After accidentally blowing off her "no initiating conversations" rule, Santana finds herself reaching out to Rachel more often. Even when the other girl is busy with performances, she finds time to respond. Sometimes Rachel texts her, other times she updates her Facebook status and tags her - Santana has to explain to Brittany that she and Rachel aren't dating when Rachel posts: "Cold New York night. Staying in, talking on the phone and cuddling up - with Santana Lopez."
Brittany isn't the only one to question Santana and Rachel's relationship, either. After a month or so of sideways looks from Carly (and her ogre of a boyfriend), the dark-haired girl confronts them. They insist they don't have a problem with "the homosexual lifestyle," but make sure Santana knows that they're disappointed she hadn't told them she had a girlfriend.
They spent the better part of the first semester and even the beginning of second semester trying to hook up Santana with guys from various frats and, had they known she was a lesbian, they would have been working on the sororities, instead. Surely there was another lesbian on campus. Or had they known she had a girlfriend, they would have at least understood why she holed herself up in her room and talked to a computer until all hours of the night.
Santana's first reaction was to laugh. It was also her second, third and, pretty much every reaction after that. In fact, it's how she reacts when she shares the news with Rachel later that night.
"I don't see why that's so funny," Rachel says. Little lines run across her forehead as her brows push together.
Santana's eyes widen and she can't help but laugh more. "Seriously? They thought you and I were together, Rachel! That's hilarious!"
"Why? Is it that ridiculous that someone would find me attractive?" Rachel huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.
"I didn't say you aren't attractive, Rachel." Santana rolls her eyes. "I just said that it's funny that they think you and I would date."
"Why, exactly?" The smaller girl looks completely affronted by Santana's attitude.
"Oh, I don't know," she says, "maybe because one of us likes penis and the other doesn't have one? Jesus, Rachel. Why are you getting so bent out of shape about this?"
Rachel looks down at her hands in her lap. "I'm assuming I'm the former."
"Well, technically you're both. I mean, you like 'em and you don't have one." Santana smirks evilly. "Unless there's something you're not telling me."
The icy look Santana receives is enough to kill her chuckle before it escapes her throat. "I'm just teasing you, Rach. C'mon. I know you don't have a-"
" - I am not exclusively interested in men," the smaller girl says. "Just because my previous relationships were with males doesn't mean that I don't have the capacity to also be interested in women."
Santana blinks a few times. "Oh. Well. Okay, I didn't know that." She shrugs. "That's cool. But that doesn't mean we're dating just because sometimes you like penis and sometimes you don't."
"No, but it's also not a ludicrous idea, either."
Santana just stares at Rachel, unsure of what they're arguing about, exactly.
"All I'm saying is that it's not ridiculous for anyone to think we could be together." Rachel looks - what is that? hurt? - but Santana doesn't know what to say that wouldn't a) be sticking her foot in her mouth even further or b) come out sounding like a proposition.
The tiny brunette sighs and decides to change the subject. "I looked at another apartment today."
Glad for the reprieve, Santana takes the out that's so graciously extended and runs with it. "And? Perfect or bust?"
"I love it. I can't afford it, but I love it," Rachel replies wistfully. "I took the application. If I'm just looking at my wages, I can't afford it. But, my tips are always really good ..."
"You can't count on that, Rach." Santana feels horrible for having to be the voice of reason. "You sure you don't want a roommate?"
"It's not that I don't want a roommate, Santana," she says. "I just want a roommate I can trust. And I don't think I'll find that on Craig's List or Roommates dot com. Daddy said he'd ask Dad about helping me for the first few months so I can add more to my nest egg."
"So, it's a possibility then, right?" Santana asks, trying to sound hopeful for her friend. "You should send me the info. Let me look it over. If there's something to criticize, I'll find it. Maybe you won't want it so badly."
The problem is that there is absolutely nothing wrong with the apartment. It's as close to perfect as Santana could ask for her friend. Close to school, tiny kitchen (the girl doesn't like to cook) and large living space (she does like to have friends over). And knowing that other NYADA students live there makes her think that the neighbors are already used to impromptu performances in the elevator and lobby.
