all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)

chapter ten

"Santana! Wake up," Rachel called as she gently shook the sleeping cheerleader's shoulder, trying - and failing spectacularly - to rouse her from her deep slumber. "We simply cannot spend the entire day in bed, as enjoyable as I admit that might be. I have several suggestions for fun and entertaining activities for us to share, and I would like your input as to which we should pursue for the remaining portion of the day."

"Mmmph...midgets attacking...make 'em go 'way...please...Rachel, help me..." Santana mumbled into the pillow into which her face was buried.

Rachel didn't know whether to be amused or insulted, or perhaps both in a weird sort of way. Nevertheless, she was not one to ever be deterred by a little resistance in the pursuit of her goals, large or small, so she continued to stand at the side of the bed and call Santana's name while continuing to shake the girl's shoulder with a small but strong hand.

"Santana, you are not being attacked by midgets or anything else! You are simply being asked to wake up so that we may have breakfast and then plan the rest of our day."

"No...no...no...please...don't make me wear that vest, Mr. Schue...can't...rock...a vest..."

Huffing in exasperation, Rachel rolled her eyes and tried again. "Get up, Santana! Please."

"Britts...ride the unicorn...and head for the castle...save Princess Hummel..."

That was it. Rachel stomped her foot and jumped onto the bed, landing hard enough to jolt Santana awake, causing the Cheerio to sit bolt upright in confused agitation, yelling, "What the hell, Rachel?"

"Finally! You sleep like the dead, Santana," Rachel said, unable to keep herself from laughing at the slightly crazed look in the other girl's eyes and the disarray of her dark hair sticking up and flying away in all directions.

"Yeah, well, Sue Sylvester's early morning cheer practices plus a certain tiny banshee doing all sorts of not-very-PG-13 things to me all night equals a very tired and grumpy not-morning person," grumped Santana, wiping the last remaining vestiges of sleep from her eyes. "What freaking time is it, anyway?"

"It is now eight-thirty. I admit, I was guilty of oversleeping as well," Rachel replied, not noticing the mortified look of horror on Santana's face, which had settled there since the time had registered in her still slightly fuzzy brain. "By an entire hour! I never do that. Waking up at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning is simply unheard of in the Berry household."

Santana whipped her head around and fixed Rachel with a disbelieving glare. Rachel flinched - an involuntary reaction brought on by seeing the flash of anger in the Cheerio's eyes – then immediately felt guilty for it.

"San – I – I'm sorry...I'll...I'll just let you get back to sleep," she said quietly, hanging her head and slumping her shoulders in defeat before rising slowly from the bed. She couldn't quite keep from letting out a sniffle as she turned to walk over to the door. How had she managed to ruin everything so quickly? This would be a new record, even for her -

"Rachel."

She stopped in her tracks, frozen. This was it. Things were over before they had even really begun. She just knew it.

"Come here."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me. Come here." She heard the soft thump, thump of Santana patting the space next to her on the bed. When she still didn't move, Santana spoke again, more quietly: "Hey. Come on now. I'm not going to hurt you or anything, I promise."

Turning around slowly, Rachel faced the tanned beauty still sitting up in her bed, a vision of tousled loveliness. Santana was so beautiful, it made Rachel's eyes sting with tears to look at her, to know how she had touched her and been touched in return, and how she would never feel the way it had made her feel ever again and -

"Don't cry. Please. I...I can't handle crying at this time of the morning. Or any other time, really," Santana joked, raising a small, watery smile on Rachel's face. "Listen. I'm sorry if I scared you before. I just – I'm not used to waking up next to someone, let alone at eight-thirty on a Sunday. I'm...not used to a lot of things. But I'm trying here. I suppose you could have guessed I'd be a little grouchy in the morning, but you didn't know, not really."

"You...you're not mad at me, then? You're not going to break up with me? I mean, I don't know if we're even really together, in any official sense, yet, but I know that I certainly want to be together – and I promise, I swear on all that is Broadway, I will never wake you up before nine o'clock -"

"Ten."

