Author's Note: It's been a minute since I've written anything but I can assure you I'm alive and well and working my way out of this hole of writer's block (or pure fucking laziness?) I've been in for so long. Gonna try to get the ball rolling again with something new to get the old cogs turning for my other story. SO, my brains been infected with some kind of disease. It's called Pezberry and it won't leave me alone and inspired this little piece here. It's Season three based but I've changed some things, for instance Sam came back way earlier than he did in the show, and there's no Shane for Mercedes in this timeline because I hate him. One more big thing obviously: Brittana are NOT a couple. They never got around to making it official as they did in Season three. In my head they still sleep together, they're just not together. So that clears that shit up. Hm, what else to say? This stories really about Rachel after, well I should say in the middle of "The First Time". It's right after her and Finn try to do it for the first time and she fucks it up by only wanting to do it for the West Side Story play. But it's in Santana's POV. This will be a multi chapter story eh maybe like 3 chapters long? I don't know. I just wanted to get this first out there so it wouldn't sit and collect stupid old dust. It's just fun, that's all its meant for. I wanted to write something kind of random and so I magically did. This is my first attempt at Pez, go easy on a girl. Enjoy guys!

Chapter 1. Liberation.

We must have had the entirety of the lunch room's vending machine inventory on our table. There were half eaten bags of Doritos, a mess of M&Ms, an explosion of rainbow—fucking loved Skittles, and of course, Dots because Brittany promised to drop in later. It was a bit of an overkill but I could honestly say, Puck had outdid himself on the munchie food.

My eyes were honestly too droopy to properly glare at all the losers in the lunchroom shooting us shady looks but whatever. Like they've never toked a bit to get em through the day. My god it was bright in here.

"Dude," Puck groaned across the table. "You've been playing that same song for the past ten minutes now. Change it up a bit."

"I like playing 'Lucky'. It puts me in a good mood."

"Please. We all know this is your go to song when you're wallowing in self pity and swallowing every feeling in sight with that Gulf of Mexico orifice on your face."

Sam narrowed his eyes at me. "I've been over Quinn for months, Santana."

"Frankly, Jaws? I really don't care, but the Jason Mraz shit has gots to go. He's giving me a toothache."

"Yeah dude." Puck nodded. "I mean, how many love songs is this pussy gonna write?"

Sam gave us one good-natured eye roll and cracked a smile. He was all gums and pearly veneer. "What did you have in mind?"

"Just make it sing, white boy," I ordered and slipped a pair of aviators on over my face. Instant relief to the eyes. Much better.

Leaning back in my chair, I glanced up to where old wads of gum and water stains gave the cafeteria ceiling more character. McKinley was rich in history, or so I've heard. According to Shue, it was well respected at one point—pristine halls and a swelled budget to do just about anything. Well shit, if old William M. could see it now: Gleetards overflowing the auditorium, girls hooking up behind the bleachers (it's a good spot okay?), and trios smoking baby joints in the parking lot. We were the character of this school.

Someone gasped.

"You saved my Dots!" I couldn't mistake that clear, bubbly voice.

"Nope. Mine." Puck leaned over and snatched the yellow box out of Brittany's reach.

A second later the Dots returned to their rightful place after I finished kicking the ever loving shit out of someone's shin under the table.

"Jesus H. Christ. Do you want me to be able to dance in the musical?" Puck hissed through his teeth.

"Put Asian Boy Wonder front and center and we can manage without you," I sweetly replied. "Hi, Britt." I delivered my most dazzling smile to her as she took a seat beside Puck.

"Hi," she shot back almost instantly, sounding a teensy bit out of breath too. "You look pretty today."

I beamed wider. Even Sam paused his rendition of Kanye West's 'Heartless' to laugh at me. Whatever.

Brittany looked exceptionally excited right now. Some ball of uncontainable energy had her bouncing in her chair. She was desperately trying to hold it back, smoothing out her features every few seconds.

"B, you're shaking like a porn star in church, what is it?"

"Okay," she breathed, exhilarated that someone had finally acknowledged her excitement, "So you're never going to guess what Rachel told us in celibacy club today."

Puck's frown wasn't lost on me. "Chicks still have those?"

"Scary, right?" Sam joked.

The three of us had tossed our purity rings in long ago, but Brittany still found herself attending meetings every now and then...and when I say that I mean when Rachel baked cookies.