Santana isn't surprised, later, to learn that, by the time she'd looked at the link Rachel provided for her, the other girl had already filled out the paperwork and sent an email making an appointment with the building manager to turn it in. The girl really was in love with the place.
Their post-high school academic year ends and Santana finds herself back in her old room in Lima with her friend firmly ensconced in a new apartment. The dark-haired girl laughs as she watches Rachel (via Skype) struggle to put together a bookcase with a hex tool.
"Why can't they just assemble it and sell it like that?" the small girl complains as she tries to fit the hex tool into the screw head.
"Because it wouldn't be as entertaining," Santana offers. She's sitting on her bed, tossing microwaved popcorn into her mouth and watching the Rachel Berry Variety Hour. It's got singing (of course), drama (Santana never heard that word come out of Rachel's mouth before), and feats of physical strength (at one point, Rachel throws the tool across the room).
"You wouldn't be doing any better, you know." Rachel looks at her computer and points at her friend's image on the screen.
"We'll never know, will we?" she replies as she pulls her dark hair into a pony tail.
Rachel sits cross-legged and pouts. "This is why I need a roommate. Forget helping to pay for things. I need someone who can put things together."
Santana laughs and lays on her stomach, readjusting her laptop so that she can still see her friend. "You need a sugar daddy more than you need a worker bee. You really aren't going to look for a roommie? I thought by now you'd have thrown in the towel and decided that paying for the place was more important than possibly living with Jeffrey Dahmer reincarnated."
The other girl frowns. "That doesn't even make sense. And no." She sighs. "It'll be tight and maybe I won't get to see as many shows as I was hoping to, but it's worth it not to have to worry about who's living with me. Or who she's bringing to our apartment."
"Maybe you just want your privacy so you can bring people home." Santana wiggles her brows and smirks.
Rachel laughs. "Right, that's exactly it. Maybe whoever I bring home can put this darn thing together." She slaps her hand against one of the shelves resting against the wall just as Santana's phone dings.
She reads the text message and laughs. "Carly says 'hi.'"
"And that's funny because..."
"Because she still thinks you're my girlfriend," Santana answers. "See?" She turns her phone toward the screen as she reads aloud.
: just checking that you really don't want that giant pennant you won at homecoming. i have the perfect spot for it on my wall, if you're sure. oh! say hi to your girl for me.
"You won a giant pennant?"
"Yeah. Go team and all that crap," Santana says, not at all surprised that her friend chooses to focus on that part of the message.
"Show me!" Rachel scrambles from her spot among the rubble that should be a bookcase and looks intently at her computer screen. "How big is it? Is it like one of those super big ones that covers a whole wall? She said it was giant."
The darker-haired girl shrugs. "I don't have it. I gave it to Carly. She'll use it and I don't have any reason to keep it. It's not like I need a reminder of a wasted year, anyway."
Rachel chuckles. "You say that like you're not going back."
"I'm not." Santana rolls onto her back and then reaches behind her head and places her laptop on her stomach. "It wasn't for me and you know it. So don't act like you're surprised."
The smaller girl is quiet for a moment as she studies her best friend. Her eyes narrow and she blinks a few times before she asks, "So, what are you going to do? You're not staying in Lima, are you?"
"Hell no. I got plans, don't you worry about me. I'm making lemonade or some shit like that." Santana winks into the camera.
Rachel waits to hear what the plans are and frowns when her friend doesn't deliver. She gets a diversion tactic, instead.
"So, it's hilarious that Carly still thinks we're together, right? It's been how long?" Santana chuckles softly. "I could have been more clear, I guess. I just kind of laughed when she suggested it."
"Yes, I recall the laughter." Rachel's frown deepens and then transforms into a pout. "Joke of the year, from what I remember."
"It was pretty funny," Santana agrees.
"I'm sorry but what, exactly is so funny about it, again? And don't say it's funny because you don't have boy parts."
