Author notes: Takes place after Christmas episode in season 5.
It dawned on Santana, as she first began to return to a state of semi-consciousness, that as reluctant as she was to open her eyes, when she actually tried to, she couldn't seem to manage. After a few efforts of doing so, she tried to sit up, this also failing miserably when her limbs merely twitched, the movement causing her such immediate and sharp pain through her head and aching through her limbs that she actually moaned aloud.
"Whatttt…"
There was an answering groan in response to her, and her heart began to beat faster as she attempted to place it through still-shut eyes. One eyes managed to slit open with a strange pulling sensation, and through squinted, blurred vision, Santana attempted to process her surroundings. It took her a another several dazed moments for her to realize that she was lying on a thin rug on the floor, beside a bed, which explained the extreme discomfort of her muscles and body, if she had been lying there for any prolonged period of time. Her hair was partly caught in her mouth, which currently tasted rather like a dry sock had been placed inside it, and she was shivering a little occasionally, no doubt from the lack of blankets- there was only a sheet- over her body on the floor. Given that it was late December- the day after Christmas, she remembered slowly- this was rather to be expected.
But what the hell was she doing sleeping on the floor?
"Whatttt," she tried again, her voice sounding foggy and barely audible even to her own ears, and she tried again to sit up by pushing weakly at the floor with one palm. Several tries later she had managed to lean on one elbow, at least partly raised off the floor, but she still had not managed to open her left eye. Starting to panic, she rubbed at it with her fist, realizing too late that she had chosen the fist she had been propping herself up with, and with this thoughtless action her body again crashed back to the ground.
"What…I'm blind! I'm blind in one eye…help, HELP ME I'M BLIND!"
"Santana….it's…I think it's mascara," came another foggy voice from just above her, and Santana's rubbing paused as she sucked in her breath, again unsure and uneasy with just where this voice was coming from. But when an overly pale but very familiar face slowly shifted on the bed just above her, leaning towards her to look down at her, she relaxed marginally. Rachel squinted down at her uncertainly, nodded as though now sure of this diagnosis, then winced, seeming to be suffering from this brief gesture as much as Santana had been from hers.
"Yes, you just…your mascara on your top and bottom eyelashes stuck together and…caked…and that is why…that is why you can't open your eye," she noted with a yawn breaking up her words. Santana noticed even through one eye that Rachel had covered her mouth quickly when she yawned and swallowed hard, as though afraid something else might come up instead, and she mumbled a reaction to herself quickly that didn't seem to be intended for Santana's ears.
" Cake…just speaking about cake really does make me feel quite nauseated…"
"Well get it off! Help me!" Santana demanded, her voice rising to a shriller, near panicked tone. "I can't see…get it off me!"
Rachel made one feeble, half hearted gesture of reaching out towards Santana, but her hand missed, and she didn't lean over enough to even brush her skin. Letting both her hand and most of her body fall back on the bed, she flopped one wrist towards her as though in dismissal.
"I can't, Santana…I might vomit, and I really don't think that would improve your situation. Or I might fall off the bed and onto the floor with you and then it's quite possible I could hurt myself."
"I'll hurt your face if you don't help me," Santana threatened, but this effort of hers was rather underscored by her voice dropping off into a near wail by the end as her lips started to quiver, and she started to rub at her eye again, scrubbing the palm of her hand hard into her eyelid. "Rachel help meeee! I'm BLIND!"
Still not making a move to do so, Rachel blinked down at her, seemingly fascinated by her roommate's predicament as she started to muse aloud.
"Are you going to cry? You know, crying could quite possibly loosen up the mascara and set your eye free. I think the saltwater would also clear up any possible bacteria that could get trapped in your eye from the mascara sitting there for so long. I've heard salt has good cleansing properties. Why don't you try to cry, Santana?"
