Title: Santana Vs. Teen Jesus (aka You're my Hero)
Author: Alex Gold (Ryzlin)
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Quinn/Santana, hints of one-sided Quinn/Joe and past Brittany/Quinn/Santana fun times.
Rating: Teen for swearing, angry rants and brief mentions of 'boy parts'.
Warnings: Probable screwing up of information about hospitals, treatments, volunteering at hospitals and laws.
Spoilers: Season three
Summery: Santana did not expect to see that when she went to visit Quinn during her physical therapy session.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. This saddens me.
Not that Santana would actually admit it, but she enjoyed her volunteer work at the hospital.
Particularly when she got to wear the candy striper costume, and even more so when she got to take it home. Quinn loved that costume, more for it's authenticity than anything else. Quinn was weirdly strict about role-playing. Everything had to be completely authentic. Which was why the 'candy striper' outfit (Quinn called it the candy stripper outfit, which was pretty accurate seeing as it had been brought from a sex shop) that Santana had worn to school for the expressed purpose to give Finn mono had only been worn that one time. Now it sat at the back of her wardrobe. She should probably get around to selling it or something. Maybe Brittany would like it.
Her father, Dr. Lopez had gotten her into it after she had complained about not seeing him as much after he became chief of surgery. So, here she was, three years later, still wandering through the hospital wards on her route. She as primarily assigned to visiting patients after her first year in which the hospital discovered that Santana had a way with grumpy old men and could be a real charmer when it came to children. Dr. Lopez had been very surprised. Happy, but surprised.
Santana's volunteering normally took up most of her afternoon, mainly because of the two hours she'd spend chatting and playing chess with Mr. Simmons. Mr. Simmons was sick, really, really sick. Since she had started her candy striper work, there had only been about seven weeks in which she hadn't spent sometime with the man. He enjoyed her sarcastic commentary and quick wit.
But Mr. Simmons was also quick witted and had noticed that Santana wasn't really concentrating. She had admitted that her girlfriend was currently going through physical therapy, and that she was worried. Mr. Simmons had forced her to leave to visit Quinn even though Quinn had insisted that Santana wasn't allowed at physical therapy with her (Santana still couldn't figure out why). He knew a lot about Santana and her life, which meant he knew a lot about Quinn.
So Mr. Simmons was the reason why Santana was hurrying down the hospital corridors towards the physical therapy room. She already knew which room Quinn was scheduled to use (the receptionist may or may not think her and Quinn were the cutest couple in existence, and they both got special treatment) so she gently eased the door open, hoping to not distract either Quinn or her therapist. Not to mention the other people using the room. That all went out the window the moment she saw Quinn.
There was Quinn and Dreadlocks in a completely inappropriate position, and … did he have a boner? Seriously? Almost without thought, Santana pulled out her phone and took a picture. The fake shutter snapping made Dreadlocks and the other people using the room look towards her. There were several waves and 'hellos' all of which Santana ignored. She was far too absorbed in the situation before her.
"What are you doing here?" He said with a slight squeak to his voice when she moved towards them.
"What am I doing here? I fucking volunteer. I have permission to be here. That's my girlfriend you have your dirty caveman paws on. The real question is what the fuck are you doing here?"
"Quinn asked me to come. She wanted support at her physical therapy. I'm just helping."
Santana narrowed her eyes. "I call bullshit. Firstly, you don't have the qualifications to help her. You're in high school. Whatever you know about physical therapy would be well out ranked by the therapist she's suppose to have."
Santana flicked a hand in Joe's face. "Secondly, even if she asked you to come here, all visitors have to be cleared and have a visitor's badge clearly on display. Particularly in certain rooms in the hospital. Guess what? This is one of those rooms. Where's your visitor's badge, Chewbacca? Oh, wait. You don't have one. I know that because Shelly would have told me if someone had applied for a visitors badge to see Quinn."
"Who's Shelly?"
"The receptionist, fucktard." Santana placed a hand on Joe's chest, shoving him away. "Where was I, oh right. Thirdly, the boner you're trying, and failing I might add, to hide is so far from the image of professionalism it looks, would you believe it, like you're trying to take advantage of a currently handicapped girl. That girl is my girl, and I sure as hell don't appreciate you being so eager to see her."
