So this is a cute little thing that I came up with to get back into writing fan fiction after my summer. Yeah, I'm one of those people who says they're going to spontaneously travel the world and then actually does it. Sorry guys.
Santana's not happy.
"Where are we going again, Rachel?" The friends are walking across to an auditorium at Columbia University, Santana finally giving into Rachel's and the school's pleading just to get them to shut up.
"It's a support meeting, I told you."
"You know, what I actually meant was can we turn around"
See, Santana Lopez is missing a hand from the wrist down. Not much at all, really. But she's on the disabled student roster and so got assigned Rachel, a student note-taker that she doesn't actually need but who won't leave her the heck alone, as well as receiving a billion emails a day about various things she might be interested in. She's not. She likes to ignore her disability as much as she can, thank you very much, and if she can't pretend it's not there (or not not there) then she can damn well try to not let anybody else know. She's not ashamed, not at all, but she has always managed perfectly fine and always despised those people who can manage perfectly fine but want the world to know about their minor handicap anyway. So she doesn't need to go to any disability fayre, and she most certainly does not want to be friends with the people who do. And honestly, what is the perception that disabled people only want to be friends with other disabled people, any way? Suffice to say, Santana has had it up to her perfectly-capable ears with people who think they have some idea about her just because she's missing a hand she never used in the first place.
"No, Santana, we most absolutely can not! This is a meeting for people within the community, so your issues with students will not affect it, and it's discussing coping with real-world problems tonight. I know for a fact that you almost fall over on the subway every day because you're too stubborn to ask for a seat! You're disabled, Santana, whether you want to believe it or not, you are disabled and so you're allowed - heck, you're supposed - to ask for a seat. You need to, you have a physical weakness, it's just a fact. Sometimes you're going to need a little more assistance. Just go for this one meeting, and if you don't like it, feel free to yell expletives at me in Spanish all you want. But I think that being around these successful adults, many of whom have had to be convinced that they both need and are allowed certain special treatment, will be beneficial!" Rachel ranted as they approached and then entered the building. Waving at the student behind a desk clearly the check-in, she left Santana with a humph, letting the door slam.
"Are you going to lecture me on how I should be grateful I can get help I don't want because of a disability most people don't have. 'Cause I'm finding it really hard to be grateful." Santana muttered to the blonde, who handed her a pen to sign in. Or, tried. The girl, rightfully, went with the assumption that most people are right-handed and passed the pen to thin air. "Sorry, I'm left-handed." Santana said, reaching over to take it the left hand.
"No right hand?" the girl asked, spinning the form back around and taking the pen to add some details. "But your handwriting is very neat."
"Well, I've always been left-handed." Santana replied, stood there awkwardly and unsure what to do.
"Born without a hand? Or am I being nosy?" the girl asked again, smiling and scribbling.
Santana, still not sure if she had to stay or where she could go, allowed the small talk "Er, no, but I was left-handed anyway, so it doesn't matter." She smiled as she was given a parcel sticker from the girl with her name written on it, looping.
"Of course it matters! Imagine trying to play the drums or change a tire!" the girl giggled, "I'm Quinn, by the way. And you're Santana. Nice to meet you."
"Great observation skills you got there, Quinn," Santana said as she leant against the desk, "do you know when I can go in?"
"You can go in whenever you want, but nobody's here yet, so you could stay here and tell me where your hand's gone?" Quinn smiled cheerily.
"Sure." Santana smirked back. "In high school, there was this rusty old fence around the football field. I scratched the back of my hand on it, and the school nurse just put one of those massive band-aids on it and said to wash it and stuff. Well, I go to the beach when it's still kinda raw and get sand all up in it. Obviously, I wash the sand out, but I guess it roughed it up because next I know I can't feel the back of my hand. Doc said it was dying and could spread infection to my arm and stuff, chopped it off an inch above the wrist." Quinn scowled a little, a bit surprised and disappointed that the other girl thought her life-changing experience could be written off and dismissed with such a short story. "What about you?" Santana asked in return.
"Oh, no, I'm not an amputee, just a student here." she smiled, and continued "What do you do?", leaning on the desk to be closer to Santana.
"Yeah, I'm a student here, too. They kept emailing me about this stuff and I finally gave up and decided to see what they were like." Santana smirked again, but she was a little confused - did no students come? Why was she pushed here, then?
"Oh, a student. That would make you the first, welcome!" Quinn grinned again, "Hello Peter!" She shouted towards the doors and Santana turned; behind her there was a man in a wheelchair carrying two prosthetic legs with him, and a man in a blazer walking beside him. "Santana Lopez, this is Peter Dawson, a former Marine, and Dr Nathan Rhodes. You might know him as one of the full-time disability support staff?" Quinn trailed off when it was clear that Santana didn't, in fact, know him.
"Ms Lopez, I see we've finally snared you. Very elusive to our efforts of offering to help." He proffered his hand, "I'm Nate, I think I've emailed you a couple dozen times about getting funding and such, specialist student therapy." Though she shook his hand, she didn't respond. "Very well, you're here today, do you want to come in?" Nate motioned to the door but Santana led the way, Nate turning to Quinn with a look of mock 'oh no'. Quinn chuckled at him, and then gave Peter a high five, following the three in to push Peter's wheelchair.