sorry there was such a gap between updates, new york was occupying my time :)
all the thanks to the people who took a look at this while it was in progress; the rust was hard to get off.
...
She can't find her damn shoes.
She's three shoebox piles deep into her wardrobe looking for her Louboutin Mary Janes, and she's getting dust in her face. But she needs those shoes. They're the only shoes that are perfect with the dress she's also getting dust all over, and this is the dress she's wearing. She has to, it's perfect.
(It took her exactly four days of college to work out that her high school wardrobe was so completely inappropriate for anywhere outside of a night club that it was laughable. Her Papi-funded wardrobe makeover ended up filling her eBay-funded baby supplies savings account, which probably worked out for the best anyway because somehow she still didn't learn — what was her obsession with dresses so tight people could see her ovaries and why did no one make her stop?
When she'd lost all the baby weight, and then some, Stacey of all people had dragged her down the street and shoved her into a $400 pair of jeans that made her ass look amazing. She couldn't afford them, but Stacey said to consider it a loan. "You'll pay me back later.")
"Mommy, can you tie my tie?"
She crawls out from underneath the rack of shirts hanging overhead, and Jake's standing in the doorway in his little suit pants and shirt, tie hanging around his neck in a knot. "Come here, J-man," she says and rocks back to sit on her butt, unfolding her legs from under her. Stupid cheerleading knees.
"You excited?" she asks, lifting the tie over Jake's head so she can unknot it.
"Yes!"
"You know it's like when we go see your dad dancing, right? You can't call out or distract Rachel while she's on stage."
"I know," he says, drawing the word out.
"Excuse you, watch your tone." And yes, she's aware that he comes by his petulance honestly, but that's no reason not to discourage it. He's five and it's cute, but eventually he'll be fifteen and it won't be and oh, she can't even think about that. Not while he's standing here in a suit.
"Sorry, Mommy," he mutters, even as he tilts his head back so Santana can tie his tie. "Are we going soon?"
"As soon as your dad gets here," Santana says distractedly, holding Jake at arm's length to check that his tie is straight. "God, you're so grown up," she sighs.
(Sometimes she wonders if she would think Jake was so awesome if he weren't her kid.
She's never been a huge fan of kids. Brittany's little sister was a total shit, and the huge increase in exposure to other kids besides her own once Jake hit an age where socialising with other kids was apparently necessary has done nothing to change her mind.
But her very unbiased opinion is of courseshe would think Jake is awesome, because she's known him for a while now, and he just is.)
"Come here," she says and pulls him in, smacking a kiss against his cheek.
"Ewww!" Jake cries, squirming out of her arms. "Do I have makeup on me?" he asks as he rubs at his face.
"You sure do, buddy. Good thing it's your shade," Mike's voice cuts in, and Santana looks up to where he's standing in the door, letting out a low whistle.
"Looking good," she says and then holds her hands out. "And I'm glad you're here. Help me up."
(Not that she has any desire to go there.
Or, really, that she's ever had any desire to go there. But they made a kid together, so they have a certain level of claim to each other; it's grown into a familiarity that from the outside sometimes looks comfortable in a way that makes people think they're together, and from the inside just means she gets to tell him he looks hot when he does.
Which is often, because she made a kid with one seriously good looking guy. Gay or not, she knows this shit.)
Mike pulls her to her feet, one of his giant hands gripping both of hers while the other grips her waist. The tight dress around her legs makes her unsteady, and he keeps his hold of her while she gets her balance.
"What?" she asks when she notices him looking.
"You're not so bad-looking yourself," Mike says with a smirk. "Nice dress."
"Oh shut up," she laughs, and smacks his butt as she ducks around him. "And find my Mary Janes," she calls out. She knows he'll be able to find them.
…
It's less than a mile, but her heels aren't exactly conducive to walking.
(Technically, she has a car. Or technically Mike has a car; whatever, they share a car. It lives in Mike's parking space because he actually has one, and neither of them drive it, if it can be avoided, because Boston drivers are insane.)
She let's Jake swipe his CharlieCard, and doesn't make him hold her hand while they wait for the T. He's taking the evening very seriously, with his hands tucked into his pockets and hair slicked back like Fred Astaire, standing quietly between her and Mike on the platform.
"I think this is going to be fun," she says, turning to look at Mike, and as says it she realizes she means it.
It's not that she thought it would be awful — quite the opposite, when it comes to Rachel's singing. But when she'd decided it would be okay for them to go, okay was exactly the word for what she thought it was. It was just okay. Now...
"You sound surprised," Mike replies, and she shrugs.
"I like Rachel when she's singing. I always have."