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Do tell."

Sam set his guitar down, leaning in to hear more.

"She almost lost her V card to Finn last night."

"Almost?" We all fell into unison.

Brittany nodded vigorously. "I guess she hurt his feelings somehow and now they're not talking. I feel super bad."

"Ya know," Puck had that far away look in his eyes. Never a good sign. "I always thought it'd be me."

"Thank God it wasn't me." Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I could be sitting where Finn is right now had I not been so impervious to all the chap stick bribery." He smiled almost proudly.

"But you took her to prom," Puck remarked, watching Sam warily.

Bieber set out to correct him but I managed to get there first.

"Oh trust me. White Chocolate was too busy mixing his cream with Aretha's coffee to even notice Berry."

Sam flushed and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"It was almost me." Brittany's voice broke through clearer than anyone's. Everyone stared with their jaws practically detached and touching the table. It wasn't until she gauged our reaction that she spoke up. "She was always asking me to wear her clothes." Brittany shrugged. "Whenever Santana does that it means she wants to have a special sleepover."

Silence. And then came Puck's raucous laughter followed by Sam's deeply set chuckle. I joined in seconds later, partly relieved that everyone was too high to care but also basking in the light atmosphere Brittany always carried with her.

"I, I always thought..." the giggles kept coming, "I always thought Berry was asexual."

Brittany cocked her head. "A sexual what?" I heard the left side of the brain comprehended shit like this more clearly. Right now, Brittany was leaning towards the right.

"It means you're not interested in sex. Like, at all." I loved Sam's patience with her.

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "But everybody likes sex."

"Just think of her as a broken faucet, Britt," I said.

"No matter how hard you try to turn her on, she just won't drip." Puck smiled to himself, clearly pleased at his expansion of my analogy. "That would explain a lot, actually."

I scoffed at him. "Just because she didn't want your dick, doesn't mean she's incapable of having dick."

"Who wouldn't want my dick though?" he arrogantly questioned.

Sam raised a weary hand. Puck launched a chip at his face, which Sam caught easily in his large, bucket mouth. Beyond horrifying.

"Everyone wants my dick," Puck continued. "Hell, it's got it's own Facebook fan club."

"I think I liked something like that once," Brittany said thoughtfully.

Puck smirked at that. "A long time ago, I bet you did."

"Okay. I'm exceptionally close to ripping your balls off so I can replace those lame ass dice you bought me for my rear view," I told him.

"Guys, look." Sam's staid request had me fastening my eyes on what he was staring at.

Although Rachel's entrance was mostly disregarded by the rest of the lunch room, we were watching with hawk like intent. This was one of those rare days in which she dressed like any other 17-year-old girl. Vibrant little bow back dress wrapped around her body; hair loose and wavy down her back. She definitely wasn't an eye sore today.

"We should go say hi," Brittany suggested.

I slid my glasses down the bridge of my nose to get a better look. The table she sat at was bare, her only companion coming in the form of a salad bowl positioned directly in front of her. She hadn't taken one bite. I pushed the glasses back up.

"I think she wants to be alone," I stated offhandedly.

Brittany's shoulders dropped and she gave me a look that said she would go with or without me. I didn't want that, not at all.

"See you losers later. We're out," I told the boys.

They threw us two half assed waves and went back to stuffing their faces and playing with their wooden instruments.

The air was considerably gloomier at Rachel's table. A real fucking buzz kill, if you asked me.

"We come baring food," Brittany said as two bags of Cheetos softly dropped in front of the brunette.

I half expected her to word vomit all over us about vegans only eating soy cheese and how cows were exploited daily to create this shit, but judging by the way her shoulders sagged and her fork poked weakly at her salad, I knew we'd be having none of that. I almost wished she would. Anything was better than this Berry. This ghost of a girl we all loved to hate.

"Rach? How are you holding up?"

Brittany's tenderness couldn't have been more of a blessing here. I hadn't prepared any words for Frodo's identical twin. My best introduction probably would have come in the form of, "Dry your god damn eyes before I sober up and make you". What? Comfort wasn't my strong suit.

"I'm fine, Brittany. Thanks," Berry assured her with a smile.

The smile was a disconnected one. It gave off a hollowness she obviously didn't want to convey but the eyes never lie.

"Cut the shit, Berry."

