Santana had never really considered the irony of the fact that she loved being a nurse, but didn't really like people. Growing up with both parents in the medical profession, she'd just always thought she'd end up working in a hospital or a doctor's office too. Her current boss, Dr. Marley Rose, was young and pretty and super nice, the rest of the staff was similarly young and pretty and nice as well, and the office where they worked was neat and clean and mercifully air-conditioned during the sometimes hellishly hot New York City summer. All things considered, it wasn't the worst way to make a living.
But today had just not been her day. Patients had been, well, impatient - it wasn't her fault that the girls in the office had unintentionally overbooked the frantic Dr. Rose, who was doing her best to make sure that everyone with an appointment would be seen - and unhappy, and therefore in bad moods. Those bad moods had been absorbed by Santana, who was usually able to let such things slide right off her. Not today, though; no, today they'd gotten to her, and that unfortunate circumstance had manifested itself in some less than stellar work on her part. She'd actually had to apologize to several patients for painful blood draws, when she was normally so sure-handed that they never felt so much as the slightest pinch, and she didn't know which was worse - doing less than her best work, or having to apologize for it.
For her part, Dr. Rose had been her usual understanding self, which had made her feel a little better as she'd walked along the several blocks it took to get to the subway station. But then, as she'd gotten onto the train platform, some clueless moron in the crush of people waiting for the train had bumped into her, spilling his drink all over her coat, making her smell like some kind of damned citrus tree. Her nose had wrinkled all the way home, and she was pretty sure no one else on he crowded train had enjoyed it any more than she had.
By the time she finally made it home to the apartment she shared with Rachel, she was exhausted and aggravated and just about ready to cry - which was not something she normally did without the assistance of alcohol. As she entered the apartment, she found a note on the kitchen table from Rachel, letting her know that she was meeting with her agent about something or other, and would be home as soon as she could. Most of the time, Santana didn't begrudge Rachel the time she needed to take to further her Broadway career; the drive and desire with which the petite singer pursued her dream was something Santana really admired. They'd learned to work around the vagaries of Rachel's schedule, just as they'd worked around Santana's long hours of schooling and training, and their relationship had only grown stronger as they'd dealt with whatever difficulties that arose.
But tonight? Tonight she really needed some cuddles - and Rachel wasn't here to provide them. And that really sucked.
Santana flung her coat onto the recliner, and herself onto the couch, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other. It was Friday night, and Dr. Rose's office was closed on weekends, so she was free to do as she pleased. And what she pleased right now was to drink this wine and get pleasantly buzzed while she waited for Rachel to come home.
An hour later, she was passed out, not even a third of the way towards being buzzed, as exhaustion claimed her. She didn't hear the door open and close, nor did she hear the faint "aww" that escaped Rachel's lips when she saw her girlfriend sprawled out on the couch, the wine bottle and glass on the coffee table, and some weird reality show on the big flat-screen TV. Whenever she encountered Santana this way, she knew her girlfriend had had a bad day, and her heart clenched with affection for the girl who spent her days helping people even as she claimed to dislike nearly all of them. Rachel knew the truth: Santana had a big, soft heart under her tough, wisecracking exterior, and she just didn't want people to see how much she truly cared.
She lay her coat gently atop Santana's discarded coat, wondering at the slightly citrus-y scent in the air, and then lifted Santana off the couch with surprising strength, carrying her all the way into the bedroom, depositing her gently onto the mattress. Santana stirred, finally, opening her eyes to see Rachel's warm eyes and gentle smile, as the other girl leaned down to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.
"Hello, Santana," Rachel said, mirth edging around the corners of her voice. "Thank you for not drinking that entire bottle of wine."
Santana blinked in confusion. "Baby? When - when did you get home?"
"Just a few minutes ago. I'd ask you how your day was, but I think I already know."
"Then you also know what I need right now," Santana replied plaintively, ignoring the implication in Rachel's words. "Please?"
Rachel nodded and climbed onto the bed, positioning herself behind her slightly taller girlfriend, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist, pressing her front against the other woman's back.
"Mmm ... that's better." Santana sighed in contentment, happy to feel Rachel's arms around her at last, reveling in the warmth and comfort of her embrace. "Hey - how did that meeting go with your agent?"
Rachel's breath was warm on her shoulder, tickling her skin as she spoke. "Oh, we don't have to talk about that now," she said. "It's cuddle time."
"Yes we do," Santana responded, shifting in her girlfriend's arms, unable to get enough of Rachel's soothing touch. "Come on, spill. I can tell when you're trying to avoid telling me something. So what is it?"
Rachel pressed a kiss to the back of Santana's neck, eliciting a shudder of pleasure from her. "Well, if you're sure ..."
"Yes, yes! I'm sure. Now tell me, before I turn around and tickle you."
Rachel laughed against her skin, her lips soft and gentle on her flesh. "You wouldn't! You promised, after what happened last time."
"Fine, then. I won't tickle you. I'll just start singing Despacito at the top of my lungs until you agree to tell me whatever you're holding back."
"You can be truly evil sometimes, Santana Lopez."
"Never claimed otherwise," Santana said, grinning triumphantly, knowing that Rachel knew that was exactly what she was doing even though she couldn't see her. "So what's going on?"
"Well...first, let me say that I'm very sorry you had a bad day, and that I wasn't here to cuddle you when you got home. I'm assuming that strange smell in the living room has something to do with it?"
"Yeah - some idiot on the train platform spilled his soda or Gatorade or whatever all over me. But I don't want to talk about that - I want to talk about you, and whatever you had to see your agent about."
"All right - I'll tell you. But you have to swear not to tell anyone - no one at work, not Brittany or Quinn or anybody else. OK? Swear you won't say anything."
Santana turned over to face her girlfriend, finding her smiling, her eyes sparkling. "I swear, I swear already! What is it, this deep, dark secret? Tell me, tell me!"
"I'm going to be on television, Santana. I'm going to be on TV!" Rachel squealed, laughing while Santana's eyes widened in disbelief. "Can you believe it?"
"Oh my God - Rachel, that's amazing!" Santana took Rachel's face in her hands and kissed her soundly, smiling all the while. "I'm so proud of you!" Suddenly her bad day was forgotten, and they spent the rest of the night talking about the future, and how both their lives were about to change for the better, possibly forever.