"I will, when I see how ridiculous you look missing all your teeth and large chunks of your hair!" Santana snapped, but her voice still held the tell-tale hitch that indicated that tears were indeed threatening, and she could feel the open eye growing hot with held back moisture. "I'm telling you right now, if you don't help me, you and your Jewish God better help you if he can find a big enough piece of your mouth to listen to anymore when I'm through with you!"
"Okay, okay…can't you…stand, or…" Rachel made another feeble gesture towards Santana, and Santana tried, with a faint whimper, to inch herself closer to the bed.
Leaning over towards her slightly, just enough so that Santana could smell and gagged in response to the lingering alcohol on her breath, Rachel touched Santana's closed eye, but she was clumsy and jabbed a little harder than necessary, accidentally poking her. Santana screeched, trying to rear back from her but instead simply knocking heads with her.
"OW! You bitch, that hurt!"
"Sorry…hold still…my hands are just a little unsteady, I suppose it was the alcohol, did you know that you could have shaky hands from a hangover?" Rachel mused, as Santana huffed, uninterested in any factual information or personal observations the other girl happened to have on hand in the moment.
"Just DO it!"
"I suppose if I were to use irony to my best advantage here, I would quote you, Santana, and respond with a insinuative smile and say "wanky" in response to that," Rachel replied, but seeing Santana's outraged expression and how quickly her hands flexed in response to this, she hurriedly amended, "But I can see this is clearly not funny to you and obviously impending possible blindness is not a joking matter so I will simply get right on with this since I do enjoy my own unimpeded vision."
"Figures, it takes alcohol to make you up with the funny," Santana sulked to herself as Rachel more gently began to rub at her eye, attempting to massage it open with one finger. When she paused, frowning down at her own finger, Santana started to panic again.
"What?! What?!"
"I think it could help for me to use saliva along your eyelashes, however that is very unsanitary and I certainly wouldn't want-"
"I don't give a shit, I can spit back on you later to repay, just get it open!"
Ten seconds and some spit massaging of her eyelashes later, and Santana's eye had finally been pried open. Breathing out a long sigh of relief, Santana waited until Rachel had flopped back on the bed, seemingly exhausted by the effort of such sustained focus, before making her next demand.
"Help me up…"
"Santana…" Rachel sighed, but when Santana lifted her head and glared at her, huffing out another loud breath, she painstakingly sat up, offering Santana her hand. It took a good minute or two of effort and small yelps of pain from both, but eventually Santana had managed to drag herself and be dragged onto the bed beside Rachel. Collapsing beside her, their shoulders and two legs overlapping slightly, she lay there, catching her breath, eyes closed, before hearing Rachel voicing her first question.
"Why were you on the floor…?"
Santana frowned, not certain she knows this answer herself at first, and tries to comb through her memories to come to a conclusion. Finally as the correct answer, along with a vague accompanying image, comes to mind, she knocks her shoulder into Rachel's accusingly.
"Because you and your hobbit feet kicked me out of it, literally!"
"Oh…" Rachel said faintly, frowning, as the memory of this seemed to come back to her. She continued to regard Santana sideways, her feet resting lightly on the other woman's ankle, before a new thought struck her.
"Why were you in my bed?"
This too was a question that had not occurred to Santana. Brow creasing, she attempted to think back, fighting the increased pulsing at her temples that this provoked, and she even shut her eyes briefly to block out all distracting stimulus in order to aid her memory. However, although no memory came back right away at this effort, one rather disturbing fact did.
"Rachel…where is my underwear?" she asked slowly, a dark suspicion coming over her, and when approximately five seconds later, Rachel's fingertips gingerly hooked hold of a rather small piece of dark purple material beside her pillow, holding it as high above her head and as far from her body as she possibly could manage, her question seemed to be answered in the most terrible way possible.
"Oh…is this it?"
Santana blinked at the thong now dangling from her roommate's fingers, the faint unsettled sensation in her stomach shifting to full-on nausea. She swallowed, her tongue growing pasty as she stared up at it, not wanting to come to any conclusions. Rachel, on the other hand, was now wide-eyed and full of questions, even as the thong continued to swing back and forth from her delicately held grip.
