Pezberry Week- Mafia Santana, Burlesque Rachel. I wasn't a huge fan of this prompt so I used those descriptions, but the plot isn't based around them. Taking some liberties, shall we say, with this one. And it's nothing how I imagined it being, I'll let you be the judge if it worked out alright, though.
*0*0*
Neighbourhood Watch
*0*0*
McKinley Row, despite the fact it was actually a cul-de-sac, was a prestigious street in an equally prestigious gated community. It bragged of previous and current inhabitants such as film stars, politicians, music royalty, and the like. However, this once seemingly peaceful neighbourhood was never to be the same again with the arrival of its newest occupant, Santana Lopez.
Santana needed somewhere opulent enough to be on par with her current lifestyle, but quiet enough that no one would ask questions. She needed to lay low and play it safe. The business was changing and she was at risk if she decided to stay in town. So that's how she found herself moving into the last vacant house in said cul-de-sac, and running with the cover story that she was a young lawyer, which was half true, who needed a break from the city, completely true.
The move itself went flawlessly, hiring a nondescript company to help move 'her' things inside, and they were even hired to set everything up so she just had to walk through the doors and all would be in place. It certainly made the moving process less stressful, and given all the additional stress she was under, this came in handy.
Santana would have liked her guys to help her move in, but she knew secrecy was of the upmost importance right then. Her father was changing the game, and not a lot of players were going to be happy. Retribution would be inevitable, but they were not going to take this Mafia Princess down.
Hiding was never her thing, but she'd rather hide than risk her life because someone got pissy, which brings her back to McKinley Row. She'd been in the house approximately two hours before the first leaflet came through the door, and at first she didn't think anything of it. If Santana had known better, like she should have, she would have realised that this little leaflet was going to give her so many problems, it would have been wiser to just up and leave right then and there.
Welcome to a Neighbourhood Watch protected street!
Security and safety is of the upmost importance, and looking after each other is the bond that keeps McKinley Row close. To join in our Neighbourhood Watch programme, and to meet your neighbours, pop along to our meetings on Wednesday night, at Mr. & Mrs. Fabray-Anderson's, starting at seven o'clock sharp!
The details of where Mr. & Mrs. Fabray-Anderson lived were on the bottom, and Santana clocked that they were her neighbours on the right. Frowning, she crumpled the leaflet and shoved it in the bin, hoping that would be the last of it.
It wasn't.
Spending majority of her day putting her personal items away and applying extra security measures to the house, something she most likely didn't need but felt safer having, Santana finally stopped for a rest around three in the afternoon. It was a Friday, and she really wasn't expecting visitors, but the doorbell rang and she fought a groan.
This was going to be her first chance for a first impression. She needed to get this right, play her part well, leaving no room for questions and curiosities, but without being rude and blunt. She needed to be the type of person everyone liked but no one bothered to disturb, and that was going to be hard to pull off with her natural abrasive attitude. However, she had no option but to give it a go.
Opening the door with a friendly smile in place, Santana saw a blonde woman, immaculately dressed in a floral skirt and plain blouse, with a white cardigan over top, and a basket of muffins in hand. An actual basked of muffins.
Suburbia was fucking strange.
"Hi there, I'm Quinn Fabray-Anderson, your neighbour on the right. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood and give you these," the blonde smiled sweetly, handing Santana said basket of muffins.
"Thanks. I'm Santana Cruz. Do you…want to come in?" That was the hospitable thing to do, right? Jesus, this felt wrong. Her instincts told her to shut the door on everyone's face, but the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself.
"I'd love to, but I'm afraid I have to pick my daughter up from a play date. Maybe we could properly introduce ourselves on this upcoming Wednesday evening. Did you get the Neighbourhood Watch leaflet? My husband was meant to put it through your door. Here's another, anyway. We really hope to see you there."
"Right...yeah. Thank you." Accepting the leaflet without argument, Santana continued to nod along with what Quinn was saying. She seemed very fifties housewife.
"Alrighty then, have a lovely evening, and we'll see you on Wednesday at seven o'clock." Giving her a wave, Quinn stepped away and walked back over to her house, leaving Santana dumbfounded.
She hadn't actually said she'd go, right? No, she was sure she hadn't said she was going.
Shutting the door with a sigh, she also gave herself a mental pat on the back for remembering to use her cover name. Buying a house under the name Santana Lopez would easily set off red flags if anyone was looking for her, so instead she was running with a new identification, one she had never tried out before.
The passport and driver's license located upstairs in the safe all read Rosario S. Cruz. She was going by her 'middle' name for introductions as it was much easier to keep track, and it wasn't an alias anyone had linked with her.
However, Santana Lopez's mind was screaming at her for not telling Quinn Fabray-Anderson –what a horrible double-barrelled surname – that she wasn't going to attend their neighbourhood watch meeting. The last thing she needed was people watching the streets and keeping an eye on her house, and she certainly wasn't going to be doing the same for them.
