A/N: What's this!? An update after four years!?
A/N2: Yes.
A/N3: During the course of writing this chapter (started four years ago and recently retrieved and rewritten and expanded), I ended up creating some changes that have, hopefully, set up a better foundation for the rest of the story. As an example, the ending of this chapter was nowhere in my initial idea, but I like what possibilities it opens up for me. I really, really do. And after four years, that's a great feeling to have about one of your fics. :}
A/N4: Years and years ago I asked someone to translate some lines I'd written into the Spanish you'll see in this fic, but since I never expected it to take so long to actually get the chapter out, I didn't bother making note of who that person was, figuring I'd have no problem remembering. Well, that was a mistake. I can't remember. If it was someone who reads this, can you please send me a review or PM so I can once again properly appreciate you and give you credit? Thank you!
A/N5: One last thing! When I started this fic, Rachel's dads weren't named nor shown aside from the picture of them in Rachel's locker. So the Berry Men here? Not the ones cast for third season on. (I did end up going back and changing the names in the previous chapters to correspond with their canon names, though. Hopefully I caught them all and there's no confusion!)
And with that all done, on with the show~
Clicking the key fob, Rachel curled her fingers back around the keys before turning and giving them to Kurt.
"I can't believe he didn't even take them out of the car," Kurt muttered in solidarity.
"Really?" Sounding vaguely scornful, Santana looked at him. "You really think Finn has the brain cells to do something more than act like the petty, selfish infant he should have grown out of more than a decade ago?" Shaking her head, then throwing her hands out, with a growl at the dark emotions Rachel sent her in response to her words, she whirled around and kicked the tire of Finn's car, her frustration obviously turning into surging anger, "Stop defending the – fuck!"
Pain instantly blossomed in Rachel's big toe and the one next to it, and she gasped, stumbling forward, having to catch herself with a hand on the car door. "Santana!" she screeched, "Are you a masochist or a sadist? Both?" It was like the other girl needed anger to survive.
Bending down to squeeze her own toes through her boot, Santana glared at Rachel through a wave of dark hair. "You're the masochist," she hissed, "Stop provoking me!"
Taking a step back, Kurt stared at them. "…I really don't know what's going on, do I?"
Consternation flared in Rachel's body. "No!" she snapped, then groaned when the pain in her toe made her scrunch her face and inflame her nose, "Oh my – did you break your freaking toe?"
A loud slamming of a car door preceding heavy footsteps announced LeRoy's presence. Barely tossing an, "Are you okay?" at Rachel, he turned to glare heavily at Santana. "I saw that," he stated firmly.
Santana snorted. "Saw what?"
"Young lady!" Giving Santana a deep frown, LeRoy took an equally deep breath. "Okay. Yes. I know I can't understand how you must be feeling, but this is my daughter and her life you're… Impacting. Tell me. Do you – are you happy about your…" His jaw flexed, "This?"
His words had barely finished when everything burst. Waves of unhealthy anger, pain, and frustration suddenly slammed straight into Rachel, buffeting her from all sides inside, and she almost doubled over. How had Santana been hiding that?
"Am I happy?" Santana screeched. "Am I happy? Did you honestly just ask me that? ¿En serio este idiota me acaba de preguntar si estoy feliz? ¿Qué cree? ¡Me duele todo y es por culpa de esta enana con problemas de crecimiento y nariz de tucán a la que le gusta meterse conmigo!" ("Did this idiot really just ask me if I'm happy? Fuck, what do you think? I'm in pain and it's all because of this under-grown harpy-nosed midget who obviously enjoys fucking with me!")
Rachel would have felt the overwhelming anger and rage in the sharp, insulting rapid-fire Spanish even if she hadn't felt it coming from inside herself at the same time. But because she wasn't only hearing it, Rachel, exhausted, already a little off-kilter from the pain medication, and getting overpowered by a maelstrom of what wasn't just her own pain, finally exploded into frustrated, wrenching, heartbroken tears.
"Rachel?" Kurt exclaimed worriedly, hands batting anxiously over her waist and sides, hovering as if he didn't know if she would want him to touch her to hug her or keep her up.
