Spoilers: Brief reference to Original Song. A short reference to season 3's Mash-Off, but it has nothing to do with the storyline.
Warnings: Language (as per usual), jealous Brittany, references to underage drinking and hints at an eating disorder
Chapter Six: McKinley's New 'It' Couple
Thursday
"I'm assuming you heard about Ethan's party tomorrow night," Santana begins as she approaches her boyfriend by his locker after third period.
David jumps slightly, startled by her sudden appearance. He briefly flicks his attention to her before going back to switching his books in his locker. "Yeah, we are teammates after all," he answers casually after a moment.
"Good, then you know that we're going together," she informs him, not even bothering with the pretense of asking.
"I kind of figured we would be," the jock rolls his eyes with a hint of a smirk.
"We need to make the odd obligatory public appearance to make sure this looks real," the other girl drops her voice so only he can hear, her eyes darting around to make sure no one is paying them enough attention to eavesdrop. Luckily, most people seem to be giving the couple a wide berth and can't even bring themselves to lift their eyes and risk making eye contact with the Latina.
"I know," David sighs in resignation, not liking that she's standing on the side that won't allow for him to hide behind his locker door.
"Is there a problem?" She arches an eyebrow as if challenging him to argue or chicken out.
"I only ever go to these when Z or the guys make me. I hate partying and I always feel so awkward. Social stuff like that makes me uncomfortable. I know you never miss a party, but I'm not like you, Santana," he confesses, not unkindly mentioning her nonchalance about going out.
"You really need to stop assuming things about me," the brunette girl hisses. "I go to these things because I'm popular and it's expected, not because I enjoy myself. These things are just an opportunity for me to maintain my status and force me to get my drink on with a bunch of other people instead of alone at my house. The only difference is the scenery," she informs him with annoyance, not fully realizing everything that left her mouth.
David is stunned for a moment as the other girl's words sink in. He's ashamed that, just like everyone else in this school, he just presumed that the Latina never missed a social event like that because she was a fun-loving party girl that liked letting loose whenever the opportunity arose. It never occurred to him that she only saw these things as an obligation, another way to cement her image as the popular cheerleader…the flamboyantly heterosexual popular head cheerleader. Then the rest of her words sink in and his brows furrow even further, but this time with concern rather than guilt.
"You shouldn't be drinking alone Santana," he softly says, wondering how it's possible for so many people to be this clueless about the other girl's life.
"Which is why we go to parties, genius," Santana rolls her eyes obviously, her arms folded across her chest as she plasters a strained smile on her face in a failed attempt to look lighthearted.
The taller boy is painfully aware that this is neither the time nor the place to get into this conversation, so he settles on offering her a small but warm smile, hoping that she understands that she can talk to him about anything. "If you say so, Sweetheart," he playfully responds, not wanting to start an argument.
"Great, so, tell whatever lie you need to tell your parents and pick me up…" Santana trails off in her instructions when she sees the almost pained expression on his face. "What is it?" She questions suspiciously with her eyes narrowed into a glare.
After a moment of trying to figure out what to say, David settles on a watered-down version of the truth. "Azimio was over at my house on Tuesday night and told my parents that I had a girlfriend," he informs her carefully. His jaw tenses as he remembers the exact nature of his supposed best friend delivering the news to his parents. Their initial excitement over him finally getting a girlfriend had been dampened by Azimio also describing Santana as an evil, manipulative bitch and a 'whore'.
Santana takes the news that his parents know about him having a girlfriend with little more than a shrug before she notices his darkening expression. "What did he tell them?" She demands, making it clear that not answering isn't an option.
"Look, it doesn't matter what he said," the jock assures her, weakly smiling at her as he recalls literally throwing his friend out of the house after his display. "But they want to meet you…tomorrow," he bites the bullet and tells her.
"I don't usually do the whole 'meet the parents' thing," Santana waves her hand dismissively, silently terrified of the prospect.
"But you dated Puck off and on for years so you must have-"
"I met his mom when she came home early from work to find us going at it on the couch in the living room," she interrupts him, bored by their conversation.
"What about all of those other guys you've…you know?" David wonders.
Heaving a sigh, Santana readjusts the backpack strap hanging off her left shoulder. "Dave, we all know that I'm not exactly the kind of girl that anyone would want to bring home to meet their family. I'm the kind of girl that you fuck and forget," she shrugs with feigned nonchalance and a self-deprecating smile.
David's gaze softens into a look of sympathy and understanding. In only a few short days, he's already lost track of how many times the other girl has surprised him by being the polar opposite of what he expected. He can't even reconcile his previous perception of the Latina as a cocky, man-eating, manipulative bitch with the sad, lonely, insecure girl standing before him.
"I want you to meet my family," he assures her sincerely. "I'm not embarrassed or ashamed or anything…I just feel bad about lying to my family. If we weren't…" he trails off with a vague gesture, only continuing when she nods in comprehension, "then I would be proud to have you as my girlfriend," he finishes.
