Doing It Right: Volume 2 (22-1/26)
Title: Doing It Right: Volume 2, Chapter 22: Loves to Dance, Part 1
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana was given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, and she succeeded, but now she’s haunted by dreams that drive her to continue righting wrongs. What she thought was going to be a peaceful week turns out to be anything but.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Word Count: ~4400/8200
Spoilers: 2x18 “Born This Way”
Author’s Note: Those of you paying attention will realize why, despite “Born This Way” being a 90-minute episode, I had little material to work with. But I think I made do well enough.
Also, a thousand gold stars and a future reference to anyone who predicts the meaning of the chapter title before the reveal near the end of the chapter. No cheating or lying!
VOLUME 1 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6-1 Chapter 6-2 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16-1 Chapter 16-2 Chapter 17-1 Chapter 17-2 Chapter 18-1 Chapter 18-2 Chapter 19 VOLUME 2 Chapter 20 Chapter 21-1 Chapter 21-2
* * *
So here’s what you missed on Glee. Fresh off their win at Regionals, New Directions is full steam ahead getting ready for Nationals. Only one problem: “We don’t have enough money in the budget to get to New York, so we’re going to have to fundraise.” So they hold a “Night of Neglect” benefit concert. When her dreams clue her in to the Hecklers’ Club, Santana sets forth to undermine them. She starts a “League of Badassery” so that she and her friends (and her girlfriend) can fight Sue together. Go team! It totally works, obviously; you don’t mess with Santana, bitches. And while the concert goes off without a hitch, New Directions’ relationships hit some bumps. Mercedes and Raj are totally clicking, but she’s still got Warbler Luke on the line. Santana gives her some good advice about this: “Play the field a little bit and then decide which one you want, and then let the unlucky bastard off easy.” Well, it was advice from Santana at least. Artie and Genevieve on the other hand totally aren’t clicking. And Puck and Faith never get off the ground, mostly because she’s trying to get back with her ex while nursing a crush on Santana. “I’m abstinent.” Oh, and that, too. Brittany is totally jealous of Santana’s friendship with Faith, but she really doesn’t have anything to worry about: “You really love her?” “Yeah.” Plus, Santana finds Britt’s possessiveness kinda hot. It looks like Holly’s going back to her old ways when Vocal Adrenaline coach Dustin Goolsby flirts with her, but it turns out she’s just playing him: “That was me blowing off our sleazy archrival by promising to meet him in the parking lot of a restaurant which is inside of a mall.” And even though she admits to Will she’s still a flirt: “I’m coming home with you tonight.” Blaine and Kurt are settling into their relationship, even though Blaine’s kind of a tease: “You know what they say about third dates…” After a tense encounter with Karofsky, they seem to be going strong. By the end of the night, Santana’s got one more scheme up her sleeve. Seeing the sparks between Artie and Sunshine, she directs him to flirt a little with their competition. It’s the least she can do since she kidnapped her for the benefit. Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, that happened. And that’s what you missed on… Glee!
Santana woke up from a very muddled, incoherent dream. In her dream, she was coming to terms with being a lesbian, designing schemes to win Brittany’s heart, putting a leash on Dave Karofsky, and bringing Kurt back to McKinley. So, she decided she was going to have an easy week.
She snuggled further into Brittany’s chest, who mumbled sleepily, “Why don’t you like to sleep anymore?”
Santana didn’t open her eyes. “Well, it’s probably my second favorite thing to do in bed with you.”
“Mm-nmm…” she groaned in denial, “sleepy.”
“Shh… me, too.” And moments later, they were both back in a deep slumber.
* * *
During dance rehearsal, Santana was carefully watching Finn’s flailing chimpanzee arms. Her dreams the night before told her those hands were capable of breaking nasal ridges, so she was on the lookout for Rachel and for herself.
It turned that she ought to have been more focused on the one part of Finn’s body that was even less coordinated than his arms: his legs. (Well, I can think of a third uncoordinated part, but let’s not dwell on that lest we want to see our breakfast coming back up.) Finn missed a step and the next thing they knew, Rachel was tumbling to the ground. Both Finn and Quinn did a synchronized swan dive to help her up. Mr. Schue halted the rehearsal.
Immediately, Brittany looped her arm around Santana’s. The brunette asked her, “Since when is Quinn so concerned about Rachel’s well-being?”
Brittany brow furrowed. “They’ve been total besties since Regionals. Not like us, though. At least I don’t think…”
“Shh,” Santana shushed. “Rachel, your nose okay?”
Rachel returned this sentiment with a glare, an expression that soon appeared on both Finn’s and Quinn’s faces. “My face didn’t even touch the ground, Santana. My nose isn’t that large,” she snarled wryly.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Seeing a similar disapproving look from Brittany, she insisted, “I didn’t.”
“I caught myself, okay? Just a scraped elbow.” Rachel pulled herself up and leaned forward to brush off her skirt. Simultaneously, Brittany twirled her girlfriend around. Halfway through the turn, a sharp pain invaded Santana’s elbow. When she spun around to she was she’d hit, she found Rachel back on the ground, flat on her back, holding her face, with blood seeping through her fingers.
Santana’s eyes turned to the heavens. “Come on!”
* * *
So, this week is slightly hairier than I anticipated.
The staff at Allen County General knew not to mess with Dr. Lopez’s daughter, so all the members of New Directions were permitted to crowd into the examination room where Rachel was seated on the exam table, flanked by Finn and Quinn.
“I’m really sorry, Rachel,” Santana apologized, stumbling through unfamiliar words. Brittany was hovering beside her, holding an ice bag to Santana’s elbow, pulling it away occasionally to lay healing kisses on it.
“It’s okay, Santana, it was an accident.”
“My dad’s got a disgustingly generous medical insurance plan. Don’t worry about anything.”
“I appreciate that, Santana, but I think we’ll be fine.”
Finn asked wondrously, “How’d you know she was going to break her nose? Are you, like, psychic?”
“She totally is,” Brittany exclaimed.
“Well, in that case, it seems we share something,” Rachel replied, “And may I remind everyone present that it is yet to be established that my nose is indeed broken.”