"What?"

Santana smiled. "Before ten. That's as early as I can stand to get up on a Sunday. Best I can do."

"Oh, God, you must think I'm so stupid. I don't have any idea what I'm doing here at all, do I?" Rachel sniffled, wrung her hands in the blanket. She fought to keep herself from breaking down completely, trying to avoid looking even more foolish than she already had.

Santana surprised her by tenderly framing Rachel's face with her own hands to keep her from ducking her head or turning away. Then she looked her straight in the eye and said firmly, "No, Rachel. I don't think you're stupid at all. You're one of the smartest people I know. You just...you didn't know, okay? And..."

A smile bloomed across Santana's face, stealing Rachel's breath away. The hummingbird in her chest beat its wings once more.

"And?" she whispered, hardly daring to breathe. To breathe was to hope.

"And...yes, Rachel, we're together. What I said last night, when I called you my girlfriend...I meant it." Santana let go of Rachel's face to gesture with one hand between them, watching the little diva's eyes brighten, hearing her breath hitch. "This – us – whatever us is. I want it. I want late night phone conversations and ice cream dates and movies and dinners and walks in the park and all that other corny rom-com stuff, and I want it with you. Okay? Don't ever doubt it, or me. We're good."

Rachel beamed, allowing her unshed tears to fall at last, because now they were happy tears instead of tears of complete devastation.

"I'm going to hug you now."

The little diva launched herself at Santana like a missile, wrapping her in an embrace so tight it nearly drove all the breath from her lungs; but once she recovered from the initial shock, she gently returned the hug, reveling in the warmth and the pleasure of Rachel's body pressing against hers.

"Thank you, Santana. Thank you for giving me...for giving us a chance. I swear I won't ever let you down."

"Well, that's good to know, tiny, but I need you to let me up now."

Rachel raised her head, her cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, her eyes widening first in confusion, then in embarrassment as Santana tilted her head toward the bathroom door.

"Um...right," Rachel said, flustered, as she released Santana from her hold, rising from the bed. She tried to mask her discomfort first by toying with the hem of her Wicked T-shirt, then smoothing down non-existent wrinkles in her form-fitting gray sweatpants, and finally lowering her eyes to the floor as though something very interesting had suddenly caught her attention there. "Why don't I just meet you downstairs in the kitchen? I will have breakfast waiting when you arrive."

Santana got up too, stretching her long, slender limbs before making her way to the bathroom door. She couldn't suppress a grin at Rachel's sudden shyness.

"Sounds like a plan. See you in a bit," she said, and with the wink of an eye and a toss of her hair, she disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Rachel shaking her head as she wandered out of the room and down the stairs to prepare their breakfast.

When Santana came downstairs fully dressed a half hour later, refreshed and reinvigorated after a long, hot shower, she found Rachel putting the finishing touches on their breakfast: waffles made in her fathers' beloved waffle maker, from her daddy Leroy's mother's secret family recipe, which had only recently been bestowed upon Rachel despite the fact that she'd been old enough to use the waffle maker without supervision for several years now - well, ever since the infamous "frozen waffles in the waffle maker incident," anyway.

She had arranged fresh fruit salads for each of them in little bowls next to the large plates upon which the almost equally large waffles waited to be topped with real maple syrup - and to Santana's utter shock, she had even cooked several strips of bacon for her and placed them neatly in a square formation all about the round, fluffy waffle.

"Well, this is certainly a refreshing change from Sue Sylvester's master cleanse," Santana observed dryly, drawing a laugh from Rachel, who beamed proudly over her perfectly presented breakfast table as though she had created a masterpiece of modern art.

"That was kind of the idea," said Rachel as she poured orange juice from a large carafe into two tall glasses. Once the juice was poured, the glasses placed beside the plates and the carafe set aside, Rachel beckoned the cheerleader to the table. "Well, come on. Sit down. The sooner we have our breakfast – which is the most important meal of the day, after all – the sooner we can get on to discussing the many possible activities to follow."