Santana averts her gaze to stare at the inside of his locker. The last thing she wants to do is admit that his words have had an effect on her and that she feels a swell of affection for the other boy rising up in her chest. "Don't start getting all mushy on me now Karofsky," she smirks after a moment, making sure her façade is back up before attempting to say anything.
"Whatever Lopez," Dave rolls his eyes as he reaches over and slides the strap of the girl's backpack off her shoulder and slinging it up on his own.
Meanwhile
As has been their custom for the last few weeks, Quinn turns the corner to meet Brittany at the taller girl's locker so they can walk to the cafeteria together for lunch. Her steps falter for a moment when she notices her friend's odd posture. Brittany has a white-knuckle grip on her locker door and her back is unusually tense and rigid, her face hidden from the other blonde's view by the open door of her locker.
Quinn approaches her friend and peers around the locker door to get a look at her face only to find the other girl's head is turned towards the other end of the hallway. Craning her neck to look around Brittany, she quickly hones in on what has the dancer's rapt attention. Her lips curl up into a look of disgust at the sight of a certain unpleasant football player and the back of a very familiar dark-haired Cheerio captain. The couple is on the opposite side of the hall and standing far too close for comfort as far as the two girls are concerned.
"Gross," Quinn grumbles after several moments of witnessing the couple's interactions.
Brittany tears her gaze away when she hears her friend, slightly embarrassed at having been caught staring, but relieved that it was Quinn and not her boyfriend. Her shoulders slump as she turns back to staring down the hall just in time to catch the caring look and sincere smile on Karofsky's face directed at her former friend. She agrees with Quinn's assessment about Santana dating the other boy, but she's willing to set aside her own personal distaste to make an honest and objective evaluation.
"I think they're good for each other," Brittany quietly confesses, just barely loud enough for the other girl to hear her.
Quinn's eyebrows shoot up so far and so fast that it's a wonder they didn't launch themselves into orbit. "Are you kidding me right now?" She asks her friend incredulously, her gaze darting back and forth between the girl in front of her and the Worst Couple Ever down the hall.
"Santana hasn't slushied or made anyone cry since Monday and Karofsky hasn't thrown anyone in the dumpster or Port-a-Potty since Tuesday. I've seen her smile more in the last two days than she's smiled since, like, October," she justifies her comment.
Opening and closing her mouth several times, Quinn tries to grasp at something – anything – to contradict the other blonde. "It still feels…wrong," the former Cheerio captain explains after a moment of struggling to put her apprehension into words, earning a half-hearted shrug in response. "Come on Britt, seeing them together must make you feel something," she tries to push, her friend's resigned attitude towards the situation really starting to bother her at this point.
"I'm with Artie…and I love him," Brittany says, her tone unintentionally deadpan as though she's reciting the words she had to memorize for a report for her history class. "She and I aren't friends anymore and she can date who she wants. It's not like we were ever an actual couple or anything," she continues after a moment, trying not to think about how much it hurt when the Latina had walked right by her to get to the other boy's locker without so much as a glance or falter in her step.
Quinn gapes at her friend in disbelief. "You don't stop loving someone just because you're dating someone else or because you stop talking to each other. Just because you two were never 'official' doesn't make the way you feel about each other any less valid. You guys still acted like a couple and I'm not just talking about the sex…which I don't need to hear about," she is quick to add.
Brittany releases a quiet sigh, watching how relaxed Santana's posture is around Karofsky…like she's comfortable with him. "Leave it alone, Quinn," she says plainly, but her eyes are pleading with her friend to just drop the topic.
The shorter blonde clenches her jaw, frustrated and angry at her friend for reasons that she doesn't even fully understand herself. She needs to know that Brittany still cares about Santana and that she isn't just going to stand around and let the Latina keep sabotaging herself.
"I saw them leaving the Cheerio locker room together after lunch on Tuesday," Quinn tells her friend in a seemingly offhanded tone. She resists the urge to smirk when the taller girl whips her head around with a wide-eyed stare, knowing that she hit the very nerve she was aiming for.
"What?" Brittany gasps. "Santana knows that boys are forbidden from entering the Cheerios locker room and Santana knows better than to go against Sue," she rambles, mostly to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Has she ever snuck a boy in there before?" Quinn asks meaningfully, already knowing the answer.
"No. After practice and everyone else was gone, she and I would sometimes…" Brittany trails off, her eyes glazed over as she loses herself in a memory before shaking her head. The pain in her chest stings vaguely of betrayal at the thought of Santana desecrating one of 'their' spots.
Quinn's shoulders slump at the other girl's extended pause and she reaches out a hand to place on her friend's shoulder to bring her back to reality. "We could always go to Sue with this and get her kicked off the squad," she offers.
"No!" Brittany snaps her head to look at the shorter blonde, eyes wide. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't do that to her," she insists adamantly.
