all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)
chapter eleven
Santana gazed out the front passenger window, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the scenery flashing by as they drove away from the park, knowing that if she didn't keep her attention diverted, she'd just stare at Rachel and grin like an idiot. She kept silent as well, for fear that she would start babbling and gushing on and on about how wonderful and special and amazing Rachel was - because if there was one thing that Santana Lopez did not do, it was babble and gush (no matter how much she felt like she wanted to do just that). She was in a state of emotional exhaustion, and she simply didn't trust herself to behave in the way she normally did around Rachel at this point.
The silence wasn't tense or uncertain, however; it was more a silence of calm and contentment, a moment of peace and reflection as each turned over the afternoon's events in her mind. They were more sure of where they stood with each other than they'd been before, and each girl's mind was set at ease as a result.
Santana had finally admitted her fear of heartbreak, and in doing so, made herself vulnerable in a way she'd never dared before. It was one of the reasons, if not the reason, why the cheerleader had never been able to commit herself to a real relationship before now, and to say that confronting this reality at long last was a breakthrough would be a vast understatement.
For her part, Rachel was grateful that Santana had chosen her as the person to whom she made her confession, that she was the one to kiss her tears away, to hold her and tell her that she had nothing to fear. She knew that it was something that Santana had needed for a long, long time, and her heart swelled with happiness at having given the girl the reassurance she had so desperately craved. Her lips curled upward in a satisfied smile; she felt special in a way she'd never previously experienced. It was a feeling, she knew, of which she would never tire.
If she hadn't already gleaned the meaning behind the phrase "it is better to give than to receive" back when she was a child - well, she surely understood it now, in the very core of her being.
She knew that Santana had retreated into herself in order to process everything that had happened between them so far this weekend, especially her near emotional breakdown in the park, and she also knew that trying to force the girl to talk before she was ready was a sure way to invite disaster and discord; but she wanted, once again, to reassure the girl that everything was all right, that no harm would come to her as a result of her being so open and honest about her feelings. Santana's emotional terrain was a perilous landscape, fraught with hidden traps and deeply buried land mines, and Rachel wanted more than anything to help guide her through it as safely as possible.
So instead of talking, as was her first impulse, Rachel simply reached her hand across the center console and took Santana's hand, gently squeezing it as if to say, You're okay. We're okay. Everything is okay.
This finally drew Santana's attention; she turned to Rachel with a grateful, albeit small smile. It wasn't much, but it said everything that needed to be said in that moment, and the girl finally shifted in her seat to refocus her gaze.
"I don't want the weekend to be over," Santana said in an uncharacteristically subdued tone. "I don't want to go back to school. I don't even want to go home. I just want us to stay in our own little bubble forever."
Rachel smiled at the thought. "That would be nice, wouldn't it? No name calling, no slushies, no research papers, no homework," she replied. Then her face paled as another realization struck her. "Oh, no! That would also mean no Glee!"
Santana laughed. The sound warmed Rachel's heart. She could listen to that sound all day, every day, and never get enough of it. "Okay, okay. We can go back to school, but just for Glee. Maybe we'll make it a Glee-only school. How does that sound?"
"As long as you're with me? Perfect."
"Can we get your mom to teach the class, though? She's so much cooler than Mr. Schue."
Now it was Rachel's turn to laugh. "That's true, she is. But I like Mr. Schue, too." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "He's helped us all a lot, with so many things. As bad as things can get at McKinley, I have no doubt they'd be a whole lot worse without him and Ms. Pillsbury and Coach Beiste around."
Santana's eyes fell to her lap. Rachel saw the guilt stir in her eyes and cursed herself for darkening the mood. "I guess so. He tried to get me to talk to him a few times, you know, but I kind of pushed him away. Ms. P, too. I just couldn't trust anybody, let anyone in...until you."
Rachel's heart clenched with sadness even as it filled once more with determination to do whatever it would take to make Santana happy, and she said quietly, "Sometimes it's hard to share our pain, but that's what makes it easier to bear. You don't have to be alone, Santana - not anymore. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. Together, we can get through anything."
"You promise?" Santana didn't look up, but the hopeful tone in her voice couldn't be missed, and Rachel heard it loud and clear. Even this, in light of how difficult it was for the Cheerio to show the slightest weakness, was a major step forward.
