A/N: Not all my readers are on Tumblr, so I figured I should upload a few of my one-shots that I've kept on there. This one is canon compatible through 4x15. No spoilers for 4x16 and beyond.
Enjoy!
Santana banged on the bathroom door, holding her hand so her nails wouldn't dig into her palm.
"Berry!" she barked. "What are you doing in there, laying an egg?"
Rachel flung the door open and glared at her. "Straightening my hair," she hissed.
Santana crossed her arms. "Well hurry up, Bat Mitzvah Barbie, 'cause we have a date."
Rachel scowled in objection. "It doesn't work like that, Santana."
Santana smirked. "Sure."
Rachel huffed and turned back to the mirror, picking up her straightening iron. Santana watched her, noting the way her brow set in angry determination.
"Is straightening your hair that difficult?" Santana taunted.
Rachel's scowl grew deeper and Santana knew that it was merely an attempt to get Santana to leave. Rachel might be learning a thing or two from Santana after all; being mean usually did make people go away.
Santana made herself comfortable against the door frame and watched in amusement as Rachel tried to keep up the charade of being angry.
"Do you need something?" Rachel finally asked, unable to withstand the silence.
Santana smiled, dropping all pretense of animosity. "You're pretty good with that thing," she said, tilting her chin toward the straightening iron.
Rachel eyed her in suspicion. No one got compliments from Santana that didn't come with a price tag. But she couldn't ask Santana what she wanted without sounding accusatory, so she just muttered, "Thanks."
"Kurt teach you?"
"Uh huh."
Santana watched as Rachel tried to negotiate straightening the hair on the backside of her her head. After a moment she stepped forward and Rachel almost ducked in fear as Santana took the straightening iron out of her hand.
"Here," Santana murmured. "Let me get the back." She worked for a moment before adding, "We seriously need to do something about the lack of adequate mirrors in this apartment. How are we supposed to do the back of our hair?"
Rachel was still stiff, but she'd dropped most of her defenses. "Kurt said it's bad Feng Shui. We'll just," she took a moment to swallow, "Have to be each others' eyes for the time being."
Santana nodded, rotating her wrist so the ends of Rachel's hair curved into magazine-photo-shoot perfection.
Rachel couldn't resist muttering, "Although I guess with you snooping through everything, you'll be eyes for everyone and everything."
Santana bit back a retort, willing Rachel to continue her descent into calmness. She knew the soothing power of a well-placed insult and didn't want to deprive Rachel of that satisfaction.
When Santana finished, she combed through the back of Rachel's hair with her fingers for a few moments, trying not to let her jealousy take over. She had to admit, Rachel did have nice hair. And it just grew out of her head for free.
When Rachel's hair had cooled, Santana remembered why she'd come into the bathroom. She swallowed and used her gentlest voice, which took a lot of effort these days. "Kurt and Brody are gone for a little while," she said. "Something about a mixed martial arts demonstration? Although I'm not sure why Kurt agreed to set foot near something like that. Maybe it was all the oiled man-chest."
Rachel's eyes fluttered to the floor and she let out a silent laugh.
Santana ran her fingers through Rachel's hair one last time and let her hand come to rest gently on the small of Rachel's back.
"I made breakfast." It was the closest she'd come to asking Rachel to eat with her.
"What did you make?" Rachel asked, eyes widening.
Santana was a notoriously bad cook, and after the smoke alarm went off the first three times Santana had used the stove, Kurt had forbidden her from using it.
"Toast," Santana said. "Risky, I know, but… I figured I needed to challenge myself."
Rachel smiled in relief. "Sounds good."
They walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table that was overrun with produce and playing cards and poorly bound scripts with lines highlighted in them. Santana felt awkward, sitting across from Rachel so formally like this, like she was on a date with a girl she had agreed to go out with just to get her friends to shut up. Rachel seemed to think it was awkward too, because she avoided eye contact, burrowing herself in her food, letting her hair fall in a silk curtain around her face.
After a few minutes of awkward chewing, Santana pulled the pamphlet out of her pocket. She didn't know how to introduce it. Sorry you got knocked up? This is the best I could do? I'm here for you? Nothing seemed right. Either it was too casual or too dramatic, and since she knew that the role of resident drama queen would not be portrayed by her save for sporadic camoes, she opted to silently slide the pamphlet across the table.
Rachel looked up, then froze.
On the cover of the pamphlet was the hazy outline of a pregnant torso, with the words Your Three Options: Dealing With An Unplanned Pregnancy printed over it.
Rachel bit her lip and Santana looked at her intently, gauging her reaction.
Rachel's eyes flickered up to Santana, and Santana couldn't tell if she was angry or scared or both. So she reached over and opened the pamphlet, letting it fall into its three-fold form.
Parenting
Adoption
Abortion
As she read the words and watched Rachel's eyes skim the paragraphs that followed, she realized how foreboding all three options were. If it were her in Rachel's position, she would pick up the pamphlet and turn it over, hoping the back had an option for None of the Above. She wished she could give Rachel that option. But she'd already read the pamphlet over twice — checking to make sure the language was neutral — and knew that the back only held the number for the American Pregnancy Association.
Rachel's face stayed unreadable, so Santana started talking, using the voice she usually reserved for Brittany. "Whatever you decide is okay," she said. "I'm not here to tell you what's right or wrong or damaging to someone else's psyche. And I'm not going to ask who's it is."
Rachel frowned in offense, but the look faded when she realized it was reasonable to think it could be someone besides Brody's. Santana wasn't judging her.
"Have you thought about it?" Santana asked.
"It's kind of hard not to think about," Rachel grumbled, ashamed.
Santana nodded, trying to imagine. But it was impossible. Even after seeing what Quinn had gone through, she couldn't imagine. She paused before saying, "I'm not going to ask if you're leaning in one direction and why. But I will say that I want you to make this decision for you. Not for your dads, not for me and Kurt, not for Brody, not for Finn…"
Rachel's face screwed up with the beginning of tears and Santana knew she'd hit a nerve. She backed off. "I just want you to make it for you." She studied Rachel's face as it smoothed out again. "Okay?"
Rachel took in a shaky breath and looked down at the pamphlet. She nodded. "Okay."
Santana could see Rachel was using every ounce of effort to fight off tears. She supposed it was going to be this way for awhile, and she should figure out what worked best to comfort her. "Do you want a hug?" she asked. It was so cheesy, she rolled her eyes at herself, grateful Rachel was looking at the pamphlet again.
Rachel sniffled and said in a tiny voice, "Yeah."
Feeling heavy with the sadness of her friend, Santana got up from her chair and crouched beside Rachel, opening her arms for Rachel to burrow into her shoulder.
And because it was all she knew to say, she said again, "It'll be okay."