"You know what, Britt? You keep insisting that you don't like seeing them together but, to me, it doesn't really look like you give a damn," Quinn finally snaps, no longer able to keep dancing around the subject.
"I do," Brittany feebly counters, not liking what the other girl seems to be trying to imply.
"Then tell me, B," the shorter blonde begins, already knowing that she's going to regret her words the moment they leave her mouth but unable to keep from saying them anyways. "How does it feel to think of David Karofsky in the Cheerios' locker room with Santana? His jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles and his hands all over her, grunting in her ear while he fucks her against your old locker," she growls out, growing furious herself at the images her words are planting in her own head.
"I hate it, okay!" The taller girl erupts, fighting the tears in her eyes. "I hate the idea of them being together like…that. I hate that he gets to touch her with his gross, giant hands because they're too big to be anything but awkward and she doesn't need another guy in her life being too rough with her. Jeez Quinn, the very thought of him getting to be with her like that at all makes me sick to my stomach, okay? Is that what you want to hear?" She grinds out, not even bothering to hide her tears, as she slams her locker door shut upon seeing Dave chivalrously shouldering his girlfriend's backpack along with his own and linking their hands before making their way to the cafeteria. "I bet his ginormous pinky is too big to fit with hers anyways," she grumbles under her breath.
Quinn is feeling the pangs of regret acutely in her chest when she sees her friend openly crying, a dead giveaway that she, perhaps, went too far when trying to force a reaction out of the other girl. "I'm sorry, B," she apologizes sincerely, grasping at whatever words she can to comfort her. "At least you know this isn't going to last," she offers after a moment.
"What are you talking about?" Is the uneasy response, Brittany having an idea what the girl is trying to get at.
At this, Quinn does roll her eyes. "This is still Santana we're talking about and she isn't known for having a long attention span when it comes to being with a guy," she replies casually, wondering why it's so hard for her friend to understand that this thing with Karofsky is no more serious than any other relationship the brunette has ever had.
Brittany unconsciously clenches her jaw at the reminder of her former best friend's careless actions, unwilling to think about the reasons why Santana's promiscuous behavior has always hurt as much as it did. "This time she won't have me by her side to put her back together when he breaks her heart," she quietly informs the other girl.
Quinn instantly deflates at Brittany's last comment. She finds that she never really considered the effects Santana's reputation on either girl or how it seemed to hurt each of them but in very different ways. For some reason, the thought of the other blonde being the one to take care of the Latina isn't too hard to imagine.
"I'm sorry, B. I wasn't thinking," Quinn apologizes once again. She figures she should've known that Brittany isn't the kind of person that would find trash-talking an ex (friend? lover?) therapeutic. Especially if that person is Santana.
"It's fine, Q," the dancer smiles weakly. "Let's go to lunch now," she says more than asks before beginning to make her way to the cafeteria, torn between wanting to catch a glimpse of the Latina and not being able to spot her at all. Quinn follows silently behind, not sure what else to say.
Cafeteria
Santana can feel a sense of accomplishment at the newly integrated Cheerios table being filled to capacity. As of today, she has lifted Sue's seven year moratorium preventing anyone from sitting at their table that isn't a Cheerio. Even though the privilege has only been extended to their significant others – whom of which, according to the Official Cheerios Handbook, must be a member of one of the school's many sports teams (in other words…no nerds, thugs or losers) – Santana is certain that this is something that requires baby steps in order to be believable. Sure, it's hardly a stretch to bring other jocks to the Cheerio table because bringing the two most popular groups of students together during lunch is hardly controversial, any progress is still progress.
So, Santana is content to be seated in her rightful position at the table in the middle of the cafeteria, in the center of the side facing away from the door with her trusty football player boyfriend sitting loyally by her side. Paradoxically, they seem to both blend in and stand out from the rest of the table. At first glance they appear to be indistinguishable within the amalgamation of red and white uniforms. However, David is clearly taller and more solidly built than the other boys at the table whereas Santana's small frame isn't as unique to the squad of cheerleaders as is her almost black hair and tan complexion.
"Is that all you're eating?" David asks his girlfriend slightly louder than he intended, effectively pulling Santana from her musings and gaining the attention of the others at their table, who continue to pretend not to be listening.
The Latina follows his gaze to her bottle of Master Cleanse and the barely touched apple in front of her, which has since turned an unappetizing shade of brown from her neglect. She chooses not to respond verbally, settling for a careless shrug as pulls her buzzing phone out of her Varsity Squad Captain jacket to read Sue's latest text.
David shifts uncomfortably as he begins to sense that everyone else at the table has fixed their gaze on him. "So, are you, like, on a diet or something?" He hazards a guess after a moment.
Santana lazily drags her attention away from her phone to stare at the other boy. "I'm a flier," she almost sneers in with an obvious tone, as though it solved everything. She rolls her eyes and sighs upon seeing his expression turn even more questioning than before. "When you see tosses during a cheer routine, the girl getting tossed in the air is the flier. In competitions, the higher the flier goes, the more points it's worth. It's a fact that girls with fat asses don't go high, so only the smallest and lightest girls get to be fliers," she explains, trying to be patient with her boyfriend.
