewildered, turns to Quinn, watches the girl's lovely face in the on-again, off-again glow of the streetlights passing by. There's something in it, some old hurt that flashes in Quinn's expression - but it's gone almost as soon as it appears, and Rachel's helpless to interpret it, to divine its meaning. All she knows is that these girls have known each other for years, and their emotional terrain is going to be complex and tricky to negotiate, especially without a map. She makes a mental note to ask Tina about it later, biting her lip in confusion.

"It's all right, San," Quinn says quietly. "Sorry, T." Unexpectedly, she turns to Rachel as well. "Sorry, Rachel. We're supposed to be celebrating, not fighting."

"Although she was going to find out how bitchy we can be to each other at some point anyway," Santana points out. When Tina whips around to glare at her incredulously, the Latina simply shrugs in reply. "What? I'm just keepin' it real, like I always do."

"God," Tina grumbles, shifting in her seat, drawing her legs up to her chest, or at least as close as she can get them. "I'm gonna take a little nap. Wake me up when we get home, okay?"

Fifteen minutes later, Quinn wakes her with a boot to the passenger seat.

"Why am I friends with you two again?" she sputters in exasperation, as Quinn and Santana laugh together all the way up the driveway, Rachel following slowly, Tina running after them. They laugh and laugh, and they don't stop even when Santana unlocks the door, and the bass player shoves them both over the threshold.

Casa de Lopez is an impressive place, to say the least. Rachel hadn't even known there were any houses this big in Lima, or at least she didn't remember any from when she'd grown up here. It's beautiful, but not ostentatious; it looks lived in, and certainly is, given the fact that Santana, Quinn and Tina all live, work and play here. There are musical instruments in seemingly every corner of the place, and a black cat guarding over all - inexplicably named Tabby – who seems like a feline incarnation of Santana: all dark, watchful eyes, sleek lines and confident attitude. She knows she's an awesome cat, and expects you to know it without her telling you. Rachel wonders whether the cat gets it from her owner, or if it's the other way around. Whichever the case, the cat's clearly not going to answer the question, looking her up and down, taking her measure, then calmly returning to the meticulous licking of her paws.

"You have a lovely home, Santana," Rachel says, gazing at the walls, all covered with beautiful paintings and photographs – some of which, she notices, feature Santana and her smiling, attractive parents. Here, they're on the beach, someplace warm and tropical, with white sand and the blue, blue ocean stretching far away in the background; there, dressed in festive colors for what looks like a younger Santana's birthday party. Her father is tall, distinguished looking, with hair that's graying ever so slightly, while her mother is shorter, but strikingly beautiful, like her daughter, smiling adoringly at her husband and child.

Santana stops next to her, regards the photographs as though this is the first time she's looked at them in years. "These pictures are beautiful," Rachel tells her. "I particularly like this one. You all look so happy." She points to the one with Santana and her parents on the beach.

"That was a couple of summers ago, when we went to visit my dad's folks in Puerto Rico," Santana replies, squinting up at the large, framed photograph. Her smile is soft and warm; memories swim in her dark eyes. "It was a good time, but not always an easy one. Dad's family is big and loud and opinionated, and when they get together, there's a lot of...let's say, energetic discussion about pretty much everything. I think I had a headache the entire time."

Quinn comes up behind them, places a hand on each of their shoulders. Her voice, as always, is quiet, but it's laced with something Rachel can't quite name – that old hurt she'd seen on the girl's face earlier, in the van. "I remember that summer too. I'm glad one of us enjoyed it."

Santana actually flinches at the pink-haired drummer's words, and her head drops. Something passes between them, something deep and unspoken. Rachel gets the feeling that the two of them have a lot of silent conversations like this. Quinn squeezes Santana's shoulder, and then the moment is gone, punctuated by the loud whoops and hollers that announce the arrival of Mike, Sam, Kitty and Sugar.

