I've Kind Of Always Had A Thing For You [4/4]
Title: I've Kind Of Always Had A Thing For You [4/4]
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Summary: She thinks that if she could have just one photo session with Rachel Berry, it might just kickstart her career. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe she just wants to spend time with Rachel.
Word Count: 34,000 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
So Mike's actually seeing this Marley girl. It's serious enough that he invites her to hang out with them at this bar they like in the East Village. The place has really good food, so they all meet up for a late dinner, then drinks, and probably dancing because the DJ here is awesome. They've come enough times that he knows them, too, and always comes over and talks for a bit. He used to hit on Santana, in a non-asshole-ish way, but then when she was sort of seeing the last girl she casually dated, he got the hint and stopped. It was harmless anyway. Santana's selfish enough that she sort of misses it, actually.
To be honest, tonight she's just sitting here wishing Rachel would have come out. Or could have. Her rehearsal ran late, then she was having dinner with her dads, which is obviously a good reason not to come to this, but still. Puck is looking around the bar for someone to hit on, and Finn's got this really fucking weird thing about him that makes women come to him. (Every time. Every time.) Jake'll hit the dance floor at some point and end up stealing the attention of every woman in the room, so he'll basically have his pick, if he wants.
Santana can't even flirt with anyone. Well, she could. She can do whatever she wants, obviously, because she's her own person and whatever. The thing is, she likes Rachel, and she doesn't even want to flirt with other women. Not only because it'd be sort of a shitty thing to do to this woman she cares about, but because why would she fuck with anyone else when she's got Rachel? It's just weird, that's all, to be out with these guys and realize that what she normally does when she's out with them like this is not a thing she's going to do anymore.
The cool thing is, Marley's actually awesome. She's all quiet at first, even though she and Santana have been introduced once before, when Santana was coming down the sidewalk to the apartment building and Mike and Marley were going to eat. It was just in passing, but they talked for a few minutes there on the street, so it's not like Santana's a stranger. At least not as much as the guys, who Marley's never even seen before. That's probably why she's all nervous or whatever. Santana's trying to be a good person and make Marley feel comfortable. She can tell Mike appreciates that, too.
And she has a good time, and gets nicely drunk (but not too drunk) and texts with Rachel a bit, but then she goes home and gets into bed, and she's stupidly bitter over the fact that at least a couple of her friends aren't sleeping alone tonight like she is.
It's three in the morning when she calls Rachel and totally wakes her up and says, "Come over." Rachel's all cute and half asleep and saying Santana's name. "I can come to you."
"Tomorrow," Rachel says quietly, and Santana hears her moving around in her bed. "Come over tomorrow night."
"I want you now."
"This is…You're kind of hot like this."
Santana furrows her brow. She's naked because that's the way she sleeps more often than not. "Drunk?"
"Desperate," Rachel corrects, and like.
"I'm not desperate, I just want what I want, and I want you."
Rachel makes this little sound. "Say that again."
Oh fuck, this might actually work. Santana softens her voice - or thinks she does - and goes, "I want you, baby. Now."
Rachel's quiet for a moment and Santana's this close to getting out of bed, getting dressed and leaving to go to Rachel's.
But then she just gets, "Tomorrow," in this stupid soft, sexy voice, and, "Goodnight, Santana," that sounds reluctant. Rachel hangs up and Santana hasn't hated a night as much as this one in a long time.
… … …
Rachel's starting tech, and once she explains what that is, Santana understands why it's so stressful and stuff. Not that she really questioned it. She knows enough about performing arts to know how crazy things can be anyway. She's not exactly clueless to why Rachel's been a little on edge.
And anyway, Rachel likes to relieve stress by having sex, which is such a cliché Santana would have made fun of her if she were, you know, stupid.
(Apparently it really calms Rachel to pass out orgasms, and Santana's not in any position to complain.)
They're making dinner at Rachel's place because Santana's shift was cut short by a half hour because of a scheduling fuck up, not that she's upset about it, and Rachel had the day off from rehearsal to rest her voice. It's gotten to the point lately where they never see each other in daylight, so it's actually kind of awesome to be able to hang out like this. And Rachel's actually an awesome cook, so Santana's making a salad, since that's basically foolproof, while Rachel makes this dish that's actually vegan. Apparently she went through a vegan thing when she was like 18 and some of the recipes are good enough to keep making. Santana's not a picky eater, so she doesn't mind at all. It smells good in here and Rachel looks really hot in her shorts and tank standing at the stove like that.
Santana's smart and has a separate sound on her phone she uses for anyone from work. Even the people she likes get this irritating little ding because sometimes she doesn't want to deal with their stupid drama - she likes to leave work at work and they don't - and also, she likes to know which texts to check right away and which she can ignore. Since she's full time, it's not like they call her in to cover people off in emergencies or anything.
But she's just standing here right now, listening to Rachel hum along with the song playing from the iPod dock on her counter, so.
"Ugh." Yeah, she shouldn't have looked at her phone. It's just sitting right there and Abbot is actually one of the better people he works with, and usually when he texts her it's like, links to hilarious shit on the Internet, or updates on the life of his adorable puggle.
"What?"
"Apparently this chick at work like, broke down in tears when some customer said she gave him the wrong change." Rachel looks at her like this is a really pathetic thing to care about, and for a second there Santana feels like a massive idiot, completely out of her league. "No, this girl's got issues and this isn't the first time," she explains, because fuck, if she had a dime for every time this happened...
Rachel's being quiet, though, and Santana feels really stupid. She can also tell there's something Rachel wants to say but isn't, and that's annoying, too. Like, Santana might not have the best job ever, but it's a job and she's doing the best she can. She needs money and yeah, it does suck to have to deal with all the bullshit and drama, but she can't get away from it until she has something else going on. Maybe Rachel doesn't have to worry about money, but Santana is really fucking far away from being in that position. Rachel's never made her feel like a loser before this very moment, standing here feeling like this thing she's talking about is going to be completely ignored because it's just not important.
And it's not important, and it shouldn't bug her this much that Rachel's treating it that way, but it does, because no, it's not important, but it's still a part of her life, and she's suddenly really protective of it.
But instead of lashing out, like she would have in any relationship before this one, she just taps out a reply to Abbot and then puts her phone down and tells herself she won't check it again if anyone texts her back. It's not like Rachel means more to her than like, rent and her livelihood, but she is definitely more important than dumb gossip or whatever, and Santana's actively trying not to fuck this up. This is, or could be, a real adult relationship or something, and she's never had one of these before, but she's pretty sure that being mature enough to realize when to let something like this go is kind of an important thing.
She's doing so well, too. She changes the subject and they get each other laughing, and it's all really fun and cute and Rachel's being adorable and making Santana taste stuff. She acts like she's scared Santana won't like her cooking, which is stupid because as if Rachel would ever half ass anything. Please. You don't win two Tonys before you're 25 by not being a perfectionist.
It's a really great evening, and Santana's actually surprised by how much she loves just hanging out with Rachel this way. In her past relationships, nights like this were rare and usually because other plans fell through. Santana usually isn't a 'stay in and do nothing when you could be out' type of person. It's almost like she can't stop thinking about what she might be missing if she's sitting on her couch. But this time it's like she doesn't want to share Rachel, or have anyone pulling her away, and she'd still feel this way even if Rachel weren't famous. She likes hanging out, just the two of them. She's selfishly not looking forward to when Rachel's show opens and their schedules are totally fucked and not at all conducive to spending time together. She's been thinking about that a lot and isn't sure how to bring it up.
It's started raining and they're both exhausted, so when they'd usually go sit out on Rachel's deck, they head straight for her bedroom and decide to find a movie to watch until they both fall asleep.
Just as Rachel's pulling throw pillows off the bed and setting them on the floor by the window like she does every night, things start going to shit.
"Why don't you come tomorrow?" she asks, and Santana just looks at her. Their first day of tech and it's supposed to be insane, and Rachel wants Santana to go visit her at the theatre?
And anyway; "I have to work."
"I just thought you could come. Bring your camera."
Rachel's not looking at her. Santana's clenching her jaw. "I have to work, Rachel." Because apparently that fell on deaf ears the first time. "I can't just blow it off to take some random pictures of…"
"They wouldn't be random," Rachel says, and looks up after she's pulled back her duvet. Santana's confused, maybe, but definitely mad. She doesn't even know why yet. It doesn't matter. "You could be paid." Santana lets out a pissy laugh. "We could use them for the website, and…"
"You talked to somebody about this," Santana says evenly, and fuck, she's so indignant right now.