"Oh," David replies simply after taking a moment to let her words sink in. He ignores the fact that she never answered his question about her being on a diet in favor of making an attempt to continue the conversation. After years of watching the Cheerios and hearing about their apparent success, he now finds himself intrigued it all but hides it under the pretense of wanting to look like a good boyfriend. "So, how much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, thinking only of how his question relates to her explanation of how the lightest girls fly the highest.
The rest of the table goes silent and Santana pauses mid-text causing everyone to wait with bated breath for the inevitable explosion, anticipating the most epic breakup in the history of McKinley High, if not the entire state…and they have front row seats.
Santana turns towards him with an unreadable expression. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's impolite to ask a girl how much she weighs?" She asks him in a deathly calm tone, an eyebrow quirking up the slightest bit.
Darting his eyes around to the others at the table, too afraid to meet her gaze, David gulps audibly in nervousness. "Now that you mention it, I think she might've said something like that before," he says, hoping to appease the other girl.
"Good because I would hate to have to tell her about this tomorrow night at dinner," Santana's demeanor instantly turns more lighthearted as she casts a coy grin at the other boy. She pretends not to notice the dumbfounded looks on everyone else's face, either at her letting go of the issue so easily or at the revelation that she will be having dinner with the Karofsky family…something that she is sure will have circulated around the rest of the school by the end of the day.
Dave simply chuckles and shakes his head at the other girl, knowing exactly what she's doing. Deciding to have fun and play along to further fuel the rumor mill, he leans over intimately close. "For the record, your ass may be a lot of things, but 'fat' isn't one of them," he whispers loudly enough that at least the people immediately next to them would hear.
Santana smirks at his attempt to sound sexy, but is secretly flattered at the compliment…despite its source. "So freaking charming," she chuckles in a tone that could almost be considered affectionate.
"What's in this crap anyways? I see you drinking it all the time," he points out seriously after getting as much enjoyment their inside joke about him having to stare at her ass as he can, picking up the opaque sports bottle sitting in front of Santana.
"Sue Sylvester's Master Cleanse," Santana answers simply as she finishes texting the woman in question back about having an extended practice after school today. She turns to the other boy to find him silently prompting her to be more specific, which she responds with another sigh and an eye roll. "Water, maple syrup for glucose, lemon for acid, paprika to irritate the bowels, and a dash of ipecac, a vomiting agent," she recites verbatim from memory, silently delighting in the way the other girls turn a sickly shade of green at the mention of Sue's revolting concoction.
The dubious jock stares at Santana for a moment trying to determine whether or not she's just messing with him. Turning his attention back to the bottle in his hands, he hesitates for a moment before unscrewing the cap on it and leaning in to smell its contents. His head snaps back almost instantly, his expression pulled into one of utter disgust.
"Ugh! Does she really make you drink this?" A horror-stricken Dave inquires incredulously.
"It's not so bad once you get used to it," Santana shrugs idly before her phone starts buzzing once again in front of her on the table. Looking towards the other Cheerios, they all shake their heads at David letting him know that there is no getting used to Sue's Master Cleanse. The mix of curious, amused and provoking looks from his fellow male athletes is enough to goad his male ego into reluctantly bringing the bottle to his lips.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Santana warns in her trademark mischievous sing-song tone, not even having to take her eyes off her phone to know what the other boy was doing, a smirk playing on her lips.
With that simple declaration, the table erupts into chaos. The boys all egging David on to drink it while the Cheerios work to talk him out of it, all of them wanting to stay on their squad captain's good side by not allowing her boyfriend to make himself sick. For her part, Santana moves at a leisurely pace to patiently close her phone and turn her body to face her boyfriend, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow up at the other boy challengingly.
Not giving himself the opportunity to back out, Dave quickly tilts his head back and takes a mouthful of the mixture, instantly regretting it once it hits his taste buds. His eyes begin to water as he simple holds the liquid in his mouth, his body rebelling against him and refusing to allowing him to swallow it. After several false starts, he manages to swallow it down with in a single strained gulp, immediately gasping for air afterwards. He makes several small choking and gagging sounds, his body heaving slightly in reaction before chasing the taste out of his mouth by chugging his soda.
"What…the…hell?" David gasps, his face red, as he tries to collect himself.
"You were warned," Santana is quick to smugly remind him.
"That is awful," Dave candidly supplies. "Coach Sylvester should go to prison for making you guys drink that. Does she get pleasure from watching you drink it or something?" He asks almost rhetorically.
"Coach swears by it," Santana retorts easily.
"She says she hasn't had a solid meal since, like, the 80s," one of the other Cheerios supplies in agreement, blatantly sucking up to the Head Cheerio.