"Santana, was this beside my pillow all night? Is it possible that my hair touched it? That really is incredibly unsanitary, did you know that-"
"Bigger picture here, Berry," Santana cut her off, hearing the hoarseness of her voice and attempting to clear her throat before going on. "Next question. Where is YOUR underwear?"
"What a question, Santana, obviously my underwear is on me, as it is supposed to be, I certainly don't leave MY underwear beside someone's head at night, where they could-" Rachel began with just a hint of self-righteousness in her tone, but this time she cut her own self off as she too became aware of the fact that she was missing a vital piece of clothing. Santana finished for her, lifting an arm with effort to point at a piece of blue cloth patterned with what looked like tiny owls.
"Right, 'cause you prefer to leave it at the foot of the bed by their feet, huh?"
Rachel swallowed again, sucking in a breath and stuttering only slightly as she tried to recover.
"I, I certainly do not know what you're talking about…I have no idea how…"
But she soon gave up the pretense as her eyes met Santana's, mirroring the other girl's stricken expression as the memory began to settle at last into the forefront of her thoughts.
88
Christmas with the stripper had certainly gotten more festive than Santana would have imagined. She hadn't expected to feel anything but amused and perhaps terrified by his routine, and more so by her roommate's gaga reactions to it, but a few drinks had definitely taken away from any disgust or boredom she might have normally felt, and she had found herself laughing, dancing, and singing along with her incredibly dorky roommates and their new Christmas playmate. Unbelievably, she had even found herself clapping and cheering for the guy, and not at all sarcastically. She had let him, Kurt, and Rachel deck her out in jingle bells, and she was fairly sure there was still tinsel stuck in her hair.
She plucked off one piece and threw it at Rachel, giggling, as they stumbled through Rachel's curtained off area of the apartment. Although Santana had her own area to retire to for the night, tonight she was feeling so silly, so playful, and, whether or not she would ever put this in spoken words, so SNUGGLY with her roommate that she didn't even consider going to her own bedroom, at least not yet. Instead, she and Rachel pushed and poked and shoved gleefully at each other all the way to her bedroom, bursting into frequent fits of laughter every time one woman missed touching the other or hit a particularly ticklish spot. Arm wound around Rachel's waist, Rachel's arm wound around her neck, Santana half supported the other girl's weight, barely keeping upright herself before she threw them both onto their backs on the bed, still laughing breathlessly.
"He's gonna DO IT!" Rachel announced, stifling her giggles into Santana's shoulder, one hand clinging to the other girl's arm and her long hair half covering Santana's face as she squeezed her affectionately, her eyes glowing with mirth. "He's gonna do it with a STRIPPER!"
"Hey, look who's talking," Santana snickered back, giving Rachel a poke in the ribs. "Remember Mr. Donkeyface, HEE HAW!"
Although this would have normally provoked a defensive or even melancholy response from Rachel, this time, she just chortled, burying her face even more closely in her neck until Santana's breath caught. Rachel was very warm, very close, and seemed in no hurry to pull away, and despite her amused and intoxicated state- or perhaps because of it- Santana sort of found this to be pretty hot.
"The room is spinning, Santana," Rachel gasped when she had caught her breath a little, pulling back from Santana to lie on her back, eyes open wide as she looked up at the ceiling. "Look at it, it's so awesome!"
Santana snickered, arm still wound around Rachel's waist, and let her head come to rest against the other girl's affectionately as she too followed Rachel's gaze up to the ceiling.
"You're drunk," she announced, as though this were not the case with herself. "Look at you, you're soooo drunk!"
"I am not," Rachel announced, attempting to pout, but this was soon stopped by another giggle even as she tried to maintain a straight face. "I am not…I'm really hot though. It's hot in here. Do you think it's hot in here?"