"I showed the producers and the publicist a couple of the pictures you took of me."
Santana feels her chest fill with this anger that she can't even… "Those were for you. They weren't…You promised you wouldn't use them for…"
"I didn't use them!" Rachel shouts. It might be the only time Santana's ever heard her raise her voice at all. "It's not like I had access to your portfolio."
Santana scoffs. "Yeah, you would have had to actually ask permission for that."
Rachel holds out her hands helplessly at her sides. "I'm trying to help you!"
"I didn't ask for your help, Rachel." Santana runs a hand through her hair and hates that they're doing this in Rachel's bedroom, because this is Rachel's favourite place in the world. But also it just feels wrong to be standing here with a king sized bed between them, fighting, when Santana can see that they're at an impasse already.
"I didn't…You don't need to ask," Rachel says, quieter now. She looks down at the bed, then lifts her knee up so it's resting on the mattress. "Sometimes, in a healthy relationship, it's okay to just accept it." Santana shakes her head, and this whole thing is fucked, and if she doesn't just leave, she's going to end up saying something mean and hurtful. She knows herself. "Why is it okay for me to pull strings for Jake, but not you?"
Santana narrows her eyes. "Jake's not sleeping with you."
"Why does that make a difference?" Rachel's sitting now, with one leg sort of tucked underneath her, and just this…God, she looks so fucking good in her panties and tank top, but Santana's so mad she can't even imagine staying. "I did this for you because you're talented, not because I'm dating you."
Santana tilts her head. For someone who's grown up in the business and deals with these people and the media every day, Rachel's sure acting naive.
"You really think everyone else'll see it that way?" she asks, and Rachel just sighs. Santana hadn't gotten undressed for bed yet, and she's glad. Now all she has to do is grab her bag and go. "You might be embarrassed by the fact that I'm just some stupid barista, but I don't need your fucking charity."
Okay, so that's the kind of shit she was avoiding saying earlier. But hell, it's all gonna come out now, because she's upset and Rachel's clueless as to why Santana could possibly be offended by any of this. That's maybe the most insulting part. So yeah. She mostly said what she said to fill Rachel in on why this whole thing stings. Maybe she's overreacting, but two hints like this in one day have left Santana really feeling like shit about her life. Rachel can say all she wants about how when you're in a relationship you help each other, but all Santana's hearing at this point is that she's not good enough. It doesn't matter if she's wrong to think that or not, because it's how she feels.
"That's not what I said. Don't put words in my mouth."
The argument is weak, and Rachel doesn't even get up to make it. She's still just sitting there on the bed like she's expecting this to all blow over, or like she still thinks she has some chance of talking her way out of it. She doesn't, and Santana's done with this conversation.
She reaches for the strap of her bag and hooks it over her shoulder. Rachel just tilts her head like Santana's being childish, or something, for wanting to leave this stupid fight where she's being made to feel like a total loser.
"Don't go," Rachel says, sounding exhausted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
Santana just laughs humourlessly and shakes her head. "You're apologizing for offending me, but not for actually doing what you did."
She immediately wishes she'd worded that better. What she means is that, yeah, she's offended, but what she'd actually like an apology for is Rachel butting in and trying to take control of her career. She has a feeling she's not going to get one. Rachel has this thing where she always thinks she's right, and it's never actually bothered Santana before, because, well, Rachel usually is right.
Rachel says Santana's name again as she walks out of the room, but Santana makes it all the way down to the street and she's still alone with no one coming after her, and for the first time she thinks it's not a good thing that they're equally as stubborn as one another.
… … …
Rachel doesn't come in the next day, and Santana wastes too much time wondering if it's because she's pissed, or because she's busy with her show. It could be either, or neither, or both. Santana wants to say she doesn't care, but she does, and she ends up grumpy as fuck when she realizes Rachel's not going to show up. She's afraid she's gonna get written up for her shitty attitude, so she caps it a bit and goes through the motions for the rest of her shift with her head down. She's not screwing up her job over this. Yeah, Rachel's been important to her, but she's also been a bitch to her. So.
She's just…She's disappointed and hurt, and she doesn't want this thing to be over. And it isn't, until they say it is. It just feels like it could be, and Santana just feels so shitty that this is the way it could end, you know? She still doesn't think she overreacted, and that Rachel's in the wrong, and the problem is, it's obvious that neither can see the others' point. Santana gets why Rachel is trying to help her, but what she doesn't get is why Rachel thought Santana wanted her to. And maybe to Rachel any foot in the door is a great thing and should be capitalized on, but.
Well. Fuck. Santana knows how hard Rachel's worked for everything she's ever gotten, but she was also like, five when she was in her first Broadway show. Obviously she had to commit to it and bust her ass to be something other than just a chorus kid, but still. When you're in three shows by the time you're nine, there's a pretty good chance that your name'll be kicking around for more and more parts the older you get. All Santana's saying is that it's different for her than it was for Rachel, and she honestly doesn't think the girl gets that. Like, to Rachel everything's easy and Santana'll be making millions within the year, and it's just not fucking realistic. Even if she did go to this thing today, what would come of it? She's all about networking, but she can do that in places where her girlfriend isn't the one behind the scenes pulling the strings. It'd be humiliating for Rachel to introduce her to people and for them all to know that the only reason Santana was holding a camera was because Rachel hand picked her to be there.
So yeah, after a rough day at work, a short nap and a huge dinner, she bangs on Mike's door and asks if he wants to get drunk. And because he's a good friend and he can read her pretty well, he grabs his phone and his keys and asks her if she has anywhere in mind as he locks the door behind them.
She's literally wearing cutoffs and a Forever 21 tank, so she's okay with the bar he picks for them in Midtown, and fucking thrilled when he buys the first pitcher. They covered off 'what's wrong' and 'nothing' on the way here, and Mike knows not to pester her. She'll probably end up spilling everything to him after a drink or two just to get it out, so whatever. It's fine.
(And yeah, that's exactly what happens, but it's three beers and a shot of Jameson that loosens her lips.)
"She didn't do it to be insulting," Mike says as he raises his beer to his lips, and he's right, but that's not even the fucking point.
"Obviously," Santana sort of snaps, and he just takes it, because he gets her. "But I still feel like she should have known it would."
"Insult you?"
"Try'n' keep up," she mumbles. Mike laughs. "I just don't know what I've ever done to let her think I want her pity. Help. I mean help."
Mike tilts his head at her. Yeah, that was a fuck up and a half on her part.
"So this is like, one of those times when you make a big deal about this because something else's been bugging you." He sips his beer and she tries to follow that sentence even a little bit in this stage of drunkenness. "You're feeling the fact that she'a her, and you work at Starbucks."
"I was always feeling that."
Mike nods, and that's basically the only thing he's done that's not annoying in the last five minutes. "So you think she's trying to save you, or something."
She wouldn't word it like that, but he's not wrong.
"I don't need to be saved."
He grins in a way that lets her know he's about to say something he thinks is funny. "That depends on who you ask."
She narrows her eyes. "Is that a gay joke?"
Mike scoffs and looks pissy. "Would I do that?"
Santana pushes both hands through her hair. She's such a mess right now. She misses Rachel, even though it's been like a day. It's the not talking and the not knowing where she stands that's killing her.
"Sorry. I'm all fucked up."
"Yeah," Mike breathes, then finishes the pitcher off by pouring the rest into her glass. She doesn't need it, but she wants it. "Because you're crazy about her." She drinks because she wants to. And because she's not going to even bother responding to that; she doesn't feel like denying it when Mike obviously knows the truth. "So just let her say sorry and call it good."
Santana bites the inside of her cheek. "I don't think she wants to apologize." Mike gives her a messed up look. "She hasn't talked to me all day. So."
Mike looks smug as fuck. "Have you talked to her?"
He knows the answer and she hates it when people ask questions they already know the answers to. Like, is there no more clever way to make your point than to make someone else look like an idiot? Fuck off. She didn't invite him out so he could try to prove some kind of point, which, right now, it's looking like he's trying to show that he's better with relationship stuff than she is. Even if it's true, which is likely, that's not the fucking point to any of this at all.
"I might be drunk, but I feel like you're being a dick, so. Stop."
Mike laughs and politely waves the waitress over, so there's that. More alcohol on the way.
And he is a good friend, so he says, "Well, what do you need from me tonight?"
Or, well. Maybe he's a good friend, but maybe he also just doesn't totally know how she deals with her emotions because he's never actually seen her in a relationship situation with anyone. This is all new for him. And despite her attitude here, she does appreciate that he's here for her right now. Obviously she's not gonna be a loser and say that, but.
