Hey. So when I sat down to work on this chapter, I decided to continue in Rachel's POV, because I thought it would be interesting to see how Rachel views Santana as she's going through everything. I fixed some formatting in the last chapter (I didn't realize my line breaks weren't showing up). I hope you all enjoy, and if you could take just a second to review, that would be awesome.
A big thanks to ButcWolf and Guyana Rose for being my sole reviewers of the last chapter, and a genuine thanks to everyone who has continued to add this story to their alerts and favorites. All the emails I get keep me going.
chapter eleven
Rachel didn't know when she'd seen Santana Lopez look so nervous, and she had seen just about every emotion on the Lopez scale recently. Santana's fidgeting and discomfort were starting to rub off on her the closer they got to her childhood home and Rachel caught herself drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.
She turned down a familiar street and couldn't contain her smile. She glanced at her companion and Santana looked like she might bolt as soon as the car stopped. "Honestly, Santana, there's no reason to worry. It's just my dads."
She heard Santana squeak out an odd half-laugh. "Yeah, exactly. It's your dads. I'm sure they weren't exactly fans of me in high school."
"Well, to be fair, I didn't really care for you in high school," Rachel deadpanned.
When Santana shot her a glare, she giggled a little bit. Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You're not really helping right now, Rach," she muttered.
"On the contrary, I've actually been quite helpful," Rachel responded, pulling into the driveway of her childhood home. "I finally managed to distract you long enough that you stopped fidgeting. We've reached our destination and you didn't even notice."
Santana's mouth opened and closed as she looked down at herself, seeing that she had in fact stopped squirming. She cast another glare towards Rachel, who was pleased to see that it contained a sort of grudging respect. "You're evil," Santana told her.
Rachel smiled and opened the car door, pulling herself out and stretching. When Santana made no move to follow her, she peaked her head back in the rental car. "Are you coming?" she asked.
She watched Santana start to move slowly, sliding out of the car as she raised her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. The summer days were long, but the sun had already started to set. With a sigh, Santana slammed the car door and leaned against it.
Rachel shook her head, deciding to give the other girl a moment of space. She pulled both of their suitcases out of the trunk and sat them down in the driveway, keeping an eye on Santana as she did so, still afraid that Santana might try to flee. Rachel had seen it time and time again, after all.
But Santana wasn't moving; her body looked heavy as she slumped against the door and stared down the sidewalk. Rachel stepped next to her and tried to follow her eyeline. The Latina seemed to be looking at everything – the houses lining the street, built around the same time and almost identical on the inside, the man a few homes down, taking advantage of the setting sun and mowing his lawn. The scent of freshly cut grass permeated the air. Rachel smiled at her neighbor's yard, seeing the old woman outside watering her many flowers.
She looked back at Santana curiously and the smile left her face. Where Rachel had been happy to see the small piece of suburbia that she had called home, Santana looked like she might cry. Rachel wanted to reach out and smooth away the lines of dejection across the other girl's forehead, but she didn't have the chance to.
"Do you girls need help?" a voice called out. Santana tensed next to her and inhaled sharply.
Rachel spun around. "No, daddy, we've got it. We'll be just a moment," she responded, grabbing both of their suitcases. "Come on, Santana. Let's get inside," she said softly.
Santana nodded, taking her suitcase away from Rachel and following her towards the house. "Your dads don't own any guns, do they?"
"Just one," Rachel laughed as they made it inside the house.
"Rachel, sweetie, we're so glad you're home," her father Leroy said as soon as they stepped through the door. He picked her up as he hugged her and she felt giddiness course through her. Her father Leroy was tall and fairly strong and his hugs never failed to put a smile on her face. During a visit home her freshman year of college, she had asked him to stop treating her like a child with his constant need to pick her up and swing her around, but her resolve only lasted two more trips before she realized that she would never be too old for one of her dad's hugs. They were always a source of happiness and comfort for her.
Her dad Hiram was on her just as her feet touched the ground. He wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. "We've missed you," he said with a smile and she grinned back at him. He was only just taller than her, but he more than made up for his stature with his determination. Hiram had always pushed himself to be the best and Rachel had admired that about him from a very young age. She eventually realized that she admired it because she was exactly the same way.
As she pulled away from him, she followed his gaze to the girl standing awkwardly in the entranceway. Santana was standing there politely, but Rachel could see that her smile was strained. She stepped forwards and pulled Santana further into the house, putting her hand on her back between her shoulder blades. "Dad, daddy, surely you both remember Santana," she smiled, keeping her hand in place.
"How could we forget?" Leroy asked, smiling. Santana tensed even further, and Rachel wished that Santana could see that there wasn't a hint of malice on his face. Leroy stepped forward and gave Santana a small hug and she froze before she awkwardly returned it.
Hiram, seeming to pick up on her discomfort, politely offered his hand. "Welcome back to Lima," he smiled. "It's good to see you again, Santana."