"It's December, Rachel…December and snowing," Santana continued to giggle even as she let go of her reluctantly, letting Rachel struggle to sit up. "You are sooooo drunk!"
"No I'm not, I'm simply…slightly impaired, but not in a noticeable way," Rachel insisted, even as she struggled to slip out of her sweater, whining slightly at her fumbling and failed efforts. "I think something has happened to my sweater, Santana…"
Rather than offering to help her, Santana simply remained lying on her back on the bed, giggling and grinning up at her as Rachel grew progressively more frustrated. When Rachel ended up with her elbows jutting out somewhere in front of her face, straining the sweater noticeably, as she fought to free her head, she cried out, almost tearful, "Santana, help meeee!"
Pushing herself up to a seated position somewhat reluctantly, Santana reached out and tugged and pulled at the sweater, finally succeeding in removing it. As Rachel was freed, red-faced, her hair mussed and crackling with static electricity, she tried to glare at Santana but was instead pouting. Santana giggled at her again, further mussing up her hair as she blurted out the first words that came to mind.
"You're so cute when you pout like that! Your lips are so ridiculous!"
"I'm…ridiculous? But…I'm cute?" Rachel tilted her head at her, losing the pout immediately as she looked at her with wide-eyed curiosity. "You think I'm cute?"
She seemed genuinely flattered by this comment, her eyes glinting, the said lips twitching into a smile. Santana shrugged one shoulder, giggling again; everything in the world seemed funny to her in the moment, even her own chuckling words.
"Yeah…like, isn't that hilarious? I think you're CUTE…"
She was still giggling to herself when Rachel leaned forward, resting one hand on her thigh for balance, and abruptly covered her lips with hers. Santana didn't react at first, at least not with her lips; as her eyes grew huge, and she sputtered briefly, attempting to draw back, Rachel kissed her one more time before pulling back an inch or two, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Your lips are so SOFT!"
"What was…what was THAT?" Santana stuttered, blinking rapidly, but she didn't make any effort to draw back further or push Rachel away. Rachel just smiled at her, her words entirely casual as she replied.
"You said I was cute…and your lips are shiny!"
When she leaned in to kiss her again, Santana was not quite as unprepared…and to her own bemusement, she found herself kissing her back. Rachel was right…she was cute, and her lips were soft, and…she really sort of seemed to know what she was doing.
For a few more moments the girls' lips moved in gentle rhythm with each other, but when Rachel's tongue slipped out, caressing against Santana's, Santana's hands moved forward to cup her face, a soft moan escaping as she deepened the kiss. Everything else in the world seemed meaningless, not present at all…
Until Rachel destroyed the moment by drawing back, bursting out into hysterical laughter.
Blinking, confused, but more so irritated, Santana pulled back, scowling at her with some hurt as well as amusement. Surely she hadn't been that bad…right? She'd never gotten complaints before, and certainly not that kind of reaction. Even totally drunk, she surely wasn't bad enough at kissing to make RACHEL BERRY laugh at her.
"What the fuck, Rachel?"
For a few seconds Rachel just continued to snicker and snort, not seeming capable of even trying to stop. But then, gasping, she lifted her mirthful eyes to Santana, stammering her responses through continued giggles.
"My ex boyfriend is a hooker…and now I'm…I'm making out with an ex stripper…I'm such a whore!"
For a moment Santana is offended. Thinking of herself as an ex-stripper isn't exactly at the top of her most wanted list, and she would frankly rather forget about that terrible, muddled period of her start in New York City. Being ranked right up there with Brody made the reference that much worse. And the realization that her lips had just touched the same ones that had sucked on Brody's, and possibly his penis too? It was enough to make Santana reel back temporarily, almost gagging.
