Pezberry week prompt: locked in.

This is set sometime in s4, shortly after Santana moved in with Rachel and Kurt, enjoy!


If Rachel doesn't get the fuck out of the bathroom Santana is gonna kill her.

"Rachel! I have to pee, now!" She yells for what has to be at least the fifth time. Rachel has been in the shower for nearly a full hour, and Santana's had to pee for about that exact amount of time.

"Just a minute." Rachel's voice—slightly tense—calls back out at her.

"Fuck this," Santana mumbles, and busts the door open, slamming it shut behind her.

"Santana!" Rachel squeals. Santana ignores her completely and drops trou, sighing in relief. Rachel turns the water off and yanks a part of the shower curtain back, glaring at her. With her wet hair and put upon look it's not that impressive. "You can't pee in here!" She yells.

"Really? Is this not a toilet? Cause I was under the impression that it was." She ignores Rachel's posturing and flushes, slipping her underwear back on and smirking at Rachel while she washes her hands. "S'a good look on you Berry," she nods in the mirror—and grins as Rachel makes a face and tries to cover herself with the shower curtain. "Better than the animal sweaters."

"I haven't worn those in weeks." Rachel mumbles under her breath. Santana only smirks and throws a towel at Rachel's head on her way out of the bathroom. Or, on what she thought was her way out of the bathroom. Horrified, she tries to turn the doorknob a second time as Rachel yelps—shrilly—and wraps herself in a towel. "Tell me it's not stuck again!" Rachel demands. "You slammed it! Santana!"

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." Santana yanks at the door, even going as far as to brace her heel against the wall and pull. They had been on their landlord to fix the goddamn door for almost a month; he had yet to get his fat ass up to the loft to fix it. All three of them had been stuck in the bathroom at least once.

"Kurt!" Rachel screams. "Come let us out!"

"He left." Santana groans, "like fifteen minutes ago, he had a shift at work."

"What!" Rachel shrieks, "we're stuck in here?"

"Apparently." Santana turns around and appraises a towel-covered Rachel Berry. Rachel scoffs at her and attempts to pull the towel higher up around her chest, it only reveals more of her legs. Santana smirks. "Is that booze I hid under the sink still in here?" She walks away from naked Berry (and things that can only lead nowhere good) and digs around in the cabinet.

"There isn't any alcohol under there Santana." Rachel proclaims. "And I'm not staying in this very enclosed space with you until Kurt gets done with his shift, in six hours! Call him!"

"I didn't bring my cell phone with me to pee. If you have yours, by all means, call the landlord or Kurt." She says. Judging from Rachel's face, her cell phone isn't in the bathroom either. "You wanna bust us out? Be my guest." Santana flops herself down on the toilet seat and waves at the door. There is no way Rachel can get it open if Santana couldn't. She may be stick thin, but she was a goddamn Cheerio, she's got more muscles than Berry.

Rachel bites her lip and makes a face, but tries to open the door anyway. (One-handed, the other desperately trying to hold her towel up.) After a few tries she groans loudly and sits down on the edge of the tub. "We're going to die in here."

"That's the spirit." Santana says with a smirk.

After about half an hour, the smirk is gone. Turns out, bathrooms are not particularly entertaining rooms. It's her own bathroom, so going through the medicine and shampoos, and crap isn't interesting at all. She knows what's hers, and she's gone through Berry and Lady Hummel's stuff ages ago; back when she moved in.

Rachel attempts to ignore her, and brushes her wet and tangled hair. After about ten minutes Santana starts kicking her lightly for amusement.

"Stop it." Rachel orders for the fifth time.

"Entertain me."

"No." She stands to get the blow dryer and cranks it to life, gently setting it on cool and taking her sweet time with it. Not like they've got other things to be doing.

"It can be practice for a life on stage. If you can't keep one person entertained in a bathroom, you'll never make it on Broadway."

Rachel glares at her and goes back to drying her hair.

Berry can't actually give anyone the silent treatment for long, before her hair is even dry she starts talking a mile a minute. Mostly blaming the entire afternoon on Santana. She just rolls her eyes and offers up a game of truth or dare. At the very least she can humiliate Rachel, that's a fun afternoon.

"Absolutely not. It's a juvenile game and even if it weren't, I know better than to play it with you."

"Fine, if you're a chicken shit, be like that."

"I am not a—" she huffs and yanks her towel up again as she shivers. "I'm not a chicken. I don't want to play, there's a difference."

Santana snorts. "Not much of one."

"You go first." Rachel finally demands.

Santana grins and watches Rachel shrink back into the tub.

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare." Santana says with a grin.

Rachel bites her lip, trying to come up with something with the limited space—and imagination—she possesses. "I dare you to say truth." She finally settles on.

"That is the lamest dare in the history of dares."

Rachel just sits there primly. Well, as primly as one can clad only in a very small towel, and half dried hair on the edge of a bathtub.

"Fine," Santana agrees, if only to get this ball rolling. "Truth."