"Nothing," she says, and then, "I mean, you're doing it. It's fine."
It's not fine, and he recognizes that, but he nods his head anyway, and asks for another pitcher and two more shots from the waitress when she stops by the table.
The thing is, when she's drinking, she just…She sometimes feels invincible, and with that comes the desire to make out with every hot woman she sees. Maybe it doesn't make sense, but it's a thing that happens.
And there are women in this bar. There are hot women in this bar. She pegs a few of them as tourists, but whatever. She doesn't care where someone's from when all she wants is to make out against the wall in the ladies' room. She doesn't look her best tonight, but she's still got a little game and could probably…
"What are you doing?" Mike asks, laughing, when he catches her staring at this blonde at the bar who's been eye fucking her for the last five minutes.
"What?"
"You've still got a…Rachel."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Is she gonna put her tongue in my mouth tonight?"
Mike does that laugh he does when he's actually a little disappointed, and shakes his head. "She might if you'd call her."
"Why do I have to be the one to call? She's the one who did the shitty thing." No, you're not going to change Santana's mind on that.
"No, she did the thing you think is shitty."
Ugh whatever. That's actually a good argument, which is exactly why Santana's ignoring it. And him. And excusing herself to go to the bathroom.
It's really not that surprising that the blonde shows up as Santana's washing her hands, or that the woman obviously doesn't need to be in here for any reason other than Santana is. And fuck. A couple months ago this would've been a green light and she'd be wondering whose apartment is closer. The girl's saying something, and Santana's sort of listening, but then there's a hand on her hip and she's thinking about how it's not a couple months ago, and that she knows how long it takes to get to Rachel's place from here. She knows Rachel thinks she's cute when she's this drunk, but not too drunk. She can't fucking stop thinking about how her last kiss with Rachel was this stupid, mundane thing that wasn't even a real kiss at all, and she just…
She gets back to the table and Mike looks kind of pissed, but also like he's waiting for details, just to see if there are details.
Santana says, "Shut up. I can't," and he smiles at her like he's proud of her or something.
When they get back to their building, she actually manages to drag her ass up all the stairs and wash her face before crawling into bed naked and thinking about Rachel until she falls asleep. She doesn't even decide to fix things so much as she realizes not fixing them was never even an option.
… … ...
Staying out drinking that late was really fucking stupid, considering she's got to work. Two hours of sleep is not nearly enough to deal with the sheer volume of human bullshit she deals with in an eight hour shift. She considers calling in sick, but that'd mean losing an entire day's pay, and she's not willing to do that, no matter how miserable she feels. So she drags her ass out of her apartment in her work clothes, has J. Cole playing too loudly from her headphones as she stops for a bagel and gets a protein shake from this place on the way to the train.
The first customer who really talks to her is this regular who's a grad student at Columbia and might be one of the cooler strangers she deals with. She doesn't know his name, but she knows how he likes his Americano, and she likes how he wears his leather cross-body bag, and he's got Ray Ban aviators, too, so they've bonded over that. He's one of very few customers she'd actually hang out with, if the opportunity arose. So. Not at all a bad start to the day.
Rachel comes in an hour before Santana's shift is scheduled to finish, and fuck. Her heart does this thing where it feels all weird and she's just...she's not even naive enough anymore to blame it on that third coffee she shouldn't have had on her break. She is crazy about Rachel, and the girl's gorgeous and it's good to see her. Always. Even, or maybe especially, right now.
Santana overhears Rachel order a tall medium roast, which means she's bypassing Santana all together. Which is annoying for about two seconds and then Santana sucks it up and thinks about how shitty Rachel's probably been feeling, too. So it's not much of a surprise, really, that Rachel wouldn't know what to say, or just plain wouldn't want to talk to Santana. They were shitty to each other, and yeah, Rachel started it, but Santana sort of let it spiral out of control. Or made it do that. Either way, someone needs to give in and admit this not talking thing is shitty. Santana cares enough about Rachel that she's willing to bite the bullet and just wave the white flag. Even if they can't fix it, she needs to know she tried.
"Rachel," Santana calls out, and Rachel actually seems to turn around without any hesitation at all. Like she was expecting this, or at least hoping for it. Rachel sort of nudges through the crowd heading for the door and walks back to the bar where Santana's blindly making a vanilla latte. "Hey."
"Hi."
"How'd your thing yesterday go?"
Rachel makes a face like she's trying to decide if Santana's being shitty, but she must realize that wasn't the intention. "Fine, thanks."
"Look." Santana cuts herself off to pour milk because fuck, she doesn't need another burnt hand. She calls the drink and sets it on the bar, and Rachel smiles politely at the woman who picks up the drink and obviously recognizes her. "Can we talk later?"
"I'll be working late," Rachel answers. Neither of them are keeping their voices down at all, but it's not like they're shouting across the room that they're in a same-sex relationship, and if they were, Santana still thinks everyone else should mind their fucking business. "I'll call you?"
Santana nods and squirts caramel on top of foam for a truly disgusting drink she'd never consume. "Okay."
"Okay." Rachel turns to leave, but then looks over her shoulder and says, "Santana." Once she's got Santana's attention again, she gives this fucking perfect smile and says, "You look terrible."
And Santana goes, "You don't have to be happy about it."
Rachel shrugs her shoulder cutely and slips her sunglasses back over her eyes, which.
Whatever. They're talking.
… … …
She falls asleep, but it's not her fault. Because she was up late last night, then worked all day, then randomly went to Brooklyn with her camera to give herself something to do. Also, it's 11:30 at night, so yeah. She's in bed in underwear and a white tank and she's sleeping and figuring Rachel just got caught up at the theatre, or something, and it's okay. She wasn't mad earlier when she was thinking of it.
Now she's just disoriented as fuck, because she's woken up by the buzzer sounding and it takes her a good forty seconds to figure out what the fuck's going on.
"What. Yeah."
"It's me."
Santana pushes the button to let Rachel into the building before even considering the fact that she's half asleep and not exactly dressed for company, and actually, her apartment is a disaster and she hasn't been around in the last few days to do anything about it. It'd be fine, but she's not a slob and she doesn't like to give anyone reason to think she is. But it's Rachel, who's literally fallen asleep on the floor in Santana's 'living room' at least once, so. Maybe it doesn't matter.
Maybe instead of worrying about the stack of unopened mail on the table she should have found pants. But, you know. She opens the door and Rachel doesn't seem surprised or bothered that this is all Santana's wearing anyway.
"I was going to call."
"It's fine."
Rachel sort of brushes past Santana, but not with any kind of confidence. She just walks in like she's just hoping Santana's not going to ask her to leave. But fuck, if Santana didn't want her here, she wouldn't have buzzed her up, you know? She's not so callous that she wants to see someone's face when she tells them to fuck off.
Okay, fine. So she is. But not Rachel.
"Things just got really crazy today, and then we didn't get out until almost 11:00, and I just thought this was the kind of conversation we should have face to face."
Santana wants to get back into bed, and her apartment is small enough that she can do it without losing sight of Rachel, if the girl doesn't want to come too. So. She slips her legs back beneath the sheets and stays sitting up.
"What conversation's that?" Rachel glares, which is cute, somehow. "I mean. I dunno."
"You asked me if we could talk."
Santana rolls her eyes, then, because fuck. It's not like no one knows what possible topic they'll settle on. "I was breaking the ice."
"Then I showed up at your apartment," Rachel says, hands on hips. Yeah, that's not hot at all.
"And I got into bed and I'm wearing like, nothing. Your move, Berry."
Rachel cracks a smile, though she looks pretty reluctant to do it. She comes over and sits on the bed next to Santana, and looks like she doesn't know what to do with her hands. "I'd say I don't like you, but the whole reason we're dealing with this right now is because I do."
"Yeah."
"I mean…" Okay, and she's off now. Santana knew that if she waited it out, Rachel'd definitely take the floor first. "I accept the fact that you don't want my help, but what I don't accept is the way you treated me for trying."
Santana didn't even really consider that as a thing that would have bothered Rachel, but she's pretty quick to realize she should have. She doesn't know what the hell to say about it. She doesn't want to just apologize and act like Rachel doesn't or shouldn't want to actually talk through her feelings. Rachel's big on that; she's been going to therapy since she was 10 and Santana knows it's important to her. It's something Santana's considered, too, but she can't say she loves the idea of signing up to have someone tell you all the things you're afraid might be true about yourself. Maybe that alone says a lot about her.
