A/N: I have this idea running through my head. I didn't ever want to write a Faberry pairing even if for a little bit, because it makes me anxious. I like both ships. In the end it will always be Pezberry. I'm not entirely sure how this will be received, so I'm not too sure if I'll continue. Anyway...
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Glee doesn't belong to me.
Santana was mostly content with her life right now. She spent her days-off basking in the warm Southern California sun. She wore sunscreen to keep her skin smooth and it's not like she needed a tan anyway. She was also even more beautiful now at twenty-five than she was in high school. Venice Beach may as well have been a different planet, as it seemed just as far away from Lima as Saturn. Maybe even Pluto. The last time she set her eyes on the small, intolerant town was the day she left for Kentucky.
She lay atop her beach towel and scanned the water behind her aviators. Spotting her friend, she waved and let out a carefree laugh, one that she rarely let out in high school. It was high noon and she was starting to get hungry. She waved more diligently to indicate that she wanted him on the beach towel next to her.
"Hey, Mike, get over here or I'll eat your share, too!" She yelled, cupping her hands over her mouth to amplify her volume.
It was useless, though, since the sound of the waves crashing into soft sand drowned out a lot of his surroundings. But, he knew that face and saw her pull out the Tupperware and plates.
Santana's stomach grumbled a familiar sound as she set out an array of cheeses and meats. Despite being roommates, they set up surf dates to ensure 'bro-time' and met up as often as their schedules allowed, which wasn't all that often, for a picnic on the beach after surfing morning waves.
"Did you see my last catch? That was sweet. I think I impressed the blonde in the pink bikini," an out-of-breath Mike said through puffs of breath.
Santana smirked and shrugged. "I saw you wipe out a few times, there Mikey." She did see the wave he rode and was impressed, but she wouldn't admit that.
"She's hot right?" Mike ignored her teasing. "I saw her here last weekend with John." Mike Chang took a piece of bread and started placing pieces of turkey and prosciutto on top. "What is this?" He asked, pointing at one of the cheeses.
"The lady said it was gouda or some shit." He gave her a questioning look and she went to clarify, "Cheese. A type of cheese.""
"It smells like feet."
Santana laughed through a sigh. "Yeah, well you did say you wanted to have 'classy' lunches, because apparently the chicks don't dig on the hot pockets we usually bring." God, she wished she had those right now, because the cheese really did smell like feet. "Which is fucking stupid because the sand is getting in the freaking food. I feel like we're eating cat litter."
Santana ran her fingers over her newly made sandwich of her feet-and-funky-meat creation and felt granules of sand. She grimaced and tossed it aside.
"What a waste of money," she grumbled and looked at Mike for his agreement.
Mike mumbled something through his chews and shrugged.
"You're actually eating that shit? You're gross." Santana picked up another box from her bag to reveal a Tupperware full of cookies and popped a whole one into her mouth.
A short brunette walked passed in a barely-there string bikini and Santana's breath hitched once she caught sight. Memories of the girl she let get away pulled at the strings of her heart. Upon closer inspection, she mentally noted that the girl's legs were too short and her nose was too small: imperfections that could never measure up to her old lover.
Mike followed her gaze and made a point to change her train of thought because he was well aware of her past. He was apart of it, after all.
"I'm going to do it; I'm going to WipeOut to ask for sponsorship."
Santana's eyes snapped toward her best friend and a genuine smile flooded her features. She knew he'd have all the chance in the world, and she couldn't be more proud of him. She reached over the now-neglected food and pulled him in for a tight hug. "You're totally going to get it. Now let's go get some real fucking food, because I wants to get my eats on."
The duo packed up their lunches and fit their surfboards into the rooftop hardcase on Mike's SUV. He patted his vehicle affectionately before stepping in. Turning on his engine, he looked toward his long-time friend and asked, "How does Lucky Strike sound?"
"Perfect."
Lucky Strike was their favorite restaurant bar, the reasoning partly due to its location being one block from their place. They opted to sit at the bar to catch the tail end of some sports game Mike was enthusiastic about. He would have sat home to watch, but there was no way he'd miss the forecasted waves. Santana could care less about sports, but she wouldn't deny food and good beer.
"Hey, Stan. Two Sierra Nevadas and two cheeseburgers," Mike ordered. He always was chivalrous, something Santana came to find endearing over the years.
They sat in comfortable silence; both feeling the subtle effects of the morning workout the ocean had given them. From afar, people assumed the two to be a couple. They moved fluidly in reaction to each other's decisions, automatically in tune with each other. Mike was every bit as handsome, and his face was more defined. His chiseled jaw was now covered in light stubble, which surprising suited him very well. If Santana weren't so into the female gender, she had no doubt that she would have married Chang. Though, they did have a one-night stand years ago to which they both can now comfortably joke about.
The beers came and Santana took a long pull from her glass and reveled in the drink. "Still tastes like Christmas in my mouth."
"Yeah, if you like to taste pine needles. "
She took another long pull of her drink and allowed her mind to venture into painful territory. There are many short brunettes in this city – in any place, really. So, it's not like she thinks about her every time she comes across a girl who fit that description. She said nothing in reply to Mike's comment on the drink. Santana instead looked at him and offered a fake, small smile.
Seeing through the mask, the surfer took his own gulp of beer and turned in his stool to face her. "You're thinking about her, aren't you?" He asked softly.