I didn't bother to flinch when they proceeded to glare at me—well Brittany just shook her head, Rachel on the other hand, she looked as though she could have stabbed me in the chest with her fork. Somebody had to say it. I reached casually across the table and helped myself to some Cheetos.

"Santana," Rachel calmly stated. "As much as I would love to indulge myself in another ridiculously inane argument with you, I'm afraid I do not have the time nor the patience." She took one easy breath and continued, "Now, would you be so kind to enlighten me of what shit you are referring to?"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I'd never heard Rachel exceed curse words more impressionable than "hell." And she'd never talked back to me this way. She often hunkered down and took the comments in stride. This defiance thrilled me. I lapped it up and had the nerve to ask for more.

"Santana told me about your broken faucet." I saw about three heads from a table of Jock's look up.

I should have been angry at Britt for repeating the conversation we had with the boys but then again the anger clouding Rachel's eyes was pure enjoyment for me. I smiled a little.

Rachel dropped her fork into her bowl. "My what?"

"Your faucet," Brittany repeated as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Santana and Puck said it was broken—that's why you and Finn never have sex."

Not even my sunglasses could deflect the heat coming off of Rachel's gaze. God damn, this anger thing. It was delicious.

"What we talk about in celibacy club is confidential, Brittany. I thought you understood that."

"She would have told me regardless, hobbit," I spit the nickname out, hoping that some of the acid in my tone would carry over. It did. She looked elegantly pissed. "So what the fuck really happened?"

"I don't understand you, Santana. You consistently insult me and still expect me to confide in you. I may be a number of things, but gullible is not one of them."

"I'm not saying you have to trust me, Berry. But Glee girl to Glee girl, I think I can help you."

She looked skeptical. "How so?"

"I can't tell you if you won't tell me what happened," I reasoned.

"Fine," she huffed. The action was truly unnecessary but expected. Her emotions were always so large and drawn out. A true fucking diva if there ever was one.

"It all started with Artie."

"Artie?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"You're cheating on Finn with Artie?" Five Cheerios at the table behind us glanced over. Brittany and her words.

"What? No, no, no. Just let me talk, okay?"

Brittany animatedly zipped her lips closed and tossed the imaginary key into my lap. This made Rachel and I both smile.

"According to Artie, I needed a sexual awakening..."

The biggest disadvantage of talking to Rachel was...well, allowing her to talk. She stole a good chunk of our lunch period describing her inner turmoil over her precious virginity and how it could pry her and Blaine's characters apart. Personally, I didn't see the problem. Two virgins could emulate sexual tension if they put the effort into it. It was comparable to having a beard and I'd had many of those. People never doubted how much ass my "boyfriends" got from me. They just knew.

"...So I invited Finn over for dinner," I caught Rachel saying. "Things went really well in the beginning. There were candles and sparkling cider. We listened to his hand picked playlist of—"

"Get to the macking, Berry."

"Right. Well, a little after dinner, I led him into the living room so we could watch the fire—"

"Irrelevant details. Gets to the bonin'."

"Am I telling the story or do you want to take over from here?" she asked testily. Her expression was passive but her eyes were fiercely affixed on me.

"Pretty sure I could map this whole thing out in under twelve seconds," I said, smirking a bit. The attitude she was giving made me want to press harder. There was just something about an angry Rachel...

"Do it," she challenged.


I held her gaze as I began. "So you make out for a while. Finn, being the boy scout that he is, says he has protection. You, being...Berry, also have condoms in your purse. You're almost knee deep in the deed—or should I say, he's almost knee deep—when you start flapping your gums and by then Finn's too flaccid to do anything but keep your thigh warm."

"Ten seconds," Brittany said, holding up her fingers.

Rachel huffed indignantly. "I wouldn't say that's exactly how it happened but it's relatively accurate." She reached for her fork but mid way through the motion her hand dropped into her lap. "Was it normal for him to just leave though? As a guy whose potentially about to have...intercourse, would it really matter if I talked or not?"

"To be frank with you, the only time you should ever open your mouth during is to receive something or make animal noises."

"It's true." Brittany nodded in agreement. "Santana likes it when I purr."

I frantically shook my head at Britt. Thankfully, Berry allowed the comment to pass without scrutiny. But it wasn't for my or Brittany's benefit. The girl was too preoccupied falling apart.