Santana sits up and puts her laptop on her crossed legs. "Boy parts? Really, Rachel? I know you've seen one and, really, I don't want to know what you did with Finn because I just had lunch and it wasn't good enough to taste twice. But, really, you should be able to say the word."
"Fine. You don't have a penis," the smaller girls says grudgingly.
"Thanks for noticing."
"If the humor of the situation is based upon one of us having one of those, and we've already determined that this is not the case, then it's not funny. Therefore, I think you should stop laughing at the idea of someone thinking that we might be a couple." Rachel punctuates her sentence with a firm click of her mouse over the "end call" button.
"Rach?" Santana stares at the computer in confusion before sending a video call invitation. There's no answer.
"What the fuck?"
: Did you lose internet, again?
: Did you use the key I told you to use to keep the wireless vultures away?
Rachel doesn't reply to her text. Five minutes pass. Then ten.
: Rach? Everything okay?
An incoming Skype call pulls her attention away from the phone in her hand. She frowns when she sees Brittany's name and icon pop up.
"Hey, were you trying to call me before? I was on with Rachel and - "
Brittany's arms are crossed over her chest and her cat sits in her lap, glaring menacingly at Santana's image. "You're being stupid."
The dark-haired girl inhales sharply and her eyes widen in surprise. "What the fuck, Britt? Hi to you, too. Jeez, what crawled up your ass?"
"You're not being a very good best friend," the blonde accused. She lifts one hand and starts to read from her palm. "You're wrapped up in your own ... " she squints "... words. World!" Brittany pushes her hand in front of the camera for her friend to see. "Little Lord Tubby just gave me a hand bath and now I can't read the rest of the list."
"What list? What are you talking about? I've always been there for you," Santana says, her voice raising.
Brittany rolls her eyes. "But you're not for Rachel. She's having a really hard time living alone and there's scary noises sometimes and it's really expensive so she couldn't see that show that had Harry Potter and then the fake Harry Potter with her friends and ... " The blonde stops and frowns at her hand. "And I can't remember the rest of the list but she said something about hating lemons and you laughing at her."
"Rachel talked to you about me?" the dark-haired girl asks. "When?"
"While you were texting her about vultures."
"Wait, while I was waiting for her to answer to me, and maybe thinking that a serial killer broke into her apartment, she was talking to you – about me?" Santana stares at Brittany.
The blonde nods. The cat continues to glare with contempt and Santana is pretty sure she also sees judgment in his creepy little eyes. "I talk to Rachel a lot. And Mike and Puck and Quinn ... oh! Quinn said to stop emailing her website ads for cell phone family plans and to tell you that she's not buying an iPhone for her butt, no matter what apps you think it might benefit from."
"I don't care about Quinn." Santana huffs when Brittany's pout only intensifies. "No, I mean, I care about Quinn but ..." She lets out a frustrated sigh. "Just - why Rachel is mad at me?"
"Because you're stupid," Brittany states simply.
Santana lets herself fall backward on her bed, her face falling out of the camera's range. "This is stupid. If she's mad at me, she should talk to me. Not you." Her hand pops into view as she points at the camera. "I didn't do anything."
"You're Bruce Willis."
"Brittany ..." Santana whines. This is not the time for a trip into her friend's dizzying logic.
The blonde explains, "You know, in the dead people movie. He probably felt really dumb when he finally figured out what everyone else knew all along."
She usually loves when Brittany is right. She relishes the look of shock and embarrassment that crosses the face of the person who got the Brittany Stupidity Smack-Down. It's hard to feel good about yourself when you've been outsmarted by the girl who brought in a box of Quaker oatmeal and used it in a report about George W. Bush, "the country's second famous man named George Bush and also the son of the woman on this box, who is famous for discovering oatmeal in the New World."
When she finally calms down and lets herself think, her mind dissecting every interaction she's had with the smaller girl since graduation and her focus settling on Rachel's visit and the two (only two) arguments they've had since then, Santana feels incredibly stupid. Stupid and, oddly, hopeful?
No, that's probably just the cold pizza she had for breakfast. Fuckin' pepperoni.