A/N: I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Another new story, I know, but you can blame tumblr for this one as well. I was given, 'What's wrong with the world that baking a simple batch of cookies causes...' from spoondance. Thanks!

What's wrong with the world that baking a simple batch of cookies causes the heavens to open up and the axes to flip and everything to become inside out and turned around? Sitting in the kitchen chair Santana had left her in ten minutes earlier, Rachel stared at the still cooling disks of bedlam.

One second she and the ex-Cheerio were snipping back and forth within the boundaries of their tentative truce, Rachel rolling their third batch of cookies while Santana leaned against the counter opposite her, tossing a pilfered dough ball between her hands. One second that had been the average of their day, reluctantly working together in preparation for the surprise joint birthday party they were throwing their girlfriends later that evening. Having been Rachel's idea, Santana had only agreed after being reminded about the last time she had surprised Quinn with baked confections – and what had happened later when the blonde thanked her.

One second that had suddenly turned into something else entirely.

"Now, Santana," Rachel paused to blow air up at her bangs to get them out of her line of eyesight, "I know you're starting to feel restless, but I told you you could start decorating the sugar stars."

"But aren't those your 'specialty'?" Santana answered boredly, not moving her gaze from the squishy distraction in her hands, finally sighing and straightening enough to snag a fat-free chocolate chip from the bowl to Rachel's left. Popping it in her mouth, she didn't bother chewing and swallowing before continuing, "Besides, wouldn't it be weird to give my girlfriend a memento of her ex-girlfriend?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "Right… I hadn't thought of that. Even though the drama has settled and we're all happy, that could still be somewhat awkward. Thank you for catching that, Santana."

Santana rolled her eyes, stealing another chip and moving to Rachel's other side. "Right, like it's surprising I'm right. When are you going to understand I'm always right?"

Rolling out another sheet of dough, Rachel turned to look at Santana, "After you stop stealing the chocolate chips and illustrate a consistent errorless track record of correct actions and decisions."

Santana made a face at her. "You just love the sound of your voice, don't you? And no." She shook her head, turning to rest her lower back against the counter to face the other direction than Rachel, tilting her head slightly to look at her, "I's be able to take whatever chips I want."

Halfheartedly huffing, Rachel used the back of her flour covered hand to try and push another bang behind her ear. When it didn't work, she growled.

"That your stomach or one of the pet monsters that live in the giant caverns that are inside your nose?"

"Neither, Santana, thank you very much. It's my hair." Sighing, Rachel set down the rolling pin and twisted to give Santana an exasperated, annoyed look, "May I trouble you to redo my ponytail?"

Santana frowned. "Uhm, ew." She shook her head, turning back to her dough, "No."

"Santana." Rachel stared at her with frustration, "It's just my hair! I can't do it." She held up her floured hands, "While yours are significantly cleaner and you can afford to wash them. And really, as I am dedicated to having an intense personal grooming regimen, I can assure you my hair is soft and strong and clean with a nice grapefruit with the hint of pomegranate scent."

"Not berry?" A hint of a smirk curled the corner of Santana's lips up, but she still shook her head. "Nuh uh. These hands," she held up her own after setting the dough down onto the counter, "Are reserved for blonde locks only."

Rachel gave her an unimpressed glower. "No wonder your hair always looks like that, then," she sniffed, picking up the rolling pin again.

Santana's mouth dropped open. "Say what?" she stated lowly, eyes narrowing, moving forward to announce her presence in Rachel's space, "I always have kickass hair."

An eyebrow rising, Rachel didn't look up from the dough she was rolling again, "Really now?"

"Hell yeah. This weave?" Santana motioned at her hair, "Never has a bad hair day. You, on the other hand..." She trailed off imperiously, arching a challenging eyebrow at Rachel when she looked up, "You always look like you can't decide what decade you're living in, let alone if you're five or eighty. Oh, and some days, it's like you're getting ready to come out as Big Foot's long lost bastard child."

Rachel's lips firmed, and she gave Santana a direct look. "At least I don't look like a poodle on my best days."

"Oh, you did not just call me a dog."

"Well, you are a bitch, aren't you?"

Meeting Santana's glare head on, Rachel cracked a smile only a second before Santana did. "Well."

Santana made a noise in the back of her throat, and she rolled her eyes. "Look at you, growin' a back bone," she allowed, relaxing her infringement of Rachel's space. "Britt?" she asked.

Red rose on Rachel's cheeks. "She might have given me a few tips on how to deal with you," she smiled, then paused and tilted her head, "Quinn offer any on me?"

"Yeah, like that wouldn't be awkward, either." Santana propped her hand on her hip.

Rachel sighed. "You know, Santana," she glanced at Santana, "This is the second time you've referenced my past relationship with Quinn as something to be awkward about."

"So?"

"Why?"

Santana pursed her lips. "...You don't think me and Brittany is awkward?"