“Your nose is broken,” the doctor stated the moment he entered the room. He took one look at Santana. “Your father gave the staff the impression we wouldn’t be expecting any more of your victims.”
“It was an accident!”
The doctor seemed unconvinced, so he looked at Rachel, who nodded. “Well, alright, then,” the doctor replied, now fully half-convinced, “I’m Doctor Sanders.” He proceeded to explain Rachel’s condition and her “surgical options” in a room full of non-family members. It was such a blatant disregard of medical privacy laws that Santana couldn’t help but make a mental blackmail note. “I’ll leave you alone to consider you options with this large group of people who I will assume are all your cousins.” When his eyes fell on Mercedes, he simply stated, “You must be from Leroy’s side of the family.” He turned to Santana.
“I’ll just say I’m the illegitimate daughter with the housekeeper.”
“I was going to tell you, Miss Lopez, that your father is insistent upon you also having an X-ray of your arm.”
“Of course he is.”
Once the room was quiet again, Finn remarked, “You don’t have to get a nose job, Rachel. You’re beautiful just the way you are.” Many of her teammates echoed their sentiments.
“He said it could improve my voice.”
“‘Could’ being the operative word,” Quinn cautioned Rachel.
“Says the girl with the perfect nose,” Rachel mumbled.
Quinn was silent on this, so Santana spoke up, “Look, it’d be hypocritical of me to speak out against plastic surgery.” Before too many eyes fell on her chest, she continued, “Look, I’ve made it my mission this year to improve myself. If there’s something about yourself you don’t like, change it.” Feeling Brittany squeezing her arm, she added, “If there’s something you don’t like about yourself.”
Rachel’s gaze shifted from Santana to Finn and then to Quinn again.
Brittany whispered in her ear. “I like them.” Santana giggled. “I mean, they were fine before, but…”
“Shh,” Santana shushed, “I get it. Thank you, baby.”
* * *
Quinn was putting up a flier for her prom king and queen campaign with Sam, tracing her nose. She looked over to Santana, who was apparently trying to exert as little energy as possible as she “helped out” her friend. She was standing stone-still, leaning against the wall, and letting the fliers rest on her thigh rather than hold them up. “Flier,” she asked politely as she could manage given her mood. Santana simply rolled against the wall, bringing the fliers a whole four inches closer to Quinn.
The brunette finally decided that using her jaw wasn’t a waste of calories. “You think you’re going to beat out all the Cheerios who run?”
“I’m not too worried. Coach Delmonico doesn’t ride them about their food habits as Coach Sylvester did. I’ve seen the whole squad bingeing on chicken fingers on several occasions. The seams on Clarke’s skirt split before my very eyes in Home Ec yesterday.”
“This is important to you, isn’t it?”
“I’m not Head Cheerio anymore. I’m not dating the quarterback. My mom is too afraid of being the one to disappoint me to actually have any expectations. You get more songs than me in glee now. This is something that can be mine.”
“Vote Quinn Fabray,” Santana half-heartedly told a passing crowd of band kids.
On the other side of the hall, Lauren Zizes was watching this exchange. Without even turning her gaze, she plucked a passing figure out of the crowd. It was Puck. “Puckerman,” she greeted, not looking at him, “I may have been hasty in terminating our relationship. How would you like to run for prom king and queen with me?”
Puck hesitated, “Look, Lauren, I’m flattered, really, but the truth is, I’m still kind of stinging from the way you dumped me like the bag of trash that’s been sitting in my room for a month.” Lauren crinkled her nose at this. “I still need some time to get over you.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Puckerman, I’m rescinding the invitation. I need a candidate for prom king, not queen.” She shoved him away, but he held back.
“Look, Lauren, if you do end up running, you’ve got my vote. If anyone can rule this school, it’s you.”
Lauren’s expression softened. “You’re alright, Puckerman.”
After he’d moved on, she continued to watch students passing through, and her focus settled on a cluster of passing football players.
* * *
“We’re going to do a group number by the queen of self-love: Gaga. We’ll be performing her anthem to acceptance: ‘Born This Way’,” Will explained to a pleased crowd in glee.
“And Miss Pillsbury has graciously agreed to help us with our costumes,” Holly followed, her voice a little too sweet at the redhead.
Emma proceeded to explain about the white tee-shirts. “Write a word, or a phrase, that best expresses the thing about you that you’re most ashamed of, or you would like to change about yourself, but you can’t, because you were ‘born that way’.”
“I want you to love those parts of you, embrace them,” Will added, laying a hand on Emma’s shoulder. She smiled at the contact, Holly didn’t and the two quickly separated.
Mike asked for an example, and Holly stepped forward, unbuttoning her blouse, which she popped open to reveal “FLIRT” emblazoned across her chest. Puck’s eyes, which were a moment ago bugged out, lowered in disappointment.
“Back up, Sweetie,” Santana called out, “I think we all know that you’re quite proud of your charms.”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when I think it gets me into trouble. Let illustrate: Brittany, have you ever noticed that Santana has a pet name for everybody, and that some of them are the same ones she calls you?” Brittany nodded. “Does she make bedroom eyes at the baristas when you go out for coffee? And has she ever not gotten away with speeding ticket with just a warning.”
“It’s like everyone’s psychic but me,” Brittany wondered aloud, flabbergasted, “I bet it was that rabies shot. It’s not like Charity bit me that hard.”
“Mira, estudiantes, what you’re putting across your chest doesn’t have to be a flaw. We’re all wired a certain way. I’ll be the first to admit I flaunt a lot of things about myself that society says doesn’t exactly make me a proper lady. And maybe my life would be easier if I didn’t do those things, but I wouldn’t be Holly Holliday if I didn’t, would I?”
The assignment made more sense after that, and New Direction all but stampeded to Emma and the letter press.
Kurt was showing his teammates his shirt, fresh off the press: “LIKES BOYS”.
Santana asked aloud, “Huh, I was gonna be uncreative and do ‘LESBIAN’ but maybe I should do ‘LIKES GIRLS’ instead.”
“You’ll totally be twinsies!” Brittany exclaimed jubilantly. “Who wants to be my twinsie?”
Puck pulled out his lecherous persona. “What does that entail?”