She came here to lay low, and that's exactly what she was going to do.
Throwing the second leaflet in the bin on her way to the kitchen, Santana pushed all thoughts of her neighbours from her thoughts and wondered as to what her family was up to in the city without her. She couldn't call them and ask, it wasn't safe to do so, but she could damn well think about them.
And she did, as she made a meal for one, with mind-numbing television on in the background, and a gun strapped underneath the dining room table just in case.
She'd be out of McKinley Row soon. She just had to be patient.
*0*0*
Three nights later, Santana realised one major flaw with her new house. Given its location in the cul-de-sac, the house on her left had a phenomenal view inside her house. The angle of the buildings meant that the Fabray-Anderson's on the right couldn't really see anything thanks to the fencing and trees, but as the houses were on an upward incline towards the middle of the street, Santana could see in theirs, and the house on her left could see into hers.
Granted, she could see into a few of the downstairs rooms with a pretty awesome view, but they could see into all of the rooms on that side of the house. Unless Santana left all the curtains shut in her kitchen, dining room, bedroom, the spare bedroom she had converted into a gym, and the upstairs bathroom, they could see directly into her house. This was not what she had in mind when she moved.
It shouldn't have bothered her, it really shouldn't, but then she was walking from her bedroom to the gym in her sports bra and shorts one morning, and she felt eyes on her. Years living with the constant threat of someone coming up behind you or moving out from the shadows to harm you made one increasingly more aware, so Santana knew instantly that she was being watched.
It didn't take her long to find the eyes on her.
The large glass windows, far too modern for this style of house, made it almost impossible to be hidden, and directly across from her was a very similar looking window, showing the entirety of that room to her. It looked like a dance studio, mirrors covering the walls, and bars placed about. It had to have been the master bedroom because it was much bigger than Santana's simple spare and she knew most of these houses were built the same.
But it wasn't the room itself that had her looking, it was the woman watching her. Short, brunette, wearing a tight skin fitting leotard, chest heaving, hair wild, she watched Santana stand in place, watching her.
The woman broke eye contact first, and spun round to grab a water bottle off the table in the room. Santana didn't want to be a creeper, so she turned her music on, and began stretching out on the floor. This didn't mean her eyes didn't stray every now and then, and when they did, she found herself taking shaky breaths, throwing her rhythm completely, and licking her lips.
This woman was a dancer, a fucking sensual dancer. She was doing God only knows what, but Santana was fixated on it. She should have looked away, she should have avoided staring, but the way this woman moved her hips, ran her hands over her body, it was sinful.
Moving out of that stretch and into another, Santana tried to shake her head clear of what was going on next door. It didn't work, which wasn't surprising, and the next time she looked over, the woman was ready to catch her red-handed. She winked, a small smirk gracing her features, and Santana just about landed on her ass.
She practically ran from the room after that.
What was she doing? What the hell was she doing?
This was her neighbour, one she had never met, and one she was going to be living next to for God only knows how long. She couldn't act like a peeping tom. It was like playing with fire, when yes, it really was just innocent flirting by the looks of it, but it had the potential to go so wrong.
The 9mm strapped under her dining room table, as well as the one tucked in her bedside table, the one hooked behind the pipes in the downstairs bathroom, and the shotgun hidden in the coat closet, all screamed that she had to be smart about her moves here.
This wasn't some vacation and holiday. This was wartime. By now, there was probably already a significant body count racking up, and some of her friends would be dead, so no. Innocently flirting and eye fucking the neighbour was not a smart idea.
And to stay alive, she needed to stay smart.
*0*0*
Alright, so maybe Santana could be smart as well as play with fire. Really, all she had to do was make sure no one got burned, and that was easy. They were in different houses, there was distance between them, and they hadn't even met. All they had was sultry looks, and provocative stretches and dances. It was nothing but a bit of fun.
And alright, Santana enjoyed the woman licking her lips while watching as she stretched, and maybe she liked the way the woman's hands caressed her body as she looked right at Santana. It was some twisted form of foreplay, and it felt like a sensual dance they were going through. Santana still didn't know who the hell the woman was, but frankly, she didn't care. This was better than knowing, she was certain of that.
She'd had her fair share of hook ups over the years, and she knew from first-hand experience that with her family history, it was safer for all to be as detached as possible. Names weren't important when you had one night and one night only.
Yes, it was a dangerous game she was playing, and she knew that, but she hadn't had time to meet with her regular back in the city before she had to leave, and the attention was like some sort of aphrodisiac. She really needed to get laid, but hooking up with her hot neighbour did not sound like a good idea at all.
Flirting with her every morning via workout and dance routines but never meeting? That was a good idea. That kept everyone safe, and there was to be no complications.
Of course, Santana hadn't planned on what would happen when she did meet her neighbour, and really, she knew better than to be unprepared.