"That would explain why Coach Sylvester's such a bitch," one of the mulleted hockey players jokes, earning a high-five from a couple of the guys around him and amused looks from some of the Cheerios.
"What, exactly, are you trying to imply Nielson?" Santana inquires, her calm tone belied by her dark expression.
"Huh?" The boy in question wonders in confusion. David can only watch helplessly knowing that Santana only refers to someone by their last name when she's angry with them, placing a large hand on her knee in a casual attempt to restrain her from launching across the table.
"I drink the same thing as Sue, does that make me a bitch?" Santana further challenges him, her tone gradually becoming more cold and harsh. Nearly everyone at the table resists the urge to answer her with a resounding 'yes'. "All of the Cheerios drink it. Are we all bitches? Including your girlfriend?" She continues, understanding dawning on the other cheerleaders, their looks of amusement dissolving into scowls of their own at the boy.
"What? No! I was just…" the boy trips awkwardly over his words, desperately looking to his teammates and fellow jocks to help him out…but none of them are willing to turn the Latina's wrath back on them.
"Nielson!" Santana barks before he can erupt into another fit of nonsensical babbling. He turns his frightened, wide-eyed gaze back to the Head Cheerio. "I'm just fucking with you, Rick" Santana chuckles, her expression significantly less severe than it had been mere moments ago. Everyone at the table visibly relaxes at her words. "Besides, we all know that my being a bitch has nothing to do with Sue's Master Cleanse," she smirks self-deprecatingly.
This helps erase the remaining tension at the table as they all laugh, albeit reluctantly at first. Moments later and everyone has already broken back off into their own separate conversations. Santana leans back in her chair and surveys the scene before her, her hands idly toying with her phone on the table in front of her. She and David are seemingly more than content to watch the others as if this was the most natural thing in the world and that they are actually friends with these people rather than just teammates…or the squad captain, in Santana's case.
The couple is so lost in thought that they almost don't notice the silence that descends upon the table or that everyone is staring at Santana. It takes a moment, but Santana realizes that they're staring behind her and not at her. Though almost afraid to turn around, she does so anyway…
Meanwhile, Moments Earlier
Artie has spent the entire lunch period trying to engage his more-distracted-than-usual girlfriend in conversation. When she does deign something worthy of a response, it's still usually only in the form of a single syllable word. Today he's spent almost as much time watching the obnoxious red and white table in the middle of the cafeteria as his girlfriend.
"Hey Britt, you excited for Regionals on Saturday?" Artie desperately attempts to drag her attention away from the Cheerio/jock table.
Brittany briefly peels her gaze off the back of Santana's head to shoot her boyfriend a weak, polite smile. She doesn't get the opportunity to answer as a commotion breaks out at the Cheerios' table, yelling and bickering followed by a round of cheers and laughter. Her body turned slightly towards her brute of a boyfriend, Artie is able to detect a hint of amusement visible on Santana's profile.
The wheelchair-bound boy can't help but glare at the Latina for her continued campaign to break him and Brittany up. Even though there is nothing about her recent behavior since leaving New Directions to suggest that she has an ulterior motive involving their relationship, Artie is still convinced she's up to something. He knows that the tan girl has some kind of hold over his girlfriend and he can't even pretend that he knows the whole story behind the true nature of the girls' relationship. All he knows is that something has to give so that Brittany can finally move on…with him, of course.
Artie is shaken from his dark musings by an eruption of laughter from the Cheerio/jock table once more. He narrows his eyes once more at the back of the Cheerio Captain's head as he notices the soft gaze his girlfriend is sending her way. The fact that the Latina is now dating David Karofsky, the bane of the glee club's existence (second only to one Sue Sylvester) for the last two years, is the last straw in terms of trying to give her the benefit of the doubt for his girlfriend's sake.
Impulsively, Artie finds himself rolling over towards the Cheerio table with his expression set in determination. The concerned and curious questions from the others at the Glee table fall on deaf ears. Before he knows it, he's stopped behind a seemingly content and almost relaxed Latina. As soon as the table goes quiet as they become aware of him, he begins to feel his awkwardness making its presence known. He swears that in the precious moments between the time Santana realized someone was behind her until she turned around and saw him his life flashed before his eyes…it didn't take long.
Arching an expectant eyebrow, Santana waits a moment for the newcomer to speak, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest when she is met with silence. "What is it Flash Gordon?" She eventually asks after waiting long enough.
"Santana…" David utters her name in a gently reprimanding tone, punctuating his signal for her to be nice(r) with a brief squeeze to her knee that his hand is still resting on.
"Sorry…or whatever," the dark-haired girl rolls her eyes, sounding anything but sorry. "What is it 'Loser'?"' She corrects herself, noting the look of disappointment on David's face. "What? 'Loser' isn't racist or sexist or discriminatory," she firmly defends her choice of addressing the other boy.