"It's actually really hurtful that you think I give a shit about what job you do," Rachel says, and Santana just looks at her. "I just know how badly you want to be a photographer, and how much you love it, and…Half the time you spend complaining about your job, but then the second I try to at least start you towards being able to quit, you act completely indignant and almost protective of it."
"Yeah, well, the fact that you think I need your help the be able to quit pisses me off."
Probably didn't need to be said, but there you have it.
Rachel sighs like Santana's exhausting. "I don't think you need my help, I just wanted to offer it."
"But you didn't offer!" Rachel stares while Santana takes a few seconds to consider how to put this into words without sounding like more of an ungrateful bitch than she already does. "Offering would have been, like, "Hey, Santana, would you be interested in doing this?" Not going behind my back to set it up, and ambushing me the night before."
"Okay, that was wrong of me."
"Thank you."
Because no, Santana doesn't feel like she should be the only one apologizing for something here.
"I misjudged and thought the less time you had to think about it, the more likely you'd be to do it."
Santana nods and puts her hand on Rachel's thigh. She's just wearing these loose sweatpants and she definitely just came straight over here after she was finished working for the day. It makes Santana feel better about all of this, their whole relationship. She feels important to this person who's got all this crazy stuff going on in her life right now. Rachel will find ways to make time for them.
"Look, I'm not saying you can't help me at all," Santana says, because that feels important. Rachel shakes her head like she doesn't believe it, or something. "I just don't wanna like, have you introduce me as your girlfriend to people and then suddenly be around holding a camera."
"I understand," Rachel says, but then she gets this sort of hardened, pissy look on her face. "But this is New York, okay? If you have contacts, you use them, or you'll get nowhere."
"I'm not…"
"You're too talented to not make something of yourself. And if you just squander it because you're stubborn, I'll…I won't forgive you."
Okay, so, laughing is probably wrong? But Rachel's like, a hundred pounds of straight up Broadway star and she's making threats like that, and there's just nothing about it that's not hilarious. Especially when she furrows her brow like she doesn't get why Santana's laughing so hard there're tears in her eyes.
"I'm serious," Rachel whines.
Santana just smiles and wraps her fingers around Rachel's wrist, gives it a tug to pull her closer, and then watches Rachel's mouth. "I know."
"I do want to help you."
"Okay."
Rachel licks her lips, and like. They're done talking, right? This conversation is over.
Only Rachel's still saying words, and Santana should totally still be paying attention, but it's been a while since they kissed and she can't concentrate on anything but the way Rachel's tongue moves when she speaks.
"Are you listening?"
"Yeah," Santana answers, and drags her eyes back up to meet Rachel's.
She looks amused, rather than annoyed, so that's a good thing.
Then she straddles Santana's lap and pushes at her shoulders. That's better.
"What did I just say?" Rachel asks, and Santana'd think she was serious if not for the fact that Rachel's hands are pushing at the bottom of Santana's tank.
"Um. Something about us."
Rachel rolls her eyes and stills her hands, leaves them where they are on Santana's stomach beneath her shirt. "Mhm."
"And like. Photography. Probably."
Rachel grins in this way, and Santana swears she's the only one has ever seen it. "Us and photography," Rachel mutters, leaning down, and god, Santana's so fucking ready for this teasing shit to stop now. Especially after a sentence like that.
Rachel's hands push Santana's shirt up and off, though, and fuck, thank god.
But then she stands up, her feet on either side of Santana's hips, and reaches for Santana's camera where it sits on one of the shelves on the wall.
"Rach." The shutter sounds and Rachel looks far too proud of herself. "Stop. Come here."
Rachel just shakes her head and then pulls the camera back to her and takes another picture. She looks sexy as fuck standing there like that, hips swaying just the slightest bit to some imaginary beat Santana can't help but notice. Her feet move on the mattress and Santana's so not used to being on this side of the lens, but she'd imagine the pictures are going to turn out okay, anyway, because she has this feeling that the way she's looking at Rachel right now is pretty photogenic.
"What if I delete all those?" she asks when Rachel has finally set the camera down again and laid herself out on top of Santana.
Rachel (finally) kisses her and says, "I'll take more," and yeah, okay, there are some threats she can get away with making.
… … …
There's this thing, and it's on a Sunday night, which sucks, because she always works Mondays, and Rachel wasn't sure she'd be 'allowed' (advised to) bring Santana with her to this thing, so it's pretty last minute and Santana can't get the next day off work. She's also scrambling to find a dress. Thank god for Rent The Runway.
And the thing is, she's not going as Rachel's 'date'. She is, okay, but not in a Rachel's Coming Out Party way. She's going as a guest. Rachel's show's been open a while, and yes, of course she went to opening night and people saw her there. And there was one night at this little restaurant in the Village and there was wine and Santana sort of just kissed Rachel in public without even thinking of it. No one saw, and she said at the time that she didn't care if they had. She does care, though, because it's important to Rachel. It's not like she'd be the first bisexual Broadway star or anything, but…Well, Rachel is Broadway's darling, and even Santana can see that an announcement like this could be a huge thing, and Rachel isn't up for it right now, not with her show selling out every night. A few of Rachel's costars, past and present, and a bunch of people in the industry know she's not totally straight, and yeah, Santana thinks that's a risky game, but Rachel's so well-liked that it's not as though anyone's slinging mud at her or anything.
Santana's cool with their relationship being between them, and just their close friends knowing. Rachel's told her dads about Santana, though they haven't all met yet. And there have been a few 'double dates' with Mike and Marley. Things are fine the way they are and Santana's not putting any pressure on anyone to change them.
Anyway. The event is this charity auction, and Rachel said it's semi-formal, which Santana knows means nothing in New York. You dress well or you don't go at all.
So she's standing here in a rented dress, dark purple with long sleeves and ruching and black patent pumps to match the clutch she borrowed from Rachel. She looks fucking hot, obviously, with this dress, and her hair sort of curled, and only diamond studs in her ears. Rachel looks good, too, for sure, but. Well, Santana's seen her in so many expensive dresses that it's less of a thing.
Rachel can't take her eyes off Santana, and there are exactly no complaints from Santana about that.
Santana's on her second glass of champagne, though she's sipping slowly because she refuses to be hungover for work tomorrow, and Rachel's talking to this guy who looks vaguely familiar, then waves Santana over. It's not like she's been hanging back or anything, but no one knows who she even is, so she sometimes doesn't like to butt into conversations.
"Hey," she says to Rachel, then smiles at this guy whose face she honestly can't place.
"Hi," Rachel says, smiling. "This is my girlfriend, Santana. She's an amazing photographer." Santana's sort of struck dumb by everything about that sentence, so she just smiles and white-knuckles her clutch. "This is Robert Gardner. He just opened another restaurant in TriBeCa."
"Oh, yeah. Right. I read that article in the Times," Santana says, and extends her hand as he grins at her. "Nice to meet you."
"Robert was just telling me he's rebranding his entire company." Santana just blinks at him and he's staring right at her. "I mentioned that I know a great photographer, if he was interested."
See, this is still pretty sneaky, but Santana's not mad. This is a legit connection, rather than her being stuck in a roomful of people who think she's just getting work because of who she's sleeping with. Nothing's being handed to her, here, other than Robert's business card. He says she should call him tomorrow to set up a meeting because he'd like to see her portfolio.
The smug grin on Rachel's face as he walks away is annoying and sexy, and the way she keeps her eyes on Santana's as she drains the last of her champagne is…Ugh. Santana's feelings for this girl are out of control and she likes it.
"I bid on a trip to Spain." Santana doesn't say anything as Rachel leans forward so they're talking a little closer, and says, "When I win, I'm taking you with me."
Santana finishes what's left in her glass and really, really hopes Rachel will be ready to leave soon.
They're making out on the stairway in Rachel's apartment when the girl pulls back, breathless, and asks, "You're not mad at me, are you?"
Santana holds onto Rachel's hips and goes, "Do I look mad?"
"No, but…"
"I'm not mad. Thank you. Can you just…God, get your ass up the stairs."
Rachel puts her hand on Santana's shoulder and presses just hard enough that Santana gets the hint and keeps her distance.
"Don't boss me around," Rachel says, but her voice is low and she's practically smouldering, and Santana moans, right before Rachel's laughing and running up the stairs in her bare feet, her heels in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Santana takes her time following, thinking that, yeah, this would make a hell of a picture, actually. Rachel's perfectly framed, right in the centre of the staircase with the light overhead making pretty shadows against her. But no one else gets to see this, and Santana's just so okay with that, too.