It was a Tuesday night, and Santana had to take out the trash and recycling for the following morning. She spent a few minutes trying to work out how the hell the recycling bins worked at the end of her drive, and referencing Quinn's guide sheet for help, before she realised she wasn't alone. Standing about ten feet from her was her hot neighbour, the one who she had been fantasizing about all day.
That morning she had been treated to what had been the most erotic dance she'd ever witnessed, and it felt like the woman was performing just for her, that it was all for her. That's exactly what the dance was meant to make her think, but she was happy to pretend otherwise. It had been like watching live soft-core porn.
So seeing the woman who had teased and aroused her to no end, standing ten feet away from her, left Santana a bit shocked. The Mafia Princess of before was nowhere to be seen.
"Can I help you?" Santana asked, seeing the woman's curios look and being momentarily mesmerised by the bottom lip biting that she was doing.
"No, I don't think so," she finally answered, shaking her head and giving Santana a soft smile. She almost made to turn, but Santana, for whatever reason she wasn't sure, wanted to keep her there for just a bit longer.
She was playing with fire and looking to get burned.
"You're a dancer?" she asked, swallowing her nerves, the acknowledgement of their visual sessions in the morning possibly being too much to say aloud.
"Maybe." It was coy, and she shrugged her shoulder, giving a cute smile back, taking another step down her path, towards her house. Once more, Santana opened her mouth.
"I can see you, in my house, I can see you." God, that was the stupidest thing to say. She already knew Santana could see her, she had seen how she watched her.
"I know, I can see you," she replied over her shoulder.
"So you have been looking?" Yes, Santana was pretty sure that this woman did enjoy watching her stretch out, but maybe she was only watching because Santana was watching her. Did that even make sense? It did in Santana's head, and that's all that mattered.
"Merely admiring the décor."
"Uh huh." Santana couldn't help but smirk, and said smirk was rewarded when the woman headed back towards her.
"I'm Rachel, Rachel Berry," she said, holding out her hand for Santana to shake.
"Santana," she replied, her hand slipping into Rachel's, tightening her grip slightly and then pulling back, her fingers lingering on the softness of her palm. Any touch, big or small, was so much more than what Santana ever expected, and by now she was dousing herself in lighter fluid to set herself alight.
"You going to the neighbourhood watch meeting, Santana?" God, she liked the way her name rolled off Rachel's tongue. She needed to hear that again.
"I don't know, should I?" Yes, she was wondering if Rachel would make an appearance. If so, she'd probably go, because hello, any excuse to hang out with this woman seemed like a good one.
"If living here has taught me anything, it's that it's not the close bonds that keep McKinley Row close, it's the secrets," she answered cryptically, stepping back once more.
"What does that mean?"
Her answer made Santana uneasy, a nervous flitter in her stomach and fear begin to creep up her spine. She had a hell of a lot of secrets that needed to stay hidden, and if she had just moved into a neighbourhood where everyone was into everyone else's business, she was going to have a bigger problem on her hands.
"Give it a week, you'll see," Rachel parted with, giving her a knowing smile and wandered back up her front drive, shutting the door behind her without a second glance.
Santana stood rooted to the spot in her driveway, unsure what exactly that meant, and about how worried she should be. Glancing round the rest of the street, she caught at least three curtains twitching and sight of two people at their windows. She didn't know them yet, but they had clearly been watching her.
Finishing up with the recycling quickly, she stormed up her drive and into her house, locking the door behind her and moving round the rest of the house to shut all curtains and blinds. Rachel's words seemed like a warning of sorts, and one she wasn't going to ignore. She might have been fine messing about with this flirtation between them, but she was not going to risk her personal safety.
She had to remember why she was there, safety first.
*0*0*
Santana thought Rachel was being weird and dramatic that night outside, but actually, she didn't have to wait a week to see what she was talking about. The other inhabitants of McKinley Row were big curtain twitchers, and they looked to be keeping an eye on everything. When she went out for groceries and essentials, at least four people saw her and nodded in greeting. While innocent enough on the surface, Santana knew exactly what they were doing, because when she came back, the minute her trunk opened, she saw them back, staring out their windows or coming out to look at their lawns.
They were watchers, and no doubt gossipers.
To tackle the situation head on, to calm any rumours that might be running around that she'd want under control, Santana decided it was best to go to the Neighbourhood Watch meeting that Wednesday night. She arrived, a little bit early for the seven o'clock start, and was introduced to everyone else in the street.
The only one not there was Rachel.
Rosario Santana Cruz worked her charm, gave the cover story she was running with to the right members of the group, and by the end of the night everyone there knew who she was, why she had moved, what she was planning on doing, and about her 'family'. It was all very believable, and it felt like enough for Santana to simply walk away and not come back.
That wasn't happening, however.
"Same again next week everyone!" Quinn called, waving everyone goodnight afterwards. "Santana, as the newest member you should know that we all bring a dish every week, so next time you need to do that. There are no vegetarians or vegans, so feel free to make whatever you want. See you then!"