Santana sauntered up to the table and took a good look at what Rachel had done. "You know, I was expecting maybe some toast and coffee, or possibly some kind of weird vegan protein shake, but this?" she paused, shaking her head in amazement. "Is actually kind of awesome, short stack. You did all this for me?"

"Well, no. I did it for us," Rachel replied, gesturing between them in the same way Santana had earlier. "Somehow, I didn't think a smoothie or a cup of yogurt would be an appropriate way to express my gratitude for you being here."

"Yup – nothing says thank you like a waffle the size of my head," Santana cracked.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but couldn't hold back her laugh. "Oh, hush, you. There's some actual butter in the refrigerator if you want it, by the way."

Santana looked up from her waffle, which she was drowning in sweet syrupy goodness, and smiled. "Yes, please."

They ate in comfortable silence, stealing glances and trading shy smiles, each marveling at this was all strange and new, yet easy and familiar it felt to be together in this way, each feeling proud and thankful that they had somehow found the courage to admit to and act on the unexpected feelings a single moment in time had created between them.

"You stare a lot, do you know that?"

Rachel startled, broken from her Cheerio-induced trance. "Hmm, what?"

Santana chuckled. Confused Rachel was kind of adorable, she thought. It was extremely rare to see the girl lacking her trademark composure in almost any situation.

"I said, you stare a lot. Not that I blame you, of course. All this?" Santana gestured up and down her face and body. "It's a lot to take in at once."

Blushing furiously, Rachel ducked her head and mumbled through a mouthful of waffle, "I wasn't staring! I was merely...appreciating."

"Oh, so that's what we're calling it now?

Rachel looked up at that and playfully stuck out her tongue. "You're incorrigible."

"If by that you mean smokin' hot and criminally sexy, then I plead guilty as charged."

"Oh, really? And what is the penalty if convicted?"

Santana got up from her chair and walked over to where Rachel sat. The diminutive singer looked up at her and squirmed, shivering involuntarily at the heated look in her girlfriend's eyes.

"This."

Santana leaned down and pulled Rachel's head up with a hand behind her neck to connect their lips in a sweet, maple-flavored kiss.

"Mmm...tasty," the Cheerio said, licking her lips as Rachel sat there blinking, still tingling from head to toe from the sensations the kiss had shot through her entire nervous system, her body humming with electricity.

"Yes. Well. Er...duly noted," Rachel stammered, clearing her throat before taking a long drink from her glass in an obvious attempt to cool herself down, though the sway of Santana's perfect hips as she walked back to her chair on the opposite side of the table made coherent thought entirely too difficult. "I suppose now would be a good time to discuss our choice of plans for the rest of our day?"

"I vote for anything that includes getting our mack on some more."

After spending an hour debating the relative merits of going to the movies versus going shopping in town versus taking a walk in the park, it was decided that the quiet of the park was preferable to the crowds at the theater or in town, once Rachel promised Santana that they could continue to "get their mack on" at a particularly secluded location the Cheerio knew to be an excellent make-out spot.

So they took Santana's car and drove through town with the windows open and the stereo up loud, singing along to the "New Directions" playlist on Rachel's iPod, and they smiled so wide and laughed so much, with the wind whipping their hair back and their voices seeming to fill the entire town, that both their faces ached slightly by the time they got to the park. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny and cloudless, the sky an endless band of light blue heaven, and as they parked the car and began their walk, Rachel thought this day couldn't possibly get better.

And yet it did, when Santana's hand reached for and found Rachel's, lacing their fingers together, swinging lightly in the air between them.

They walked a little while, not talking much, and Rachel was content to hum a wandering, wordless tune as she stole glances at Santana, biting her lip as she thought how insanely sexy the Cheerio looked with her wind-blown hair and her dark sunglasses and her tight jeans. She let the taller girl take the lead, allowing her to direct their steps into a more wooded area of the park, while the families and pet owners strolling with their children and running with their dogs stayed on the wider, more traveled paths, and the sounds of people and laughter and barking gave way to silence and solitude.