She had attracted an audience now. The rest of the room was glaring at Joe while he blushed painfully, not meeting anyone's eyes. Quinn was also red, but she looked decidedly unsympathetic to Joe's plight.
"Fourthly, you've still not managed to put some shoes on. Who the hell do you think you're meant to be? Jesus? Because you just look homeless. Not to mention that not wearing shoes is a huge risk in a hospital, and not even just for you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there a huge sign saying that you need to have shoes on when you enter the hospital? Just to make it clear, I'm not wrong. There is a sign; I remember putting it up when the old one was too faded. Fifthly, you..."
"Enough!" Joe tugged on a dreadlock and look around nervously. "You've made your point. You don't like me, I get it."
Santana froze for a second, the look on her face clearly saying 'what is wrong with you?'.
"There are so many more problems here than me not liking you. But, yes, I will admit that I don't like you. You're making a move on my girlfriend when she's going through a very difficult time in her life. The last thing she needs is you trying to be her knight in shining armor. She doesn't need a hero, she is the hero. This is completely unprofessional and seriously sleazy. You should not be here; it's that simple."
"Santana?"
Santana turned around to find one of her dad's friends (another doctor at the hospital, of course) in the doorway.
"Want to explain what's going on?"
Santana sighed deeply. "First get him out of here before we hear shouts of malpractice."
She waved a hand at Joe. The doctor paled and quickly made his way to escort Joe out.
"And find out where Quinn's physical therapist is. It's Dr. Harrison."
Joe was practically dragged out, throwing pitiful looks at Quinn. Quinn didn't say anything, but she was still blushing. Though that probably had more to do with the amount of people watching her now that the Santana Show was over.
Santana sat herself down on the bed next to Quinn. She threaded their fingers together.
"Sorry."
"San, you don't…"
"You hated every minute of it, and both of us know it."
Santana leveled a glared at the other people in the room (which was met with a few chuckles before they turned away) before she spoke again.
"You may even like the attention from the weirdo for all I know."
"He's nice, and obviously interested.."
Santana snorted. "That's clear."
"But," Quinn continued as if Santana hadn't spoken. "I'm with you, and you know that."
They had a strange relationship. They were monogamous (except for that one time with Brittany), but both of them had laid down certain rules about what they could and couldn't do with other people. Flirting was a yes, because they were both hot bitches (Santana's words) and they were both practical enough to know that a little flirting could be used for personal gain. But Santana had been very up front about her expectations of Quinn. If Quinn ever had feelings for another person Santana wanted to know. In return Santana would do the same, and the communication did wonders for their relationship.
"I know. Trust me I know. But you have to admit that he has some things in common with you that I don't."
Quinn shrugged. "Like I said, he's nice. But he's a bit um…"
"He's a dreadlocked, religious version of you when you were a skank. And by skank I mean the bad aspects like the not washing and caring little about personal appearance. That stuff. Not the acceptable tattoos and chain smoking and fucking hot clothes."
Quinn smirked slightly. "I guess that's an adequate description. What was that about malpractice anyway?"
"Well, the hospital let someone untrained work on your physical therapy. He had no idea what he was doing, or at least that's the view the hospital will take, so he could have injured you. Ta-da, you have a malpractice lawsuit. The other people here have been trained, or any doing simple exercises that their therapist taught them. It's different."
Santana looked down at Quinn with a smirk. "Yes, I did know you were going to ask that."
Quinn covered her eyes with her arm. "You're so annoying." She groaned.
"You love me." Santana snarked before gently squeezing Quinn's hand and spoking softly. "Do you want to do your therapy now? You can reschedule."
"I'm here now. Might as well wait."
"Okay. Do you want me to stay?"
"Santana, I'm a, what did you call me? A hero? I'm a hero; if I didn't want you here you wouldn't be here."
"You are a hero, you know? You're an amazing woman Quinn Fabray. You're going to be walking soon enough, and then you'll go to Yale, and the world won't know what hit it."
"I…" Quinn glanced away. "I didn't want you to come before because I didn't want you to see me struggling. It's hard. I feel so pathetic."
"You, Quinn Fabray will never be pathetic. To me you will always be a hero."