LbN: Ummm...just a quick plot bunny I had. Happy reading. :)
Santana was just closing her locker when Rachel ran up.
"Good, you're here," the diva said. "I have a serious matter to discuss to discuss with you."
"Oh dear god… Is Q preggers again?"
"What? No! I'm dating her! How would that even—never mind. No."
Santana grinned at her. "What's up then?"
"Are we…you know…whipped?"
"Are we whipped?"
"I'm not. Santana Lopez is not whipped."
"I've been examining our actions over the past week, and I have to say that my hypothesis is a bit different."
"Then why the fuck did you ask?"
"I needed corroboration."
"Oh for god's sake. What's got you thinking about this even?"
"Normally I take everything he says with a grain of salt—"
"And a shot of penicillin," Santana muttered.
"Right. But I couldn't help being curious. The whole concept of someone being whipped always seemed a bit off to me, but—"
"Okay, Rachel! Just…relate the evidence so we can get to the bottom of this."
Rachel quirked an eyebrow at her.
Santana laughed. "Q's rubbing off on you. Seriously though…you're not going to let this go until you talk it out. And there's no way in HELL you're doing that with Q or Britt. You know…in case Jewfro is right. Let me have it."
"Okay…right…exhibit A—last week at Breadstix…."
"Santana, where's the green pasta?"
"Green, Britt?" Santana asked. "Which one was green?"
"It had fettuccine noodles, but the sauce was green and clumpy. It looked like mold, but it tasted good."
"She means the St. Paddy's Pesto they had, San," Quinn said.
"Oh! Right. Er…that was only for St. Patrick's day, Britt," Santana said.
"I don't understand why they put things on the menu if they're not going to leave them there," Brittany grumbled.
Their waitress walked up with a notepad. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have the Greek salad," Rachel said.
"Carbonara," Quinn told her, handing their menus over.
"I'll have the spaghetti with meatballs, and Britt wants the St. Paddy's Pesto."
"Er…we don't serve that anymore," the waitress said, popping her gum.
"But you have everything for it," Santana said. "You've got fettuccine, and you use pesto sauce for some of the sandwiches. Just put in a special order for us."
The waitress huffed, but said, "I'll see what I can do."
Brittany beamed. "Thanks, San."
"That hardly makes me whipped!"
"Not finished. Exhibit B, our sleepover this past weekend…."
"Ray bear," Quinn said in a singsong voice. She snuggled against Rachel on the couch.
"Though both Brittany and Santana have expressed interest in watching us be intimate, we're not having sex while they're here," Rachel said.
"That's not what I was going to ask," Quinn said. "This time…."
"What is it then?" Rachel asked, smiling.
"Can we watch Monty Python tonight?"
"Please? We haven't watched it in exactly three weeks and two days. And Brittany's never seen it."
"She's never seen it because it will confuse her, baby."
"I don't think you're giving her enough credit. She followed the storyline of The Departed better than you and Santana."
"Fair enough. But we've seen Monty Python fifty million times," Rachel whined.
"Let's not exaggerate, Miss Berry," Quinn said, quirking an eyebrow.
"Fine. We've watched it exactly 36 times since we started dating, and another 15 before that."
"How do you even—"
The doorbell rang. Rachel squirmed out from under Quinn and went to answer it. "Hey you guys!" she greeted, as Santana and Brittany walked in.
"We brought pizza," Santana said. "And a salad for you, Tofu Queen."
"What are we watching?" Brittany asked.
Quinn smiled sweetly at Rachel.
"Monty Python and the Holy Grail…."
"Okay, two examples. Still—"
"Last week when Brittany was sick you drove home to take soup to her, even though she only had a slight cold and was perfectly content watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. The other day I only had one piece of gum left and I purposely saved it because I knew Quinn would want a piece to chew during her chemistry test. Yesterday you drove Brittany all the way back home because she realized her socks didn't match. And today," Rachel said, holding up a greasy paper bag. "I just got back from picking up a double bacon cheeseburger because Quinn's having a bad day and craving a heart attack on a bun."
"Okay, the last two are a bit excessive," Santana said as they descended the stairs. "But we're still not whipped. Whipped is when you jump when they call your name, or when you absolutely can't stand to say no, or…or if you let Q drag you to Bed, Bath, & Beyond every weekend."
"She says it's never too early to start planning our dream home," Rachel muttered.
"Oh for crying out loud, Berry!" Santana rolled her eyes. "You are whipped…."
"Santana! There you are!" Brittany came running up.
"Not a word, Rachel," Santana said, knowing that the older girl had seen her jump. "Hey Britt. What do you ha—WHY IS THERE A FROG?"
"I found him," Brittany said cheerfully. "He'd hopped into the parking lot, and I didn't want him to get crushed like Frogger."
"Okay, well…go put him outside so we can have lunch."
"But San," Britt said, already giving her the puppy eyes. "I thought maybe…."
"We're not keeping him, Britt. I have a strict "No rodents, no reptiles" policy."
"Well then we're not breaking your rule, because Colonel Dracula is an amphibian."
"Colonel Dracula?" Quinn asked, walking up. "Do I even want to—WHY IS THERE A FROG?" She quickly retreated behind Rachel.
"Britt, we can't keep him. What if he has a family out there or something?"
"Okay," Brittany sighed.
"We'll…go look at turtles or something at the pet store later, okay."
Brittany gave Santana a kiss on the cheek and wandered off to put the frog outside.
"Shut it, Rachel."
"I didn't say anything! Here's your lunch, Quinn. Shut up, Santana."
"I feel like I missed something," Quinn said, eyeing the two of them.
Santana and Rachel shared a glance and in that moment made an unspoken pact to never speak of the previous conversation.
They were definitely whipped.