"I'm such an idiot," Rachel groaned, lowering her head into her hands. Seconds later, she looked up again. Her eyes were blown and threatening to overflow with tears. Jesus Christ. Mother Mary help us all. "What's wrong with me?"

Everything. "Nothing, sweetie." Brittany was such a savior when it came to this.

She reached out to Berry, fit her hand over hers, and let all of the comfort soak through the skin.

"I should just wait. Waiting's honorable, right?" Rachel didn't bother addressing the question at me; we both knew the answer. "It was all too fast. I just need to slow down and wait."

"Virgins don't win nationals, Rachel." Brittany's voice was firm as she said this.

Rachel's expression only seemed to deepen in despair.

"Virgins don't win anything but a lifetime of blue balls," I added.

Now Rachel just scoffed. She knew better than to take Brittany's words to heart, but with me there confirming them, it only managed to piss her off.

"One's virtue has nothing to do with competition, Santana."

"True," I shrugged, "but the sooner you get laid, the sooner you stop dressing like my seventy year old grandma on her way to church."

"Santana said you wear knee socks to hide the chinchillas growing on your legs," Brittany said. Berry's eyes drew down to her ankles self consciously then snapped up to me. I feigned interest in a Wicca club poster on the far left wall of the lunch room. "Your legs look super hot right now."

"Thanks...I guess," Rachel replied with little conviction. "May I ask how my sex life became any of your business?"

"We're tired of you being the only virgin in Glee club." Brittany was on a roll today.

Rachel looked offended. "How are you so sure it's just me? Mercedes and I have a kinship for self sustaining our sex lives."

It annoyed me that I didn't instantly cringe at the image of Berry...satisfying herself. Must be the dress...and the chinchilla-less legs. Whatever.

"'Fraid to say you're alone in that department, Berry. Wheezy's getting it in." I craned my neck around to look back at our table where Sam was slouched in his chair, counting his abs.

"Mike and Tina?" Rachel asked, a little too hopefully.

"Bruce Lee and his son do it like rabbits."

"You should come over to San's after school."

"What?" I didn't see the point in trying to hide how appalled I was. Berry seemed just as sick.

"We could go over some things." Brittany shrugged at me and then looked at Rachel. "Santana taught me everything I know."

"That's," Rachel gulped, "comforting."

My aviators covered the double eye roll I gave her. Brittany was probably on to something fun if she had proposed this. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind but it could work.

"Berry, my house isn't a fucking torture chamber. It's a two story on Beechwood Drive. The only brick on the block, can't miss it. We'll see you at eight."

I didn't even push my chair in as I left. She'd be there. I knew she would.

Brittany was sucking the ever loving shit out of my lemonade soaked fingers and it couldn't have been more of a turn on. Yum.

Drink spiking went hand in hand with guests. I mean, sure inviting Rachel over was a doable and everything but not without a generous buzz. If I planned on listening to her cry about her failed asexual relationship with her sack of dough for a boyfriend, I'd need all the help I could get. I think strangling a person with her knee highs looks bad on your college applications.

"Taste," Brittany ordered, passing me a red plastic cup. Fingers would have been better but I guess this way was more practical.

I cleared my throat after one tentative sip.

"Britt, we're spiking it a little, not trying to have her pissing vodka for three days."

Brittany's face fell. "Too much?"

I drank some more and set the cup aside. "For Berry? Yes. Me? Fuck no. I could drink my Uncle Brucie under the table and his mom used to bottle feed him whiskey."

Brittany looked slightly alarmed but didn't say anything.

The doorbell chimed.

"You answer the door and I'll finish up in here."

Leaving her alone with the drinks made me uneasy because up until this point, Brittany's prided herself on getting a 'C' in Home Ec., even though she read her report card upside down.

But hey, Rachel would live if we phoned the paramedics fast enough, right?

I let my socks drag across the chilly floor as the front door came into view. It was one of those double doors with glass paneling over the top and on the sides; red, my father's favorite color. I didn't bother looking through the peephole. I threw the door open and what I saw truly amazed me. It was Rachel alright and she looked...good.

She'd traded those God awful penny loafers in for a pair of black flats to match her pea coat and skinny jeans. Jeans. Rachel Berry owned jeans? To top it off she wore this painfully adorable red beret with two braided pigtails underneath. Her cheeks were tinted pink from the breeze.