Rachel fervently wished that she could hug Santana in that moment, hold her close and run her fingers through her thick, beautiful hair; but she settled for squeezing Santana's hand once more in the same firm but gentle way she wanted to hold her, hoping it was possible that the smaller gesture could convey all that a full-body embrace would. She channeled all her hope for the future, all her desire to replace Santana's pain with joy, into her touch.
"I promise."
When they returned to Rachel's house, they found themselves pretty much over the heaviness of Santana's emotional breakdown in the park and getting a second wind of energy. Rachel bounced into the kitchen to make lunch for them and grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator, while Santana plopped down onto the couch and turned on the TV with the remote control she had grabbed off the coffee table. She flipped mindlessly through the channels, the sounds and images flashing by almost too quickly for them to be registered. It was something she often did at home when she wanted to quiet her mind and find a moment to reset herself.
Her attention wandered from the screen to the sound of tuneful humming from the kitchen. She laughed silently to herself when she realized what the song was, then began to sing along with the familiar melody.
Since I've come on home, well my body's been a mess
Cause I miss your ginger hair and the way you like to dress
Why don't you come on over – Stop making a fool out of me
Why don't you come on over, Valerie?
Both girls dissolved into a fit of laughter, bringing the song to an abrupt end. Their hearts felt warmer and lighter just the same.
Santana found herself drawn once again to where Rachel was, as though she were metal and Rachel a powerful magnet, almost unconsciously. The petite diva's presence was large enough to fill the entire lower half of the Berrys' comfortable house, and Santana couldn't help but want to be closer to her.
"Rachel," she breathed. The closer she got, the more insistent the pull became. Her skin warmed, her pulse raced. She caught the scent of Rachel's shampoo in the air, inhaled it; her head spun as she let herself become intoxicated by it, by her close proximity to the girl.
There was something in the way Santana said her name that sent a shiver down her spine, only to ignite a low flame in her as it traveled all the way back up. She reached out with a delicate hand to caress Santana's cheek, thrilling at the way the taller girl leaned into the gentle, sensual touch, her eyes closed. A small sound of happiness, almost a cat-like purr, escaped Santana's lips. She could not remember the last time she'd ever felt so content, so at peace, and she knew it was all because of the small girl standing before her now.
Santana reached for her in turn, pulling Rachel's body close, wrapping her arms around the girl's frame. Rachel wrapped her own arms around Santana's neck, and that powerful magnetic pull drew her lips down to meet Rachel's in a soft, sweet kiss.
"Thank you," Santana whispered.
Rachel smiled, pulling back with a slightly dazed look in her eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment – or the kiss, for that matter – but for what are you thanking me?"
"For being you. For changing me. For everything. This weekend has been so amazing..." Santana sighed. "There's no way everybody at school isn't going to be able to tell that something's happened between us, you know."
"Is...is that a bad thing? I mean, do you not want people to know? Do you want to keep this...us...a secret?" Rachel's heart sank. She didn't think she could handle being made to keep their blossoming relationship under wraps, not when all she wanted to do was sing and shout about it from the rooftops. Flowers only bloomed in the light, she knew; this thing, this special, precious thing that was happening between them, would never survive hidden away in the shadows. She braced herself to hear the words she didn't want Santana to say: that they should keep this between them, that the world didn't need to know their business, that they didn't need to give the denizens of McKinley more reason to spit names at them and throw slushies in their faces.
Santana frowned. "No. I'm done hiding. I'm done being afraid of what people will think, what they'll say, what they'll do when they see me walking into school and down the hall with my girlfriend. I'm tired of lying to everybody, lying to myself about who I am and what I want and who I like and being angry and miserable all the time, and for what? My reputation? No. Screw that. Being with you doesn't make me any less of a badass."
It took a few seconds for Rachel to process what Santana had just said, but once she did, her eyes widened. She was stunned, to say the very least. Stunned, elated and overwhelmed. Santana's eyes were boring into hers with the same intensity her words had just carried, and she found herself lost for a reply, captured by that dark gaze. Santana's raised eyebrow signaled her amusement at the smaller girl's flabbergasted expression.
"Okay," Rachel said, after taking a deep breath. "First, you're absolutely correct. Being open and honest about who you are does not make you less of a badass, as you say. It makes you stronger, because you don't have to expend any energy on hiding and denying anything, on maintaining walls to guard your secret from the world. Second – am I...am I really your girlfriend? Because right now, I can't think of anything I would like more."
"You want to be my girlfriend more than you want to be a Broadway star?" Santana teased.
"It's not as though I can't be both, you know," Rachel huffed. "But right at this moment...I'd have to say yes."