Rachel ran her hand down Santana's back when she didn't say anything, slightly tapping her fingertips along her spine as she did so. It seemed to knock her out of whatever daze she was in and she shook Hiram's hand. "Yeah, it's good to see you again too, Mr. Berry," she responded, before looking at Leroy. "And… the other Mr. Berry," she finished uncomfortably.
Leroy waved her words away. "Now, Santana, you're going to be a guest in our home for the next two weeks. Please call us Leroy and Hiram."
Santana nodded, and Rachel watched her fix the smile on her face, trying to make it seem less strained. An awkwardly silent moment settled over them all.
"Well," Hiram started, "we've set up the guest bedroom for Santana if you both want to go upstairs and get settled. We know you've had a long day, but Leroy and I thought we might go out for dinner if you're up for it."
Rachel nodded, smiling brightly before she pulled Santana up the stairs with her. She deposited her suitcase in front of her door and led them towards the guest bedroom. Santana followed her blindly, and Rachel had to physically pull her into the room. Santana stood in the middle of the room for a few moments and then sat down on the edge of the bed.
Rachel was starting to worry about the other girl. She wasn't saying much and she wasn't very responsive. Rachel wondered if this trip was good idea. She doubted herself for a split-second before she shook such thoughts away – Santana needed one of them to act like she knew what she was doing.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "I promise that they're harmless and they hold no grudges."
She watched Santana lick her lips. "What do your dads know, Rachel? About, well, me and what happened?"
Rachel nodded, knowing that this talk was going to happen at some point. "I didn't tell them much, Santana," she answered, sitting down next to Santana and trying to catch her eye. "I merely informed them that I recently found you in New York City and had convinced you to accompany me home to Lima for a visit with our old friends. I was adamant that you would stay with us, but I didn't tell them why."
Santana nodded but still didn't look at her. Rachel couldn't help but sigh. "I also didn't tell them why you left or what you've been doing in the interim. It's not really my place and I would never violate the trust you've put in me," she told Santana firmly.
Rachel was relieved when Santana finally looked at her. It was a quick glance but it was accompanied by the barest hint of a smile, which Rachel gladly returned. She stood up. "Now that that's settled, I find myself quite famished."
Santana looked around the room casually. "So, I'll see you later tonight after you have dinner with your dads?"
Rachel's brow furrowed. "Are you not hungry? You should eat something. Traveling can be quite exhausting and it's important to maintain an adequate diet in order to maximize one's health," she responded before nodding her head resolutely.
"No, I don't want to impose. You should like, catch up with your dads or whatever. I'm not really hungry," Santana shrugged.
"You wouldn't be imposing. They invited both of us," Rachel said. She held out her hand. "If I walk downstairs without you, they will just send me back up here to get you."
Santana glanced at her hand and looked back up at her. Her expression was unreadable and it made Rachel nervous. She almost withdrew her hand but eventually Santana grabbed it and let Rachel pull her off the bed, down the stairs and all the way to dinner.
"I can't believe this place is still here," Santana said, sliding into a booth. She grabbed a breadstick and took a bite as Rachel slid in beside her. "The breadsticks even taste exactly the same."
Leroy slide in the bench across from them and Hiram followed him. "Lima hasn't changed much, in all honesty. The only real difference is that they opened up a Breadstix on the other side of town," he told them.
"A few stores at the mall closed, as well," Hiram added.
A waitress came by and took their drink orders. Santana and Rachel's fathers passed around some breadsticks. Rachel just glared at them disdainfully. They were supposedly some kind of wondrous bread-like heaven, but being vegan, Rachel wouldn't know.
"So Santana, how are your parents?"
Rachel watched Santana take a huge bite of the breadstick she was holding. "They're…well, you know, same old, same old," she muttered, shrugging. "Like you said, Lima doesn't really change."
Rachel jumped in. "Dad, how's work been?" she directed at Hiram, knowing that once he got started talking about his job, he tended to ramble a bit. Santana sent her a grateful smile and Rachel nodded in return.
The waitress came back with their drinks and took their food orders. She kept sending wary glances at Santana, no doubt recognizing her. Rachel assumed that the woman expected Santana to start yelling at her, demanding a wheelbarrow full of breadsticks or her head on a silver platter. But Santana was nothing but polite and Rachel almost laughed at the look on the woman's face.
They made idle chit-chat until their food came and Rachel was glad to see that Santana seemed to be loosening up a little bit, understanding that her fathers weren't a threat. Trying to keep an eye on everything and run interference if needed was both tiring and time-consuming. Her stomach grumbled and she was happy for the distraction her salad gave her.
"I don't see how you can eat that," Rachel scoffed.
Santana rolled her eyes and stabbed a piece of Italian sausage and scooped up some rigatoni. "You're just jealous that you're missing out on all these delicious carbs. But you enjoy your rabbit food, Rachel."
"Well at least my 'rabbit food' isn't the result of –" she started.
Santana raised her hand at Rachel. "Okay, you need to stop now. I don't need another ten minute lecture about this," she interrupted, smiling brightly when Leroy started chuckling. "You just sit there and eat your rabbit food; I'm going to sit here and eat this pasta. Then I'm going to stuff the rest of these breadsticks in my purse and we're all gonna be just fine."