"Why'd you move in with us?"

"What?"

"You broke up with Brittany, dropped out of college and chose me and Kurt to move in with—why?"

"I wanted to go to New York, you two diva nerds are the people I know here." Santana answers with a shrug. "Not exactly complicated. Your turn, truth or dare?"

She hesitates. "Truth."

"How'd you like Finny boy in the sack? Personally, I wasn't into it, and not for the reasons you're thinking either. I had some awesome sex with Puck despite the junk between his legs."

"Do you always have to be this vulgar?"

"Yes. Answer. It's why you dumped his ass isn't it?"

"For your information, he mostly broke up with me, and then it became mutual—and I'm not going to comment on our sex life—though I would think as far as first times go, it was a good one."

"Get you to the big O did he?"

"Is there a specific reason you're curious about my orgasms Santana?" Rachel snips, and goddamn if it doesn't shut Santana right up.

"Pick one." She orders after a while. She's lost track of how long they've been stuck here, but it feels like hours. Kurt's got to be home soon. Rachel only huffs and shivers again. "Come on Berry." Santana says in what can only really be categorized as a whine, but she's choosing to ignore that.

"Dare." Rachel says eventually. Santana grins wickedly. To Rachel's credit, she refuses to look scared.

"Show me some dance moves."

"What?"

"Come on Berry, you've won baby competitions and crap—let's see a pirouette."

"You know what a pirouette is?"

"Dude, I was in glee club too. And Britt was my girlfriend. I fucking know dance terms."

"I know you know what it is, I just didn't think you would know what it was called. That's all." Rachel says, and stands up, tugging at the towel again, attempting to tuck it into place. "This is a very bad idea. There's no room in here at all."

"I'll stand in the tub." Santana offers. Rachel only nods.

Santana didn't really think this was going to be some big affair, (it's a spin not an aria) but Rachel takes her sweet time; practicing lifting her foot up to her knee (passé, Santana fucking knows some dance terms) and finding a place on the wall to spot herself.

"Jesus Rachel just go!" Santana finally yells.

"Don't rush me."

Rachel lifts her leg up one final time, then whips her body around with none of the grace Brittany possesses, but with the practiced motion of someone who knows what they are doing. By the time she's spun around the second time, her towel has fallen down and Santana's got a pretty good eyeful of Rachel's bare breasts. Her brain sort of short circuits for a few seconds and she's pretty sure her mouth has fallen open; they are much more impressive than Santana's ever thought. Not that she has ever thought about Berry's boobs. But she sure as shit will now.

Rachel screams and tries to cover herself up while Santana just laughs to ease the tension she is most definitely feeling. "Nice rack Berry. Not a horrible pirouette either. I think generally speaking you'll want to keep your costumes on your body when you do that one stage though. I hear they like to keep it classy on Broadway."

"Shut up Santana." Rachel orders, and gets the towel covering herself again. Santana can't get the image out of her head.

So she shuts up.

Unfortunately, truth or dare sort of dies out after that.

Santana turns her attention to finding something edible. They've definitely missed dinner at this point, and she's starving. After attempting to force Rachel to test out Kurt's organic shampoo (and failing, despite the label declaring it edible Rachel refuses) she decides to fill herself up with water from the tap.

"There is a cup right there Santana." Rachel points out as Santana bends over the faucet.

"This works just as well, and if we don't stay hydrated, we'll die in here."

"We will not die. Kurt is going to be back soon and he'll let us out."

"Sure, cause he keeps crowbars around and is super strong. We'll be free in no time. And if I remember correctly, just a few hours ago you thought we were going to die in here."

Rachel just sort of huffs and shivers all at once. Santana sighs and shucks her leather jacket off and throws it at Rachel's head.

"Thank you." Rachel says, managing to make it almost sound like an insult, "but I don't wear leather."

"It's not real Rachel. But if you'd prefer to be nude and freezing, be my guest. I was just being nice."

"You're never nice."

"Now that's just not true." She says it like a joke, but it's not, and Rachel catches it. Santana's fully aware of her bitch status—and proud of it too—but there's a difference, she's not incapable of niceness. Well, no, she is—but she's not incapable of kindness—not totally.

"Thanks." Rachel whispers again, and pulls Santana's jacket on, trying to tuck her towel closely around her body again. Santana tries not to think about the fact that she's just seen her entire chest.

"I'm fucking starving." She declares, needing to not be starring at Rachel's body anymore.

"I'm cold." Rachel whines.

Santana bangs her forehead against the wall. "We're gonna die in here."

Rachel readjusts her towel and jacket and bends over to try and sip from the tap. Santana watches in amusement as she tries to bend about three different ways without flashing her again.

"I already saw all there is to see, just drink some damn water." Santana snaps at her, before standing and grabbing another towel to wipe the tub down with. It's already pretty much dry, but Santana flops the towel down and gets as comfortable as one can in a bathtub. Rachel crosses her legs and takes Santana's former seat on the toilet.