"What up, bitches?" screeches one of the girls, all red hair and goofy, drunken smile. The girl alongside her is shorter, blonde, with a compact build and a pair of coldly mocking eyes, matched by an equally derisive smirk. The red-haired girl is expensively, if not tastefully, clad in a short fur jacket (Rachel hopes it's faux fur), a halter top. a pair of the tightest bright pink pants Rachel's ever seen and high heels. The blonde is more reserved, with her hair pulled back in a high, tight ponytail, striding across the room with cat-like grace in a simple band T-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of white high-top sneakers.

They're followed in by a tall, good-looking young Asian man, at the sight of whom Tina squeals happily. She leaps into his arms, laughing as he picks her up and spins her around with ease as though they're dancing – that must be Mike, Rachel surmises. The last one in is a shorter, more muscular blond haired boy with blue eyes and a pair of remarkably full, pouty lips.

Santana smiles widely as she turns and rushes forward to greet the newcomers, Quinn hanging back with Rachel, nonchalantly blowing another bubble.

"Trouty mouth! Other Asian!" she exclaims, and Rachel doesn't miss the way both young men roll their eyes at her. "Welcome back, once again, to Casa de Lopez!" Then, to the two girls, with a wicked grin, "You too, Q Two-Point-Oh, Cavity."

"My name is Sam," the blonde haired boy responds with a sigh. "And for the last time, I do not have, like, fishy lips or whatever you call them."

"Of course you don't, Trouty. You just keep telling yourself that," Santana jibes back, her voice as sweet as honey. "And yes, Other Asian, I know your name too, but I'm so weirded out by the fact that your last name is practically the same as Tina's that this is the only way I can even handle the trauma, so deal, all right?"

Mike opens his mouth to reply, but Tina cuts him off with a laughing kiss, saying, "Don't even bother. If she's insulting you, that means she's in a good mood, remember?"

Quinn laughs at Tina's remark, and the large bubble she's blowing pops. Rachel finds herself oddly disappointed by the fact that this time, it doesn't end up stuck to the tip of her nose. The feeling of disappointment is fleeting, gone the moment the hazel-eyed drummer smiles at her winningly. Whatever sadness had come to the surface a few moments before is gone again, submerged far below the surface, somewhere deep within the depths of the vast ocean that Rachel is beginning to sense is contained within her, replaced by a look of jaded amusement.

"Hey, everybody," Santana shouts, taking a bottle from Tina, then another, passing one to Quinn and keeping one for herself. "We have a very special guest with us tonight, all the way from the bright lights of Broadway, in the Big Apple itself, New York Cit-ay -" She points at Rachel, motions for her to step forward and join her, wrapping an arm around the diminutive singer as soon as she's within reach, then shouts even louder: "The one and only Ms. Rachel Berry!"

Quinn and Tina whoop and cheer, but the others fail to join in. The girls eye her up and down, taking the measure of Rachel in much the same way Tabby the cat did earlier, while the guys simply stare at her uncomprehendingly.

"No offense," Sam says, haltingly. "But...Rachel who?"

"Like, are we actually supposed to know who this refugee from the Shire is?," the blonde girl drawls, affecting an I'm not impressed air, one hand on an out-thrust hip, lips pursed in a tight, thin line of dismissal. "I thought she was just your plaything for the night, S."

"Shut up, Kitty," Tina snaps. "For your information, Rachel is an actual star performer on Broadway – someone who's actually made it in show business, instead of just reading about it in People magazine like you do."

Rachel steps toward Kitty, extending her hand to the blonde girl. "I'm Rachel Berry," she says, letting her hand drop to her side when it becomes obvious that Kitty isn't going to shake it. "And I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, although it appears as though that feeling isn't exactly mutual. Well, that's all right. In my career, I've had to overcome negative first meetings several times, and I'm certain that this time will be no different."

"Wow," the redhead exclaims, looking at Rachel with a puzzled expression. "Do you always speak in paragraphs like that?"

Quinn's voice crackles with icy disdain from where she's standing behind Rachel. "Why, Sugar? Do you need someone to go get you a dictionary so you can look up all the harder words? Because I think there might be one upstairs. Why don't you go up there and not come back down for the rest of the night - or maybe, you know, ever?"