"Wow. I never thought I'd see the day when Rachel Berry wanted anything more than stardom on the Great White Way."
Rachel pouted, but didn't pull away, much to Santana's relief. She was rather enjoying the intimacy of their embrace, and she knew that Rachel was too, despite the pout. "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Santana."
"Hey, I'm just saying. You want to know the truth? It makes me feel pretty special to rate above Broadway, honestly."
With that, Santana tilted her head down to kiss away Rachel's pout. The light brush of their lips quickly turned heated, and before long, both girls were dizzy, gasping for breath and smiling loopy smiles.
"I think," Rachel breathed, "this is an occasion for celebration. I had planned to prepare a couple of simple but tasty sandwiches for us, but now I feel that would be terribly inadequate considering the magnitude of the decision that's just been made here. Why don't we get ourselves showered and changed, and then head over to Breadstix for a more proper celebratory meal? My treat."
"I'm sorry – I zoned out after the part about the shower." This earned Santana a light smack on the arm in reprimand. "Ow! Hey, I said I was sorry," she said, rubbing the spot where Rachel had whacked her, pretending that the blow had actually hurt.
"Santana, if we were to shower together, we'd never get to Breadstix before my dads got home. In all probability, we'd never get there at all. Now, in the interest of ensuring that we will have the time for a leisurely and therefore enjoyable meal, why don't you go upstairs and use the shower in my bathroom while I use the one down here?"
Now it was Santana's turn to pout. "Aw, you're no fun."
"On the contrary, I'm lots of fun – when it's appropriate and there is time to fully enjoy it. Which is another reason why I want us to get going quickly, actually. The sooner we finish at Breadstix, the sooner we can get back here and have a celebration of an entirely different sort." Rachel lowered her head and looked up at the taller girl through long lashes with darkened eyes. "I trust you understand what I mean. If not, let me put it to you another way: does the phrase get our mack on paint the picture clearly enough for you?"
Santana's jaw dropped. Rachel tried and failed to fight down the impulse to laugh at the cheerleader's completely shocked expression, but was still polite enough to cover her mouth with her hand as she let out a giggle.
The cheerleader's eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in her voice, only challenge, as she crossed her arms and asked, "How fast can you shower, tiny? Because I'll bet I can get ready faster than you can."
Competition was something that never failed to stir Rachel's blood. "Oh, you will, will you? Well, I'll bet that you can't. Winner pays for lunch."
"Hey! I thought you said this was going to be your treat!"
"It was," Rachel smiled sweetly. "Until someone thought it was a good idea to bet against me. Really, I would have thought you'd have learned by now, Santana – it is never a good idea to challenge me."
Santana opened her mouth to reply, but Rachel had already spun on her heel and begun racing towards the master bathroom, leaving her newly minted girlfriend in the dust.
Breadstix was the go-to restaurant in Lima for dates, business lunches, birthday parties and pretty much every other occasion, a place where servers and regular patrons were on a first name basis, and the chefs all knew the particular tastes and preferences of said regulars, preparing their meals accordingly. Santana's love for the place's famous breadsticks was infamous, so it was no surprise when they found not the usual one basket of the delicious doughy items, but two, waiting for them on the table at which they were seated.
Rachel could not suppress a giggle as she watched Santana attack the first of what would be many breadsticks to be consumed. The cheerleader, wanting to be on her best behavior for their first official date, pointedly ignored her girlfriend's laughter in favor of savoring the breadstick's warm, seasoned, chewy goodness.
"I've always been amazed by your ability to eat those things all the time and never gain a pound," Rachel remarked. "Honestly, I don't know how you do it."
"Oh, please," Santana replied around a mouthful of her second breadstick. "Watch a Cheerios practice sometime and you'll understand real quick. It's not just a bunch of jumping around and waving pom poms. It's weight training and calisthenics and endless laps around the track. Since the start of school, I've gained five pounds, but not a single ounce of it is fat. It's all muscle, baby."
"So I've noticed." Rachel blushed at the memory of staring unabashedly at Santana's naked body and taking in the perfection of her lean, defined, athletic physique. "Your musculature is quite impressive. I wish I looked half as good as you, honestly."
"Hey, hey," Santana objected. "Stop that. You look amazing, Rachel. Between all those dance classes and your morning elliptical workouts, you've got a pretty smokin' little body. Don't ever doubt that for a second."
