The last chapter taught me that I like kind of like Rachel's POV so I decided to stick with it. I hope you all don't mind the switch, and while I haven't written the next chapter, I plan to go back to Santana's point of view after this. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your encouragement means so much to me and it really does help me write. - Crystal
chapter seven
Seven a.m. came way too quickly for Rachel's taste. When her alarm went off, she had immediately awoken, cursing everything about the early hour. She wanted to throw her clock across the room. While she wouldn't normally mind waking up so early, the fact that she had only gotten about three hours of sleep was weighing her down. All of the tears she had shed the night before hadn't helped her morning demeanor – her throat felt raw and her sinuses felt full. She could feel the beginning of a headache starting to creep across her head as she slowly rose out of her bed.
She quickly grabbed her cell phone and dialed the coffee shop she worked at. She practically begged her manager to let her take a sick day, and he had groaned heavily. But Rachel's throat was gravely and she sounded just a tad stuffy, and that seemed to be enough for the man. Well, that and the fact that she had not-so-subtlety informed him of the health risks associated with a possibly contagious worker coming into contact with food and beverages.
Rachel took a deep breath, absently wondering if she had any cold medicine. The fog of the morning lifted off of her slightly and she shot out of her room and down the hall. She had almost forgotten that Santana Lopez had fallen asleep on her couch and she needed to make sure the other girl hadn't left.
Frowning, Rachel's hands settled on her hips and she cleared her throat.
Santana was sitting up, her hair sticking out at odd angles and her makeup smeared. She was slipping on her shoes when Rachel walked in, and at least she had the good grace to appear slightly guilty when Rachel walked in, though the smaller of the two couldn't tell if she felt guilty for wanting to leave or just for getting caught in the act.
"And just what do you think you're doing?" Rachel demanded.
Santana's eyes darted around briefly and she finished pulling her shoes on. She ran a hand through her hair before looking up at Rachel. "I – I didn't want to overstay my welcome, I guess," she said.
Rachel stepped further into the room and sank down on the couch heavily. "I would hardly call three hours of sleep overstaying, Santana. You were trying to leave before I got up, and don't bother trying to deny it," she told Santana, leveling a pointed glare at her.
She was half-afraid that Santana might snap at her and just walk out, but she was relieved when Santana just shrugged and leaned back against the couch next to Rachel. Rachel felt Santana shift slightly until she was comfortable, and Rachel was pleased to note that Santana's idea of a comfortable position involved leaning against her slightly. Perhaps all wasn't lost.
"I heard you talking on the phone, calling out of work. You're really freaking loud, Berry," she muttered, "even when you sound like you swallowed a bunch of rocks."
Rachel smirked. "Yes, well, I find it to be of the utmost importance to speak with absolute clarity and a strong tone, even when one does sound like one has swallowed several rocks. If anything, it is more important to properly enunciate during those times, so that whomever one is speaking to will be able to comprehend what one is saying through the collection of pebbles in one's throat."
She heard Santana groan next to her. "God, are you always on? Do you have an off switch? Is there a button I can push that will make you stop talking like that?" she groaned, nudging Rachel with her elbow. Her brows furrowed and her eyes slid shut.
Rachel couldn't help but chuckle at how exasperated Santana looked in that moment. The truth was, yes, she was always on. Even when she was exhausted and worried and consumed by thoughts of the girl sitting next to her, she was still on. Her couch was ridiculously comfortable and she wanted to shut her eyes and just drift off right there. But she was still on. It was just who she was, who she had always been.
Santana's stomach grumbled and she laid a hand on top of it.
"Are you hungry?" Rachel asked.
Santana shook her head slowly, but her stomach betrayed her by growling again. "No," she muttered.
Rachel sighed and pulled herself up into a sitting position, stretching as she did so. Santana didn't move when she stood up, and when Rachel put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped and her eyes flew open. Unfazed, Rachel held out her hand to the other girl. Santana just stared up at her, and Rachel could feel awkwardness settling over them, the unresolved events of the previous night seeming to catch up to both of them in that moment.
Rachel watched as several different emotions flickered over Santana's face, and she bit her lip. Santana may have thought she was hiding herself well, or maybe she didn't – Rachel couldn't say – but either way, she could see every different emotion and feeling the other girl had as it settled on her features and then flitted away as another one replaced it. Tension was starting to creep through the room, rising up the walls from the baseboards, meeting the ceiling and falling into the center of the room like smoke, and she could see the exact moment that Santana panicked, and she knew she had to stop it.