The door was closed, and she was stuck with being in charge of what to bring for the next meeting. That wasn't what she wanted, and while she could have said no, there was an undercurrent involved that just told her that if she refused to attend, the oh so friendly neighbours would turn on her. She needed them on side, so she was going to have to go.
And she did.
The following week, she went and brought a dish, and had to sit through their 'official' meeting, and oh good lord, she wanted to shoot herself in the face. It was awful. They were awful. What the fuck kind of neighbourhood had she moved into? And why the fuck was Rachel not enduring this with her?
Stewing over those thoughts the following night, she was standing in her kitchen, washing her dishes, when she saw the familiar face of Rachel move past her window. She then reappeared, giving Santana a soft smile and a wave. Returning both, Santana succeeded in launching bubbles all over the place and looking like an idiot, but Rachel didn't seem bothered in the least, chuckling to herself as she watched.
Rachel held up her finger to signal one moment and then dashed out of view, allowing Santana time to stop looking like an idiot and wipe the bubbles off herself, feeling her cheeks heat up in what was an attempted blush. Thank God, ethnic people couldn't really blush.
Coming back into view, Rachel was holding a bottle of wine, two wine glasses and raised her eyebrows in question. Her look was completely neutral, no lustful look whatsoever, and she hadn't undone the top buttons on her shirt, but Santana stalled, which was not missed.
Holding her finger up again, Rachel placed the wine and glasses down and disappeared again. What was she up to? And really, was Santana losing her mind? Even if Rachel wanted her to come over and finish what they started every morning, why was she turning this down?
It's not like it had to be anything serious. It's not like Rachel needed to know who she was. It's not like anyone would ever find out. No one knew where she was. Rachel would be safe. She was safe. What was the problem?
Mentally preparing herself to just go on over, regardless of the consequences, gave Rachel enough time to return, holding up a piece of paper. Black marker stood out against the light, and Santana had to narrow her eyes to read what it said.
Totally innocent drinks?
Smiling, relief flooding her system at not having to complicate things, Santana nodded and walked away from the window, drying her hands on a dishtowel as she wandered out of the kitchen and grabbed her shoes. After slipping them on, she grabbed another bottle of wine, because one never went to someone else's house empty handed, and then her keys and was out the door without three minutes.
Rachel's door was partially open when she walked up the drive, which allowed her to slip inside, and shut it was a little bang, calling out her presence.
"Thanks for inviting me over," she called, kicking her shoes off at the door and making her way through the house. The layout was exactly the same downstairs, which helped, and she found Rachel in the kitchen.
"You're welcome. I wanted to see how you were doing, welcome you to the neighbourhood, catch up," she said easily, smiling like this was nothing. And maybe it was nothing, maybe Santana was being foolish by making it everything. "So how have you been?" Rachel asked, licking her lips as she worked the cork out the bottle and poured the wine.
"Good," she replied, captivated by the sight of the woman in front of her. Maybe they could be friends. Santana could always use more friends. Maybe the fantasies would die down once they were friends. "Yourself?"
"Good." Rachel smirked, having caught Santana's wandering eyes, and handed her a wine glass. "Cheers."
"Cheers." The glasses clinked together, and both took a small sip, eyes locked as they did so, and it took Santana clearing her throat to break the gaze. They were definitely not going to be just friends, then.
Reaching out, Rachel didn't hesitate to take Santana's hand and bring her into the living room where they both curled up on the couch, facing each other. She began rambling off questions and easing the tension in the air, dispelling all sexual thoughts Santana had playing at the back of her mind, and with each glass of wine, and each passing hour, conversation became easy and enjoyable.
Rachel somehow had an ability to make Santana forget about Rosario S. Cruz and her perfectly crafted cover story, and on occasion throughout the night she had to backtrack and clarify things as slyly as possible to keep her story straight. It was a little confusing, and maybe she shouldn't have had so many glasses of wine, but the comfortable environment and this woman who hadn't lost interest yet was making it impossible to stop being open about parts of herself.
This wasn't someone who was scared of her reputation and family. This wasn't someone who even knew about her father's business and her family, the mafia connections riddled through it, and the name and brand they ran under. This wasn't someone who was wearing a wire to catch her on a lie or crime and use her against her brothers and sisters. This wasn't someone out to get her. This was a gorgeous, charming, woman who genuinely seemed interested in whatever connection was running between them.
Maybe Santana wasn't playing with fire whatsoever, maybe this was just what she needed.
"So, have you gone to any of the neighbourhood watch meetings?" Rachel asked, pulling Santana from her thoughts.
"I've been to both meetings since being here, and it was fucking crazy. Did I step into some Stepford wives bullshit?" Rachel snorted at Santana's question and shook her head.
"You'll get used to it, but yeah, don't go to the Neighbourhood Watch meetings. That's my advice."