“Well, my shirt’s going to say, ‘I’M WITH STUPID’ but, like, with an arrow pointing up. Do something similar.”
“I’m with Stupid, too.” He pointed at his face.
“Except that finger should be pointing the opposite direction,” Santana joked.
Puck looked confused until he flipped his finger and looked down. He grinned and chuckled. “Okay, then.” He held up his hand for a high-five, which Santana met.
“I can’t dance,” Finn pointed out, “My mom says it’s genetic.”
“Well, I can’t sing,” Mike echoed. They, too, high-fived.
Santana pulled Brittany aside, “You know you’re not stupid.”
Brittany leaned forward with an air of clandestineness. “I’m being sneaky, like you. The arrow’s not really pointing at me. It’s pointing at my head.” To illustrate, she pressed her index finger onto her forehead. “I have a stupid brain. Or a brain that everyone else seems to think is stupid. To me, my brain seems super-smart.”
“I agree. It gets all the important things right: dancing, friends, love.” She laid a peck on her girlfriend’s lips.
Tina was holding up her own shirt.
“‘BROWN EYES’?” Mercedes read, “What’s that mean?”
“Everyone sees me and Mike as ‘that Asian couple’ when in reality we’re really different culturally.” Mercedes nodded, having heard the argument before.
“My folks emigrated from China to the States just before I was born,” Mike explained.
“…whereas my parents are long since acculturated. They were third generation Asian-American Long Islanders…” A gasp from Rachel interrupted Tina, who continued undaunted, “…before moving to Lima and adopting me, so they know more about Chinatown and Koreatown than... you know, China or Korea. So, I’m not really in touch with my ethnic roots at all. It’s why I have no qualms about dyeing streaks of my hair or wearing clothing which has its origins in Eastern Europe. Or, to address one of Mike’s pet peeves, wearing colored contacts so I have blue eyes like the women on the covers of fashion magazines.”
There was a long silence before Quinn offered, “I’ll be your twin.”
“You gonna address those gorgeous hazels?” Sam asked.
“No, I’m gonna make a shirt that says ‘BROWN HAIR’,” she answered, as the rest of the room gasped. “My dad is the only natural blonde in the family. My mom, my sister, and me, we were all born with hair about this color,” she indicated her own golden tresses, “but by the age of eight or so, we’d all darkened to light brown, at which point we were taught how to use dye and how to diligently touch up our roots. I hope this isn’t too staggering of a dirty little secret.”
“I knew,” Brittany remarked, “she doesn’t ‘use the water colors on the squirrel’, if you know what I mean.”
“Shh,” Santana shushed her, putting a hand against Brittany’s lips. “So, who’s sharing next? About their shirt,” she clarified.
* * *
Karofsky was staring at one of Quinn’s fliers. More specifically, he was staring at Sam, Santana noticed. She fondly remembered her previous night’s dream, where she’d used Karofsky’s dirty little secret against him. She beamed at the fact she was (unsurprisingly) a badass in every alternate reality.
Wow, I must have been desperate to hide my lesbianism if I attached myself to him. I might have to invest in some new friends if they think that I could ever fall in love with that. “And then something funny happened. Something called love.” She looked down at her hand and had the urge to wash it.
Santana felt something panging in her chest, which she soon realized was her conscience. Dang, why did I have to go and nurture the little bastard with good deeds? It’s like a damn stray cat on your back porch that won’t go away because you fed it. Can’t a girl get a vacation without it being a working vacation? Ugh, let’s recap: I gotta keep Karofsky out of the prom king race so that Fabray doesn’t go all Fatal Attraction. And maybe starting to nudge him out of the closet might be for his own good.
And perhaps his downward spiral will be entertaining. Santana smirked to herself, not exactly at the “altruistic” stage yet.
She strolled up to Karofsky. “I know what you’re thinking,” she sing-songed, watching his eyes shoot wide open in utter panic. “You’ve got it in your rump roast-shaped head to run for prom king, haven’t you?”
“Yeah!” Karofsky agreed immediately, not sounding the least bit convincing.
Santana pretended to take him at his word. “Well, you do have the benefit of being on the football team. Formerly,” she noted, causing him to scowl. “But I think most of your classmates will overlook that. You are gonna have to track down a pretty girl to be your running mate if you’re going up against Quinn. I mean, who do you think is prettier than her?”
“Uhh…” Karofsky replied.
“Your problem exactly,” she noted with believable sympathy, “So, I know you’re coveting a tiara…” She paused a second too long before ‘correcting’ herself, “…crown, I mean. Sorry, I thinking like a girl.”
Karofsky scowled. “Why are you talking to me? Don’t you hate me?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf. There’s some good even in people like me.” Karofsky just nodded, still wary but listening intently. “I think I know why you’re thinking about being prom king. I’d love that crown, too. It would mean that people here still respected me. So, sure, I could enact some charity campaign to win the hearts of the common man, like some Miss USA contestant… or Lady Di. I could attach myself to the nearest hunky guy-Puck’s back on the market, after all…”
“He’s pretty hunky,” Karofsky agreed.
It took a lot for Santana not to just laugh in his face, but she maintained her poise. “Careful,” she warned. “…but if I did that, I’d just be lying to myself. Hiding.”
“You sound like a Hallmark movie.”
You would know what one of those is like. “I probably freakin’ do. Chicks dig poetry.”
“You’re wasting your breath, Lopez. I wasn’t even planning on running. I was just… daydreaming.”
“Good. In that case, vote for Fabray. Hell hath no fury like an Anglo girl denied her plastic, bejeweled trinket.” She winked and made her way to her next class.
* * *
Mercedes sat down with Warbler Luke at a table at The Lima Bean. “So, gotta ask,” she began, “do you wear that uniform everywhere?” She eyed his navy blue blazer with criticism.
“During the school week, yeah. I have civvies for the weekends.”
“It’s nothing personal. It’s just, if it were me, I don’t think I could wait to get out of something so… stuffy.”
Luke laughed. “Well, Dalton uniforms are tailored, so they’re more comfortable than they look. And… I actually like it. It’s not only my school uniform, but it’s my Warbler uniform. It’s a symbol of pride and prestige for me.”