But even as she started to snap at Rachel, the humor of the situation struck her- as well as how incredibly wrong and hilarious the word "whore" sounded on Rachel's lips, especially in reference to herself. She burst out laughing a few seconds behind Rachel, letting herself collapse under the weight of the hilarity. Soon she and Rachel were half slumped over each other, giggling and shoving, and when Rachel overshot one kick, sending Santana rolling straight off the edge of the bed, even this didn't seem to dim Rachel's near hysteria.
"Oh no…Santana are you- SNORT- are you…hahahahaha…are you all right…"
But for Santana, the hard impact of the wooden floor to her ass and elbow had been a rather sobering experience, at least as far as her humor had gone. All laughter had ceased, and instead her face crumpled, her eyes growing wet and wide before she started to sob, her lowered towards the floor.
"You kicked me out of the BED!" she almost howled, hitting her foot against the floor for emphasis and then giving another loud sob at the pain from the impact. "You kicked me off….you're so mean!"
Now wide-eyed herself, trying to suppress an occasional escaped giggle even as she tried to rearrange her features into an expression of empathy and concern, Rachel reached down for Santana clumsily, patting her head and shoulder, though she missed a few times, in an effort to comfort.
"Oh…oh I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…do you want back up…you can come back!"
"It hurttttt," Santana wailed, letting her body slump down to the floor and slightly beyond Rachel's reach, her head awkwardly half cradled in her arm as she continued to sob. "You kicked me and it hurtttt!"
For the next minute or two the only verbal exchange between the two consisted of Santana's sniffling accusations of Rachel kicking her and hurting her and Rachel's slurred, ineffective apologies. Finally, as Santana remained lying across the floor, Rachel having finally succeeded in stretching her arm enough to touch her, the two settled, with Santana allowing Rachel to pet her head from the side of the bed. There was no effort made on Santana's part to pick herself up, nor on Rachel's part to help pull her back onto the bed. They simply lay there, Santana's back to Rachel, half the sheets now tangled around her on the floor, Rachel petting Santana's hair, and eventually their breathing slowed and evened into sleep.
88
As the memory of this slowly settled over the both of them, Santana and Rachel met each other's eyes, then almost immediately dropped their gaze, their shoulders slumping into identical uncomfortable posture. When both cleared their throats in precise timing with each other, they looked over at each other again furtively, then just as quickly turned their heads, still attempting to deny the memory coming to their minds. For several awkward moments no one spoke. Then Rachel asked tentatively, "So…about last night…after the, the stripper, and the drinking…you, do you…"
"I'm hungover," Santana announced, trying the blow the strand of tinsel and several more strands of her own hair- or was it Rachel's?- off her face and attempting to put as much effort and concentration into that as was humanly possible. "I don't remember shit, Rachel. Nothing at all."
She tried not to look at her, but she couldn't resist looking just enough to notice the enormous relief that came over Rachel's face- just enough to know that the other girl was lying out her ass too as she replied.
"Me either. I really must avoid ever drinking in such vast quantities in the future, Santana, and I really do think that you should too."
"Yeah, yeah," Santana rolled her eyes, attempting to stretch and hearing several vertebrate in her back protest the movement painfully. "You're gonna have to help me up here…someone should probably check in on Strip Club Stud and make sure he didn't blow a brain circuit in the middle of a blow job."
"Santana Lopez, must you be so appallingly crude?" Rachel chastised, but even as she said this, and their eyes briefly met, they skittered away again quickly, and Santana did not take up the reply that could have been so easy to come back with.
But as Rachel got up and helped Santana to her feet with a surprisingly strong grasp, although she still didn't look directly at her, she didn't release Santana's hand either. And as the two of them walked together into the living area and then towards Kurt's room, Santana was pretty sure that the fact that they were still not letting go of each other's grasp had very little to do with needing extra physical support, and much more to do with the fact that for unnamed, unspoken, but not entirely unacknowledged reasons, they simply did not want to.
And there was one unanswered question, one memory that hadn't yet- perhaps by their own stubborn refusal to allow it- come back to mind...how exactly had both of them lost their underwear?
end