The unexpected – and very welcome – praise caught Rachel by surprise. She blushed harder still at Santana's words, but before she could say anything in return, their waitress appeared as though out of thin air to take their drink orders. After Santana ordered herself a diet Coke and Rachel asked for hot tea with lemon - "It's good for the vocal cords," she explained. Santana rolled her eyes. "Of course it is." - the petite diva hid her still-heated face behind the tall Breadstix menu. She was used to receiving compliments for her voice; compliments on anything else – especially her body – were strange and discomfiting, yet undeniably pleasant for her to hear. It would take some time, but she could definitely get used to it.
A light tap on the front of her open menu jarred Rachel's attention away from the less than impressive list of vegan options, and a moment later, a slender, tanned finger pulled the menu down and away entirely.
"Hey," Santana said softly. Her eyes shone with affection and concern as she held Rachel's flustered gaze. "Don't do that. Don't hide yourself from me. Or from you. Embrace all the awesome that you are. You're more than just your voice. I'm sorry – more sorry than I can ever tell you - that I didn't allow myself to see that until very recently, but it's true. You just need to believe it too. Trust me, Rachel. Okay?"
"I'll try," Rachel murmured, feeling all of her old insecurities rising inside her, making her feel shy and nervous and not at all deserving of the attentions of the gorgeous, amazing girl sitting across the table. "It's not something I'm used to, that's all. I mean, if anyone ever said anything about something other than my voice before, it wasn't very complimentary. You've heard the names – tranny, RuPaul, man hands, treasure trail." Santana cringed at the list that rolled so casually off Rachel's tongue, knowing that she had said all of them at one time or another herself, without ever believing in them. "So I imagine you can understand why it's difficult for me to feel as though that I'm attractive for any reason beyond my vocal ability."
Frowning, Santana took Rachel's hand, gently squeezed it. She knew that her apology would be meaningless without action behind it, and silently vowed to do whatever it took to get Rachel to see herself the way she saw her, to believe that she was beautiful and special for so many reasons - and yes, that she was very, very sexy too. In that moment, she realized that simply telling Rachel wouldn't be enough; no, she would have to show her, again and again and again...
"Santana? Are you with me? Our lovely server, Janet, has just asked if you've decided on your meal selection, or if you need more time."
"Um, yes," the Cheerio answered, feeling more than a little dazed, and slightly embarrassed, by the train of thought her brain had been riding before Rachel brought her back to reality. She cleared her throat, sat up a little straighter in her chair, looked intently at the menu for a moment while the waitress watched her with a look of studied indifference.
"In the interest of allowing my girlfriend here an extra moment or two to peruse the menu and make her final choice, I would like to order the vegan lasagna, please. Thank you ever so much, Janet, for your fine service."
Santana poked her face out from behind her menu and mouthed thank you to Rachel as the waitress scribbled down the order.
"And for you, Miss...?" the waitress asked, her pen tapping in a steady – and not at all annoying – rhythm against her note pad.
"I'll have the grilled chicken over penne with marinara sauce, please," Santana finally said, her voice tight with the barely suppressed desire to decapitate the waitress with the now-closed oversized menu in her hand. "Thanks," she added coldly as she handed the menu over and glared menacingly at the woman, who paled and hurried off to the kitchen to turn in their orders.
Rachel eyed her curiously. "What was that all about?"
"I didn't like her attitude," Santana shrugged. "Bitch shouldn't be staring at me while I'm trying to figure out what the most edible thing on their jacked-up menu actually is. I'm not down with a case of food poisoning. No me gusta."
"Well, Santana, I must say that I'm very proud of you for not biting her head off the way I could tell you wanted to. I appreciate you keeping your cool like that. After all, I would like us to be able to return here for many future dates."
All of the anger Santana had felt toward the waitress melted out of her body when she realized the implications of what Rachel had just said, and she found it impossible to keep a goofy smile from spreading across her face. Heat colored her cheeks as she reached for yet another breadstick to distract herself from the fluttering swarm of butterflies that had just taken up residence in her stomach.
"Future dates, huh?" she asked, her voice small and shy and completely unlike the one she normally heard coming out of her mouth.
"Many," Rachel replied, giggling. "That is, as long as you don't singlehandedly wipe out their entire supply of breadsticks and get us banned for life."
Santana threw her breadstick at Rachel, intending for it to hit her in the face, but it landed in Rachel's hair, and they broke out in a fit of laughter so loud that several other patrons had to turn from their meals to tell them to quiet down.