Artie almost has to do a double-take at the fact that Karofsky was silently telling Santana to be nice. "You need to apologize to Brittany for whatever it is you did wrong…and stop messing with her head," he says as firmly as he can muster…which isn't saying much.
The table is eerily silent as they await Santana's potential blowup, every one of them knowing that discussing Brittany with the Latina, especially now, was a serious faux pas. "I don't know what you're talking about…and it sounds like you have no idea what you're talking about either," Santana states in a deceptively calm tone, her neutral expression giving nothing away either.
"I'm talking about how you were your usual impulsive and irresponsible self and did or said something to ruin your relationship with the one person in the world that was able to deal with your own special brand of bullshit and trick others into believing you possessed even a shred of humanity," Artie vents his anger at the girl that still has a very large piece of his girlfriend's heart, scoffing when she doesn't even bat an eye at the verbal lashing.
"Hey!" Dave barks sharply at the boy in the wheelchair. "Enough. Get lost," he orders the other boy, his concerned gaze briefly flicking to Santana. He is worried about Artie's words only further reinforcing her negative self-image. The fact that he is the only one at the table that has any idea what really happened between the two girls and, therefore, how the other boy couldn't be any further off the mark isn't lost on him.
An indignant Artie shoots the football player a dirty look for interfering in his 'conversation' with the brunette Head Cheerio. "But-"
Artie cuts himself off with a surprisingly girlish squeak of fear when Santana quickly scrapes her chair around to face him and leans down so they're eye-to-eye, one hand on either armrest of his wheelchair. Despite his newfound anti-bullying stance, David can't find it in him to intervene because, as far as he's concerned, Artie deserves whatever he gets. The others at the table watch on, equally from a lack of sympathy as well as their own inherent fear of the Latina…no matter how much she's seemingly been changing lately.
Swallowing nervously, Artie can't help but silently compare Santana to the black panther from the Jungle Cat exhibit at the zoo last weekend: her body exudes nothing but an unflappable gracefulness and sense of self-control but her eyes are dangerous and burn with the intensity of her anger. Her proximity is unnerving and he's more than a little afraid of her looming over him the way she is.
"Listen up, Hoveround, you're lucky I'm trying to turn over a new leaf because, otherwise, I'd be turning you over in your chair right now," Santana hisses menacingly with only David and the Cheerio to her left hearing her…aside from Artie.
"Um…" Artie stammers, not sure what to make of how the captain of the Cheerios so easily managed to turn the tables on him.
"Go. Away," Santana over-enunciates each syllable harshly, sitting up straight in her chair as she releases his armrests and sets her expression back to neutral before turning back around to the others at the table. She casually runs her hands down her Cheerio skirt to smooth out any invisible wrinkles. David almost instantly takes her hand back in his own as a sign of support, noticing that her body relaxes as soon as she hears Artie wheeling away.
The bell rings mere moments later and Artie couldn't be more grateful. After that little run-in, the last thing he wants to do is go back and tell everyone what had happened. He briefly meets Brittany's eyes before she is swept away by a sea of students.
Santana remains seated at the table. The other Cheerios and jocks stay put as well, the cheerleaders knowing that they don't leave until the Captain dismisses them…and they apparently relayed the information to their boyfriends who sit awkwardly by their sides.
"Today's practice has been upgraded to a double as per Coach Sue," Santana informs the other Cheerios idly as though she's informing them about weather, glaring as they groan in response. "Let's go," she says to dismiss the others. David automatically shoulders her backpack as well as his own before dropping his hand to link with hers. The Latina playfully rolls her eyes as they make their way to cafeteria exit, missing his frown when she chucks her barely touched apple in the trash bin on their way out.
Friday – 5:20 pm
David stops at a red light while on his way to Santana's house, glancing at the girl in the passenger's side seat. She has been staring at her phone for the better part of the drive with her thumb hovering over the send button. Sitting at the light, he takes the opportunity to crane his neck and see what she can't decide whether or not to send.
"'Good luck tomorrow'?" He asks, confused as he reads the three simple words out loud.
Santana snaps her head up to look at him with narrowed eyes. "Just watch the damn road," she growls.
Rolling his eyes as the light turns green, David resumes the drive. "What's tomorrow?" He asks anyways, ignoring her deep scowl.
"New Directions is going to Regionals," she eventually mumbles after several long moments.
"And you're wishing them luck even though you haven't…" Dave trails off mid-sentence before his features settle into a knowing smirk and she replies with an inquiring eyebrow arched up. "You can't decide to send that to Brittany or not, right?" He asks, already knowing the answer.
"You needs to mind ya own bidness and gets off mah back," Santana bites back, slipping easily into her faux 'Lima Heights' persona.
Dave has learned over the last several days that Santana only speaks like that when she's being defensive and frustrated. Now it amuses him how annoyed the Head Cheerio gets when she sees that he's not the least intimidated by the act anymore. "Come on Santana-Banana, you can talk to me," he tries not to laugh at the appalled look on her face from his words…or perhaps the 'sensitive boyfriend' tone of his voice…but it's probably both.