"I have to, Quinn wants me to bring lasagne for the next one. I can't ditch on that, she knows where I live!" Rachel laughed and seemed to enjoy her freak out, before growing serious.
"Quinn is…I actually think she's a psychopath, so maybe you shouldn't skip out on it," she mused aloud, making Santana frown. She might have been around many dangerous people her whole life, but even then, she wasn't prepared for some crazy Stepford wife. That was not Santana's area of expertise.
"You have to come with me," she pleaded, forgetting about her own rule to never beg, she needed to in this circumstance.
"What? No."
"Yes, you have to," she repeated, absolutely desperate.
"I can't!"
"Why? Cancel your plans-"
"No, Santana, I can't. I got kicked out," Rachel explained.
"You got kicked out of the neighbourhood watch group? How the fuck does someone get kicked out of the neighbourhood watch group?" Really, she wanted to know how she could get kicked out of the Neighbourhood Watch group.
"They…they found out what I do for a living, and they elected to boot me out," she answered, shrugging one shoulder.
"What…what do you do for a living? You know, if you don't mind me asking." Where this tact was coming from, Santana had no clue. She usually didn't care about being blunt and coming off rude, but this was Rachel, and although she had only just met the woman properly, it felt like she'd known her a hell of a lot longer.
"I'm a burlesque dancer. Apparently, it's not appropriate for a burlesque dancer to hang around Congressmen and future Governors-"
"Whoa, who?"
The fact that Rachel was a burlesque dancer didn't surprise Santana in the least. Those interactions they had every morning with one another hinted at skill of a dancer, and the teasing ability of a performer. Burlesque actually made a lot of sense. What didn't make sense was who the fuck the Congressman and Governors were. No one had told her that when she was at the meetings.
"Congressman Burt Hummel lives in the neighbourhood. You will have met his wife, Carole, his step-son, Finn, and his son, Kurt. And Blaine Anderson, or Fabray-Anderson, I'm still unsure on what their names are. He's not Governor yet, but they're practically raising him to take office when he's got a few more years on him."
"He's like twelve years old." Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration; he was married with a kid, so he wasn't twelve, but whatever.
"He has a lot of rich friends, and he's liberal enough for people to love him. He's making friends in high places and one day he will likely be Governor, or in some kind of office."
"Jesus, and his wife is perfect enough to help him out in that." She had to file this information away for later, it might come in handy.
"Yep."
"So, you guys are creating politicians in the neighbourhood, anything else I should know? What other dirty secrets are kicking about?" she joked, and Rachel gave her a small smile, but there was an uneasiness to her that Santana needed to work out. Had she said something wrong?
"You're not bothered in the least by my profession?" Rachel asked, biting her lip and stroking the stalk of her wineglass.
"What, that you're a burlesque dancer? Have you not noticed how appreciative I am in the mornings? I'm not bothered in the least. And why would I care? It's none of my business." Rachel sent her a thankful smile and Santana felt like she'd just done something right.
"I don't know what it is, but you don't fit in here, and there's something off," Rachel said, making Santana's chest squeeze in fear. She didn't know anything, but that look, the look she was giving her implied she might try and find out.
When they broke eye contact, Rachel moved onto an easier subject, and eventually they agreed it was time to say goodnight. There was a comfort, a knowledge about the other they seemed to have, and the hug goodbye was warm and everything Santana needed it to be. It was like being welcomed back in the arms of a loved one, and she revelled in it for as long as it lasted.
When it was over, she saw herself out , and for the rest of the night, she tried to ignore the rush of excitement her body got when replaying the evening over in her head. She tried to ignore what was going on in her heart and head, and just focus on the reality of the situation. She was attracted to her neighbour, that she could admit, but this silly idea of a crush was ridiculous.
It needed to be locked away and ignored for the rest of her stay in McKinley Row.
*0*0*
Lounging in her backyard some days later, actually making use of it for once, Santana was reading some trashy magazine and enjoying the feel of her feet in the pool. It was rather relaxing, and it was warm enough out to enjoy the heat despite the sun having set an hour or so before. She was content just to sit there and soak up the peace and quiet, something she had sorely missed since living in the city, but it was then ruined.
"How could you?!" Blaine yelled, making her lift her head quickly. She wasn't aware until now that she could hear into the Fabray-Anderson's backyard, but apparently she could.
"Me?! Me? What about you? Are you out of your fucking mind, Blaine? He's in high school!" Quinn called back, sounding closer, and then there was the sound of someone getting up and walking towards the house.
"He's eighteen, Quinn. He's not some cougar hunting sleaze. You could have at least picked someone with a little class." Blaine's retort was full of venom and Santana sat completely gobsmacked.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was meant to be trolling the school playground for my next fuck." Who knew Quinnie had it in her to swear? That was some unexpected shit, but then again, so was this whole conversation.
"Dammit, Quinn! It's not like that!"
"To hell it isn't!"