A large hand gently clapped on his shoulder, easing him aside, and LeRoy's familiar arms were wrapped once more around her. "I've got you," he murmured warmly into her ear, hugging her shaking body into his; when he tilted his head away, Rachel, even through her sobs, could make out him saying Santana's name. She was ashamed to realize that the uncharitable part of her almost hated him at that moment.
Everything was coming out. It hurt, Barbra it hurt, and through the almost waterfall of tears and saliva and radiating pain, both from her nose and the added complication of having less on an ability to breathe, it only made her more and more heartbroken. Over Finn. Over her loss of her… Her soulmate.
Everything.
Her foot hurt. Her head hurt. Her whole body ached. The nameless center inside of her that housed both her emotions and Santana's was almost too painful to handle, a newly freed negative ball violently decompressing. If she had been fully aware, she would have wondered how it had taken so long to burst. After all, ever since she'd found out, it had taken practically everything out of her to hold on. But now, obviously, they'd tipped over.
She wanted to go home. Forget about her resolve earlier – it would be relief to sleep and let unconsciousness take the brunt of everything.
She clung to her father. She wanted to go home.
He took her home.
Waking up later that night, her mouth full of cotton and her head like a block of wood, Rachel whimpered when her hand immediately went to the pulsing pain of her nose. Awareness filtering back in, she sat up, resting for only a moment before reaching for her phone on the bedside table; blinking when the soft glow lit up the darkness in front of her eyes, she first checked the time – 10:43 PM – before turning to the glass of water and medicine bottle she'd initially bypassed. Once newly medicated, she sighed, wondered that Santana was asleep, and turned on her bedside lamp, settling in to start on her waiting collection of texts. For ease of mind, she started in chronological order.
U alrite
Yes, Puck, thank you. Only a small fracture. Please don't feel the need to punish Finn for what happened. It was an accident. An unfortunate, painful accident…
I hope ur ok! Wat the hell was w/ santana?
I am, 'Cedes. Sleep and pain medication are surprisingly effective. But I'm fine. If you haven't heard by now, it is only a fracture. There was no reason to address Santana at that time, even if it would mean more pressing curiosity later, and Rachel sighed, sending it off.
Sending you good thoughts! That looked painful.
It was, Tina, but I'm alive and no damage done to my talent or voice. I was just lucky it was it really was only a glancing blow. Finn already feels bad enough as it is. Or at least he did. Did he still? Newly crestfallen, Rachel turned to the next.
Don't let Finn get away scot-free. Make him pay for the doctor's appointment, at least.
Smiling at Quinn's almost blood thirsty response to her… Boyfriend's accident, Rachel mused if she would have ever been so magnanimous if the situations were reversed. She also wondered if this meant they were finally becoming friends. We will have to see how much my already prodigious insurance covers, but I'm sure my fathers will follow your suggestion, coming to it themselves anyway. Thank you for the support.
Tht lked trrbl r u gng to ned smone t crry ur bks tmrw
Already well versed in Brittany's… Unique text practices from the year before when Brittany had gotten it in her head that she had to run everything by Rachel before every performance or class, Rachel still almost pinched the bridge of her nose before she realized how much of a bad idea that would be. Actually, it was almost sweet. As my legs and arms are fine, I must decline your generous offer, Brittany, thank you. I should be fine. That was sweet of you to offer, regardless.
Sam, Artie, and Mike's texts were assorted variations to those she'd already answered, so she sent them general responses back. While she was touched they'd bothered to check in on her, her energy and drive were waning. Finishing up and slipping out of bed to make her way to her ensuite bathroom, she managed to make it all the way down the stairs, marveling at how little her toes actually hurt now, after the initial burst of pain, before she realized there were more voices than just her fathers' sounding from the living room. Frowning, then automatically touching first her chest to see she was respectfully 'strapped' down, she tugged nervously at her skirt, happy that her parents hadn't tried to change her into pajamas after she'd passed out in her father's arms; sure her clothes were a little wrinkly, and her hair wasn't perfect, but it had to do. She didn't want to go upstairs again and miss out on what was being said, and by who. While she may not want to make her presence known right away, she wanted to be prepared if it happened. She crept closer.
"…very reassuring that you were already abreast of this situation, if not of who, I'm sure, was on the… The other end."
That was her dad, Hiram.
