Title: Every nowhere has a different name
Author: thedisassociation
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Author's note: I owe the biggest thanks possible to Sonja (tiny-sized) for typing this up for me because I probably never would have done it myself. You're my favorite.
Summary: Santana finds something unexpected in the middle of nowhere. AU.
The first thing Santana noticed was that this diner was exactly like every other diner she'd been in. There weren't very many genuine diners left, the wasteland of middle America mostly dotted with Waffle Houses and fast food places attached to truck stops; but every once in a while, standing almost alone in a town so small that it might as well have not even been called a town, Santana would find a diner. And damned if every single one didn't look exactly the same. Simple white tile would adorn the floor and a row of booths would rest along a wall of windows. The cheap pleather, usually either a neutral color like light blue or a daring bright red, would groan as someone sat down in any given booth.
They were all the same, and for some reason, Santana loved it. Even with hundreds of miles between them and none of the forced identicality of franchise burger places, every one of the diners managed to match every other one. It was a small comfort.
The bell above the door rang softly as Santana pushed her way inside, surveying the scene. This place opted for the typical blue seats and white tile, giving it a more sterile feel than it really possessed.
The waitress behind the bar was pouring coffee into the cup of the middle-aged man sitting in front of her. So far, this diner in the middle of nowhere was no different than all the other diners in all the other nowheres she had been.
And then the waitress smiled at her, a real smile that lit up her entire face. That was new. The most she usually got from these waitresses was the kind of ambivalence that could only come from a hopeless existence in, well, nowhere. It was no life at all. Sometimes, she would find a waitress who felt something, who was still holding on to something, and it would give her hope that maybe they weren't all fucked. But it was never enough for them to -
Santana stopped her thoughts, shrugged to herself, and took a seat in a booth.
The waitress quickly strode around the counter and as she walked across the diner, Santana took a moment to look at her, easily finding the curve of her hips under the unflattering blue uniform smock she wore. The waitress had bright brown eyes and an easy smile as she stopped at Santana's table, bouncing up on the balls of her feet. She was young, probably around Santana's age, and old, the way Santana felt. It was the look in her eyes and the slight downward curve of her lips when she stopped smiling just long enough to speak.
Santana blinked, realizing she'd missed what was said. "Huh?"
"I asked you how you were doing,'' the waitress said.
Santana looked at the nametag the waitress wore. Rachel. "Fine," she said. This was the part where she was supposed to ask Rachel how she was doing and then say something funny, perhaps a bit snarky, and they would bond over mutual loves and spend the rest of their time smiling and laughing. She would be so sweet that Santana would need to take her out in the morning for breakfast after they broke each others' hearts. Brittany.
Instead, she said nothing.
Rachel's smile wavered for only a moment, the kind of moment where Santana could see her age and loss, and then she carried on. "Good. So what can I get you?"
"Just a coffee."
Rachel nodded and moved away, returning after a moment with a white mug. She set it down in front of Santana, still smiling. "Let me know if you need anything else."
Santana nodded and Rachel took the dismissal for what it was.
Rachel moved back behind the counter, her white shoes noiseless against the linoleum. Santana watched her hum to herself as she wiped the countertops, sometimes pausing to chat with the man seated there.
Santana appreciated the familiar scene, one acted out at every other diner she'd stopped at, and took a few sips of her coffee. This diner had more singing than the others she'd been to.
Eventually she pulled her only travel companion out of her purse – half of a map of the United States. It started at the borders between the Dakotas and Minnesota and split the rest of country based on how straight Santana could tear it, which wasn't very. The map's other half was tucked safely in her glove compartment.
Just as she managed to smooth her map out over her table, Rachel came over, one hand wrapped around the handle of a coffee pot that looked like it had been that diner since the 80's. She silently refilled Santana's white mug, smiling as she did so. She must have sensed Santana's want for silence, which was strong.
"Hey, waitress, hold up." Apparently not as strong as her need to talk to attractive waitresses.
Rachel looked positively giddy. "Yes? And you can call me Rachel."
Crap.
Santana resisted the urge to snap back something about how she could read but didn't care enough to bother with the girl's name. It would just lead to more conversation. They would probably argue – Rachel looked feisty - and Santana would love how fired they got and end up taking her roughly in the women's restroom, twice. Quinn.
Rachel was looking at her expectantly and Santana pulled out a pen and pointed to the map, which was dotted with points from Illinois down to Louisiana and back up to Kentucky.
Santana gestured towards the map in front of her. "So, where are we? Have I hit Pennsylvania yet?"
She felt Rachel lean down and look at the map over her shoulder, the scent of her perfume hitting Santana softly. Rachel's arm rested against the back of the booth, practically wrapped around Santana's shoulders. "You don't know where you are?" she asked. "You didn't read the signs?"