The backdoor slammed, and their voices continued yelling inside, but Santana could no longer hear them. What the fuck had she just overheard?
Without wasting a second, she was up off the deck and into her kitchen. Grabbing a good bottle of wine, she grabbed her keys and locked the door on the way out, before dashing over to Rachel's.
"What do I owe for this pleasure?" she said, opening the door with a smile, clearly happy to see Santana on her doorstep.
"You know all the secrets in this neighbourhood, but I want to know if you're aware of this one," she said, fighting her smirk. This sounded like juicy gossip, and if there was anyone who could help her out with it, that would be Rachel. There was no way her warning that night by the bins had been cryptic on purpose; Rachel knew McKinley Row's secrets, and now Santana had some to share.
"What secret is that?" Of course she had caught Rachel's attention, and it was then she was let inside to start on the bottle of wine she'd brought.
Santana wasted no time spilling the news, going over what she'd heard, though she wasn't quite sure on the details because a lot of it didn't make sense to her, but Rachel's eyes lit up at several moments, and she had this little grin that said she knew exactly what was going on.
"You already knew," Santana ended with, shaking her head and chuckling as they sat on Rachel's count, knees touching, facing one another.
"What?" Rachel tried to play innocent, but it wasn't working.
"You knew Blaine was screwing men, and I think you know who his high school boy is."
"I've had my suspicions," she let on, shrugging her shoulders as if it was nothing.
"How?"
"I'm close with Kurt, and the way that boy blushes about him, one would think there was something going on." She raised her eyebrows at Santana and nodded to confirm that yes, Kurt and Blaine were currently screwing around.
"This is sick."
"This is suburbia."
"I thought this shit just went down on TV shows." Rachel chuckled and shook her head, allowing Santana a chance to guzzle her wine.
"Nope. It's really as crazy as they make it out to be."
Rachel was right, of course, and as Santana continued to live there, that's exactly what she saw. She still felt a little uneasy about just going over to Rachel's for the sake of going, and there was no way she could invite the woman into her house, so it felt like she needed a reason to visit.
Living next to Quinn, though, turned out to be like a gold-mine, as that woman loved to gossip on the phone with God only knows who, and Santana usually heard it when Quinn retreated into the garden to give her husband some peace. Nothing more had been mentioned of their argument, sadly, but usually Santana heard some pretty interesting things.
Ten minutes after Quinn had hung up the phone, Santana would be at Rachel's door, bottle in hand, and ready to share the news.
"April Rhodes is drinking again!"
"Sue Sylvester's going to have a baby!"
"Finn Hudson is perving on you, so for god's sake woman, shut your blinds at night!"
"Quinn and Puck were arguing and I have no clue what about! Do you know?"
And that's how their routine began. Sharing secrets about the neighbours and gossiping about all the dirty laundry everyone seemed to have was a damn good bonding experience for them.
In the weeks that followed, Santana continued her ruse within the neighbourhood, and kept up those nights with Rachel, but no longer needed an excuse to see her. They ended up seeing each other three or four nights a week instead of just the one, and it extended to not just drinking wine together but actually having dinner, and spending quality time together. It was a strange little friendship, riddled with mutual attraction for the other, but Santana knew Rachel could feel the barriers she'd built up to keep people out, and for that reason alone, nothing was going to happen.
Even a simple kiss would spiral them off into an unknown that wasn't going to be good for either of them.
But as hard as they tried, more and more parts of themselves eked out into the open. New confessions and secrets were being shared, and if it wasn't for the backstory Santana had to keep reminding herself of, she would have probably told Rachel her actual name by now, which screamed all types of wrong.
Just because she was keeping parts of herself locked up, though, didn't mean Rachel was doing the same, as Santana came to realise. They'd had dinner, Rachel cooked, and then spent the night in front of the television. Sometime between a rerun of Friends and some Syfy movie neither of them were interested in, Rachel amended something she'd said weeks ago.
"I didn't get kicked out of the Neighbourhood Watch group because of my profession," Rachel announced, taking a sip of her wine, allowing Santana's brain to catch up with what she'd just said.
"Hmm?" she murmured, wondering if she'd heard wrong.
"Quinn kissed me, and I turned her down." That…well, that took Santana by surprise, and she was sure her face said as much.
"What?" she questioned, reaching over for the handset and pressing pause. No way were they going to have this discussion with the damn TV on in the background.
"Quinn kissed me. It was about three years ago now, just before she announced her pregnancy, but she kissed me. I…she was 'happily' married, I wasn't going there. Anyway, she was the only one that knew about what I did for a living. I told the others I was a dancer with studios and things like that, which was true, but I didn't tell them most of my revenue comes from Burlesque clubs, and that I was the main act. We were friends, and I told her, and it was stupid. She kissed me and when I turned her down, she told everyone what I did for a living and had me kicked from the group," Rachel said, looking hurt and distant as she spoke.