"First off, you ever calls me that again Imma pull out one of tha razorblades I keep in my hair and cut off 'Little Dave' so you won't be a gay boy anymore, but a straight girl. Understood?" She asks menacingly, crossing her arms and turning to him, her head bobbing slightly as she waits for him to reply.
"You keep razorblades in your hair?" He can't help but ask, not sure whether to be amused at her bullshitting him or scared of it being true.
"Sure do. Tons. All up in there," she replies without hesitation, gesturing idly at her hair.
"Why?" He questions, brows furrowed.
"In case I gots ta cut a bitch," she shrugs nonchalantly.
At this David does smirk at her, earning one in response. Noticing her brief preoccupation, he quickly reaches over and snatches her phone away. He hits the send button before lightly tossing it back on the stunned girl's lap. "You were going to drive yourself, and me, crazy with trying to decide what to do about that damn text," he explains himself casually.
The Latina looks down at the phone in her lap. "Thanks," she mumbles, barely audibly.
"What was that? I didn't quite catch what you just said," he prods her with a smirk, knowing full-well what she said.
"I said to watch the road before you get us killed," she lies, her expression still harsh, but a hint of humor filtering into her tone.
"You're welcome," he smiles slightly at her as they pull up into her driveway.
The petite brunette rolls her eyes good-naturedly before opening her door, getting out, and hefting up her Cheerio gym bag from the floor only to have Dave immediately snatch it up for her. "Excuse you!" She glowers at the uncalled for move.
"This thing weighs more than you do. I got it," he replies nonchalantly, nudging her with his elbow to go ahead.
Santana glowers at him before swiftly turning on her heel and marching to her front door. "I don't need you to coddle me David. I can carry my own bag," she bitches at him when she senses him standing behind her while she unlocks the door.
"Jesus, Lopez. There is nothing wrong with letting someone help you without it being, like, an attack on your autonomy or having some ulterior motive or whatever," he rolls his eyes, exasperated. The Latina shoots a glare at him, but says nothing as she enters the house, the football player right behind her.
Dave closes the door behind him and takes in his surroundings. From what he can tell, the house is tastefully decorated and it's obvious that her family has money without going out of their way to flaunt it. However, it doesn't feel like anyone actually lives here and there are no personal touches to hint at what kind of family this is. This house has the cold, detached formality of a model home.
"Are you coming or what?" An irritated Santana barks from the top of the stairs, shaking him from his thoughts. David practically scurries up the steps and follows her down the hall to her bedroom. "Wherever is fine," she waves her hand idly to indicate that he can drop her bag anywhere before disappearing into her walk-in closet to find something to change into.
"Where is everyone?" David asks as he takes note of how different this room is from the rest of the house. The black walls are a stark contrast to the crisp white paint everywhere else. There is a distinct lived-in quality to Santana's room that is almost overwhelming compared to how sterile and stifling the rest of the house is.
"Work," Santana replies and Dave doesn't think it should be possible for one word to carry so much bitterness. Upon seeing the other boy's discomfort, she heaves an irritated sigh. "My father's the head of neurosurgery at the Cleveland Clinic and my mother is a corporate attorney handling some big case in Chicago," she elaborates as she tries to choose a top to go with the short-but-not-too-short skirt she decided on.
"Oh," Dave says, not sure what to make of this revelation.
Santana closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. This awkwardness is exactly why Brittany was the only person that she ever really let come over on a regular basis. "I'm going to take a shower since I didn't get a chance to after Cheerios practice. TV is downstairs and there's a ton of movies. I think there's soda in fridge. Help yourself to whatever," she dismisses him before disappearing into her en suite bathroom. David just stares at the empty spot where she once stood, wondering if the last thirty seconds really just happened.
Forty-Five Minutes Later
"You know, if you weren't gay I would be totally creeped out right now," Santana informs the boy lounging on her bed watching her apply her eyeliner.
"I wouldn't blame you," Dave smirks.
After the Latina went to take her shower, he didn't go downstairs to watch TV or anything else like that. He grabbed two bottles of water, one for himself and one for Santana in case she was still thirsty from practice earlier. Then he went back and waited for her in her bedroom, the only reasonably hospitable place in the house. It was too hard for him to breath anywhere else because of how suppressing the atmosphere was. When she came back in from the shower, she nearly had a heart-attack when she saw him still in there. Dave was only barely able to keep from asking her how she can stand living in this house because he didn't even want to think about how she would react.
"Isn't there some sports thing on that you'd rather be watching?" She questions with narrowed eyes.
"Not really," David shrugs as he sits up and redirects his gaze to the fringes on one of the throw pillows on the other girl's bed that he's been playing with. Honestly, he'd always wondered about why girls took so long to get ready which is why he unconsciously found himself watching his 'girlfriend' for the last half hour.
