"Tell me something I don't know about you."
Rachel thoughtfully – and playfully – stroked her chin with her thumb and forefinger. Santana giggled, and the sound caused Rachel to glance over at the young woman next to her with a bright smile on her face – a smile that, she was sure, was causing her eyes to sparkle brilliantly. Because Santana's laugh was contagious and so utterly free that Rachel almost couldn't stand it.
"Well, dahh-ling," Rachel dramatically drawled. "There's oh so very much that you don't know about me. Where should I begin?"
Santana pulled one of her legs up in the passenger seat of Rachel's car and placed it comfortably underneath her. "How about… We go back and forth. At least," she swallowed around the lump in her throat. "At least until we get to the salon. To maybe keep my mind off of it?"
Rachel hesitated for only a brief second – Is it inappropriate? Where do I draw the line between Santana being my patient and Santana being my friend? – before she reached over and lightly placed her hand on Santana's thigh.
"That sounds like a great idea," Rachel softly announced. Santana smiled. "Ok, let's see…" Again, Rachel entered Contemplative Mode. "My favorite flavor of ice cream in the entire world is vanilla. And I know that people think that's terribly boring, but that's how I've always felt! And it's not even that I haven't tried other flavors of ice cream. Because I have, trust me – if for no other reason than to stop people from making fun of me for liking vanilla. Alas, here I am today – a strong-willed lover of vanilla ice cream."
Santana giggled, pressing her hand against her lips in an attempt to stop the giggles from becoming full-blown laughter.
"Laugh all you want," Rachel said – her tone was genuine.
Finally, Santana calmed enough to speak. "Whew," she breathed. "Well, my favorite type of ice cream is plain old chocolate – so I guess you could say that I'm almost equally as boring."
Rachel squeezed Santana's thigh gently. "Not boring," she said, her voice soft and respectful. "Vanilla and chocolate go together amazingly well."
Santana turned her head then, if for no other reason than to better stare at Rachel's profile. A loose lock of hair had fallen from Rachel's pony and was brushing against the nurse's cheek. Santana had to bite her lip – hard – to keep herself from reaching out and pushing the stray bit of hair back behind the other woman's ear, to keep herself from allowing her fingers to linger on the soft-looking skin of her cheek.
Taking Santana's silence for acquiescence, Rachel continued. "I love to sing."
Santana forced her eyes away from Rachel's lips. "I love to sing in the shower."
"I've considered moving out of my apartment – just so that I could find one that will let me have a dog," Rachel said, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.
Again, Santana had to force her eyes back out the car's window. "My best friend from the time I was about four years old until I was nine was my dog, Baxter. He was the best."
"What happened when you turned nine?" Rachel questioned.
Santana again turned her head – but this time, it was to look directly at Rachel. They were stopped at a light, and Rachel looked over as well, directly into Santana's eyes. Rachel was surprised to see them shining brightly with unshed tears. "Brittany moved to my hometown. She was in my homeroom class that year. The rest is history."
Rachel wanted so badly to ask about that history. Instead, she turned her eyes back to the road as the light turned green and continued with their little game. "For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to help people. I wanted to be a doctor or a nurse or anything, really – it never truly mattered, as long as I was getting rid of sickness. But through all of my training and desire to help people, one thing was always hardest to deal with..."
"What was that?"
Rachel looked at Santana from the corner of her eye. "The chemotherapy ward."
Santana looked down at Rachel's hand on her leg. Delicately, she placed one hand on top of Rachel's and her other hand underneath – so that she was holding Rachel's hand in both of her own. "Well," she said. "That makes two of us."
They shared a sad smile. Then Rachel put the car in park.