Santana shrugged and leaned forward. pulling away from the warmth of Rachel's arm behind her. "Not really. It all starts to look the same after a while," she said honestly.
Rachem hummed a quiet "hmm" and Santana tried not to look at her. If she turned her head, they would be close, so close that Santana could easily close the distance between them and kiss what would no doubt be soft lips. The waitress would be flustered but she would like it enough to lean down and kiss Santana on her own. They would kiss a few times and that would be it. It would be enough for Santana to ask but not enough for the waitress to agree. Tina.
"I'm afraid that you haven't quite made it that far," Rachel said and distracted, Santana turned to look at her.
Santana's eyes darted down to Rachel's lips automatically before she looked back at her map, heavy black dots tracing a pattern across part of the eastern United States, marking all of the little nowheres Santana had found and then left. Some of them held memories - a Tina or a Quinn or a Brittany - but most of them were meaningless to her.
"So, where am I?" she asked.
Rachel leaned down, her front now pressing against Santana's back. Her fingers brushed over the map, lightly following the path of black dots until she stopped somewhere in eastern Ohio, close to the border. "You're about right here," she said. "Not quite to Dayton yet." Rachel's finger kept moving westward as a she spoke, stopping at Dayton and then moving northward. "That's Lima," she went on. "My hometown."
Santana nodded and drew a small black circle along I-70 where Rachel indicated. "What are you doing out here then?" she wondered idly.
"There was nothing in Lima," Rachel said simply.
Santana raised her head, looking around them at the small diner in the small town in the small nowhere. She didn't need to say it; they both knew what she meant. There's nothing here, either.
"What about you? Where are you going?"
"I don't know yet," Santana said before she could stop herself. "I figured that when I got somewhere worth being, I'd know it," she added. It was honest, more honest than the answers she usually gave, and she scowled, hating Rachel's large brown eyes and full lips for catching her off guard.
Rachel was silent for a moment, turning again to stare at the map before them. "Haven't found it yet?"
"What do you think?" Santana asked harshly. Rachel looked hurt at how quickly Santana had seemingly turned against her and sighed, walking back towards the counter without a word. "Can I get a slice of cherry pie?" she called to Rachel's retreating back, rolling her eyes at her own actions. She didn't even like pie. Rachel smiled at her from behind the counter and nodded, seemingly appeased. Santana didn't like pie, but she liked that smile, small and open and forgiving.
Rachel returned quickly, setting a plate down next to Santana's coffee. A perfectly triangular slice of pie sat in the center of the plate and Santana wondered how long Rachel spent measuring and remeasuring pie slice lengths. It seemed, from Santana's limited interaction with Rachel, like something she'd do.
Santana pushed the pie away. She was more of a cupcake kind of girl. "So where are you going?" she asked. "Or whatever," she added, trying to look like she didn't care.
Rachel looked at her curiously.
"Well, I mean you made it this far out of –," she checked the map again, "Lima. Where are you headed?"
"Do you care?"
"No," Santana said immediately. "Or maybe. Whatever. Just answer the question," she scowled. There were doing it – they were bonding. And Santana had initiated it.
Rachel seemed to consider her for a moment before a wide smile spread across her face. "Well if you're really curious, I am bound for Broadway. I'm an outstanding performer," she gushed. "With the habit of blowing the biggest audition of my life and having no money," she added quickly.
"So you're like, a singer?"
"No, I'm performer," Rachel said brightly.
"Right," Santana nodded slowly, wondering why she had bothered asking in the first place. She downed the rest of her coffee in two quick sips and held the cup out to Rachel. "Why don't you perform your way to the counter and get me some more coffee?"
Rachel took her cup with a wry smile and an eyeroll. Santana watched her walk away and caught herself licking her lips; it was those legs. Even in that smock of a dress, Rachel still had amazingly long legs.
"I've known I wanted to be on Broadway since before I could even walk," Rachel said when she reached the table. She handed Santana a fresh mug of coffee. "It's my dream."
"Then why are you here?"
"I told you: I messed – "
"Bullshit," Santana interrupted.
"Excuse me?"
Santana rolled her eyes. "I don't believe you," she clarified.
"Not that I have to justify myself to you, but I can assure you that it's all true," Rachel said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Maybe. But they're excuses," Santana said, scoffing. "Lame ones."
"And what's yours?" Rachel shot back instantly. She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Do you always pick fights with people who are trying to be nice to you?"
Santana practically snorted. This hobbit of a Broadway reject was going to call her on her crap? That wasn't even true, she told herself. "I don't need your niceness. Or your pie," she added, gesturing to the plate in front of her and flicking her wrist towards the counter.
Rachel threw her hands up in the air and then grabbed Santana's uneaten pie before stomping away.