"What are you doing?"

Santana closes her eyes, "napping Berry, shut up."

"What! I can't sleep." She moans.

"You can have the floor."

"What, no!"

"Then sleep sitting up."

"Santana." Rachel whines, "share at least."

"Fuck no, we're not that close."

"You've been living here nearly two months, and we've known each other since we were fourteen." Rachel protests. "Also, I'm not proud of it at all, but you have in fact just seen a large part of my body."

Santana chuckles a little. She does not want to lie down in a very small bathtub with Rachel Berry—especially a practically naked Rachel Berry. She didn't want to be locked in the bathroom with her either, or live with her if she's being honest. But, Rachel has a way of getting what she wants and the next thing Santana knows, she's climbing into the other side of the tub, pressing her legs against Santana's side and trying to keep her body covered.

Santana groans a bit in protest, but ends up just closing her eyes and trying to ignore Rachel. It's not easy. Rachel's legs are bare, and smooth and very warm against her. It's weirdly nice, and a little bit hot—which is just not something Santana can deal with right now.

"How long have we been in here?" She asks, needing to fill the silence.

"It's dark out. It wasn't a few hours ago, my guess is it's somewhere around eight." Rachel answers. "When is Kurt's shift over?"

"Nine I think. Maybe nine-thirty."

"Hopefully it's almost nine then."

Santana only nods and keeps her eyes closed.

"Do you miss Brittany?" Rachel asks later. Santana had nearly been asleep and the rude fucking question is not appreciated one bit.

"You miss Finnept?" She snarls. Rachel's legs tense next to her and it pisses her off that she feels bad about it.

"Yes—and no."

Santana opens her eyes and shifts a little, holding herself up so she can look at Rachel. "Elaborate," she demands.

"Give me a straight answer and I will."

"I can't do anything straight." Santana answers with a smirk.

Rachel makes a face at her. "I miss him because... he was my first love. He—he was familiar and I'm lonely. I don't particularly enjoy being single all that much. It's not horrible or anything—and I like living with Kurt, and oddly you but—having someone was nice. It made me feel good. I'm just not sure if it's actually Finn I miss...or having someone."

Santana knows at some point she's stopped breathing. It's—it's exactly how she feels about Britt. Life without her doesn't feel real, but she has no idea if it's Britt or everything Rachel has just said.

"Santana?"

"What?" She chokes out.

"I—your turn."

"Fuck you Rachel." She says, with none of the intended bite and the smallest hint of agony. She hates herself a bit for it.

"It's okay to miss her." Rachel says in a small voice.

"Fuck you Rachel." She repeats, harshly this time.

"It's also okay if you don't." Rachel continues, ignoring Santana completely. She has a habit of doing that, and it really pisses Santana off. "I just—you can talk to me if you want is all I meant. I know you probably don't want to—and that's alright—but if you do want to, you can."

Neither of them say anything for a long time.

At some point, they do end up falling asleep. Boredom and hunger and needing to not be conscious takes over.

When Santana wakes up, Rachel is curled up into her. Someone is banging on the door and the next thing she knows, it's thrust open, revealing Kurt and their landlord, Joey.

"Shit." Santana mumbles, and instinctively covers Rachel as part of the door flies into the room. She glances down for the first time and notices that the towel has slipped a bit while they were sleeping. Rachel is pretty much flashing everyone, and she's somehow shifted from the opposite end of the tub; practically on top of Santana. "Shit," she mumbles a second time.

"Well..." Kurt trails off, "you two don't look as distressed as I thought when I called Joey. I knocked more than once before I called, how asleep were you? Did you guys take drugs?"

Santana shoves a sleepy Rachel off of her.

Rachel looks at her funny, until she realizes her lack of dress and what position they had been in. She immediately blushes and covers herself. Joey is leering at her and Santana stands in front of her, glaring at him. "You dick! We called you to fix that damn door like eight times in the last month. We could have died in here!"

"Died? Bah, from what?"

"Starvation, dehydration! You perv stop looking at her." Santana reaches around behind her, and half drags, half shoves Rachel out of the room. "Fix the fucking door." She orders and barrels into the kitchen to get some food. She'd barely eaten lunch, and now she's missed dinner too.

"How long were you guys stuck in there?" Kurt asks, keeping an eye Joey as Rachel sprints to her own room.

"Your whole damn shift." Santana says, her mouth full of the first thing she'd grabbed at in the fridge—an apple. "I could kill you."

"Hmm." Kurt raises his eyebrows and she chucks a piece of lettuce at his hair.

Rachel comes into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, holding out Santana's jacket to her. "Thank you." She gives Santana an odd little smile and it makes her uncomfortable.

Something has shifted now between them and Santana doesn't know how to name it. She's pretty sure ignoring it is the best course of action, but for now, she just gives Rachel a small half smile in return, grabs her jacket and bolts for her bedroom; ignoring Rachel's light laughter as she goes.