"Yes. We couldn't dismiss the evidence when it would happen right before our eyes. Santí would be able to perfectly describe the pain and feeling of various breaks and injuries though x-rays and tests wouldn't show it. As doctors, we were, perhaps, a bit more able to test and rule out things, though I have to admit it wasn't the easiest of verdicts to come to. We just… Didn't know."
Was that… Santana's mother?
"Maribel's correct. As for the mood swings… Her older brother wasn't the most stable of teens and pre-teens, and had his own share of emotional outbursts, but there was something about Santana that was beyond the pale. Sudden. …Dramatic."
That had to be Santana's father. What were they doing there?
Hiram and LeRoy let out soft, weak chuckles, LeRoy adding, "Both our daughters are very dramatic and deeply sensitive girls, aren't they?"
Various noises of agreement sounded, the room Rachel now had her ear angled as close to the opening as she could without being theoretically seen by the occupants of lapsing into a humming, loaded silence. The lack of Santana's presence thrumming inside of her was evidence Santana was still, most likely, sleeping, but if her parents were here, it surprised Rachel that the other girl wasn't taking advantage and out – drinking or 'sexing it up' or doing whatever it was ex-Cheerios with the reputation Santana had did.
As the quiet continued, she could feel her heart beating in her chest, as if letting her know it was there. Shifting, and placing a hand over it to try and see if acknowledging it would quiet it down, Rachel turned her attention back to her ears. Were the adults going to start saying anything else any time soon?
It was Mrs. Lopez who delivered. Drawing in a heavy breath, Santana's mother's voice was tentative, reluctant, what she was saying succeeding in both Rachel and her heart stilling again, "We're just… Concerned… That with this revelation…"
Santana's still-unnamed father cleared his throat, "How the girls will…"
LeRoy sighed, and Rachel could imagine him and her dad exchanging glances, "Take it?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"I know. And we agree." Suddenly, Rachel's daddy sounded old, older than she'd ever heard it before. "You didn't see them this afternoon… It was… What has Santana told you?"
"If anything?" Hiram interjected.
There was a pause, and Rachel's mind filled in a look between Mr. and Mrs. Lopez like the one her fathers had shared.
"She was… She was pretty inconsolable," Maribel admitted, her voice strained, "I couldn't really get much out of her until… Well, until, I'm assuming, Rachel passed out. Thank you for dropping her off, LeRoy. She was in no position to drive."
"I was glad to. I'm only sorry I wasn't able to come in and explain at that time, but…"
"You needed to get Rachel home."
"Yes."
"We know, and we don't blame you."
Mr. Lopez agreed. "When your daughter became unconscious, ours became more conscious. I think it was a good idea to give the both of them some rest. Not to say your daughter is a burden on Santana – I'm not trying to imply anything of the like – but the two of them feeding off each other's stress and…" He sighed, "Spiraling isn't healthy for them. Both of them."
Rachel bit her lip, thinking furiously over the sounds of her fathers agreeing with that statement. As horrible and terrible and exhausting the feeding back and forth was between her and Santana, it wasn't terribly positive for those around them, either. It couldn't be. Ignoring the ones that didn't know what was going on for the moment, those who did know…
Rachel suddenly understood exactly why this meeting was taking place.
Just as Rachel's parents knew of the, what had been until earlier that day – was it really only hours ago? – unknown connection, Santana's parents did as well.
Which made this all the more real.
Final.
Once again, the crushing disappointment of losing what she had been so convinced was her soulmate in the shape of Santana Lopez, someone she had almost always never gotten along with – someone who lived on anger and – Rachel's mind cast about for a usable example, the one she zeroed in on being unfortunately correct – heartbreak – almost smothered her, as if it had just been waiting in the wings to make its disastrous, damaging reappearance. Her eyes started to water, and with her chin already trembling, she wanted to sniff, to clear her throat and nose, to prepare for the emotional upheaval. Instead, with effort, she channeled everything unwelcome into squeezing her hands together so hard her knuckles turned white. It was a coping technique she'd thought she'd outgrown.
"Add in the broken nose and how they found out, with an audience…" Hiram stood up, starting to pace like he normally did when he was anxious or antsy about something. Rachel could hear him. That familiar habit of his, was, she had to admit, closing her eyes to stop a threatening wave of tears, comforting in its own way.