Santana didn't watch her go, choosing to scowl and pull out her phone instead. "No messages," she muttered. "Finally."
She checked the time. It was nearly four. She looked up when another plate was slid in front of her.
"You look like more of a cookie girl," Rachel explained simply. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't look unkind, either. She seemed to be regarding Santana in a way that unnerved her.
"Cupcakes," Santana replied. "But cookies are good, too," she added.
Rachel nodded absently. "Now that you've had the chance to properly ridicule me, I think it's only fair that I get to return the favor," she stated. "What's your dream?"
Santana pulled a few napkins from the holder on her table. "I don't have one."
"Bullshit," Rachel threw her words back at her.
Santana shrugged. "Believe me or don't," she said. "I really don't care." She wrapped the cookie in a napkins and slid it into her purse.
"Bullshit," Rachel said again. Her eyes were narrowed slightly and her lips were parted. The tips of Rachel's tongue darted out, moistening her lips quickly.
It was one of the most distracting things Santana had ever seen. She took a deep breath and folded her map carefully, placing it it in her bag with the cookie. "Whatever. You don't even know me."
"I think I know you better than you think I do," Rachel said. "You're not original," she continued, not unkindly. "You think you are. But you're not. Your story? The whole drifter-without-direction-and-manners mystique you think you own? It comes in here all the time."
Of course it does, Santana thought, because nothing in these places is original. Except maybe Rachel.
Santana said nothing in response, throwing a few bills down on the table and grabbing her purse. She slid out of the booth and moved around Rachel, heading for the door. "I'm Santana," she called out, turning her head briefly to look at Rachel before walking out. This was it, she knew. This diner had been a different experience - something in Rachel inspired both annoyance and attraction - but Santana felt like it was right in the end.
The next time the diner door opened, Rachel stepped outside, a light sweater covering the top half of her uniform and a purse draped over her shoulder.
Santana checked her phone. Four thirty, just like she figured. It was the usual end of a day shift. She stood up from the curb she had been sitting on and turned towards Rachel, waiting for her to look up from her purse.
Santana tried to wait patiently, but Rachel was taking too long to dig in her purse for her keys and Santana cleared her throat. Rachel came to a stop right in front of her, looking up at her with the same wide eyes that had seen right through her bullshit.
Santana would ask and Rachel would say no, just like all the others. Or maybe Rachel would surprise her and say yes. She had to at least ask; she always did.
"So listen," Santana started. "I've been thinking and I figure that like, maybe I should be in New York."
Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
Santana took a step closer, telling herself she wasn't relieved that Rachel didn't try to move away. "Come with me."
"You're joking," Rachel said quietly, pulling her sweater tighter around her body.
"No, I'm not," Santana met Rachel's quiet tone with one of strength. "Come with me to New York."
Rachel regarded her silently for a long moment. "Why?" she asked.
Santana looked around them, shrugging her shoulders at the empty parking lot surrounded by a whole lot of nothing, a whole lot of nowhere. "Your dream might die out here," Santana replied. "And I care," she added, shrugging. "And maybe I don't have a dream and New York is probably a good place to get one."
It was the most honest Santana had ever been in her life.
Rachel bit her lip, looking at Santana with an unreadable expression. "I –" she paused for a long moment. "Okay," she finally said. "Okay," she repeated.
Santana couldn't help the huge grin that spread over her face. "Really?"
Rachel nodded, looking just as surprised at herself as Santana was. "Really," she nodded.
Santana felt Rachel's arms around her before she realized what was happening. They were hugging and even worse, Santana was enjoying it. She even went so far as to return Rachel's hug, wrapping her arms around Rachel and pulling her a bit closer.
When they separated and Rachel looked at her with those brown eyes and the same kind smile she'd greeted Santana with earlier, she knew she hadn't made a mistake. They were the same – her and Rachel – a little lost but with enough fire to get them somewhere. For Rachel, it was a few towns over; for Santana, it was a few hundred miles, but they at least weren't where they started.
The moment was too serious. There was too much soft understanding eye contact and too many lingering brushes of hands against waists and hips. "I promise not to kill you in your sleep," Santana quipped.
"That's good to know," Rachel grinned back at her.
Santana led the way to her car, pulling Rachel by the hand before she could stop herself and asking where Rachel lived. "So you don't have to wear that stupid uniform anymore," she explained.
When they arrived, Rachel would invite her in, kiss her, ask her about tomorrow. And Santana would kiss her back and make promises that she wouldn't keep.
But Rachel didn't invite her in. Instead, she went into her apartment and returned quickly with a duffel bag, her waitress uniform replaced by a simple skirt and sweater.
And Santana didn't bother making any promises. She just drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the seat, held gently in the hand of the woman sitting next to her.