"What have you been up to the last coupe of years, Santana?" Leroy asked, still chuckling. "As I recall, you left pretty suddenly."
And just like that, the moment was gone and the atmosphere around Rachel and Santana shifted. Rachel glanced at Santana nervously, but was surprised to see that Santana looked calm and collected. Her posture was slightly rigid, but she seemed composed.
"My aunt got sick," Santana said.
Rachel turned around in shock and her jaw dropped.
"We were really close and my parents let me go take care of her. She didn't make it," Santana continued solemnly, and Rachel was sure that Santana was purposefully avoiding her gaze. Her eyebrows rose as Santana continued. "But the time the dust settled, I was already in New York City, so I just decided to stay there."
They were lies. They were all lies and Rachel couldn't look away from them. Santana had said them with such ease, like it was nothing to her to spin some story about what was probably an imaginary aunt, to create a character and kill it off in a few sentences. Santana made the lies look so easy, so simple. Rachel shook her head in disbelief. Anger and disappointment swirled around inside of her and she couldn't manage to pinpoint exactly what she was disappointed and angry about.
If her fathers noticed her sudden shift from shock to quiet anger, they wisely didn't say anything about it. Rachel was quiet for the rest of dinner and the car ride home, trying to decide how she felt about Santana's fake explanation, why it made her uneasy and uncomfortable.
She understood, in some ways, why Santana had lied. Rachel knew that she couldn't expect Santana to open up about what had really happened, at least not on their first day back in town. She had just been so hopeful that perhaps Santana might try. But Santana hadn't tried at all. Santana had lied with seemingly no problem whatsoever.
Rachel hated it. She hated that Santana had lied; she hated that Santana had felt the need to lie, to keep herself locked up and tightly wound. As they walked through the front door and bid her fathers goodnight, Rachel hated that this was who Santana had always been, that this was who life made her – a scared and heartbroken girl hiding underneath a perfect mask.
In that moment, though, what Rachel hated the most was that she couldn't tear that mask off. The only person who could do that was Santana, and Rachel could see that the girl was clinging to it with every ounce of strength she had in her.
Rachel felt Santana nudge her and she looked up. "You okay?"
Rachel nodded. "Goodnight, Santana," she whispered, raising up to place a light kiss on the taller girl's cheek. As she walked upstairs, she cast one final look over her shoulder. Santana's head was bowed and one of her feet was scuffling across the wood floor of the entranceway.
She wanted to walk back down the stairs and wrap Santana in a warm hug, wanted to tuck her into bed and tell her that everything was okay. Rachel turned around and walked the rest of the way to her room instead. The day had been exhausting, and there were still many uphill battles ahead of them.
Something was poking her shoulder irritatingly. Was there someone on stage with her? This was her moment. She was winning her third consecutive Tony and someone was trying to interrupt her. She gripped her award tightly, thanking Barbra and Bernadette.
"Rachel," they hissed and suddenly her eyes were open. She was in her childhood home, in her old room, in her bed. Santana was hovering over her.
She rubbed her eyes, grumbling a bit. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice thick from sleep.
There was a long silence and Rachel's eyelids were too heavy and her mind was foggy.
"Can I sleep in here tonight?" Santana whispered.
Rachel's eyelids fluttered and she rubbed her eyes again before nodding. She rolled on to her back as Santana slid into bed beside her, copying her position. Santana's hand was resting up against hers and she stopped herself from reaching out and taking it.
"I'm sorry," Santana whispered into the darkness.
Rachel turned her head to look at her. "I know," she responded quietly. "I'm not mad at you. I understand."
Santana met her eyes. "Do you?" she asked, her voice tense.
Rachel bit her lip. "I'm starting to. I'm trying to."
Santana turned away from her, staring at the ceiling. She didn't say anything and so Rachel turned her gaze upwards as well. She felt her eyes growing heavier as they laid there in silence.
"Do you know why I hated you for most of the time we were in high school?"
Rachel's eyes flickered back open. "I could make several guesses," she answered honestly. "But I would rather you tell me."
Santana didn't respond at first and Rachel thought she might have fallen asleep. "You always knew who you were," Santana finally said. "You knew who you were and what you wanted and you already had plans for how to get there. You were so sure of yourself, sure of your talent and your dreams and your weird animal sweaters. You never faltered."
She felt Santana shift before she spoke again. "You knew from day one and the rest of us were still trying to figure it out. I was still trying to figure it out."
Rachel just nodded. Sleep was pulling at her, tugging on her conscious mind and she fought to stay awake. "Did you ever figure it out?" she asked, her voice slightly slurred.
"I'm starting to," she heard quietly and she didn't know if it came from her mind or the girl in her bed. "I'm trying to."
"And?" she prompted, or at least she thought she did.
Rachel felt a warm hand glide over her own, a thumb brushing across her knuckles, the ghost of a kiss on her forehead, or maybe that was in her dream.
"And I hate it," she heard, or maybe that was in her dream, too.