Of Turkeys and Concussions
Title: Of Turkeys and Concussions
Pairings: Santana/Brittany & Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2,200
Summary: The foursome are stranded in New York for Thanksgiving and prove the age-old law that everything that can go wrong, will.
Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving =)
“Al Gore can kiss my ass. Fuck global warming,” was the first thing Santana growled when she woke up Thanksgiving morning and looked out her bedroom window. There was a good foot of snow on the ground and she hadn’t kicked the heat up the night before thanks to her girlfriend distracting her from being able to do much of anything beyond making it to the bedroom without running into anything.
“San, it’s cold.”
“I know,” Santana mumbled. “I have to turn the heat up.”
Santana padded down the hall to the thermostat and bumped it up until the furnace kicked on and heat started pouring out of a nearby vent. Once back in bed, Santana checked her phone to see a missed call from her mother. The voicemail was what she expected: All flights into and out of New York City had been canceled thanks to the sudden blizzard. The Pierces and Lopezes would be stuck in Lima. It left Santana with enough Thanksgiving food for six people in her kitchen and nothing to do with it.
“Looks like we’ll be alone this year,” Santana mumbled, snuggling into Brittany’s side. “I vote for - what the hell is that?”
An incessant knocking interrupted Santana’s wish to simply stay naked in bed with her girlfriend for the next 24 hours or more. There was only one person (and her girlfriend) that would be knocking on her apartment door at 5:30am. Santana briefly contemplated grabbing the handgun she had stashed in her nightstand to greet the visitors.
“Don’t yell at her, San.”
“I won’t. I’ll kill her.”
Santana grabbed a robe and stormed through the apartment to open her front door and see exactly who she expected.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Santana!”
“Berry, I’m going to kill you.”
Rachel pushed her way inside, pulling Quinn with her, and headed immediately for the kitchen. Santana knew they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon when they both shrugged off their coats to hang on the backs of the kitchen chairs and Rachel put two large containers from a bag into the refrigerator. While Quinn pulled the small turkey out of the refrigerator, Rachel started searching for pots and pans.
“What the fuck are you two doing, seriously?”
“Your mother called me,” Rachel said. “Quinn and I were on our way back from the airport after our flight was understandably canceled due to the snowstorm and we were informed that you and Brittany would tragically be left alone today. In the spirit of the holiday - family and togetherness - I assured her that you would have a proper Thanksgiving.”
“Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”
“Like hell you are,” Quinn said. “Go put clothes on.”
“I hate you.”
Santana’s plans to stealthily crawl back into bed and seduce her waiting girlfriend were shattered when Brittany bounced into the kitchen, fully clothed, and hugged Rachel and Quinn before eagerly asking what she could do to help. It sealed Santana’s belief that this holiday was going to go from awesome (sex) to horrible (kitchen fire).
It took five minutes for Brittany to set a kitchen towel on fire. Rachel, ever the annoying and resourceful one, put it out with the fire extinguisher she bought for their apartment warming party (that Rachel had planned and executed without Santana knowing a thing about it until the day of the party). Santana was left to clean up the foam all over the floor. And the wall. And then shower to get it out of her hair.
XXXXXXXXXX
“I thought you were a vegan or some shit like that,” Santana snarked when Rachel basted the turkey. “Won’t you have nightmares of turkeys pecking you to death? And if that ever actually happens can I watch?”
“I brought my own personal substitutes. Although you insist on the slaughter of innocent animals, I won’t press my lifestyle choice upon you. I feel, in time, that you will come to see the error of your ways and I’ll be there with my vegan cookbook to offer guidance.”
“I totally wasn’t paying attention the whole time you were talking.”
Santana had to shower again to get another round of fire extinguisher foam out of her hair.
XXXXXXXXXX
“It’s okay, Brittany,” Quinn assured her best friend. “You can get a new microwave.”
Santana stared in awe at the smoke coming out of their brand new and extremely expensive microwave that was supposed to be the Cadillac of all microwaves and stand up to anything as smoke continued to pour out of it. Rachel carefully removed what was left of the frozen cinnamon rolls that had been in an aluminum tray from the appliance and reached around to unplug it.
“B,” Santana finally breathed, “I think the parade is getting ready to come on TV.”
Not another word was said as Brittany squealed happily and bounced to the living room.
“So we get as much done as possible while the parade is on?” Quinn asked.
Santana nodded furiously.