His suspicions were confirmed, not that he really needed confirmation, when she started tapping absently on her drink. She shrugged knowing it was no use trying to lie to her best friend.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Soft, brown eyes adorned with worry and sympathy looked over Santana's still face. She returned Mike's gaze, wishing, not for the first time, that they were a different set of brown eyes that accompanied her.
"I saw Kurt looking at the Tony nominations at work yesterday." She shook her head and chuckled lightly in a mixture of regret and slight adoration. "She's up for lead actress in a musical."
Mike's eyebrows lifted up. "Wow. She's really made it, huh?"
Santana's smile spread wider this time. "She's the brightest star to come out of Lima. She's where she belongs."
She sighed and looked at the time on her phone. "I better check in with Kurt." Mike nodded in understanding as she finished off the rest of her beer. "I got this," she said before winking at him and setting a twenty-dollar bill down. "Just put my burger in the fridge."
Sounds of traffic, the honking, the screeching of tires, and the occasional yelling of road-rage were so opposite of the roads of Lima, Ohio. They pulled Santana's thoughts into the present, where she walked down three familiar blocks to her destination. She smiled as she saw the elegant sign atop the door.
S.K. Marcob Designs. Santana opened the door and shivered slightly as the air-conditioning covered her body in goose bumps. She was still in her bikini underneath the t-shirt and yoga pants she had pulled on after her morning surf.
"Welcome to S.K Mar- oh, it's just you. Well, don't you look like you crawled out of a fresh grave?" Kurt teasingly lifted a well-groomed eyebrow and pointed his finger up and down at her attire. "Am I supposed to assume this is part of your new line?"
She scoffed and ruffled his hair, earning a squeal. "What have I told you about the hair?!" He pawed frantically at his hair and sighed as he realized it was fruitless.
"You told me I'd have to pay for your therapy, princess. How are things in the fort?"
"Well, Boss, we've got a consultation next week with a secret client. Rude, if you ask me. The man said something about high profile and not wanting the press to alert her presence. Oh, do you think it's Adele?"
Amused, she replied, "Hm..No I think we penciled her in for next month."
"WHAT?! HOW DID I MISS THIS?"
"Whoa. Joking. Don't cream all over my shop."
"Quinn! I'm nominated! I..I.. I'm NOMINATED!"
Rachel's enthusiasm blared through the cell phone cradled within Quinn's hand. The jingling of bracelets could be heard, too, and it was clear that the brunette was jumping up and down in excitement. Quinn momentarily lifted the device away from her ears and let the screaming continue.
"Oh, baby! This is so amazing! You are amazing, and GOD you deserve this." Pure adoration filled the blondes features as she smiled at this news. "I'm so proud of you, sunshine."
The moment was abruptly interrupted as a deep throat clearing echoed through the small room Quinn was standing in. Quinn scowled as she turned her body to face whoever dared interrupted this monumental moment.
Three men in business-casual clothing coward backward in their chairs as they saw a glimpse of the famous HBIC glare, complete with a clenched jaw and raised eyebrow.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. My fiancé has just been given amazing news, and I'll be damned if you continue to ruin this moment. Continue without me. I'll be back for the proposal tomorrow."
Without a backward glance, she headed toward the glass doors, releasing her from her obligatory confines.
"Quinn? Did I interrupt your meeting?"
"Hm. Yes, but they don't matter. This is your dream, Rachel. I'm not going to let some men in cheap ties tell me what to do."
"Oh, Quinn! You know how I feel about missing important meetings. However, since this is my day, I will let it slide. Are you..do you have to head back into the room soon?"
Quinn smirked and huskily replied into the phone, "Mmm. No, baby. In fact, I am going home right now to show you just how proud I am."
Quinn hailed a cab and hastily supplied the driver with her address. New York had been called home ever since she transferred from Yale to Columbia her sophomore year. Lima was too small and too stagnant to ever satisfy Quinn, let alone Rachel Berry. Quinn could picture her fiancé pacing back and forth in excitement in their loft. Images of tiny, tanned feet padding across the wood-covered floor as she failed to find the words to express her feelings flickered through her mind. Maybe she'd be on their balcony, singing to her hearts content, belting out, "HEY, MANHATTAN, HERE I AM!"
Rachel was in fact pacing the floor, but she was not singing. She was pacing in impatience, waiting for her lover to finally arrive to celebrate. In the back storage banks of her mind, she was pushing down the guilt she felt. Right after the call, the one notifying her of her nomination, she bounced with unbelievable happiness. When she hung up, her mind went directly to Santana Lopez and how the girl would sit through all of the Tony Award speeches she gave in high school –in her pink, bedazzled bedroom. She remembered the playful teases and the promises from Santana.
"I'm going to be there, Rachel. I'm going to be sitting in that audience and I'll clap louder than all of them."
"Well, Santana. Seeing as you're my girlfriend, I would expect nothing less than the utmost enthusiasm."
"Then, I'm going to make my Tony award winning wife moan symphonies."
"Wife?"
"Yep. I'm going to marry the shit out of you."
A love gone disaster allowed her life to follow a different path: a path to Quinn Fabray, her fiancé.
The sound of a door flying open knocked her out of her reverie and she soon found her waist being enclosed by pale arms, not the tan ones she had been thinking of.
"Baby." Quinn whispered into her neck.
Rachel giggled at the sensation and presently remembered how much she did love the girl behind her. Quinn lifted her up and twirled her around.
"That's my girl. That's my Tony nominated, beautiful fiancé." Quinn settled the brunette down and brushed stray, brunette tresses behind her ears. "What are you thinking at this moment?"
"Oh Quinn, what am I going to wear?!"