Blinking at the uncharacteristic question, Rachel let out a small, quiet breath. "Well... I'd be lying if I said no... But, no. At the same time." A faint smile crossed her lips, and she glanced up at Santana. "You and Brittany have been friends for a long time, and then you were lovers for a while more. Even if Quinn and I hadn't... Had... The length of time together, I'd assume you'd..." She searched for the right word to say, bobbing her head with the flitting of her eyes, "...Feel a little... Apprehensive because even if it was short, it was meaningful." She bit down on her lower lip.

Santana suddenly walked past her, and Rachel turned to watch her go. "Did... I say something wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

Turning the tap on and running water over her hands, Santana pumped some soap into her palm and rubbed until suds covered everywhere up to her wrists. She shook her head. "No," she sighed, rinsing her hands off and shaking them dry before looking for the rag she'd used earlier. Picking it up, she walked back to her original spot, toweling her hands off as she did and chucking it onto the counter. "Turn." She raised a finger and spun it in the air.

It took Rachel a couple of seconds to understand what was going on, but she dutifully set down the rolling pin and presented her back to Santana. "You could have just stopped behind me," she pointed out, smiling to not risk Santana going back on her sudden altruism.

"Yeah, well, be happy I'm even agreeing to do this. Blonde locks only, remember?" The familiar smirk back in her voice, Santana quickly and efficiently pulled the loose hair band from Rachel's hair, slipping it onto her wrist as she swept up Rachel's mane and longer bangs into her hands.

Shivering at the feeling of another person's hands in her hair, Rachel braced her hand on the kitchen counter. Still, she couldn't completely let it go. "Is it awkward?" she repeated.

Santana's hand paused, but with, "Sometimes. I love Quinn, and she loves me. But sometimes..." she pulled the hair band up and around Rachel's gathered hair into a high ponytail. Tugging on it to tighten it, she didn't let go right away.

Rachel moved her eyes up and back as if to look through her head, her chin rising. "Sometimes...?"

"I just want to say fuck it and suggest having a damn foursome." Letting out a sound of frustration, Santana dropped Rachel's hair and twisted on her foot, lower back hitting the counter as she came to a stop in the same place she'd been in earlier. She threw up her hand, slipping into a train of thought she'd obviously had before, "Quinn loves me but she can't let go of you; I love Quinn but I can't let go of Brittany; and you love Brittany, but, tell me you're completely over Quinn."

Immediately, Rachel's heartbeat sped up. She stared into dark, dark eyes. "You can't be serious," she protested, it not coming out as assured as she wanted it to.

Santana shook her head, her smile more in response to being certain in what she was saying than in happiness, "You can't honestly think you can tell me you haven't thought of it, can you? Look." She shifted to face Rachel fully, "I'm not saying what you and Britts have isn't real. Or that I'm unhappy with Q."

"No. Santana. Stop."

"No, Berry, don't you see?" Almost sounding desperate now, Santana caught Rachel's upper arm when she tried to turn back to her waiting rolling pin, "This is the only way I can make sense of everything."

Rachel stared at Santana's hand, then up into Santana's face. Her eyebrows drew together. "Santana, Brittany's my girlfriend. Quinn's yours. It's... It's how things turned out. We chose this, in however much control we had over it, anyways." Santana's intense gaze was uncomfortably affecting her. Where was this coming from?

Santana's fingers curled more securely around her arm. "Think about it," she pressed hoarsely, lowering her voice into a deliberate coaxing tone, "Not much would change, would it?"

Rachel shook her head, not bothering to try to take her arm back. Instead, she forced herself to meet Santana's fervor head on, meeting Santana's eyes directly, "Where is this coming from?"

"Who the hell knows?" Santana reared her head back, the momentum pulling Rachel forward a little, "Does that even matter? Rachel." Sharp fingernails dug through Rachel's shirt, and, noticing the resulting wince, Santana tore her hand away; shoving it through her hair, she took a step back, "Just tell me I'm talking total crap. Tell me."

Rachel raised her hands, thumbs almost touching. Hunching her shoulders, she barely took notice of the flour flaking off with each movement and opened her mouth, pushing out the first thing that came to her, "I can't believe I'm hearing this. You can't be serious. You're just... Cheapening what we have with our girls, Santana!"

Santana glared at her. "I am not!"

"Yes you are! And it's stupid to say otherwise."

"Oh my god." Clenching her jaw, Santana glared blindly around the kitchen, and she sucked in a deep breath, crossing then uncrossing her arms. Finally, she leveled a burning gaze onto Rachel, her expression sharp and severe, "Get that stick out of your ass, Berry. Listen to me." She took a step forward, forcing Rachel to instinctively lean her body backwards, "I am not cheapening anything. I'm doing what I do best – keeping it real.

"And you haven't even noticed, have you," she raised her voice, "That you still haven't told me you don't want it."