XXXXXXXXXX
By the time the parade was finished, so was most of dinner. The turkey still had a few hours to go but the side dishes were finished and out on the counter cooling off before being put in the refrigerator to remain until dinner when they would be re-heated as per Rachel’s instructions. Something about preserving flavors or whatever. Santana wasn’t listening. The only thing left was cranberry sauce. Just as Santana put a pan on the stove half-filled with cranberries and enough orange liqueur to cover them there were arms encircling her waist and running up and down her stomach.
“Rachel and Quinn are asleep on the couch,” Brittany whispered. “I want sweet lady kisses.”
Santana spun around and pulled Brittany by the shirt to the kitchen table and hopped up on it. Brittany moved to stand between Santana’s legs and leaned down to kiss her once, twice, three times before pushing back and crawling up on the table and latching her mouth onto Santana’s neck. Fingernails ran down Santana’s abs and dipped under the waistband of her sweatpants just as she smelled it.
“B…”
“You have to be quiet.”
“Britt, get up.”
“But…”
“Brittany, something’s on fucking fire!”
Santana sat up quickly; Brittany hit the floor with a screech that summoned Rachel and Quinn into the kitchen just in time to see Santana grab the fire extinguisher and start spraying the fire on the stove that was quickly spreading across the counter and dripping down onto the floor where the alcohol had spilled. Santana continued spraying, covering every surface of the counter and stove with foam until the extinguisher was empty.
“Oh hell,” Quinn gasped. “Wh-what happened?”
“I think I knocked the pan over.”
Santana turned to see Rachel’s mouth opening and closing as she looked at all of the dishes on the countertop, now covered in foam. Every single side dish. A whimper from Brittany broke everyone’s concentration as she held onto her wrist, hanging at a very odd angle. Quinn knelt down and gently took Brittany’s arm.
“It’s broken.”
“We should take her to the-“
XXXXXXXXXX
Santana woke with a headache, the distinct smell of hospital filling her nose, and bright lights shining directly into her eyes. They were soon blocked by Brittany’s head and a concerned expression.
“Welcome back, Lopez,” Quinn’s voice echoed.
“What the hell happened?”
“The excessive amount of fire extinguisher foam that you covered your kitchen in was, apparently, extremely slippery and when you moved to check the well-being of Brittany you slipped and received a minor concussion when you hit your head on the countertop.”
“Speak like a normal human, Berry.”
“You slipped and fell,” Brittany answered.
“Thanks.”
Santana sat up and rubbed her temples as she looked to see Quinn studying her chart and Rachel sitting straight up in a plastic chair. Brittany was sporting a bright yellow cast on her right arm, already with a star and Rachel’s signature. This was quite possibly the worst day of her life and absolutely none of it was her fault.
“How long was I out?”
Rachel looked at her watch. “Approximately five hours and thirty six minutes.”
“Wonderful. This is all your fault, Berry. I wanted to stay in bed and have sex with my girlfriend all day but no, you had to come knocking on my door and ruin everything.”
“Santana, I’m…”
“I don’t want to hear it, midget.”
“Hey,” Quinn snapped, “shut up. She just wanted to have a nice dinner.”
“Yeah, well, that isn’t going to happen now is it?” Santana threw back the blankets and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, fully intending on getting out of there and back home to her own home to try to salvage what was left of the day.
“San, be nice.”
“Why? Today would’ve been perfect if it hadn’t been for little miss fucking do-good over there. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t smack you, Berry.”
In a flash Santana was up against the hospital room wall with Quinn baring her teeth and gripping tight to the front of the hospital gown. There was fury in her eyes that rivaled anything Santana had ever seen and she actually cowered a little.
“If you touch my pregnant girlfriend, I will kill you, Santana Lopez. Got it?”
“That’s another reason we wanted to have dinner with you,” Rachel said quietly. “We wished to inform you that we have a blessing to be thankful for this year and, as our best friends, you were among the first we wanted to share it with.”
“We were also going to ask if you wanted to be co-godmothers but since you’ve decided to turn into a royal bitch I’ll take it as a no.” Quinn let go and backed away; Santana relaxed a little, the threat of serious injury now dropped. She stayed against the wall, completely stunned, as Quinn reached out to Rachel and took her hand to lead the short brunette out of the hospital room.
It wasn’t unexpected that they were expecting. Santana knew that they had been trying for well over two years to get Rachel pregnant but to no avail. Every few months Quinn would show up on her doorstep after the pregnancy test turned negative and they’d go out and get drunk.
The look Brittany was giving Santana was clearly “you’re a heartless bitch” and Santana sighed.
“Does this mean I have to be nice to you?” Santana mumbled.