“I feel ya, I do. For a time, I was on McKinley’s cheerleading squad and I had to wear a uniform every day. But after a while, I realized that the uniform was making me someone who I didn’t like. This…” she indicated the brightly-colored and patterned ensemble she was wearing, “this is me.”
“I understand that,” Luke replied defensively, “And I respect it. But at the same time, this…” he indicated his uniform, “this is me, too. Perhaps I’m just channeling my father-he was a Captain in the Navy-but the Warblers are a unit, something greater than the sum of its parts. In our choir, we each have our place. And it’s not like this blazer covers up who I am. You gotta admit,” he remarked, fluffing his mass of curly black hair, “I’m pretty easy to pick out of the lineup.”
“No, I get it. That’s what my hair looks like, under this weave.” Luke just nodded. Mercedes after a while stated, apropos of nothing, “My dad, he’s a dentist.”
“Yeah, I think you told me that before. Can I guess about what he wears every day? Scrubs, I’d bet, probably a lab coat?”
Mercedes nodded. “He’s a pediatric dentist, though, so he doesn’t wear solid-color scrubs. He’s got scrubs with zig-zags straight out of the Eighties, and some with stars and comets, and quite a few Christmas-themed ones. My mama buys them from the nurse’s section of the store; I don’t know if he’s figured it out yet. Oh, and one of his coats, I swear on my Nana’s grave, is tied-dyed.”
Luke grinned in appreciation. “He sounds like a fun guy. I’d like to meet him.” When Mercedes nodded with obvious discomfort, he added, “Sorry, I don’t want to push things too quickly. Long-distance relationships can be tricky.” Mercedes brushed it off. “Speaking of which, Blaine has been adamantly tight-lipped about his relationship with Kurt. How are they doing? All of us Warblers were really rooting for them and it’s my duty to get the deets.”
Mercedes smiled at that. “You’re lucky my boy Kurt can’t hide a thing to save his life. He’s absolutely smitten, so I suspect things are going really well. They’re probably taking it slow, though.”
“They’ll be fine. Blaine does enjoy his grand romantic gestures.”
Mercedes checked her watch. “Look, I hate to cut this date short, but I’ve got a World History project that I have been procrastinating on all week.”
Luke nodded his head. “No biggie. It’s lasagna night at my house, so the whole clan’s gonna be there, so I got to get going, too. I had a lovely time, Miss Jones.” He got up from his seat and laid a delicate kiss on Mercedes’s cheek.
They parted ways and Mercedes was in the parking lot, unlocking her car when a familiar voice called out her name. She turned and was greeted with the sight of Raj waving, surrounded by a few other guys she recognized from school. He excused himself from the group and ran over, while Mercedes covertly checked the perimeter like Puck’s notebook warned her.
“Hey, Handsome.” ‘Always use nicknames as not to call the wrong date the wrong name.’
“The band’s getting our caffeine fix. We’re having a brainstorming session tonight. We’re gonna push out a song if it kills us.”
“Good luck with that. I was just meeting some friends for coffee.” ‘Never use specifics when lying. They’re hard to remember later, they’re easy for the other person to verify, and most importantly they arouse suspicion.’ “Look, I’d love to stay and chat,” she said, smiling and brushing his arm to distract him from his surroundings, “but I’ve got a huge project for Mr. Prospero.”
Raj whistled with sympathy. “Good luck with that. Also, I owe you a phone call, because the two of us had a bangin’ time at Breadstix and we are overdue for another night of flirtation.”
“You got my digits,” Mercedes replied.
Raj played with the collar of her fire-engine red jacket. “I like this.”
“It’s flashy, I know,” she replied, almost apologetically.
“You wouldn’t be Mercedes Jones if it weren’t.”
She slipped into her car and watched Raj rejoin his bandmates. She dug into her backpack and pulled out the binder Santana had given her. As she scanned the cover, the brick in her stomach dropped another few inches. She threw the binder into the backseat recklessly and backed her car out of the parking spot, slamming on her brakes a split-second later to avoid hitting a car entering the lot.
* * *
I Feel Pretty/Unpretty - Glee Cast
I wish I could tie you up in my shoes
Make you feel unpretty too
I was told I was beautiful
But what does that mean to you
Look into the mirror who’s inside there
The one with the long hair
Same old me again today
My outsides are cool
My insides are blue
Every time I think I’m through
It’s because of you
I’ve tried different ways
But it’s all the same
At the end of the day
I have myself to blame
I’m just trippin’
Without even realizing it, Santana noticed she was hand-signing the chorus. Quinn and Rachel, their respective expressions pitiful and heartbreaking, sat on stools that were surprisingly close together for two girls who used to be mortal enemies.
Santana was five when the music video for TLC’s “Unpretty” came out. At the time, she thought the video was funny, with the girls floating on pillows dressed like Princess Jasmine, the computer that made the girl’s boobies bigger, the hospital with water balloons, and the chubby girl who got to eat as many cookies as she wanted and got to tear the pictures out of big-girl magazines without getting in trouble with her mommy. As a child, she’d watched it a hundred times so she could learn Left-Eye’s arm movements. Since then, the memories had faded into the back of her mind, but now the imagery of the video came back to her with similar clarity to the dreams she’d been having. As each image passed through her mind, she felt another stab deep into her chest, until it was so overwhelming, she was surprised she wasn’t bawling.
“Santana, what’s wrong?” Brittany whispered.
“What?” Santana replied, hearing the ache in her voice and feeling the moisture in her eyes for the first time. “Oh, nothing. It’s just a really pretty song.”
“Yeah,” Brittany replied, her voice knowing and compassionate. She wrapped an arm around her girlfriend, dragging her into her lap and laying her chin atop her head. After the song ended, Quinn gave Rachel an over-the-shoulder hug and passed her to Finn.
Author’s Note: So, the Rachel/Quinn scene was included simply because I had in my notes, twice, that “I Feel Pretty/Unpretty” had to be in the chapter. I’m ashamed to say that it wasn’t until the time of writing that I realized how painfully appropriate that song was for a Santana character study moment. Here’s your homework: if you haven’t seen TLC’s “Unpretty” music video, go watch it.
