A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Well, here's another idea that I needed to jot down before I lost it. This will be a continuing story, but I don't know how quickly I will be updating, as school is takin' up a lot of the time. Also, Echoes of the Past is the most important story to me right now, so I'll probably be concentrating on that more than others, but I really can't predict what my mind wants me to do. This story and You Could Do Better being examples of that.
Anyway, this story includes Rachel/Brittany (Brittberry or Pieberry), Santana/Brittany (Brittana), and I'll let you figure out if Santana/Rachel (Pezberry) and Santana/Rachel/Brittany (Berrittana) will show up as well...
"You sure you're not jealous of me, Berry?"
"Yes. I know she loves me just as much as she loves you. She doesn't play favorites."
"No shit. This is evidence of that." Santana gestured back and forth between them, eyeing Rachel disapprovingly. "The fact that we're here, together, for her, and I'm not trying to kill you… Yeah, I'd say it's a good thing she doesn't play favorites."
Rachel sighed. "Santana, are you mad at me?" she asked slowly, stirring her straw through the ice cubes in her iced tea, "Because you two were already…Together… When I…"
"When you barged into our relationship?" Santana raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, giving her a piercing stare.
Rachel winced. "I think that answers my question." She set her glass down.
"No. No," Santana shook her head, settling back in the booth, "Don't get me wrong. You may have weaseled your way into her affections, but I always knew she would eventually find someone else. I just hadn't expected who."
Rachel let out a soft breath of air, the corners of her lips turning up. "Believe me, I hadn't either. But what Brittany wants…"
"…Brittany gets." Santana nodded, her lips a straight line. Studying Rachel, she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and lowering her voice, "Berry, understand this: I don't like you. If I had my way, you'd be kidnapped by sex slavers and shipped off to Thailand, where you'd be forced to work as a transgendered prostitute before you die of multiple STDs, suffocating in a puddle of your own vomit, alone and unloved."
Rachel tilted her head. "Well. That was certainly… Colorful. Had you been working on that one long?"
Santana casually shrugged, uncrossing her arms so she could grab her ice water, "Since I walked into the restaurant."
"Hmm." Rachel nodded. "Well, unfortunately for you – but splendid for me – Brittany loves me. She wouldn't be very happy if I just suddenly disappeared." Smiling sweetly at Santana, she picked up the basket of breadsticks, bringing them over to her side.
"I know." Snatching the basket back almost before Rachel had finished pulling out a breadstick, Santana tauntingly dropped it down onto the table as far away from Rachel as she could put it. "Why do you think I'm here? For shits and giggles?"
Rachel broke her breadstick in half, glaring balefully at Santana from under her bangs. "Please," she shook her head, "I asked you to come here and meet me because Brittany's getting upset that we don't get along. I decided to be the better person and attempt to put our differences behind us. We may not like each other, but for Brittany's sake, we should try to learn how to be civil with each other." She raised an eyebrow. "I see this may be more difficult than I had originally predicted."
"Oh, shut up." Scowling in disgust, Santana rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, muttering something under her breath before coming back down and glaring directly at Rachel, "This is simple. You don't bother me, I don't bother you. When we're both around B, we'll play nice. But I will never pretend to like you."
Rachel looked unimpressed. "You can expect my own disdain." Sitting back, she let out a big breath of air, nodding, "But I agree. While we're both with Brittany, we shall do our best to appear at ease with one another." Then, crossing her arms, she looked at Santana critically, "May I add that that applies to not badmouthing each other at any other point, either?"
"Take all my fun away, why don't you," Santana scowled, recrossing her arms. She met Rachel's stare defiantly, head cocked, chin out.
Rachel's expression didn't change. "It's a fair request."
Neither did Santana's. "It's a stupid request."
That made Rachel narrow her eyes. "Really, Santana. Do you get so much pleasure from insulting me that you cannot even contemplate ceasing to do so?"
Santana smirked. "Do you really need to ask?" Then, before Rachel could respond, she shook her head, "No, I'll play nice around B, but that's it." When Rachel's frown deepened, she added, raising a hand and bobbing her head, "That's all you're gettin'. Deal with it."
"You are absolutely…!" Rachel stopped, swallowed, closing her eyes and obviously calming herself down in her head. Finally, she looked at Santana and stiffly nodded, forcing out, "Fine. We shall see how this… Arrangement works out." Adding quickly, "For the time being."
Smiling triumphantly, Santana waved their waitress over, taunting as she did so, "Jus' keep agreeing with me, RuPaul, and thing's'll go fine." Then, when the harried older woman she had already bitched out earlier that evening walked up, Santana raised an eyebrow and turned her dark eyes fully onto her, "Yo, we's been waitin' for a while, and I don't see the endless breadsticks that's promised to us as soon as we walk through the door gettin' delivered to our table."
"…I'm sorry, but you have to finish your original basket of breadsticks to – "
"Really? 'Cuz I have the corporate office on my speed dial, and I know for a fact I can get you fired for not supplying me with all of the breadsticks I want. So, if you want to keep your pathetic minimum wage job so you can pay for your Medicare and old folk's home your kids ship you off to, I suggest you go gets me some more breadsticks before I call them up and go legal on you, this restaurant, and all the people who own stock in this company. You get me?"
Smiling smugly as the waitress quickly hurried off, Santana turned back to Rachel.
"Must you?" the other girl asked, staring at her with a mixture of disgust and embarrassment on her face.
Santana flipped her hair. "No one be gettin' between me and my breadsticks." Taking one of the said breadsticks, she bit it in half. Chewing and swallowing, she waited until Rachel had taken a sip of her iced tea before asking, "So. Have you had sex with B in the choir room, yet?"