For her part, Santana is trying her best not to be unnerved by Dave's attention. The only other person that's ever watched her get ready is Brittany…and even then the other girl only ever looked on with a sad expression on her face. Brittany always wanted them to stay in together rather than go to those stupid parties. A wave of regret crashes over the Latina long enough for her to still the hand applying her lip gloss before she shakes the thoughts away.
Santana briefly flits her gaze to the reflection of her supposed boyfriend, who still seems to be watching her. Unlike Brittany who only ever looked on unhappily, Dave is observing her with a keen interest. He seems just as fascinated now as he was when she was blow-drying and flat-ironing her hair. Pressing her lips together and rubbing them to ensure even covering, she refocuses on her own reflection to scrutinize her appearance.
"Do you have to do this every day before school?" He asks suddenly, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.
"Yeah. Why?" She questions suspiciously after a moment.
"No reason. Do all girls take this long to get ready?" He continues, feeling bold after she didn't simply glare after his last question.
"Some," she replies shortly, wondering where this is coming from.
"I've always just been kind of curious," Dave shrugs, slightly embarrassed as he answers her silent question.
"Yeah, well, let me know if you need any makeup tips," Santana replies, sounding far more bitchy and defensive than she intended.
"I don't know why you bother with it in the first place," the other boy rolls his eyes, not appearing particularly put off by her attitude.
"What is that supposed to mean?" The Latina snaps as she whips her head around to face him, not bothering to mask how offended she is and hoping that her anger is enough to conceal her self-consciousness.
"It means that you're beautiful enough without it and putting on all that shit only really covers up your natural beauty. I don't understand why you want to hide it," he elaborates after her outburst, kicking himself for not thinking about how she would interpret it.
Santana allows herself about half a second to be touched by his words before brushing it away. "Whatever. It's not like you're some expert at female beauty," she mumbles before busying herself with screwing the top back on her tube of lip gloss.
Dave heaves a heavy sigh as he sits up on the other girl's bed and decides that this is no time to tackle her insecurities…but silently reminds himself to wear a cup when he does decide to bring it up again. "Are we ready?" He asks instead.
Casting one last look at her reflection, Santana nods slightly to herself in satisfaction, glad that the topic has been dropped. "Let's go," she affirms, standing up and grabbing her purse as she drops the tube of lip gloss in it.
"Why'd you get so freaked out with me watching you anyways?" He can't help but ask as he follows her out of the room.
Santana narrows her eyes at him for bringing that up. "It's just weird. Whenever a guy's come here and waited, he's always waited down here. The only one that's ever watched was…" she trails off, not wanting to think about it right now.
Dave waits for a moment before the meaning behind her silence sinks in. "Brittany," he fills in the blank knowingly.
"She hated when we went to parties because she preferred it when it was just us," she shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant.
"San…" he says softly as realization sinks in and he understands why his watching her made her uncomfortable. The only other person to do so was someone that cared about her…loved her. It wasn't someone that was just trying to get in her pants. She associates having someone watch her get ready with something only someone that cares about her would do and she can't let herself believe that Dave might care about her too, even just platonically.
"Whatever," Santana brushes off his concerned tone as she makes sure to grab her keys by the door before they leave. "What am I supposed to even call you?" She asks, seemingly, randomly as they head out to his truck.
"What?" Dave is understandably lost at her change in topic.
"Well, I can't very well call you 'Karofsky' around your family, now can I?" She snarks with an eye roll. "And I know you hate 'Davy'. So, does your family call you 'Dave' or 'David' or what?"
"Whatever is fine," he mumbles uncomfortably.
"I can always call you 'Snookie-bear'," Santana arches an eyebrow at the suggestion, reveling in the mortified look on his face. "What do you prefer?" She finally asks after going back and forth for far too long.
This gives the other boy pause since no one has asked him that before. "I've always kinda liked my name the way it is. Just 'David' is fine," he nods after a moment of deliberation.
"All right, 'Just David' it is then," she smirks at the look he gives her. "Don't even think of calling me anything other than 'Santana' or 'San'," she warns as she notices him opening his mouth to say something.
"Noted," he nods in acknowledgement, sharing a small smile with the girl beside him.
There will be a lot taking place in the next chapter. It's very Pezsky-centered ('Pezsky' pronounced like 'Pesky', for the anyone wondering) chapter, but there will be a short appearance by Quinn and a slightly longer appearance by Brittany.
Prepare yourselves because next chapter you will meet David's family when Santana comes over for dinner. There are a few cute moments surrounding the family dinner, but I can't say any more than that without giving too much away. Also, the entirety of the party will take place in the next chapter as well. Yes, that means more drunk-Santana (Drunktana?)…but only mildly so.
For those of you wondering, the Mash-Off reference was just a name: Rick "The Stick" Neilson. He was the mulleted hockey player that ran against Brittany, Kurt and Rachel for class president.
ORIGINAL POSTING DATE: 06 January 2012