Sugar's eyes narrow, and her long, thin nose crinkles up with anger. Rachel suddenly feels nervous, fearing that a fight is about to break out. Now she understands what Tina had said earlier about these two and their 'usual obnoxious behavior.'

Then, unexpectedly, Sugar laughs, an ear-piercing cackle of a laugh, her pale skin suddenly flushed with delight, and everyone else in the room laughs along with her, except for Rachel.

"Oh, that was a good one, Q," she says, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Really good. Epic, even!" She pauses to take a long swig from the bottle in her hand. "But seriously, Miss Broadway Star, do you always talk like that?"

Rachel is unnerved in a way she hasn't been since high school, when the popular girls had all taken a vote on her level of coolness and found her wanting, to say the least. She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear as her eyes dart around the room, shuffling her feet softly. She's always wanted to be liked, but accepted a long time ago that not everyone will like her. As her best friend Brittany once told her, she's an acquired taste, and some people just aren't able to acquire it.

"No," she replies. "It's just something I do when I'm nervous, which is funny because I haven't been nervous since I was in the ninth grade. I had to learn how to control that, because of course it's not exactly conducive to success on Broadway - or anywhere else, really."

Santana comes to her rescue, reaching down to squeeze her hand. The gesture lets her know that everything's okay, that Santana's got her back. "And with that embarrassing confession out of the way, let me explain to you losers why the award-winning Rachel Berry is here. As you are clearly unaware, she is the hottest thing on the musical theater scene today, and as you are just as clearly very aware, we -" She gestures with her free hand toward Quinn and Tina. " - are the hottest thing going here in the Lima area. So naturally, after our undersized new friend here saw us play at Will's place last night, she decided that we, being the super hot band that we are, would be the perfect partners to help her create the rock and roll album that she's been just burning to make, unbeknownst to Broadway and even her managers."

Quinn and Tina whoop and cheer as loud as they possibly can, the drummer adding additional percussion with her hands on her legs. The other girls, however, seem unmoved.

"And that is why she's here, why you're here, and why we're celebrating tonight. And if you still don't understand after all that?" She turns a withering glare to Sugar and Kitty, both of whom pale as Santana narrows her eyes. "Then you really don't need to stay and can just kindly let yourselves the fuck out. Do I make myself clear?"

The four newcomers, boys and girls alike, all slowly shake their heads, almost in unison. Apparently, Santana's wrath is something to be feared; Rachel swallows, drafting a mental note to never, ever get on the Latina's bad side.

Mike raises his hand as though he's requesting to speak in class. "Um, okay. Question: what is a Broadway star doing here in Lima, and why would she be going to a rock show at a place like Will's?"

Before she can answer, Rachel is cut off by another voice: Quinn's. "I don't think Rachel needs to explain herself to you," the drummer says in a voice so filled with cold fury, Rachel can feel icy crystals forming all along her spine. Each word is a serrated blade, sharpened to an Arctic edge. Oh my, she thinks. Quinn might be even scarier than Santana when she's angry.

"No, no, Quinn, that - that's quite all right," she stammers. "I don't mind. You see, Michael – may I call you Michael?" He nods, hesitantly, completely unsure what to make of this short, olive-complected, slightly exotic looking girl who's dressed as though she's been living in an 80s rock video.

"Thank you. Now, you see, I grew up here in Lima with my two gay dads, and they've remained here, still living in the house where I grew up, even after I went to college in New York City and then ascended to Broadway stardom in an unprecedentedly swift fashion. I am currently in between shows, so I decided to take advantage of the opening in my schedule to visit my dads, to whom I owe so much. However, there's only so much Scrabble and Pictionary one can take, even with the most loving of parents, and a quick perusal of the local newspaper's arts section informed me that the show at Will's place would be the most fun and entertaining thing I could possibly do in the area. So I decided to check it out, and I am so glad I did, because these three girls – Santana, Quinn and Tina – are absolutely amazing, just completely enthralling."

Rachel looks at each of the three girls she's just mentioned, smiling brightly, and each returns the smile. She knows they trust and believe in her and the embryonic vision they have for their immediate future; now she's got to try and get the boys on board. Not that it would truly affect things if they weren't; but it would be nice, she thinks, if everybody in the girls' world were on the same page regarding such a potentially life-changing project.