Part 2
Author: creedogv
Rating: T
Summary: Santana was given the opportunity to correct her past mistakes with Brittany, and she succeeded, but now she’s haunted by dreams that drive her to continue righting wrongs. What she thought was going to be a peaceful week turns out to be anything but.
Pairing: Santana/Brittany
Word Count: ~4400/8200
Spoilers: 2x18 “Born This Way”
Author’s Note: Those of you paying attention will realize why, despite “Born This Way” being a 90-minute episode, I had little material to work with. But I think I made do well enough.
Also, a thousand gold stars and a future reference to anyone who predicts the meaning of the chapter title before the reveal near the end of the chapter. No cheating or lying!
VOLUME 1 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6-1 Chapter 6-2 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16-1 Chapter 16-2 Chapter 17-1 Chapter 17-2 Chapter 18-1 Chapter 18-2 Chapter 19 VOLUME 2 Chapter 20 Chapter 21-1 Chapter 21-2
* * *
So here’s what you missed on Glee. Fresh off their win at Regionals, New Directions is full steam ahead getting ready for Nationals. Only one problem: “We don’t have enough money in the budget to get to New York, so we’re going to have to fundraise.” So they hold a “Night of Neglect” benefit concert. When her dreams clue her in to the Hecklers’ Club, Santana sets forth to undermine them. She starts a “League of Badassery” so that she and her friends (and her girlfriend) can fight Sue together. Go team! It totally works, obviously; you don’t mess with Santana, bitches. And while the concert goes off without a hitch, New Directions’ relationships hit some bumps. Mercedes and Raj are totally clicking, but she’s still got Warbler Luke on the line. Santana gives her some good advice about this: “Play the field a little bit and then decide which one you want, and then let the unlucky bastard off easy.” Well, it was advice from Santana at least. Artie and Genevieve on the other hand totally aren’t clicking. And Puck and Faith never get off the ground, mostly because she’s trying to get back with her ex while nursing a crush on Santana. “I’m abstinent.” Oh, and that, too. Brittany is totally jealous of Santana’s friendship with Faith, but she really doesn’t have anything to worry about: “You really love her?” “Yeah.” Plus, Santana finds Britt’s possessiveness kinda hot. It looks like Holly’s going back to her old ways when Vocal Adrenaline coach Dustin Goolsby flirts with her, but it turns out she’s just playing him: “That was me blowing off our sleazy archrival by promising to meet him in the parking lot of a restaurant which is inside of a mall.” And even though she admits to Will she’s still a flirt: “I’m coming home with you tonight.” Blaine and Kurt are settling into their relationship, even though Blaine’s kind of a tease: “You know what they say about third dates…” After a tense encounter with Karofsky, they seem to be going strong. By the end of the night, Santana’s got one more scheme up her sleeve. Seeing the sparks between Artie and Sunshine, she directs him to flirt a little with their competition. It’s the least she can do since she kidnapped her for the benefit. Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, that happened. And that’s what you missed on… Glee!
Santana woke up from a very muddled, incoherent dream. In her dream, she was coming to terms with being a lesbian, designing schemes to win Brittany’s heart, putting a leash on Dave Karofsky, and bringing Kurt back to McKinley. So, she decided she was going to have an easy week.
She snuggled further into Brittany’s chest, who mumbled sleepily, “Why don’t you like to sleep anymore?”
Santana didn’t open her eyes. “Well, it’s probably my second favorite thing to do in bed with you.”
“Mm-nmm…” she groaned in denial, “sleepy.”
“Shh… me, too.” And moments later, they were both back in a deep slumber.
* * *
During dance rehearsal, Santana was carefully watching Finn’s flailing chimpanzee arms. Her dreams the night before told her those hands were capable of breaking nasal ridges, so she was on the lookout for Rachel and for herself.
It turned that she ought to have been more focused on the one part of Finn’s body that was even less coordinated than his arms: his legs. (Well, I can think of a third uncoordinated part, but let’s not dwell on that lest we want to see our breakfast coming back up.) Finn missed a step and the next thing they knew, Rachel was tumbling to the ground. Both Finn and Quinn did a synchronized swan dive to help her up. Mr. Schue halted the rehearsal.
Immediately, Brittany looped her arm around Santana’s. The brunette asked her, “Since when is Quinn so concerned about Rachel’s well-being?”
Brittany brow furrowed. “They’ve been total besties since Regionals. Not like us, though. At least I don’t think…”
“Shh,” Santana shushed. “Rachel, your nose okay?”
Rachel returned this sentiment with a glare, an expression that soon appeared on both Finn’s and Quinn’s faces. “My face didn’t even touch the ground, Santana. My nose isn’t that large,” she snarled wryly.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Seeing a similar disapproving look from Brittany, she insisted, “I didn’t.”
“I caught myself, okay? Just a scraped elbow.” Rachel pulled herself up and leaned forward to brush off her skirt. Simultaneously, Brittany twirled her girlfriend around. Halfway through the turn, a sharp pain invaded Santana’s elbow. When she spun around to she was she’d hit, she found Rachel back on the ground, flat on her back, holding her face, with blood seeping through her fingers.
Santana’s eyes turned to the heavens. “Come on!”
* * *
So, this week is slightly hairier than I anticipated.
The staff at Allen County General knew not to mess with Dr. Lopez’s daughter, so all the members of New Directions were permitted to crowd into the examination room where Rachel was seated on the exam table, flanked by Finn and Quinn.
“I’m really sorry, Rachel,” Santana apologized, stumbling through unfamiliar words. Brittany was hovering beside her, holding an ice bag to Santana’s elbow, pulling it away occasionally to lay healing kisses on it.
“It’s okay, Santana, it was an accident.”
“My dad’s got a disgustingly generous medical insurance plan. Don’t worry about anything.”
“I appreciate that, Santana, but I think we’ll be fine.”
Finn asked wondrously, “How’d you know she was going to break her nose? Are you, like, psychic?”
“She totally is,” Brittany exclaimed.
“Well, in that case, it seems we share something,” Rachel replied, “And may I remind everyone present that it is yet to be established that my nose is indeed broken.”