Rachel reached down and let her hand rest on Santana's knee, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm going to make some breakfast, okay?" she said softly. "Why don't you use the bathroom and freshen up?"
She didn't give Santana a chance to object, even though she could tell Santana was about to say something. Rachel turned away and walked into the kitchen resolutely before she could even start protesting. Rachel shook her head, trying to clear her mind.
As she started gathering supplies, she kept her ears open. Several minutes passed in silence until Rachel finally heard the door to the bathroom open and close. A rush of air left her lungs and she was so relieved that she couldn't stop from humming lightly to herself. Her throat was still slightly raw, but she preferred the expression of a positive emotion to complete silence.
Rachel was layering pancakes onto two different plates when Santana finally came into the kitchen. Rachel was pleased to note that she had taken her shoes back off. Her face was clear of makeup, and Rachel couldn't help the worry that built up in her at the sight of Santana. Her eyes were red and she was pale; the bags under her eyes were even more noticeable and her mouth seemed to be permanently settled into a frown. Santana was fidgeting nervously.
"I don't even know why I'm still here," she breathed out honestly.
Rachel didn't know what to say to her – though she had some ideas, she didn't want to overstep her bounds by trying to speak for the other girl – so she just continued stacking up the vegan pancakes she had made. She gestured for Santana to take a seat at the counter while she spread butter on top of the pancakes and covered them in syrup.
Santana sighed as she plopped down on a stool. She seemed dissatisfied at her lack of answer but Rachel didn't want to press anything. She was blunt and upfront about things, but her worry for Santana overtook any ideas she might have had about pushing things too far; she didn't want them to break.
And so they ate in silence, each with their own thoughts and the tension was swirling around them and Rachel almost had a hard time swallowing because the air was so thick. She just tried to focus on eating, because she wasn't quite sure what to do at that point. If she pushed too hard, Santana would run (she had already shown that to be true), but if she didn't press the issue, Santana would leave and probably try to avoid her just because of the tension and awkwardness sitting between them.
She felt the headache that she had first woken up with start to build back up again. She wondered if it was supposed to be this hard to help someone, to help someone who was so obviously hurt and jaded. She wondered if it was supposed to feel like this - if it was supposed to feel so heartbreaking to be in the presence of someone so heartbroken, if she was supposed to feel her insides twisting and her head spinning and her heart pressing against her ribcage every time she saw Santana's downcast eyes. Rachel had always been compassionate and empathetic, but this felt so extreme - like she might be breaking right alongside Santana. Is it supposed to be this hard?
She was about halfway through with her breakfast when she glanced over and saw that Santana had barely even touched her food. Watching her closely, seeing how tired she looked and seeing how her mind was reeling, probably trying to find ways to get out Rachel's apartment as soon as possible, Rachel knew that it didn't matter. It didn't matter if it was hard, because she couldn't just stand by and watch this happen; she didn't want to. She just wanted Santana to be okay.
Rachel reached out and placed her hand on Santana's forearm. The girl looked up at her questioningly, her eyes distant and watery. "Please eat, Santana," she said softly. "Please."
She watched Santana look back down towards her plate as her fork dropped from her grasp and Rachel grimaced when it hit the plate with a loud clatter. She watched Santana's eyes close and her face crumple and Rachel didn't know what to do.
A feeling of familiarity slid through her as she slid her hand down to grasp Santana's, lacing their fingers together. She watched Santana try to take a deep breath, but it was shallow and shaky. She squeezed her hand. "Santana, it's just breakfast. They're just pancakes," she muttered carefully.
Santana sniffled. "You lied last night, you know," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Rachel frowned, trying to remember everything she had said last night, but nothing akin to a lie came to her. She had only told Santana the complete truth. "What are you talking about?"
Santana shook her head, still refusing to look at her. When Santana carefully extracted her hand from Rachel's, the shorter girl felt her heart drop. "You said we were old friends," Santana whispered, "but that's not true. We were never friends."
Rachel pursed her lips together and took a long look at Santana. "That is true, Santana. We spent most of our youth bickering with each other. We weren't friends, but we weren't always enemies, either. After you joined the glee club and started letting yourself actually enjoy it, our dynamic brightened considerably. We hardly ever fought during our senior year," she said earnestly, letting her hand rest on Santana's shoulder.
Santana was shaking and Rachel watched tears force their way out of the girl's eyes. "I was so mean to you, and you – you just made me pancakes," she whispered.