But she knows what she's like, and this isn't making her crazy the way it would have even a week ago. Singing or not, this is a lot of Rachel to pay attention to.
But if she's actually honest with herself - and not the bullshit level of honesty she's been known to engage in - she's starting to think they could be friends, that Rachel actually wants to be her friend, in a way that has nothing to do with their shared history of photos in lockers and ugly pink bridesmaids' dresses. That is, if Santana is willing to let it happen. The fact that she could even think of this as potentially fun? Well.
She feels like a five year old trying to work out who it's a good idea to play tag with in the playground. Maybe Jake has some advice on the matter.
She shrugs again at Mike's look. "Shut up."
Their seats are incredibly good, only a handful of rows from the front, and even though she's taken Jake to see a couple of old movies here before she's never really appreciated how nice this place is. That itch of curiosity is back again, and it has her wondering how Rachel ended up with this gig, and why.
Jake struts behind the usher, his chest puffing up the closer they're led to the front.
They settle into their seats, and it's not long before Jake's swinging his feet back and forth as he looks around, his head swivelling in every direction, until he's sitting on his knees in his seat so he can take everything in.
"Rachel said she sings some songs she thinks I'll like," he says after a moment, settling back into his seat. "I hope they're from the Lion King."
At Jake's words, a woman seated in front of them turns around. "You know Rachel Berry?" she asks, directing her question at Santana.
"She's myfriend," Jake answers, and Santana snickers a little at the emphasis.
"Ah," the woman says, the smile on her face as fake as her lips. She turns back around, with a muttered "how nice for you."
Jake grabs at Santana's elbow where it's propped on the armrest between them. "It is nice for me," he says, his tone only a little questioning.
"It is, J-man," she says easily, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair.
It isn't long before the lights dim, and Jake squirms around until he gives in and sit on his legs so he's a little bit taller. She eyes the people behind them, but Jake doesn't seem to be in anyone's way so she turns back as people start to clap, and then Rachel's on stage and her hand settles on Jake's leg to keep him from sitting up on his knees in his excitement.
She's not five years old, so she simply straightens up a bit and bites her tongue.
Black and slinky looks really good on Rachel.
"Hello," Rachel says when she reaches the mic, her hand lifting in a tiny wave that should be ridiculous coming from a grown woman.
The audience settles down, just enough that when Mike breathes out, "Wow," she catches it and nods a little in agreement.
"Thank you for being here. How is everyone this evening?" Rachel asks as she adjusts her mic stand. Everyone claps, and she can see Rachel settle her ear piece and say something to the band before turning back to the audience while the band quietly begins to play.
"So I have a special friend in the audience tonight," Rachel says, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the spotlight and scanning the crowd. "And I just wanted to say hi to him first, and that I hope he likes this first song."
And then the band shifts into the opening notes of 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight', and Santana can't move her hand fast enough to cover Jake's mouth before he calls out, "I do like this song, Rachel!"
Rachel cracks up laughing - even when she turns her head away from the mic, Santana can hear if from her seat - and the audience buzzes in amusement.
"I'm glad, Jake," Rachel says into the mic, squinting in their direction. Santana's not sure she can actually see them, but Jake waves anyway.
Whatever feeling of total parental mortification she manages to muster up doesn't last long in the face of everyone around her forgetting all about it the second Rachel opens her mouth to sing.
…
They could have been sitting there for hours or seconds when Jake starts to squirm around.
It's not strictly Broadway, but it's close, and Rachel's obviously chosen every song on her setlist because it means something to her, whether or not the reason is also obvious. Some songs are so obvious she can't help but roll her eyes at how some things will never change; some Santana has never heard before, but — and maybe Rachel's an infinitely better actress now than she was in high school — each song seems more personal than the last.
When Rachel sings 'I'd be the first one to agree, that I'm preoccupied with me' Santana starts to squirm herself.
"Mommy," Jake whispers loudly, "I have to pee."
She's scooping up her clutch when Mike leans forward and whispers, "You want me to take him?" but she shakes her head. She could use a bathroom break, too.
"You having fun?" she asks Jake as they make their way through the lobby.
"Yep," he says before coming to a stop outside the bathroom she's lead them to. "I didn't like that song, though."
"Why not?" she asks, holding the door open for him.
He dashes into a stall, not bothering to even push the door closed behind him. "I dunno," he says loudly. "Rachel was sad."
"She's just singing a sad song, baby, she's not actually sad." And she almost believes herself.
When they slip back into their seats, Rachel's singing a chirpy rendition of 'Being Alive'.