“Your nose is broken,” the doctor stated the moment he entered the room. He took one look at Santana. “Your father gave the staff the impression we wouldn’t be expecting any more of your victims.”
“It was an accident!”
The doctor seemed unconvinced, so he looked at Rachel, who nodded. “Well, alright, then,” the doctor replied, now fully half-convinced, “I’m Doctor Sanders.” He proceeded to explain Rachel’s condition and her “surgical options” in a room full of non-family members. It was such a blatant disregard of medical privacy laws that Santana couldn’t help but make a mental blackmail note. “I’ll leave you alone to consider you options with this large group of people who I will assume are all your cousins.” When his eyes fell on Mercedes, he simply stated, “You must be from Leroy’s side of the family.” He turned to Santana.
“I’ll just say I’m the illegitimate daughter with the housekeeper.”
“I was going to tell you, Miss Lopez, that your father is insistent upon you also having an X-ray of your arm.”
“Of course he is.”
Once the room was quiet again, Finn remarked, “You don’t have to get a nose job, Rachel. You’re beautiful just the way you are.” Many of her teammates echoed their sentiments.
“He said it could improve my voice.”
“‘Could’ being the operative word,” Quinn cautioned Rachel.
“Says the girl with the perfect nose,” Rachel mumbled.
Quinn was silent on this, so Santana spoke up, “Look, it’d be hypocritical of me to speak out against plastic surgery.” Before too many eyes fell on her chest, she continued, “Look, I’ve made it my mission this year to improve myself. If there’s something about yourself you don’t like, change it.” Feeling Brittany squeezing her arm, she added, “If there’s something you don’t like about yourself.”
Rachel’s gaze shifted from Santana to Finn and then to Quinn again.
Brittany whispered in her ear. “I like them.” Santana giggled. “I mean, they were fine before, but…”
“Shh,” Santana shushed, “I get it. Thank you, baby.”
* * *
Quinn was putting up a flier for her prom king and queen campaign with Sam, tracing her nose. She looked over to Santana, who was apparently trying to exert as little energy as possible as she “helped out” her friend. She was standing stone-still, leaning against the wall, and letting the fliers rest on her thigh rather than hold them up. “Flier,” she asked politely as she could manage given her mood. Santana simply rolled against the wall, bringing the fliers a whole four inches closer to Quinn.
The brunette finally decided that using her jaw wasn’t a waste of calories. “You think you’re going to beat out all the Cheerios who run?”
“I’m not too worried. Coach Delmonico doesn’t ride them about their food habits as Coach Sylvester did. I’ve seen the whole squad bingeing on chicken fingers on several occasions. The seams on Clarke’s skirt split before my very eyes in Home Ec yesterday.”
“This is important to you, isn’t it?”
“I’m not Head Cheerio anymore. I’m not dating the quarterback. My mom is too afraid of being the one to disappoint me to actually have any expectations. You get more songs than me in glee now. This is something that can be mine.”
“Vote Quinn Fabray,” Santana half-heartedly told a passing crowd of band kids.
On the other side of the hall, Lauren Zizes was watching this exchange. Without even turning her gaze, she plucked a passing figure out of the crowd. It was Puck. “Puckerman,” she greeted, not looking at him, “I may have been hasty in terminating our relationship. How would you like to run for prom king and queen with me?”
Puck hesitated, “Look, Lauren, I’m flattered, really, but the truth is, I’m still kind of stinging from the way you dumped me like the bag of trash that’s been sitting in my room for a month.” Lauren crinkled her nose at this. “I still need some time to get over you.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Puckerman, I’m rescinding the invitation. I need a candidate for prom king, not queen.” She shoved him away, but he held back.
“Look, Lauren, if you do end up running, you’ve got my vote. If anyone can rule this school, it’s you.”
Lauren’s expression softened. “You’re alright, Puckerman.”
After he’d moved on, she continued to watch students passing through, and her focus settled on a cluster of passing football players.
* * *
“We’re going to do a group number by the queen of self-love: Gaga. We’ll be performing her anthem to acceptance: ‘Born This Way’,” Will explained to a pleased crowd in glee.
“And Miss Pillsbury has graciously agreed to help us with our costumes,” Holly followed, her voice a little too sweet at the redhead.
Emma proceeded to explain about the white tee-shirts. “Write a word, or a phrase, that best expresses the thing about you that you’re most ashamed of, or you would like to change about yourself, but you can’t, because you were ‘born that way’.”
“I want you to love those parts of you, embrace them,” Will added, laying a hand on Emma’s shoulder. She smiled at the contact, Holly didn’t and the two quickly separated.
Mike asked for an example, and Holly stepped forward, unbuttoning her blouse, which she popped open to reveal “FLIRT” emblazoned across her chest. Puck’s eyes, which were a moment ago bugged out, lowered in disappointment.
“Back up, Sweetie,” Santana called out, “I think we all know that you’re quite proud of your charms.”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when I think it gets me into trouble. Let illustrate: Brittany, have you ever noticed that Santana has a pet name for everybody, and that some of them are the same ones she calls you?” Brittany nodded. “Does she make bedroom eyes at the baristas when you go out for coffee? And has she ever not gotten away with speeding ticket with just a warning.”
“It’s like everyone’s psychic but me,” Brittany wondered aloud, flabbergasted, “I bet it was that rabies shot. It’s not like Charity bit me that hard.”
“Mira, estudiantes, what you’re putting across your chest doesn’t have to be a flaw. We’re all wired a certain way. I’ll be the first to admit I flaunt a lot of things about myself that society says doesn’t exactly make me a proper lady. And maybe my life would be easier if I didn’t do those things, but I wouldn’t be Holly Holliday if I didn’t, would I?”
The assignment made more sense after that, and New Direction all but stampeded to Emma and the letter press.
Kurt was showing his teammates his shirt, fresh off the press: “LIKES BOYS”.
Santana asked aloud, “Huh, I was gonna be uncreative and do ‘LESBIAN’ but maybe I should do ‘LIKES GIRLS’ instead.”
“You’ll totally be twinsies!” Brittany exclaimed jubilantly. “Who wants to be my twinsie?”
Puck pulled out his lecherous persona. “What does that entail?”