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Summary: She thinks that if she could have just one photo session with Rachel Berry, it might just kickstart her career. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe she just wants to spend time with Rachel.
Word Count: 34,000 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
So Mike's actually seeing this Marley girl. It's serious enough that he invites her to hang out with them at this bar they like in the East Village. The place has really good food, so they all meet up for a late dinner, then drinks, and probably dancing because the DJ here is awesome. They've come enough times that he knows them, too, and always comes over and talks for a bit. He used to hit on Santana, in a non-asshole-ish way, but then when she was sort of seeing the last girl she casually dated, he got the hint and stopped. It was harmless anyway. Santana's selfish enough that she sort of misses it, actually.
To be honest, tonight she's just sitting here wishing Rachel would have come out. Or could have. Her rehearsal ran late, then she was having dinner with her dads, which is obviously a good reason not to come to this, but still. Puck is looking around the bar for someone to hit on, and Finn's got this really fucking weird thing about him that makes women come to him. (Every time. Every time.) Jake'll hit the dance floor at some point and end up stealing the attention of every woman in the room, so he'll basically have his pick, if he wants.
Santana can't even flirt with anyone. Well, she could. She can do whatever she wants, obviously, because she's her own person and whatever. The thing is, she likes Rachel, and she doesn't even want to flirt with other women. Not only because it'd be sort of a shitty thing to do to this woman she cares about, but because why would she fuck with anyone else when she's got Rachel? It's just weird, that's all, to be out with these guys and realize that what she normally does when she's out with them like this is not a thing she's going to do anymore.
The cool thing is, Marley's actually awesome. She's all quiet at first, even though she and Santana have been introduced once before, when Santana was coming down the sidewalk to the apartment building and Mike and Marley were going to eat. It was just in passing, but they talked for a few minutes there on the street, so it's not like Santana's a stranger. At least not as much as the guys, who Marley's never even seen before. That's probably why she's all nervous or whatever. Santana's trying to be a good person and make Marley feel comfortable. She can tell Mike appreciates that, too.
And she has a good time, and gets nicely drunk (but not too drunk) and texts with Rachel a bit, but then she goes home and gets into bed, and she's stupidly bitter over the fact that at least a couple of her friends aren't sleeping alone tonight like she is.
It's three in the morning when she calls Rachel and totally wakes her up and says, "Come over." Rachel's all cute and half asleep and saying Santana's name. "I can come to you."
"Tomorrow," Rachel says quietly, and Santana hears her moving around in her bed. "Come over tomorrow night."
"I want you now."
"This is…You're kind of hot like this."
Santana furrows her brow. She's naked because that's the way she sleeps more often than not. "Drunk?"
"Desperate," Rachel corrects, and like.
"I'm not desperate, I just want what I want, and I want you."
Rachel makes this little sound. "Say that again."
Oh fuck, this might actually work. Santana softens her voice - or thinks she does - and goes, "I want you, baby. Now."
Rachel's quiet for a moment and Santana's this close to getting out of bed, getting dressed and leaving to go to Rachel's.
But then she just gets, "Tomorrow," in this stupid soft, sexy voice, and, "Goodnight, Santana," that sounds reluctant. Rachel hangs up and Santana hasn't hated a night as much as this one in a long time.
… … …
Rachel's starting tech, and once she explains what that is, Santana understands why it's so stressful and stuff. Not that she really questioned it. She knows enough about performing arts to know how crazy things can be anyway. She's not exactly clueless to why Rachel's been a little on edge.
And anyway, Rachel likes to relieve stress by having sex, which is such a cliché Santana would have made fun of her if she were, you know, stupid.
(Apparently it really calms Rachel to pass out orgasms, and Santana's not in any position to complain.)
They're making dinner at Rachel's place because Santana's shift was cut short by a half hour because of a scheduling fuck up, not that she's upset about it, and Rachel had the day off from rehearsal to rest her voice. It's gotten to the point lately where they never see each other in daylight, so it's actually kind of awesome to be able to hang out like this. And Rachel's actually an awesome cook, so Santana's making a salad, since that's basically foolproof, while Rachel makes this dish that's actually vegan. Apparently she went through a vegan thing when she was like 18 and some of the recipes are good enough to keep making. Santana's not a picky eater, so she doesn't mind at all. It smells good in here and Rachel looks really hot in her shorts and tank standing at the stove like that.
Santana's smart and has a separate sound on her phone she uses for anyone from work. Even the people she likes get this irritating little ding because sometimes she doesn't want to deal with their stupid drama - she likes to leave work at work and they don't - and also, she likes to know which texts to check right away and which she can ignore. Since she's full time, it's not like they call her in to cover people off in emergencies or anything.
But she's just standing here right now, listening to Rachel hum along with the song playing from the iPod dock on her counter, so.
"Ugh." Yeah, she shouldn't have looked at her phone. It's just sitting right there and Abbot is actually one of the better people he works with, and usually when he texts her it's like, links to hilarious shit on the Internet, or updates on the life of his adorable puggle.
"What?"
"Apparently this chick at work like, broke down in tears when some customer said she gave him the wrong change." Rachel looks at her like this is a really pathetic thing to care about, and for a second there Santana feels like a massive idiot, completely out of her league. "No, this girl's got issues and this isn't the first time," she explains, because fuck, if she had a dime for every time this happened...
Rachel's being quiet, though, and Santana feels really stupid. She can also tell there's something Rachel wants to say but isn't, and that's annoying, too. Like, Santana might not have the best job ever, but it's a job and she's doing the best she can. She needs money and yeah, it does suck to have to deal with all the bullshit and drama, but she can't get away from it until she has something else going on. Maybe Rachel doesn't have to worry about money, but Santana is really fucking far away from being in that position. Rachel's never made her feel like a loser before this very moment, standing here feeling like this thing she's talking about is going to be completely ignored because it's just not important.
And it's not important, and it shouldn't bug her this much that Rachel's treating it that way, but it does, because no, it's not important, but it's still a part of her life, and she's suddenly really protective of it.
But instead of lashing out, like she would have in any relationship before this one, she just taps out a reply to Abbot and then puts her phone down and tells herself she won't check it again if anyone texts her back. It's not like Rachel means more to her than like, rent and her livelihood, but she is definitely more important than dumb gossip or whatever, and Santana's actively trying not to fuck this up. This is, or could be, a real adult relationship or something, and she's never had one of these before, but she's pretty sure that being mature enough to realize when to let something like this go is kind of an important thing.
She's doing so well, too. She changes the subject and they get each other laughing, and it's all really fun and cute and Rachel's being adorable and making Santana taste stuff. She acts like she's scared Santana won't like her cooking, which is stupid because as if Rachel would ever half ass anything. Please. You don't win two Tonys before you're 25 by not being a perfectionist.
It's a really great evening, and Santana's actually surprised by how much she loves just hanging out with Rachel this way. In her past relationships, nights like this were rare and usually because other plans fell through. Santana usually isn't a 'stay in and do nothing when you could be out' type of person. It's almost like she can't stop thinking about what she might be missing if she's sitting on her couch. But this time it's like she doesn't want to share Rachel, or have anyone pulling her away, and she'd still feel this way even if Rachel weren't famous. She likes hanging out, just the two of them. She's selfishly not looking forward to when Rachel's show opens and their schedules are totally fucked and not at all conducive to spending time together. She's been thinking about that a lot and isn't sure how to bring it up.
It's started raining and they're both exhausted, so when they'd usually go sit out on Rachel's deck, they head straight for her bedroom and decide to find a movie to watch until they both fall asleep.
Just as Rachel's pulling throw pillows off the bed and setting them on the floor by the window like she does every night, things start going to shit.
"Why don't you come tomorrow?" she asks, and Santana just looks at her. Their first day of tech and it's supposed to be insane, and Rachel wants Santana to go visit her at the theatre?
And anyway; "I have to work."
"I just thought you could come. Bring your camera."
Rachel's not looking at her. Santana's clenching her jaw. "I have to work, Rachel." Because apparently that fell on deaf ears the first time. "I can't just blow it off to take some random pictures of…"
"They wouldn't be random," Rachel says, and looks up after she's pulled back her duvet. Santana's confused, maybe, but definitely mad. She doesn't even know why yet. It doesn't matter. "You could be paid." Santana lets out a pissy laugh. "We could use them for the website, and…"
"You talked to somebody about this," Santana says evenly, and fuck, she's so indignant right now.
"I showed the producers and the publicist a couple of the pictures you took of me."