Rachel slowly turned, a small smile across her lips, and shook her head. “While it is my hope that your concussion might alter your demeanor for you to be a little nicer I also know that you wouldn’t be Santana Lopez if it weren’t for your bitchy exterior. I know that, deep down, you do have a soft spot for me and that you’ll be nice when it truly matters.”
“Yeah…well…you know. Stuff.”
“I accept your apology and ask that it not happen again. Now, I do believe there is a diner open somewhere in this city that serves vegan-friendly meals and I would love nothing more than to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with my best friends.”
XXXXXXXXXX
The diner they found was literally empty when they went in. Brittany kept trying to take off her cast so she could eat, Rachel complained about the lack of vegan menu items, Quinn reminded her that she still had containers of food back at Santana and Brittany’s apartment, and Santana mostly focused on helping Brittany eat without getting food everywhere. The only thing the cook was capable of making was grilled cheese and tomato soup and there was one pumpkin pie left. Rachel swore the other three to absolute secrecy, fearing the revocation of her PETA membership, as she practically inhaled three grilled cheese sandwiches.
They found themselves back at Santana and Brittany’s apartment after dinner and cleaning up the fire extinguisher mess. It took an entire roll of paper towels, every single cloth towel in the apartment, and a full bottle of cleaning solution to mop all of it up. The foursome stared at the mostly-cooked turkey that was still in the oven, trying to figure out what to do with it.
“I could take it to a shooting range,” Santana said. “I’d love nothing more than to shoot something right now.”
“You can’t kill it, San. That’s mean.”
“Brittany, the turkey is already-“
“We’ll just throw it away,” Quinn cut Rachel off.
Santana poured shots of orange liqueur for those that could drink and the bottle was quickly polished off. Not wanting to literally have to carry Quinn home when she passed out on the couch, Rachel slipped in next to her. Santana and Brittany stumbled down the hall to their bedroom and, not even remotely close to caring, fell into bed still fully clothed and smelling like fire extinguisher foam.
“I’m boycotting Thanksgiving,” Santana groaned. “No more.”
“It was hic fun!”
“For you.”
“I’m broken and it was still hic fun!”
“Go to sleep.”
“Does being godparents mean we have to like, listen to it pray? That's what God does, right?”
“I’ll explain it later, B. Sleep.”
“San?”
“What?”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, B.”
Brittany rolled over and her cast smacked Santana square in the forehead. Santana decided she was going to wrap herself in bubble wrap next year.
Pairings: Santana/Brittany & Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2,200
Summary: The foursome are stranded in New York for Thanksgiving and prove the age-old law that everything that can go wrong, will.
Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving =)
“Al Gore can kiss my ass. Fuck global warming,” was the first thing Santana growled when she woke up Thanksgiving morning and looked out her bedroom window. There was a good foot of snow on the ground and she hadn’t kicked the heat up the night before thanks to her girlfriend distracting her from being able to do much of anything beyond making it to the bedroom without running into anything.
“San, it’s cold.”
“I know,” Santana mumbled. “I have to turn the heat up.”
Santana padded down the hall to the thermostat and bumped it up until the furnace kicked on and heat started pouring out of a nearby vent. Once back in bed, Santana checked her phone to see a missed call from her mother. The voicemail was what she expected: All flights into and out of New York City had been canceled thanks to the sudden blizzard. The Pierces and Lopezes would be stuck in Lima. It left Santana with enough Thanksgiving food for six people in her kitchen and nothing to do with it.
“Looks like we’ll be alone this year,” Santana mumbled, snuggling into Brittany’s side. “I vote for - what the hell is that?”
An incessant knocking interrupted Santana’s wish to simply stay naked in bed with her girlfriend for the next 24 hours or more. There was only one person (and her girlfriend) that would be knocking on her apartment door at 5:30am. Santana briefly contemplated grabbing the handgun she had stashed in her nightstand to greet the visitors.
“Don’t yell at her, San.”
“I won’t. I’ll kill her.”
Santana grabbed a robe and stormed through the apartment to open her front door and see exactly who she expected.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Santana!”
“Berry, I’m going to kill you.”
Rachel pushed her way inside, pulling Quinn with her, and headed immediately for the kitchen. Santana knew they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon when they both shrugged off their coats to hang on the backs of the kitchen chairs and Rachel put two large containers from a bag into the refrigerator. While Quinn pulled the small turkey out of the refrigerator, Rachel started searching for pots and pans.
“What the fuck are you two doing, seriously?”
“Your mother called me,” Rachel said. “Quinn and I were on our way back from the airport after our flight was understandably canceled due to the snowstorm and we were informed that you and Brittany would tragically be left alone today. In the spirit of the holiday - family and togetherness - I assured her that you would have a proper Thanksgiving.”
“Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”
“Like hell you are,” Quinn said. “Go put clothes on.”
“I hate you.”
Santana’s plans to stealthily crawl back into bed and seduce her waiting girlfriend were shattered when Brittany bounced into the kitchen, fully clothed, and hugged Rachel and Quinn before eagerly asking what she could do to help. It sealed Santana’s belief that this holiday was going to go from awesome (sex) to horrible (kitchen fire).
It took five minutes for Brittany to set a kitchen towel on fire. Rachel, ever the annoying and resourceful one, put it out with the fire extinguisher she bought for their apartment warming party (that Rachel had planned and executed without Santana knowing a thing about it until the day of the party). Santana was left to clean up the foam all over the floor. And the wall. And then shower to get it out of her hair.
XXXXXXXXXX
“I thought you were a vegan or some shit like that,” Santana snarked when Rachel basted the turkey. “Won’t you have nightmares of turkeys pecking you to death? And if that ever actually happens can I watch?”
“I brought my own personal substitutes. Although you insist on the slaughter of innocent animals, I won’t press my lifestyle choice upon you. I feel, in time, that you will come to see the error of your ways and I’ll be there with my vegan cookbook to offer guidance.”
“I totally wasn’t paying attention the whole time you were talking.”
Santana had to shower again to get another round of fire extinguisher foam out of her hair.
XXXXXXXXXX
“It’s okay, Brittany,” Quinn assured her best friend. “You can get a new microwave.”
Santana stared in awe at the smoke coming out of their brand new and extremely expensive microwave that was supposed to be the Cadillac of all microwaves and stand up to anything as smoke continued to pour out of it. Rachel carefully removed what was left of the frozen cinnamon rolls that had been in an aluminum tray from the appliance and reached around to unplug it.
“B,” Santana finally breathed, “I think the parade is getting ready to come on TV.”
Not another word was said as Brittany squealed happily and bounced to the living room.
“So we get as much done as possible while the parade is on?” Quinn asked.
Santana nodded furiously.
XXXXXXXXXX
By the time the parade was finished, so was most of dinner. The turkey still had a few hours to go but the side dishes were finished and out on the counter cooling off before being put in the refrigerator to remain until dinner when they would be re-heated as per Rachel’s instructions. Something about preserving flavors or whatever. Santana wasn’t listening. The only thing left was cranberry sauce. Just as Santana put a pan on the stove half-filled with cranberries and enough orange liqueur to cover them there were arms encircling her waist and running up and down her stomach.
“Rachel and Quinn are asleep on the couch,” Brittany whispered. “I want sweet lady kisses.”
Santana spun around and pulled Brittany by the shirt to the kitchen table and hopped up on it. Brittany moved to stand between Santana’s legs and leaned down to kiss her once, twice, three times before pushing back and crawling up on the table and latching her mouth onto Santana’s neck. Fingernails ran down Santana’s abs and dipped under the waistband of her sweatpants just as she smelled it.
“B…”
“You have to be quiet.”
“Britt, get up.”
“But…”
“Brittany, something’s on fucking fire!”
Santana sat up quickly; Brittany hit the floor with a screech that summoned Rachel and Quinn into the kitchen just in time to see Santana grab the fire extinguisher and start spraying the fire on the stove that was quickly spreading across the counter and dripping down onto the floor where the alcohol had spilled. Santana continued spraying, covering every surface of the counter and stove with foam until the extinguisher was empty.
“Oh hell,” Quinn gasped. “Wh-what happened?”
“I think I knocked the pan over.”
Santana turned to see Rachel’s mouth opening and closing as she looked at all of the dishes on the countertop, now covered in foam. Every single side dish. A whimper from Brittany broke everyone’s concentration as she held onto her wrist, hanging at a very odd angle. Quinn knelt down and gently took Brittany’s arm.
“It’s broken.”
“We should take her to the-“
XXXXXXXXXX
Santana woke with a headache, the distinct smell of hospital filling her nose, and bright lights shining directly into her eyes. They were soon blocked by Brittany’s head and a concerned expression.
“Welcome back, Lopez,” Quinn’s voice echoed.
“What the hell happened?”
“The excessive amount of fire extinguisher foam that you covered your kitchen in was, apparently, extremely slippery and when you moved to check the well-being of Brittany you slipped and received a minor concussion when you hit your head on the countertop.”
“Speak like a normal human, Berry.”
“You slipped and fell,” Brittany answered.
“Thanks.”