“Well, my shirt’s going to say, ‘I’M WITH STUPID’ but, like, with an arrow pointing up. Do something similar.”
“I’m with Stupid, too.” He pointed at his face.
“Except that finger should be pointing the opposite direction,” Santana joked.
Puck looked confused until he flipped his finger and looked down. He grinned and chuckled. “Okay, then.” He held up his hand for a high-five, which Santana met.
“I can’t dance,” Finn pointed out, “My mom says it’s genetic.”
“Well, I can’t sing,” Mike echoed. They, too, high-fived.
Santana pulled Brittany aside, “You know you’re not stupid.”
Brittany leaned forward with an air of clandestineness. “I’m being sneaky, like you. The arrow’s not really pointing at me. It’s pointing at my head.” To illustrate, she pressed her index finger onto her forehead. “I have a stupid brain. Or a brain that everyone else seems to think is stupid. To me, my brain seems super-smart.”
“I agree. It gets all the important things right: dancing, friends, love.” She laid a peck on her girlfriend’s lips.
Tina was holding up her own shirt.
“‘BROWN EYES’?” Mercedes read, “What’s that mean?”
“Everyone sees me and Mike as ‘that Asian couple’ when in reality we’re really different culturally.” Mercedes nodded, having heard the argument before.
“My folks emigrated from China to the States just before I was born,” Mike explained.
“…whereas my parents are long since acculturated. They were third generation Asian-American Long Islanders…” A gasp from Rachel interrupted Tina, who continued undaunted, “…before moving to Lima and adopting me, so they know more about Chinatown and Koreatown than... you know, China or Korea. So, I’m not really in touch with my ethnic roots at all. It’s why I have no qualms about dyeing streaks of my hair or wearing clothing which has its origins in Eastern Europe. Or, to address one of Mike’s pet peeves, wearing colored contacts so I have blue eyes like the women on the covers of fashion magazines.”
There was a long silence before Quinn offered, “I’ll be your twin.”
“You gonna address those gorgeous hazels?” Sam asked.
“No, I’m gonna make a shirt that says ‘BROWN HAIR’,” she answered, as the rest of the room gasped. “My dad is the only natural blonde in the family. My mom, my sister, and me, we were all born with hair about this color,” she indicated her own golden tresses, “but by the age of eight or so, we’d all darkened to light brown, at which point we were taught how to use dye and how to diligently touch up our roots. I hope this isn’t too staggering of a dirty little secret.”
“I knew,” Brittany remarked, “she doesn’t ‘use the water colors on the squirrel’, if you know what I mean.”
“Shh,” Santana shushed her, putting a hand against Brittany’s lips. “So, who’s sharing next? About their shirt,” she clarified.
* * *
Karofsky was staring at one of Quinn’s fliers. More specifically, he was staring at Sam, Santana noticed. She fondly remembered her previous night’s dream, where she’d used Karofsky’s dirty little secret against him. She beamed at the fact she was (unsurprisingly) a badass in every alternate reality.
Wow, I must have been desperate to hide my lesbianism if I attached myself to him. I might have to invest in some new friends if they think that I could ever fall in love with that. “And then something funny happened. Something called love.” She looked down at her hand and had the urge to wash it.
Santana felt something panging in her chest, which she soon realized was her conscience. Dang, why did I have to go and nurture the little bastard with good deeds? It’s like a damn stray cat on your back porch that won’t go away because you fed it. Can’t a girl get a vacation without it being a working vacation? Ugh, let’s recap: I gotta keep Karofsky out of the prom king race so that Fabray doesn’t go all Fatal Attraction. And maybe starting to nudge him out of the closet might be for his own good.
And perhaps his downward spiral will be entertaining. Santana smirked to herself, not exactly at the “altruistic” stage yet.
She strolled up to Karofsky. “I know what you’re thinking,” she sing-songed, watching his eyes shoot wide open in utter panic. “You’ve got it in your rump roast-shaped head to run for prom king, haven’t you?”
“Yeah!” Karofsky agreed immediately, not sounding the least bit convincing.
Santana pretended to take him at his word. “Well, you do have the benefit of being on the football team. Formerly,” she noted, causing him to scowl. “But I think most of your classmates will overlook that. You are gonna have to track down a pretty girl to be your running mate if you’re going up against Quinn. I mean, who do you think is prettier than her?”
“Uhh…” Karofsky replied.
“Your problem exactly,” she noted with believable sympathy, “So, I know you’re coveting a tiara…” She paused a second too long before ‘correcting’ herself, “…crown, I mean. Sorry, I thinking like a girl.”
Karofsky scowled. “Why are you talking to me? Don’t you hate me?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf. There’s some good even in people like me.” Karofsky just nodded, still wary but listening intently. “I think I know why you’re thinking about being prom king. I’d love that crown, too. It would mean that people here still respected me. So, sure, I could enact some charity campaign to win the hearts of the common man, like some Miss USA contestant… or Lady Di. I could attach myself to the nearest hunky guy-Puck’s back on the market, after all…”
“He’s pretty hunky,” Karofsky agreed.
It took a lot for Santana not to just laugh in his face, but she maintained her poise. “Careful,” she warned. “…but if I did that, I’d just be lying to myself. Hiding.”
“You sound like a Hallmark movie.”
You would know what one of those is like. “I probably freakin’ do. Chicks dig poetry.”
“You’re wasting your breath, Lopez. I wasn’t even planning on running. I was just… daydreaming.”
“Good. In that case, vote for Fabray. Hell hath no fury like an Anglo girl denied her plastic, bejeweled trinket.” She winked and made her way to her next class.
* * *
Mercedes sat down with Warbler Luke at a table at The Lima Bean. “So, gotta ask,” she began, “do you wear that uniform everywhere?” She eyed his navy blue blazer with criticism.
“During the school week, yeah. I have civvies for the weekends.”
“It’s nothing personal. It’s just, if it were me, I don’t think I could wait to get out of something so… stuffy.”
Luke laughed. “Well, Dalton uniforms are tailored, so they’re more comfortable than they look. And… I actually like it. It’s not only my school uniform, but it’s my Warbler uniform. It’s a symbol of pride and prestige for me.”