…
By the time everyone in the theater is standing and clapping, Jake up on his seat so he can still see, Santana wonders what she thinks she's been seeing all these months whenever she looked at Rachel.
It's like enough of the picture has been revealed, and she finally feels like she can match the Rachel on stage with the girl she remembers from high school. That'sthe girl obsessed with pouring all her emotions out on stage, still inside Rachel but definitely not let out nearly as often as she once was. Santana doesn't want to strangle that girl now, which is a bit different.
She's not sure what to do with that, but she tucks her clutch more firmly under her arm and claps a little harder.
…
They're easing their way through the crowded lobby when someone grabs Santana's arm.
"Hey—" she starts, before she sees that it's Cassandra. "Oh. It's you."
"Rachel wanted me to catch you before you left," Cassandra says, this time having the courtesy to give her full attention to the task, but still looking entirely disinterested. Seriously, how is thisRachel's assistant?
"Okay," Santana says, pulling her wrist from Cassandra's grip. "And why is that?"
"She wanted me to ask if you'd meet her for drinks. She won't be long; there's a bar on the rooftop of the place across the street."
"Oh," she says, eyes darting to Mike for a second as they're jostled by people moving around them. "What about— No. Jake can't come to a bar."
"Yes I can," Jake says, like saying it makes it true, at the same time Cassandra says, "It's not that sort of bar. Think a little classier. If the kid can behave, it won't be a problem; Rachel goes up there after every show."
"He can behave," Santana says shortly, and Cassandra nods in response.
"Good; I'll let Rachel know," she says before turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.
"Uh," is all Santana can manage.
Mike bewilderedly stares after Cassandra's departing form. "I think we kind of have to go now."
…
As Mike's lifting Jake up into one of the high seats at the bar, Santana can't help but wonder why Rachel comes here of all places.
It's not at all a place to be casually sociable with strangers. There are high-backed booths and indoor plants scattered about and the whole places feels like you'd come here to have a secret affair, or buy some very high quality cocaine. It feels… private, and she supposes that in itself might be the answer to her question.
"Do you want something to drink?" Mike asks, and then orders the dirty martini she asks for just because it seems like the thing to drink here.
The bartender's amused by Jake, and he makes Jake what amounts to a rainbow-colored Sprite in a pina colada glass.
"This is awesome," Jake breathes, chin resting on the bar as he watches the coloring settle into layers.
"He is never going to sleep," Santana sighs, mostly to herself because Mike's talking to the bartender about the game they missed.
She's not really listening, having caught the important part about how they won, which is how she notices the doorman helping Rachel with her coat. Whatever he's saying to Rachel is making her laugh, her hand resting on the guy's arm for a moment.
Maybe that's why Rachel comes here every night, is the thought that's distracting her until Rachel turns around from waving at the guy as she moves away, and then it's like she can't even form a coherent thought because-
Rachel's face just sort of falls. It's only for a moment, with just a flicker of a quiver, but it's long enough for Santana to realize Rachel isn't looking at her. She's looking at Mike.
The sudden panic that wells up in her chest is unlike anything else (except the same moment before strangers, teachers, her mother realize how very disappointing she is), holding her frozen in her spot long enough to watch as every feeling is wiped from Rachel's face and replaced with a smile so convincing Santana would believe it had she not seen it wrestled into place.
"Mike!" Rachel cries as she walks towards them, like she didn't just seem like she'd been completely blindsided. Mike steps back from the bar and around the seat Jake's climbing down from, coming forward and letting Rachel hug him fiercely.
Santana tries to catch Rachel's eye over his shoulder, but it feels deliberate when Rachel breaks off and leans down to talk to Jake.
…
Rachel leads them all to what is apparently her usual booth, Mike following behind them with their drinks, and they have an incredibly polite conversation about nothing.
Really, there's no other way to describe the exchange of pleasantries, Rachel thanking them for coming and Santana thanking Rachel for the invite, as anything besides banally polite and about five steps back from the almost-friendly tone of their last conversation.
"Well I'm glad you enjoyed it," Rachel says as they sit, then turns to Mike and Jake and it's like a switch has been thrown back on again.
She watches the three of them talk, and tries not to think about she used to want to strangle Rachel as she tucks her hands under her legs to stop the tremble she can't quite get under control, because why on earth did she think Rachel would be any different from everyone else.
…
She lies in bed later on, feet aching from those stupid Mary Janes, alternating between shaking her covers into submission and wondering who the fuck Rachel thinks she is to have any opinion about her life at all.
But as she stares at the ceiling, stomach churning, she can't help but think that whatever else this is, it's going to bite Jake in the ass.