Santana feels her chest fill with this anger that she can't even… "Those were for you. They weren't…You promised you wouldn't use them for…"
"I didn't use them!" Rachel shouts. It might be the only time Santana's ever heard her raise her voice at all. "It's not like I had access to your portfolio."
Santana scoffs. "Yeah, you would have had to actually ask permission for that."
Rachel holds out her hands helplessly at her sides. "I'm trying to help you!"
"I didn't ask for your help, Rachel." Santana runs a hand through her hair and hates that they're doing this in Rachel's bedroom, because this is Rachel's favourite place in the world. But also it just feels wrong to be standing here with a king sized bed between them, fighting, when Santana can see that they're at an impasse already.
"I didn't…You don't need to ask," Rachel says, quieter now. She looks down at the bed, then lifts her knee up so it's resting on the mattress. "Sometimes, in a healthy relationship, it's okay to just accept it." Santana shakes her head, and this whole thing is fucked, and if she doesn't just leave, she's going to end up saying something mean and hurtful. She knows herself. "Why is it okay for me to pull strings for Jake, but not you?"
Santana narrows her eyes. "Jake's not sleeping with you."
"Why does that make a difference?" Rachel's sitting now, with one leg sort of tucked underneath her, and just this…God, she looks so fucking good in her panties and tank top, but Santana's so mad she can't even imagine staying. "I did this for you because you're talented, not because I'm dating you."
Santana tilts her head. For someone who's grown up in the business and deals with these people and the media every day, Rachel's sure acting naive.
"You really think everyone else'll see it that way?" she asks, and Rachel just sighs. Santana hadn't gotten undressed for bed yet, and she's glad. Now all she has to do is grab her bag and go. "You might be embarrassed by the fact that I'm just some stupid barista, but I don't need your fucking charity."
Okay, so that's the kind of shit she was avoiding saying earlier. But hell, it's all gonna come out now, because she's upset and Rachel's clueless as to why Santana could possibly be offended by any of this. That's maybe the most insulting part. So yeah. She mostly said what she said to fill Rachel in on why this whole thing stings. Maybe she's overreacting, but two hints like this in one day have left Santana really feeling like shit about her life. Rachel can say all she wants about how when you're in a relationship you help each other, but all Santana's hearing at this point is that she's not good enough. It doesn't matter if she's wrong to think that or not, because it's how she feels.
"That's not what I said. Don't put words in my mouth."
The argument is weak, and Rachel doesn't even get up to make it. She's still just sitting there on the bed like she's expecting this to all blow over, or like she still thinks she has some chance of talking her way out of it. She doesn't, and Santana's done with this conversation.
She reaches for the strap of her bag and hooks it over her shoulder. Rachel just tilts her head like Santana's being childish, or something, for wanting to leave this stupid fight where she's being made to feel like a total loser.
"Don't go," Rachel says, sounding exhausted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
Santana just laughs humourlessly and shakes her head. "You're apologizing for offending me, but not for actually doing what you did."
She immediately wishes she'd worded that better. What she means is that, yeah, she's offended, but what she'd actually like an apology for is Rachel butting in and trying to take control of her career. She has a feeling she's not going to get one. Rachel has this thing where she always thinks she's right, and it's never actually bothered Santana before, because, well, Rachel usually is right.
Rachel says Santana's name again as she walks out of the room, but Santana makes it all the way down to the street and she's still alone with no one coming after her, and for the first time she thinks it's not a good thing that they're equally as stubborn as one another.
… … …
Rachel doesn't come in the next day, and Santana wastes too much time wondering if it's because she's pissed, or because she's busy with her show. It could be either, or neither, or both. Santana wants to say she doesn't care, but she does, and she ends up grumpy as fuck when she realizes Rachel's not going to show up. She's afraid she's gonna get written up for her shitty attitude, so she caps it a bit and goes through the motions for the rest of her shift with her head down. She's not screwing up her job over this. Yeah, Rachel's been important to her, but she's also been a bitch to her. So.
She's just…She's disappointed and hurt, and she doesn't want this thing to be over. And it isn't, until they say it is. It just feels like it could be, and Santana just feels so shitty that this is the way it could end, you know? She still doesn't think she overreacted, and that Rachel's in the wrong, and the problem is, it's obvious that neither can see the others' point. Santana gets why Rachel is trying to help her, but what she doesn't get is why Rachel thought Santana wanted her to. And maybe to Rachel any foot in the door is a great thing and should be capitalized on, but.
Well. Fuck. Santana knows how hard Rachel's worked for everything she's ever gotten, but she was also like, five when she was in her first Broadway show. Obviously she had to commit to it and bust her ass to be something other than just a chorus kid, but still. When you're in three shows by the time you're nine, there's a pretty good chance that your name'll be kicking around for more and more parts the older you get. All Santana's saying is that it's different for her than it was for Rachel, and she honestly doesn't think the girl gets that. Like, to Rachel everything's easy and Santana'll be making millions within the year, and it's just not fucking realistic. Even if she did go to this thing today, what would come of it? She's all about networking, but she can do that in places where her girlfriend isn't the one behind the scenes pulling the strings. It'd be humiliating for Rachel to introduce her to people and for them all to know that the only reason Santana was holding a camera was because Rachel hand picked her to be there.
So yeah, after a rough day at work, a short nap and a huge dinner, she bangs on Mike's door and asks if he wants to get drunk. And because he's a good friend and he can read her pretty well, he grabs his phone and his keys and asks her if she has anywhere in mind as he locks the door behind them.
She's literally wearing cutoffs and a Forever 21 tank, so she's okay with the bar he picks for them in Midtown, and fucking thrilled when he buys the first pitcher. They covered off 'what's wrong' and 'nothing' on the way here, and Mike knows not to pester her. She'll probably end up spilling everything to him after a drink or two just to get it out, so whatever. It's fine.
(And yeah, that's exactly what happens, but it's three beers and a shot of Jameson that loosens her lips.)
"She didn't do it to be insulting," Mike says as he raises his beer to his lips, and he's right, but that's not even the fucking point.
"Obviously," Santana sort of snaps, and he just takes it, because he gets her. "But I still feel like she should have known it would."
"Insult you?"
"Try'n' keep up," she mumbles. Mike laughs. "I just don't know what I've ever done to let her think I want her pity. Help. I mean help."
Mike tilts his head at her. Yeah, that was a fuck up and a half on her part.
"So this is like, one of those times when you make a big deal about this because something else's been bugging you." He sips his beer and she tries to follow that sentence even a little bit in this stage of drunkenness. "You're feeling the fact that she'a her, and you work at Starbucks."
"I was always feeling that."
Mike nods, and that's basically the only thing he's done that's not annoying in the last five minutes. "So you think she's trying to save you, or something."
She wouldn't word it like that, but he's not wrong.
"I don't need to be saved."
He grins in a way that lets her know he's about to say something he thinks is funny. "That depends on who you ask."
She narrows her eyes. "Is that a gay joke?"
Mike scoffs and looks pissy. "Would I do that?"
Santana pushes both hands through her hair. She's such a mess right now. She misses Rachel, even though it's been like a day. It's the not talking and the not knowing where she stands that's killing her.
"Sorry. I'm all fucked up."
"Yeah," Mike breathes, then finishes the pitcher off by pouring the rest into her glass. She doesn't need it, but she wants it. "Because you're crazy about her." She drinks because she wants to. And because she's not going to even bother responding to that; she doesn't feel like denying it when Mike obviously knows the truth. "So just let her say sorry and call it good."
Santana bites the inside of her cheek. "I don't think she wants to apologize." Mike gives her a messed up look. "She hasn't talked to me all day. So."
Mike looks smug as fuck. "Have you talked to her?"
He knows the answer and she hates it when people ask questions they already know the answers to. Like, is there no more clever way to make your point than to make someone else look like an idiot? Fuck off. She didn't invite him out so he could try to prove some kind of point, which, right now, it's looking like he's trying to show that he's better with relationship stuff than she is. Even if it's true, which is likely, that's not the fucking point to any of this at all.
"I might be drunk, but I feel like you're being a dick, so. Stop."
Mike laughs and politely waves the waitress over, so there's that. More alcohol on the way.
And he is a good friend, so he says, "Well, what do you need from me tonight?"
Or, well. Maybe he's a good friend, but maybe he also just doesn't totally know how she deals with her emotions because he's never actually seen her in a relationship situation with anyone. This is all new for him. And despite her attitude here, she does appreciate that he's here for her right now. Obviously she's not gonna be a loser and say that, but.