Santana sat up and rubbed her temples as she looked to see Quinn studying her chart and Rachel sitting straight up in a plastic chair. Brittany was sporting a bright yellow cast on her right arm, already with a star and Rachel’s signature. This was quite possibly the worst day of her life and absolutely none of it was her fault.
“How long was I out?”
Rachel looked at her watch. “Approximately five hours and thirty six minutes.”
“Wonderful. This is all your fault, Berry. I wanted to stay in bed and have sex with my girlfriend all day but no, you had to come knocking on my door and ruin everything.”
“Santana, I’m…”
“I don’t want to hear it, midget.”
“Hey,” Quinn snapped, “shut up. She just wanted to have a nice dinner.”
“Yeah, well, that isn’t going to happen now is it?” Santana threw back the blankets and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, fully intending on getting out of there and back home to her own home to try to salvage what was left of the day.
“San, be nice.”
“Why? Today would’ve been perfect if it hadn’t been for little miss fucking do-good over there. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t smack you, Berry.”
In a flash Santana was up against the hospital room wall with Quinn baring her teeth and gripping tight to the front of the hospital gown. There was fury in her eyes that rivaled anything Santana had ever seen and she actually cowered a little.
“If you touch my pregnant girlfriend, I will kill you, Santana Lopez. Got it?”
“That’s another reason we wanted to have dinner with you,” Rachel said quietly. “We wished to inform you that we have a blessing to be thankful for this year and, as our best friends, you were among the first we wanted to share it with.”
“We were also going to ask if you wanted to be co-godmothers but since you’ve decided to turn into a royal bitch I’ll take it as a no.” Quinn let go and backed away; Santana relaxed a little, the threat of serious injury now dropped. She stayed against the wall, completely stunned, as Quinn reached out to Rachel and took her hand to lead the short brunette out of the hospital room.
It wasn’t unexpected that they were expecting. Santana knew that they had been trying for well over two years to get Rachel pregnant but to no avail. Every few months Quinn would show up on her doorstep after the pregnancy test turned negative and they’d go out and get drunk.
The look Brittany was giving Santana was clearly “you’re a heartless bitch” and Santana sighed.
“Does this mean I have to be nice to you?” Santana mumbled.
Rachel slowly turned, a small smile across her lips, and shook her head. “While it is my hope that your concussion might alter your demeanor for you to be a little nicer I also know that you wouldn’t be Santana Lopez if it weren’t for your bitchy exterior. I know that, deep down, you do have a soft spot for me and that you’ll be nice when it truly matters.”
“Yeah…well…you know. Stuff.”
“I accept your apology and ask that it not happen again. Now, I do believe there is a diner open somewhere in this city that serves vegan-friendly meals and I would love nothing more than to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with my best friends.”
XXXXXXXXXX
The diner they found was literally empty when they went in. Brittany kept trying to take off her cast so she could eat, Rachel complained about the lack of vegan menu items, Quinn reminded her that she still had containers of food back at Santana and Brittany’s apartment, and Santana mostly focused on helping Brittany eat without getting food everywhere. The only thing the cook was capable of making was grilled cheese and tomato soup and there was one pumpkin pie left. Rachel swore the other three to absolute secrecy, fearing the revocation of her PETA membership, as she practically inhaled three grilled cheese sandwiches.
They found themselves back at Santana and Brittany’s apartment after dinner and cleaning up the fire extinguisher mess. It took an entire roll of paper towels, every single cloth towel in the apartment, and a full bottle of cleaning solution to mop all of it up. The foursome stared at the mostly-cooked turkey that was still in the oven, trying to figure out what to do with it.
“I could take it to a shooting range,” Santana said. “I’d love nothing more than to shoot something right now.”
“You can’t kill it, San. That’s mean.”
“Brittany, the turkey is already-“
“We’ll just throw it away,” Quinn cut Rachel off.
Santana poured shots of orange liqueur for those that could drink and the bottle was quickly polished off. Not wanting to literally have to carry Quinn home when she passed out on the couch, Rachel slipped in next to her. Santana and Brittany stumbled down the hall to their bedroom and, not even remotely close to caring, fell into bed still fully clothed and smelling like fire extinguisher foam.
“I’m boycotting Thanksgiving,” Santana groaned. “No more.”
“It was hic fun!”
“For you.”
“I’m broken and it was still hic fun!”
“Go to sleep.”
“Does being godparents mean we have to like, listen to it pray? That's what God does, right?”
“I’ll explain it later, B. Sleep.”
“San?”
“What?”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, B.”
Brittany rolled over and her cast smacked Santana square in the forehead. Santana decided she was going to wrap herself in bubble wrap next year.