Superwoman.

Summary:Santana Lopez.. the name that made you quiver with fear or stumble onto your knees with admiration. Now, after a year, a financial crisis and a lonely, inebriated night; has her time as Superwoman finally run out? (Rating because of Santana's language.)

Disclaimer: I don't own glee, or it's characters.

AN: This is something VERY different to my normal Karomel-esque fic..

But I really hope you enjoy this one anyway! Also Los Angeles and Lima, Ohio are approximately 1,921 miles (or 3,092 kilometers) apart. I checked this, so it is accurate.

Thanks for reading!

XxVi.

-xx- Santana POV -xx-

1,921 miles. That's how far away you are. I wonder if you're having fun being a Lima loser. A year ago we'd be joking about that, huh? It doesn't really say much now. Hell, you're probably doing better than me. I'm still stuck in this dingy Los Angeles nightclub. I don't know how you'd be the more successful of the two of us. I always used to come first. Every time.

"Penn!" I yell over the pumping soundtrack. I shove my intoxicated co-worker with all the animosity I can bother to manage, "Get your drunk ass off my counter!"

"Oh, your counter?" He returns, blinking lazily at me as he lifts his head off the liquor-damaged oak. It could definitely use a polish. I'll probably be forced to perfect it myself later.
"Yes my counter." I purse my lips, I'm not in the mood for his fatuity.

"Just relax, Sanny."

"Don't fucking 'Sanny' me!"

"Sorry. Santana." He rolls his eyes, but there's a smirk on his face that makes me want to slap him.

"Don't apologize." I reply coldly and incredulously, "Just start serving the goddamn drinks."

"On it, sweetheart." Penn pulls a tray of multiple mixed cocktails onto his hand professionally. But the use of his nicknames takes away from any impression he could have made.

"You're lucky you clean up nice." I whisper and catch him send a wink in my direction as he retreats. I grab all the glasses I can balance without stumbling and hastily make my way through the smoky haze. I crinkle my nose at the heat in the room. I'm used to it, it's just never all that pleasant.

"A French 75 for you." I say congenially to a woman who I actually find distasteful and plastic. That's one of the negatives of being stuck in a dead-end job. Especially if rents on the line, long-hours and excruciating labor. I'd be stuck in the club for at least another four hours, and I was running clean up afterwards.. I barely acknowledge the woman when she passes me some cash. I try to smile jovially, but I'm sure it comes out as a snarl. I locate the other customers and serve them in a similar manner. I'm feeling too pissed off and listless to bother and please them tonight. Even if they, most probably, won't even realize if I'm being sincere or acerbic.

I edge slowly back to the counter. There are people yelling orders after me relentlessly and I scrawl them half-heartedly up my arm in permanent marker. I step up behind the counter to begin pouring drinks and notice another worker, Anya, prop herself up on the bar next to me.
"Anything I can take?" She asks in her irritatingly sweet voice. She twirls her auburn shoulder length curls chewing on a pen. "Yeah." I murmur, "Can you take these down to that fugly couple in the leather that should be illegal?"
She looks at me expectantly, "Sure thing". She jumps down onto ground level and proceeds to deliver the drinks.
"Busy, huh?" Penn reappears beside me. He sweeps in to kiss my neck and I scoff.
"Get off." I sigh, "Just because I slept with you doesn't mean you can touch me."

"Sorry." He replies, disheartened, but I don't feel the least bit guilty. He had offered to pay my bills after all.

"And, yes it's busy." I return; narrowing my eyes, "Can't get anything past you."

"You sure are bitchy tonight." He says, and presses a hand on my lips before I can react, "And I mean more then usual."

I slap his hand away, "And?"

"Nothing." He looks amused. I continue diligently mixing alcohols, and Penn watches me. "Shouldn't you be doing something?" I ask him bitterly.

"Anya's got it covered." He mumbles. I shrug, "Not my fault if we get our asses kicked when we close up."

"You need a drink." He says suddenly, thrusting a bottle in my direction. I push the bottle away. "They won't even be able to tell your drunk." He exclaims, "And if they can, they won't care."

"Please." I sigh; giving him a look. I notice him back off a bit, "As if that bothers me. I'm just not in the mood."

"Santana Lopez..not in the mood?" He asks with a look of mock disbelief, "That sure is a bold statement."

"Go die, Penn."