"So, of course I want to work with them, as Santana said a few moments ago," she continues, her confidence boosted by the girls' encouraging smiles. "I'm ready to let go of the Broadway songbook and...rock a little."

"Wait. Hold up. That – that is a lot of information," Sam interrupts, holding his hands to his head as if to keep everything he's just heard from spilling back out his ears.

"Yeah," Mike agrees. "So...you want to be a rock star now?" he asks. There's a slightly suspicious tone to the question, as though he's not quite sure of Rachel's sincerity, or her motivations.

"Is there something wrong with wanting to try my hand at something different, something outside my normal milieu?"

"Mil-what?" Sugar mumbles around another swig from her bottle of beer. Kitty merely rolls her eyes, showing what she thinks of Rachel using such a pretentious word.

"Um, I...I guess not," Mike answers, shrugging. "I just want to know that you're not going to, like, rip them off or anything. Like, use them and then not pay them, or not give them credit for their work, something like that."

Internally, Rachel fumes at the young man's words, even though she knows he's just trying to look out for his friends – especially Tina - and if the roles were reversed, she would probably ask the same thing. She can't help but feel insulted at having her professional integrity questioned in such a heavy-handed manner.

Still, she manages to keep the hurt from her face and voice as she answers him. "I assure you, Michael – everyone – that is not something I would ever do. On Broadway, we acknowledge everyone's work, from the stars of the show right down to the ushers and stagehands. A successful show is always the result of a team effort, and I assure you that Santana, Tina and Quinn are full and equal partners in this endeavor, and will be credited and compensated as such."

"Okay, then. I'm good with that," Mike says. His voice and body language still indicate some level of wariness, but Rachel decides that's as good as it's going to get right now.

"Uh, yeah. What he said," adds Sam with a small, uncertain smile. "As long as you treat them well, I guess I've got no problem either."

"Excellent, Trouty," Santana says, cutting off Rachel's reply. "Not that your opinion matters, anyway. In any case, think that's enough interrogation of our hot Broadway princess for now. Wouldn't you agree, Q?"

"Totally. How about you, Tina? Think it's time to get this party started?" Her tone is light, but Rachel sees the warning in her eyes, directed at Sugar, Kitty, Mike and Sam: You start any more shit with Rachel, and I will come down on you. Hard.

"Definitely," Tina says, pushing the power button on the stereo, instantly filling the room with sound. "Come on, everybody!" she yells over the sudden din. "Let's rock this place! Wooooo!"

The rest of the night passes in a blur of raucous laughter, moving bodies, high volume and loaded glances. Rachel dances closely with both Quinn and Santana, gets to know the curves and lines of their bodies far more intimately than she would have imagined, given the fact that they've only just met, but she goes with it. The party is far removed from the elegant soirees in high-rise penthouses and post-awards show banquet halls to which she's become accustomed, but she loves every second of it. She imagines this is what all those parties she'd missed in high school and college were like: loud, sweaty and messy. None of which were things she'd ever imagined liking for an instant before this - but suddenly, at least for tonight, she's more than okay with all of it.

By the end of the night, she's completely exhausted, falling asleep on Santana's couch with the pink-haired girl on one side of her and the dark-eyed Latina on the other, Mike and Tina wrapped in each other's arms on the floor at their feet. Sam's lanky frame is sprawled out in a recliner at the other end of the room, while Kitty and Sugar are slumped over a table in the kitchen, bottles and cups strewn all around them.

And as the sun rises over Lima, Tabby the cat looks on forlornly, wondering which of these ridiculous humans is going to feed her, and when. She stares at them in feline amusement for a while before finally giving up and making her way over to the couch, deftly avoiding the various obstacles in her way – a shoe, someone's T-shirt, innumerable bottles, cups, paper plates and napkins. Nimbly, she jumps onto it, then climbs over Quinn and Rachel's slumbering forms to curl up in Santana's lap, letting out a contented yawn before falling asleep herself.