Rachel was enjoying the quiet, feeling almost as if she were walking through a dream, when Santana stopped suddenly, almost causing Rachel to stumble over her own feet. She looked around and said, "Well, here we are. This is it. My favorite place in this whole crappy, backward-ass town."

"It's beautiful, Santana. I had no idea you were such a nature lover." Rachel's voice was low and soft, though of course there was no one around to overhear them.

"Yeah, well, I'm just full of surprises lately, aren't I?"

Rachel smiled, squeezing Santana's hand, their fingers still intertwined. "That you are. And I kind of like that about you."

Santana leaned back against a tree and sighed, letting the sun's warmth caress her face. She didn't speak for a while, and Rachel let her have her silence, somehow instinctively knowing that she needed it.

"I know I said this was a make-out spot - and yeah, I guess it is, or it could be – but I actually come here to think and be alone sometimes. When things...get to me, and everything seems to be too much...this place calms me down, helps me put things into perspective, lets me find some kind of peace, at least for a little while. It's the only thing I've ever known that's done that for me."

She let Rachel's hand go to take off her sunglasses, and though they both missed the contact immediately, she wanted the little diva to see her eyes when she said what she was going to say next.

"Or at least it was, until now."

Rachel's eyes widened.

"You...I don't even know how you've done it, or even what it is you've done, but...being with you, being around you, it – I feel calmer, more in control of myself, more at peace than I ever have before. It's strange, somehow. I'm not used to feeling like this, but I like it."

Emotions played across Santana's face, swirled in her eyes like leaves in the wind. Rachel stepped toward her, not wanting to interrupt, but unable to keep away, drawn to the other girl as though tethered by an invisible rope tied between them.

"I always thought I'd be alone, Rachel. And I thought I was okay with that. I thought I was okay with hearing about other people's relationships, listening to friends or relatives or even strangers in the store or at the mall talking about love without ever knowing what it would be like to love someone myself." Rachel used the pad of her thumb to wipe away the tears that streamed down Santana's face as she spoke. "I was so angry, so pissed at the world, at my family, whatever, you know. Like, how could I want it when I was so obviously incapable of it, too fucked up to ever understand what it meant?"

"Santana," Rachel whispered. "You're not -"

"No. Please, let me finish. I was prepared to live my life that way, and I was fine with it, or at least I'd managed to convince myself I was. And then you happened. You tore all that away, completely ripped apart the fictional existence I was living. And it's scary as shit, you know? I thought I knew how my life was going to be, and I was prepared for it. But now – now I don't know anything beyond the fact that I can't believe I ever thought I was going to settle for that. Settle for living like a fucking emotional zombie, settle for whatever crumbs of happiness fell off someone else's table – Quinn's, Brittany's, whoever."

"Oh, San."

"Now I don't have the faintest fucking clue what my life is going to be like at all. I only know that I can't imagine you not being a part of it, and I don't know how the hell that even happened. You just looked at me, and my entire world fell to pieces. You changed everything. I don't know what you did, or how you did it, and I don't even care. I – I just -"

Santana reached for her then, crushing Rachel against her body, the life preserver in the raging sea, the only thing keeping her from being swept into that dark, spinning vortex in the water's blackest heart. Rachel held her, held on tight, knowing that she was going down, refusing to let her.

"Don't hurt me, Rachel. Please. Just – whatever else you do, don't hurt me, okay? Because if, if you break my heart, I won't survive it. Okay?"

The only way to answer was with a kiss, the breath of life, air forced into drowning lungs. Rachel crushed her lips to Santana's, crushed Santana's back against the rough bark of the tree, and with the sun streaming down through the leaves like a benediction, she kissed her promise into Santana's mouth, moaned it into her throat, Santana's hands in her hair.