"Nothing," she says, and then, "I mean, you're doing it. It's fine."
It's not fine, and he recognizes that, but he nods his head anyway, and asks for another pitcher and two more shots from the waitress when she stops by the table.
The thing is, when she's drinking, she just…She sometimes feels invincible, and with that comes the desire to make out with every hot woman she sees. Maybe it doesn't make sense, but it's a thing that happens.
And there are women in this bar. There are hot women in this bar. She pegs a few of them as tourists, but whatever. She doesn't care where someone's from when all she wants is to make out against the wall in the ladies' room. She doesn't look her best tonight, but she's still got a little game and could probably…
"What are you doing?" Mike asks, laughing, when he catches her staring at this blonde at the bar who's been eye fucking her for the last five minutes.
"What?"
"You've still got a…Rachel."
Santana rolls her eyes. "Is she gonna put her tongue in my mouth tonight?"
Mike does that laugh he does when he's actually a little disappointed, and shakes his head. "She might if you'd call her."
"Why do I have to be the one to call? She's the one who did the shitty thing." No, you're not going to change Santana's mind on that.
"No, she did the thing you think is shitty."
Ugh whatever. That's actually a good argument, which is exactly why Santana's ignoring it. And him. And excusing herself to go to the bathroom.
It's really not that surprising that the blonde shows up as Santana's washing her hands, or that the woman obviously doesn't need to be in here for any reason other than Santana is. And fuck. A couple months ago this would've been a green light and she'd be wondering whose apartment is closer. The girl's saying something, and Santana's sort of listening, but then there's a hand on her hip and she's thinking about how it's not a couple months ago, and that she knows how long it takes to get to Rachel's place from here. She knows Rachel thinks she's cute when she's this drunk, but not too drunk. She can't fucking stop thinking about how her last kiss with Rachel was this stupid, mundane thing that wasn't even a real kiss at all, and she just…
She gets back to the table and Mike looks kind of pissed, but also like he's waiting for details, just to see if there are details.
Santana says, "Shut up. I can't," and he smiles at her like he's proud of her or something.
When they get back to their building, she actually manages to drag her ass up all the stairs and wash her face before crawling into bed naked and thinking about Rachel until she falls asleep. She doesn't even decide to fix things so much as she realizes not fixing them was never even an option.
… … ...
Staying out drinking that late was really fucking stupid, considering she's got to work. Two hours of sleep is not nearly enough to deal with the sheer volume of human bullshit she deals with in an eight hour shift. She considers calling in sick, but that'd mean losing an entire day's pay, and she's not willing to do that, no matter how miserable she feels. So she drags her ass out of her apartment in her work clothes, has J. Cole playing too loudly from her headphones as she stops for a bagel and gets a protein shake from this place on the way to the train.
The first customer who really talks to her is this regular who's a grad student at Columbia and might be one of the cooler strangers she deals with. She doesn't know his name, but she knows how he likes his Americano, and she likes how he wears his leather cross-body bag, and he's got Ray Ban aviators, too, so they've bonded over that. He's one of very few customers she'd actually hang out with, if the opportunity arose. So. Not at all a bad start to the day.
Rachel comes in an hour before Santana's shift is scheduled to finish, and fuck. Her heart does this thing where it feels all weird and she's just...she's not even naive enough anymore to blame it on that third coffee she shouldn't have had on her break. She is crazy about Rachel, and the girl's gorgeous and it's good to see her. Always. Even, or maybe especially, right now.
Santana overhears Rachel order a tall medium roast, which means she's bypassing Santana all together. Which is annoying for about two seconds and then Santana sucks it up and thinks about how shitty Rachel's probably been feeling, too. So it's not much of a surprise, really, that Rachel wouldn't know what to say, or just plain wouldn't want to talk to Santana. They were shitty to each other, and yeah, Rachel started it, but Santana sort of let it spiral out of control. Or made it do that. Either way, someone needs to give in and admit this not talking thing is shitty. Santana cares enough about Rachel that she's willing to bite the bullet and just wave the white flag. Even if they can't fix it, she needs to know she tried.
"Rachel," Santana calls out, and Rachel actually seems to turn around without any hesitation at all. Like she was expecting this, or at least hoping for it. Rachel sort of nudges through the crowd heading for the door and walks back to the bar where Santana's blindly making a vanilla latte. "Hey."
"Hi."
"How'd your thing yesterday go?"
Rachel makes a face like she's trying to decide if Santana's being shitty, but she must realize that wasn't the intention. "Fine, thanks."
"Look." Santana cuts herself off to pour milk because fuck, she doesn't need another burnt hand. She calls the drink and sets it on the bar, and Rachel smiles politely at the woman who picks up the drink and obviously recognizes her. "Can we talk later?"
"I'll be working late," Rachel answers. Neither of them are keeping their voices down at all, but it's not like they're shouting across the room that they're in a same-sex relationship, and if they were, Santana still thinks everyone else should mind their fucking business. "I'll call you?"
Santana nods and squirts caramel on top of foam for a truly disgusting drink she'd never consume. "Okay."
"Okay." Rachel turns to leave, but then looks over her shoulder and says, "Santana." Once she's got Santana's attention again, she gives this fucking perfect smile and says, "You look terrible."
And Santana goes, "You don't have to be happy about it."
Rachel shrugs her shoulder cutely and slips her sunglasses back over her eyes, which.
Whatever. They're talking.
… … …
She falls asleep, but it's not her fault. Because she was up late last night, then worked all day, then randomly went to Brooklyn with her camera to give herself something to do. Also, it's 11:30 at night, so yeah. She's in bed in underwear and a white tank and she's sleeping and figuring Rachel just got caught up at the theatre, or something, and it's okay. She wasn't mad earlier when she was thinking of it.
Now she's just disoriented as fuck, because she's woken up by the buzzer sounding and it takes her a good forty seconds to figure out what the fuck's going on.
"What. Yeah."
"It's me."
Santana pushes the button to let Rachel into the building before even considering the fact that she's half asleep and not exactly dressed for company, and actually, her apartment is a disaster and she hasn't been around in the last few days to do anything about it. It'd be fine, but she's not a slob and she doesn't like to give anyone reason to think she is. But it's Rachel, who's literally fallen asleep on the floor in Santana's 'living room' at least once, so. Maybe it doesn't matter.
Maybe instead of worrying about the stack of unopened mail on the table she should have found pants. But, you know. She opens the door and Rachel doesn't seem surprised or bothered that this is all Santana's wearing anyway.
"I was going to call."
"It's fine."
Rachel sort of brushes past Santana, but not with any kind of confidence. She just walks in like she's just hoping Santana's not going to ask her to leave. But fuck, if Santana didn't want her here, she wouldn't have buzzed her up, you know? She's not so callous that she wants to see someone's face when she tells them to fuck off.
Okay, fine. So she is. But not Rachel.
"Things just got really crazy today, and then we didn't get out until almost 11:00, and I just thought this was the kind of conversation we should have face to face."
Santana wants to get back into bed, and her apartment is small enough that she can do it without losing sight of Rachel, if the girl doesn't want to come too. So. She slips her legs back beneath the sheets and stays sitting up.
"What conversation's that?" Rachel glares, which is cute, somehow. "I mean. I dunno."
"You asked me if we could talk."
Santana rolls her eyes, then, because fuck. It's not like no one knows what possible topic they'll settle on. "I was breaking the ice."
"Then I showed up at your apartment," Rachel says, hands on hips. Yeah, that's not hot at all.
"And I got into bed and I'm wearing like, nothing. Your move, Berry."
Rachel cracks a smile, though she looks pretty reluctant to do it. She comes over and sits on the bed next to Santana, and looks like she doesn't know what to do with her hands. "I'd say I don't like you, but the whole reason we're dealing with this right now is because I do."
"Yeah."
"I mean…" Okay, and she's off now. Santana knew that if she waited it out, Rachel'd definitely take the floor first. "I accept the fact that you don't want my help, but what I don't accept is the way you treated me for trying."
Santana didn't even really consider that as a thing that would have bothered Rachel, but she's pretty quick to realize she should have. She doesn't know what the hell to say about it. She doesn't want to just apologize and act like Rachel doesn't or shouldn't want to actually talk through her feelings. Rachel's big on that; she's been going to therapy since she was 10 and Santana knows it's important to her. It's something Santana's considered, too, but she can't say she loves the idea of signing up to have someone tell you all the things you're afraid might be true about yourself. Maybe that alone says a lot about her.