Rachel frowned, unsure of exactly how breakfast had led to crying. Rachel couldn't stand it, though. The shear force of Santana's emotions and the raw intensity with which she felt them was infectious, and it made Rachel want to cry with her.
She put her hand to Santana's cheek and gently moved it until she was able to make the other girl look at her. "You were really mean to me, sometimes," she started, watching Santana's face fall further, "but I was mean sometimes, too. We all were, every last one of us. No one is perfect all the time."
Santana just shook her head, tears still slipping down her face, running into Rachel's hand and getting it wet. "I was the worst, Rachel. I was always the worst."
Rachel stood up, shaking her head. Her headache had intensified tenfold. "Santana," she said, "that was years ago, okay? It feels like a lifetime ago."
She pulled Santana up with her, grasping both of her hands firmly. Santana just stared at the floor, still crying, and Rachel leaned down to catch her eyes. "It doesn't matter anymore, Santana. What matters is this, okay? This - right here, right now," she said, firmly, slipping closer to the crying girl and raising her chin. "This is what matters, not some ridiculous high school drama that happened when we were both histrionic teenagers."
Santana didn't say anything, she just buried her head in her hands and Rachel could see her trying to stem the fresh round of tears trying to burst out of her. Rachel remembered how often Santana would cry in school, would just break down in hysterics at sometimes ridiculous things, but this was completely different.
This was real heartbreak. This was real sadness and fear and hurt and pain, so much pain that Rachel didn't know if she could even handle it all. And she realized that she had been underestimating Santana, because while she was in so much pain and she was hurting so much, she was still standing. She remembered thinking the night before how strong Santana had been in high school and how weak she seemed now, but standing in front of her, one hand still cupping the girl's cheek while the other held Santana's hand while she cried openly in front of her, Rachel realized that she was wrong. Santana was still strong, to be standing in front of her, hurting so much, and to even be standing at all showed that she had more strength than Rachel had given her credit for.
The realization washed over her and it made her hopeful that Santana could get through this. The sudden burst of something like optimism spread through her and she wrapped her arms around Santana's midsection. She had a moment of déjà vu, but she didn't care because holding Santana just seemed like the right thing to do.
Rachel rubbed her hands up and down Santana's back, whispering words of encouragement to her as she held her, telling her that it would be okay and that she could get through anything (and Rachel sincerely believed every word of it.)
Eventually she felt Santana calm down again. She pulled back just slightly and wiped the residual tears from Santana's cheeks, smiling at her gently. "Come on," she whispered, keeping one arm around the girl as she pulled her through the living room down the hallway.
"Where are we going?" Santana rasped quietly, once again letting herself be pulled along by Rachel.
"We did not acquire nearly as much sleep as we should have last night, and so I thought that perhaps we might try to take a nap," Rachel said, pulling them into her bedroom.
"No, Rachel, I just want to go home," Santana objected.
Rachel sighed. "Santana, just lie down and get some sleep, okay? We're both obviously very tired," she told her, pulling back her comforter and top sheet. She took advantage of the fact that she still had Santana within her grip and physically pulled the girl towards the bed until her knees hit the edge and she sat down. Santana didn't move, and Rachel rested her hands on the sitting girl's shoulders. "Think of this as you paying me back for not eating the delicious pancakes I took precious minutes of my life preparing for you," she joked, happy when Santana's lips quirked and her eyes rolled.
She walked around to the other side of the bed and slid into it, sighing happily as she snuggled into her blankets. When Santana still didn't move, Rachel leaned over and tugged on the back of her shirt.
Santana didn't react for a long moment, and Rachel could see her thinking. She wiggled around a little bit. Rachel was learning that letting Santana sit quietly for too long was a bad move: Santana seemed to get pulled too far inside her own head until she couldn't handle her own thoughts and she fled, both her emotions and whatever room she was in. Rachel was about to say something to the girl, but just as she opened her mouth, Santana slid into bed, pulling Rachel's blankets up underneath her chin and twisting a little bit until she was comfortable.
Her back was facing Rachel and she let her hand drift across Santana's shoulder blades, rubbing her back comfortingly. She felt sleep tugging at the edges of her consciousness and wasn't able to fight it. Rachel was vaguely aware of Santana moving again and she felt warmth settle in close beside her until she couldn't fight sleep anymore.
When she woke up later that day, she knew that all the progress she had made was lost. Santana was gone.