"Good evening, Santana." She smiled up at me with her greeting.

"Fifteen minutes early. You're a good listener, Berry," I said, tugging lightly on a braid. "This way."

I led her inside so we could stand in the foyer. Everyone loved the foyer. If the vastness of it didn't interest you enough then the illumination coming off the crystal chandelier above our heads would. I watched her twirl in place to look at everything from the Italian marble on the floor to annual family photos hanging on the walls. These were all my mother's choices, Daddy just wanted that door.

"Wow," Rachel breathed at last. Her eyes twinkled in the light.

"I know, right? Come on, let's go upstairs."

Gently, I tried to press her forward but she stalled.

"Where's Brittany?" Her eyes scanned the area.

"Kitchen. Let's go."

Rachel's vibrant expressions waned when we hit my bedroom. For one it was dark and not nearly as impressionable as my downstairs. There were no bedazzled objects to stare at or touch. This was not Berry territory, but for some reason, she took an interest anyway.

She slowly made her way around the room, examining each and every picture as though she would find something there; a window of my true character. I let her for a while.

"You were an adorable kid, Santana," she said after a minute.

"Is that your not so subtle way of telling me I'm not anymore?"

I glared at her from my bed, my hair loose around my shoulders and tickling the back of my neck. Rachel glanced up to offer me a smile. It was sly and unreadable. She didn't answer.

"I think you're smoking." Brittany's voice carried through as she entered the room, balancing three cups and our pitcher on a serving tray.

"Hello, Brittany." Rachel's posture relaxed considerably at the sight of the blonde. You would think she was almost relieved to have someone else in the room to talk to besides me. "I see you brought beverages," she noted.

"Fruity beverages." Brittany's eyes smiled along with her lips then suddenly flickered down to the tray, skeptical. "Lemons are fruit, right?"

"Yes, Brittany. Lemons are fruit because they carry seeds. They're citrus fruits."

Fuck's sake. We had a live Wikipedia over here.

Brittany set the tray on my desk and threw her arms around Rachel. I knew B was big on hugs but in this case, she was just big on Rachel, squeezing in all the right places. If Rachel noticed, she sure as hell didn't show it.

When they were finished, Rachel took a seat in my desk chair. Brittany passed around drinks and then settled on the edge of my bed with her own.

I watched Rachel with moon sized eyes as she took her first sip. Just the thought of drinking probably triggered that traumatic memory of Brittany hurling in her face during alcohol awareness week. But to my surprise, the sour face never came. Rachel smiled at her cup and hummed.

"That's really good," she stated.

Brittany glanced at me, pride twinkling in her eyes.

"But assuming I know how this goes—and I most certainly know you two—I imagine you've tampered with my drink. Correct?"

I blinked hard at Rachel.

"Wow," Brittany breathed in wonder. "You're like, the alcohol whisperer or something."

I felt the entrance of a judgmental lecture coming on so I might have gotten a little defensive...

"Is this where you educate us on the dangers of gateway drugs and hand out pamphlets, Anal Annie? Cause if so I plan on lighting it up and using it as sage to cleanse my room of your disgusting woodland creature scent."

Rachel opened her mouth and closed it again until her lips were in a tight, contained line. Then she said, "I know you guys don't take Mr. Shue's drinking rules all that seriously—"

"Damn straight."

"—And since my party, I personally have experienced the way alcohol destroys our dignity for the sake of a less intimidating environment."

"Who cares? You're supposed to get a little weird after a few drinks."

"Santana cries during sex if she drinks too much tequila."



Rachel held up one patient finger, silencing the both of us. "However, it is also quite liberating."

"So..." I ventured cautiously, waiting for her verdict.

"So I am choosing to emancipate myself from the problems I have created with Finn," Rachel said. She took a big sip of her vodka lemonade for good measure.

Not gonna lie, I was sort of proud.

"I don't know what emancipate means but I still think you're hot."

In my presence—for the first time ever—I heard Berry laugh. Surprisingly, it wasn't as nasally as I thought it would be and far from homicidal inducing.

It was cute.

Fuck me, Rachel Berry's giggles were cute to me.

"So it's settled then." Berry pinned my gaze. I twitched an eyebrow. "Here's to liberating ourselves."

Hearing that, I knew two things for sure.

Sexually repressed Rachel would be the first to toast.

And the first to hit the floor.