"It's actually really hurtful that you think I give a shit about what job you do," Rachel says, and Santana just looks at her. "I just know how badly you want to be a photographer, and how much you love it, and…Half the time you spend complaining about your job, but then the second I try to at least start you towards being able to quit, you act completely indignant and almost protective of it."
"Yeah, well, the fact that you think I need your help the be able to quit pisses me off."
Probably didn't need to be said, but there you have it.
Rachel sighs like Santana's exhausting. "I don't think you need my help, I just wanted to offer it."
"But you didn't offer!" Rachel stares while Santana takes a few seconds to consider how to put this into words without sounding like more of an ungrateful bitch than she already does. "Offering would have been, like, "Hey, Santana, would you be interested in doing this?" Not going behind my back to set it up, and ambushing me the night before."
"Okay, that was wrong of me."
"Thank you."
Because no, Santana doesn't feel like she should be the only one apologizing for something here.
"I misjudged and thought the less time you had to think about it, the more likely you'd be to do it."
Santana nods and puts her hand on Rachel's thigh. She's just wearing these loose sweatpants and she definitely just came straight over here after she was finished working for the day. It makes Santana feel better about all of this, their whole relationship. She feels important to this person who's got all this crazy stuff going on in her life right now. Rachel will find ways to make time for them.
"Look, I'm not saying you can't help me at all," Santana says, because that feels important. Rachel shakes her head like she doesn't believe it, or something. "I just don't wanna like, have you introduce me as your girlfriend to people and then suddenly be around holding a camera."
"I understand," Rachel says, but then she gets this sort of hardened, pissy look on her face. "But this is New York, okay? If you have contacts, you use them, or you'll get nowhere."
"I'm not…"
"You're too talented to not make something of yourself. And if you just squander it because you're stubborn, I'll…I won't forgive you."
Okay, so, laughing is probably wrong? But Rachel's like, a hundred pounds of straight up Broadway star and she's making threats like that, and there's just nothing about it that's not hilarious. Especially when she furrows her brow like she doesn't get why Santana's laughing so hard there're tears in her eyes.
"I'm serious," Rachel whines.
Santana just smiles and wraps her fingers around Rachel's wrist, gives it a tug to pull her closer, and then watches Rachel's mouth. "I know."
"I do want to help you."
"Okay."
Rachel licks her lips, and like. They're done talking, right? This conversation is over.
Only Rachel's still saying words, and Santana should totally still be paying attention, but it's been a while since they kissed and she can't concentrate on anything but the way Rachel's tongue moves when she speaks.
"Are you listening?"
"Yeah," Santana answers, and drags her eyes back up to meet Rachel's.
She looks amused, rather than annoyed, so that's a good thing.
Then she straddles Santana's lap and pushes at her shoulders. That's better.
"What did I just say?" Rachel asks, and Santana'd think she was serious if not for the fact that Rachel's hands are pushing at the bottom of Santana's tank.
"Um. Something about us."
Rachel rolls her eyes and stills her hands, leaves them where they are on Santana's stomach beneath her shirt. "Mhm."
"And like. Photography. Probably."
Rachel grins in this way, and Santana swears she's the only one has ever seen it. "Us and photography," Rachel mutters, leaning down, and god, Santana's so fucking ready for this teasing shit to stop now. Especially after a sentence like that.
Rachel's hands push Santana's shirt up and off, though, and fuck, thank god.
But then she stands up, her feet on either side of Santana's hips, and reaches for Santana's camera where it sits on one of the shelves on the wall.
"Rach." The shutter sounds and Rachel looks far too proud of herself. "Stop. Come here."
Rachel just shakes her head and then pulls the camera back to her and takes another picture. She looks sexy as fuck standing there like that, hips swaying just the slightest bit to some imaginary beat Santana can't help but notice. Her feet move on the mattress and Santana's so not used to being on this side of the lens, but she'd imagine the pictures are going to turn out okay, anyway, because she has this feeling that the way she's looking at Rachel right now is pretty photogenic.
"What if I delete all those?" she asks when Rachel has finally set the camera down again and laid herself out on top of Santana.
Rachel (finally) kisses her and says, "I'll take more," and yeah, okay, there are some threats she can get away with making.
… … …
There's this thing, and it's on a Sunday night, which sucks, because she always works Mondays, and Rachel wasn't sure she'd be 'allowed' (advised to) bring Santana with her to this thing, so it's pretty last minute and Santana can't get the next day off work. She's also scrambling to find a dress. Thank god for Rent The Runway.
And the thing is, she's not going as Rachel's 'date'. She is, okay, but not in a Rachel's Coming Out Party way. She's going as a guest. Rachel's show's been open a while, and yes, of course she went to opening night and people saw her there. And there was one night at this little restaurant in the Village and there was wine and Santana sort of just kissed Rachel in public without even thinking of it. No one saw, and she said at the time that she didn't care if they had. She does care, though, because it's important to Rachel. It's not like she'd be the first bisexual Broadway star or anything, but…Well, Rachel is Broadway's darling, and even Santana can see that an announcement like this could be a huge thing, and Rachel isn't up for it right now, not with her show selling out every night. A few of Rachel's costars, past and present, and a bunch of people in the industry know she's not totally straight, and yeah, Santana thinks that's a risky game, but Rachel's so well-liked that it's not as though anyone's slinging mud at her or anything.
Santana's cool with their relationship being between them, and just their close friends knowing. Rachel's told her dads about Santana, though they haven't all met yet. And there have been a few 'double dates' with Mike and Marley. Things are fine the way they are and Santana's not putting any pressure on anyone to change them.
Anyway. The event is this charity auction, and Rachel said it's semi-formal, which Santana knows means nothing in New York. You dress well or you don't go at all.
So she's standing here in a rented dress, dark purple with long sleeves and ruching and black patent pumps to match the clutch she borrowed from Rachel. She looks fucking hot, obviously, with this dress, and her hair sort of curled, and only diamond studs in her ears. Rachel looks good, too, for sure, but. Well, Santana's seen her in so many expensive dresses that it's less of a thing.
Rachel can't take her eyes off Santana, and there are exactly no complaints from Santana about that.
Santana's on her second glass of champagne, though she's sipping slowly because she refuses to be hungover for work tomorrow, and Rachel's talking to this guy who looks vaguely familiar, then waves Santana over. It's not like she's been hanging back or anything, but no one knows who she even is, so she sometimes doesn't like to butt into conversations.
"Hey," she says to Rachel, then smiles at this guy whose face she honestly can't place.
"Hi," Rachel says, smiling. "This is my girlfriend, Santana. She's an amazing photographer." Santana's sort of struck dumb by everything about that sentence, so she just smiles and white-knuckles her clutch. "This is Robert Gardner. He just opened another restaurant in TriBeCa."
"Oh, yeah. Right. I read that article in the Times," Santana says, and extends her hand as he grins at her. "Nice to meet you."
"Robert was just telling me he's rebranding his entire company." Santana just blinks at him and he's staring right at her. "I mentioned that I know a great photographer, if he was interested."
See, this is still pretty sneaky, but Santana's not mad. This is a legit connection, rather than her being stuck in a roomful of people who think she's just getting work because of who she's sleeping with. Nothing's being handed to her, here, other than Robert's business card. He says she should call him tomorrow to set up a meeting because he'd like to see her portfolio.
The smug grin on Rachel's face as he walks away is annoying and sexy, and the way she keeps her eyes on Santana's as she drains the last of her champagne is…Ugh. Santana's feelings for this girl are out of control and she likes it.
"I bid on a trip to Spain." Santana doesn't say anything as Rachel leans forward so they're talking a little closer, and says, "When I win, I'm taking you with me."
Santana finishes what's left in her glass and really, really hopes Rachel will be ready to leave soon.
They're making out on the stairway in Rachel's apartment when the girl pulls back, breathless, and asks, "You're not mad at me, are you?"
Santana holds onto Rachel's hips and goes, "Do I look mad?"
"No, but…"
"I'm not mad. Thank you. Can you just…God, get your ass up the stairs."
Rachel puts her hand on Santana's shoulder and presses just hard enough that Santana gets the hint and keeps her distance.
"Don't boss me around," Rachel says, but her voice is low and she's practically smouldering, and Santana moans, right before Rachel's laughing and running up the stairs in her bare feet, her heels in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Santana takes her time following, thinking that, yeah, this would make a hell of a picture, actually. Rachel's perfectly framed, right in the centre of the staircase with the light overhead making pretty shadows against her. But no one else gets to see this, and Santana's just so okay with that, too.