Santana didn't like it one bit. For starters, she wanted to go and kick Quinn's rich white ass for doing that to Rachel. What the fuck? How could she?
"Let me guess, she didn't speak to you again, either?" Santana asked, feeling the blood boiling inside her, awakening her good friend Snix.
"She avoids me like the plague, and her word rules in this neighbourhood, so everyone else falls in line. You're the only person she hasn't poisoned yet." Rachel gave Santana a wistful smile and then shook her head with a shrug of her shoulders, as if she was expecting Santana to walk away, too.
"Please, if only she knew the skeletons in my closet, she'd be chasing me out of town with an angry mob." It was the truth, more than what she'd ever wanted to admit, but it was out there, and Rachel only gave her a comforting look, not one of fear. So maybe it wasn't all bad.
"Care to share?" she asked, her hand reaching out across the distance between them and landing on Santana's knee. Rachel's thumb caressed the side of it, her eyes unwavering in their gaze, and Santana had to fight to remember that she couldn't give herself to this woman.
"Safer if I don't," she finally replied, her hand landing on top of Rachel's to give it a gentle squeeze.
Rachel nodded, as if finally seeing something she hadn't clocked before, and gave Santana a soft smile in return. It was enough to calm the nerves raging in Santana, and enough to put Snix back in her cage. God, the power this woman had on her, Santana didn't even want to think about that.
"I'm glad you moved in. I've missed having someone to talk to."
"And leer at," she quipped, reaching out to hit play on the handset, giving them background noise again. The serious moment was over.
"I do not leer," Rachel replied, defending herself.
"You were totally leering this morning." Santana smirked at the memory, loving every moment of it.
"Your ass did look good in those shorts." That had her chuckling and licking her lips.
"Thanks, I figured you'd think them."
"Tease," Rachel murmured, shaking her head with a smile.
"Perv."
"Flirt."
"I do enjoy a good flirt," Santana confessed, eyeing the woman next to her closely.
"With no intention of following through?" Rachel asked, suddenly growing interested in where this conversation was going.
"Maybe one day." That was the hope, that was secretly the hope for Santana.
"I look forward to it," she replied, biting her bottom lip and eyeing up Santana's.
"You should, I'm hot stuff." It was enough to break the tension once more, and for that she was thankful. Kissing Rachel would lead to chaos, and probably amazing sex but that was not to happen. Not to happen, Santana, not to happen.
"Modest too," Rachel joked, rolling her eyes at her neighbour's antics, and tucking herself into the corner of the couch to enjoy the rest of the movie they had been ignoring.
Only when it was time to say goodnight, did Rachel revert back to being serious. She just needed to explain a little bit more, and this felt like the right time to do it. At the door, just before opening it for all the neighbourhood to see, Rachel tugged on Santana's sleeve to get her attention.
"I didn't want to lie to you, so I had to come clean. I know it was only about how I was kicked out of Neighbourhood Watch, however, I felt it best to come clean to you. Whatever this is between us, I'm interested, but I know you still have to lie to me. I don't know why, but I get it. So, don't worry, as long as you're not married with kids or whatever, I'm interested, whenever you are."
And there is was, Rachel was laying it all out on the line for her. Whenever she was ready, Rachel was willing. How come this had to happen there and then when she had to lie and fib about who she was? Why couldn't this have happened when Santana could have been honest?
"Not married, no kids," she said, wanting Rachel to know she was available if she ever became ready.
"Good to hear."
"I wish…" The words were cut off before Santana had a chance to finish the thought. She wanted this, she wanted Rachel, but she was living a lie and how could she fall in love with a woman that would only ever know half-truths about her. That wasn't fair.
"Don't. It's okay, I just needed you to know where I stood." Leaning over, she kissed Santana on the cheek, and then opened the door for her before allowing her a chance to reply. With curtains twitching and Finn Hudson at his family's trashcans, Santana had no choice but to give Rachel a wave goodbye and walk on over to her house.
Nothing more could be said on the matter with the neighbourhood watching.
*0*0*
Two nights later, and no additional conversation with Rachel about what she'd said, Santana found herself sprawled out on her couch wondering what she needed to do. The ball was in her court. She had the option to move forward or stay standing still. Rachel wasn't pressuring her to do anything, wasn't asking questions about her past, or even pushing to find out more. It was now all up to Santana to choose whether they remained friends like they were, or if they moved onto the next part of the relationship, the part they'd been teasing with since their first ever encounter.
The phone ringing on the coffee table had her shaking her head clear and sitting up straight. This was her emergency contact phone. Only three people had the number, and all them knew exactly who they were getting on the other end. No calls for Rosario Cruz, no misdialled calls, only serious and to the point conversations about the life she'd had to temporarily leave behind.
"Hello," Santana answered, her heart already beating wildly in her chest and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Depending who was on the line, this was either a good call or a fucking awful call.
"Hi, it's Dave." And just like that, her shoulders dropped and she took a sigh in relief.