"Which we only found out because Kurt, another of the glee club kids before he moved to another school earlier this year, and Rachel's ex-boyfriend's step-brother, told me," LeRoy explained, "But even his information is only secondhand. Say what you will about teenagers, but they do know how to disseminate information quickly."
That caused a couple chuckles to arrive and quickly dissipate in the space, Mr. Lopez offering a concurring, "Very true."
Silence filled the room again. Breathing deeply through her mouth, in and out, Rachel wondered how many awkward moments had already happened, then wondered how many more would happen. How long would she be able to stay undetected? Or, at the very least, how long before she had to leave if nature called or her legs fell asleep?
Hiram was still pacing when Mr. Lopez finally broke the quiet. It very well could have been a non sequitur if Rachel had come upon the conversation only a few moments ago, but because she had been there as long as she had, to her it only seemed like a probable continuation of an often repeated important question: "What can we do? Shoving them together, hoping to get them to get along without influencing each other's negative emotions, will only develop and support – prolong – acrimony and cause them to hate each other! Who knows what that would do to them?"
"You mean they don't already hate each other?" Hiram asked sharply, his feet finally coming to a stop.
Rachel was surprised at the clear edge of anger in her father's voice. She'd been very shrewd with what she told him and her daddy of what happened at school, so there was no reason he should have been so defensive if the only person he talked to about her school life was her.
…Unless her daddy had told him what had happened outside the Hummel/Hudson house.
Which was very likely. Feeling a little chastened by her own self, Rachel turned her attention back, barely loosening her fists so blood flow could resume, making everything tingle and ache.
"Honey." Admonishing his husband, LeRoy did allow, "Although the shock of everything is undoubtedly supplying more tension, it is true that Rachel and Santana, as far as I know, weren't really even friends to begin with."
Maribel sighed. "That's true. Santana's never spoken about Rachel, not really. She only told us her name when we asked who everyone was in the glee club page in last year's yearbook."
"Isn't that the photo where your daughter and my daughter are holding hands?"
Rachel almost squeaked. That was true. It had been a spur of the moment action on her part, partway fueled by the comradery she thought they'd been gaining after Sectionals and Rachel telling Santana she believed in her, getting a soft, "Thank you," in return. It had been the first time Santana had ever thanked her, or really looked at her as a person, not just a gleek and loser.
Now knowing what was between them, Rachel had to wonder if any of that exchange was due to their mixing emotions? Come to think of it, when she had grabbed the Cheerio's hand, the both of them smiling at the camera while posing next to their trophy, she had felt something like nervousness and a spark of shock, hadn't she? Maybe if she hadn't immediately tried pushing those feelings away, and waited a little longer before readying herself to be documented, this…
No. Rachel barely shook her head, scolding herself. That would never be who she was. She was always going to be focused on showing off her best side, of presenting herself and her talent and who she was. She always had to be ready.
As if mocking her, her fingers barely ghosted across her swollen nose. Tears once again misted in her eyes.
"I'd forgotten about that!"
Hiram's loud comment abruptly snapped Rachel back into focus, though it took her a few extra moments to realize she was just about to fall over on her side. Having been leaning to hear better while the pain meds were soaking in, the added removal of the hand helping to prop herself up in position left her a little off-balance and confused. Slowly righting herself, she wasn't expecting the dry laugh Maribel let out.
"Santí told me it was some kind of 'dare' thing, given to her by Quinn or Brittany. That they all had to pretend everyone was great friends, make the club seem more popular. I don't know. That part really wasn't making much sense, but it's not like I can predict teenage behavior these days."
"And with Santí, it was even more difficult," Mr. Lopez added. "Because, well." He gave a short laugh, free of amusement. "You know."
"We do."
Another one of the absolutely stifling silences happened, and Rachel couldn't help but let a few tears fall when Maribel asked softly, "What are we going to do?"
But it wasn't until her own father's, "How are we going to help them?" that she lost her battle for the second time that day. With her back against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, and her forehead on her knees, desperately trying to cry as quietly as she could into her skirt, muffling it, there was one question that repeated with each spike of pain in her continually aching nose:
How could anyone help?