“I feel ya, I do. For a time, I was on McKinley’s cheerleading squad and I had to wear a uniform every day. But after a while, I realized that the uniform was making me someone who I didn’t like. This…” she indicated the brightly-colored and patterned ensemble she was wearing, “this is me.”
“I understand that,” Luke replied defensively, “And I respect it. But at the same time, this…” he indicated his uniform, “this is me, too. Perhaps I’m just channeling my father-he was a Captain in the Navy-but the Warblers are a unit, something greater than the sum of its parts. In our choir, we each have our place. And it’s not like this blazer covers up who I am. You gotta admit,” he remarked, fluffing his mass of curly black hair, “I’m pretty easy to pick out of the lineup.”
“No, I get it. That’s what my hair looks like, under this weave.” Luke just nodded. Mercedes after a while stated, apropos of nothing, “My dad, he’s a dentist.”
“Yeah, I think you told me that before. Can I guess about what he wears every day? Scrubs, I’d bet, probably a lab coat?”
Mercedes nodded. “He’s a pediatric dentist, though, so he doesn’t wear solid-color scrubs. He’s got scrubs with zig-zags straight out of the Eighties, and some with stars and comets, and quite a few Christmas-themed ones. My mama buys them from the nurse’s section of the store; I don’t know if he’s figured it out yet. Oh, and one of his coats, I swear on my Nana’s grave, is tied-dyed.”
Luke grinned in appreciation. “He sounds like a fun guy. I’d like to meet him.” When Mercedes nodded with obvious discomfort, he added, “Sorry, I don’t want to push things too quickly. Long-distance relationships can be tricky.” Mercedes brushed it off. “Speaking of which, Blaine has been adamantly tight-lipped about his relationship with Kurt. How are they doing? All of us Warblers were really rooting for them and it’s my duty to get the deets.”
Mercedes smiled at that. “You’re lucky my boy Kurt can’t hide a thing to save his life. He’s absolutely smitten, so I suspect things are going really well. They’re probably taking it slow, though.”
“They’ll be fine. Blaine does enjoy his grand romantic gestures.”
Mercedes checked her watch. “Look, I hate to cut this date short, but I’ve got a World History project that I have been procrastinating on all week.”
Luke nodded his head. “No biggie. It’s lasagna night at my house, so the whole clan’s gonna be there, so I got to get going, too. I had a lovely time, Miss Jones.” He got up from his seat and laid a delicate kiss on Mercedes’s cheek.
They parted ways and Mercedes was in the parking lot, unlocking her car when a familiar voice called out her name. She turned and was greeted with the sight of Raj waving, surrounded by a few other guys she recognized from school. He excused himself from the group and ran over, while Mercedes covertly checked the perimeter like Puck’s notebook warned her.
“Hey, Handsome.” ‘Always use nicknames as not to call the wrong date the wrong name.’
“The band’s getting our caffeine fix. We’re having a brainstorming session tonight. We’re gonna push out a song if it kills us.”
“Good luck with that. I was just meeting some friends for coffee.” ‘Never use specifics when lying. They’re hard to remember later, they’re easy for the other person to verify, and most importantly they arouse suspicion.’ “Look, I’d love to stay and chat,” she said, smiling and brushing his arm to distract him from his surroundings, “but I’ve got a huge project for Mr. Prospero.”
Raj whistled with sympathy. “Good luck with that. Also, I owe you a phone call, because the two of us had a bangin’ time at Breadstix and we are overdue for another night of flirtation.”
“You got my digits,” Mercedes replied.
Raj played with the collar of her fire-engine red jacket. “I like this.”
“It’s flashy, I know,” she replied, almost apologetically.
“You wouldn’t be Mercedes Jones if it weren’t.”
She slipped into her car and watched Raj rejoin his bandmates. She dug into her backpack and pulled out the binder Santana had given her. As she scanned the cover, the brick in her stomach dropped another few inches. She threw the binder into the backseat recklessly and backed her car out of the parking spot, slamming on her brakes a split-second later to avoid hitting a car entering the lot.
* * *
I Feel Pretty/Unpretty - Glee Cast
I wish I could tie you up in my shoes
Make you feel unpretty too
I was told I was beautiful
But what does that mean to you
Look into the mirror who’s inside there
The one with the long hair
Same old me again today
My outsides are cool
My insides are blue
Every time I think I’m through
It’s because of you
I’ve tried different ways
But it’s all the same
At the end of the day
I have myself to blame
I’m just trippin’
Without even realizing it, Santana noticed she was hand-signing the chorus. Quinn and Rachel, their respective expressions pitiful and heartbreaking, sat on stools that were surprisingly close together for two girls who used to be mortal enemies.
Santana was five when the music video for TLC’s “Unpretty” came out. At the time, she thought the video was funny, with the girls floating on pillows dressed like Princess Jasmine, the computer that made the girl’s boobies bigger, the hospital with water balloons, and the chubby girl who got to eat as many cookies as she wanted and got to tear the pictures out of big-girl magazines without getting in trouble with her mommy. As a child, she’d watched it a hundred times so she could learn Left-Eye’s arm movements. Since then, the memories had faded into the back of her mind, but now the imagery of the video came back to her with similar clarity to the dreams she’d been having. As each image passed through her mind, she felt another stab deep into her chest, until it was so overwhelming, she was surprised she wasn’t bawling.
“Santana, what’s wrong?” Brittany whispered.
“What?” Santana replied, hearing the ache in her voice and feeling the moisture in her eyes for the first time. “Oh, nothing. It’s just a really pretty song.”
“Yeah,” Brittany replied, her voice knowing and compassionate. She wrapped an arm around her girlfriend, dragging her into her lap and laying her chin atop her head. After the song ended, Quinn gave Rachel an over-the-shoulder hug and passed her to Finn.
Author’s Note: So, the Rachel/Quinn scene was included simply because I had in my notes, twice, that “I Feel Pretty/Unpretty” had to be in the chapter. I’m ashamed to say that it wasn’t until the time of writing that I realized how painfully appropriate that song was for a Santana character study moment. Here’s your homework: if you haven’t seen TLC’s “Unpretty” music video, go watch it.
Part 2