"Dave, hey, how are things? Everything alright? I thought I would have heard from you all by now." The silence technically was a good thing, but it had it's bad side to it. They wouldn't call if it wasn't safe, and if it wasn't safe, her family was at risk. Nothing could ease those fears.
"It was safer not to reach out," Dave explained, reaffirming her thoughts, and immediately sending Santana's brain into a tailspin.
"So what's the news? What's going on? Everyone okay?" The lead weight in her stomach was telling her something was wrong, that she wasn't going to like whatever news Dave had called to share, and she needed to know if she was getting a call because she needed to attend a funeral, or because someone had found out where she was.
"You can come home," he replied, his voice easy and relaxed. "Your father and uncle agreed that it was safe for you to make your return and everything's died down enough now. We've already sent for a car to pick you up tomorrow morning, and you'll be back with us tomorrow night. Your guys are going to be driving, so you've got nothing to worry about. The family is looking forward to seeing you," he finished, and Santana could hear the smile in his voice.
"I'm coming home," she said, trying the words out on her tongue. They didn't taste as good as she would have liked them to.
"Yep. I think your mother's going to host a party in honour of your return, as well."
"Tomorrow morning?" she repeated, sounding a little shocked as it was so soon.
"Yeah, they should be there around eight a.m. but if you want me to push it back-" Dave trailed off, only to have her interrupt him.
"No, that's fine. I'll…I'll get my things together. What's going to happen to the house?" she asked, realising that she had grown fond of the property. Maybe it had something to do with the big windows on the left side of the house that allowed her attractive neighbour to see in and be seen.
"It's yours, so what do you want to do with it?" Dave questioned, sounding unfazed by her question. It was at that point Santana was thankful he had called instead of someone else. Dave always thought of her choices and options when it came to making decisions about her life, and he didn't go over her head with them. It was everyone else who did.
"Keep it, we'll leave it as it is for now, just in case." Just in case she ever wanted to come back. Just in case.
"Okay, I'll call the movers and get things put in storage."
"Thanks, Dave. And you've been keeping safe?" Dave wasn't a member of the family, but he was like a big brother to Santana, having been around them long enough to know of the business and what needed to be done in a crisis.
"Still in one piece," he joked, trying to lighten the situation.
"Good." At least that was one less person to worry about. Tomorrow, she'd get the full list of what friends she lost and when they were buried. But not tonight, not over the phone.
"So, I'll see you tomorrow night. Stay safe until then," Dave said, ending the call.
"Bye." Hanging up the phone, Santana dropped her head into her hands and sighed. So, the universe had just told her what she was meant to do, no need for deliberation after all, and certainly no need for goodbyes.
By this time tomorrow she would be out of McKinley Row and back in the real world. It would be easier for everyone involved. It would be better for Rachel. It would be better for all of them.
Shaking her head, she got up off the couch and began packing. Curious eyes through the kitchen window told her all she needed to know when she caught Rachel looking. It wasn't a look of surprise on her face, however, it was one of resignation, as if she had seen this coming.
Goodbyes were definitely not needed, then.
*0*0*
Arriving back in the city, she was escorted to her family's house to catch up with everyone, and get the details of what's been happening. There wasn't as big a bloodbath as her father expected, and things had calmed enough the police weren't sniffing about.
So Santana should have been thankful she was back. She could now return to her normal life. She could get on with things where she left off, and there was no playing a part or hiding her dirty secrets. She was free to do whatever the hell she wanted. So why, then, did her chest ache whenever she thought of the woman she never got to say goodbye to?
She had done the right thing. There was no reason saying goodbye because it would only lead to questions with answers she couldn't give, and there was nothing to be said. All she had to do was keep reminding herself of that fact.
*0*0*
Two weeks later, and no reminder was big enough to stop her from grabbing a couple of her guys, calling the movers to put her storage items back in the house, and having her drive all the way back up to McKinley Row.
She'd tried. She had tried to move on with her life without the hot neighbour next door and her burlesque routines arousing her every morning during her workout. She had tried to gossip with friends and catch up by drinking wine and watching crappy movies with them. She had tried to forget all about Rachel Berry, but it was useless.
Santana had allowed herself to lead a normal life up in McKinley Row, and a part of her missed it. With a voicemail for her father saying she was moving back there and that logistics could be worked out if need be, she resigned herself to the fact that this was where she was meant to be. And standing outside Rachel's door felt more like home than what she'd felt back in her family home surrounded by her relatives, blood and otherwise.
All she need now was the woman on the other side of the door to forgive her for making the worst mistake yet, walking away from her. Santana was finally ready to try. She didn't need to be dragged into her father's lifestyle. She didn't need to continue the Lopez traditions. She wanted normality, and yes, being with a Burlesque dancer wasn't normal, but for a Mafia Princess, maybe it was.
The Mafia Princess and a Burlesque Dancer, how fitting. All she needed now was said dancer to forgive her.
*0*0*