Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and all of the typos/grammatical errors. The views and opinions expressed in this story are not personal.
CW: emotional abuse, reproductive abuse
Chapter 10: Her Greatest Shame
Santana placed the small box on the stylish glass-topped desk. She knew she didn't have too long here, just half an hour or so to spare before she needed to head back to the other side of downtown. She took a quick glance around the small office space, separate from the larger open area just beyond the door that housed 4 desks similar to the one she'd just put her belongings on.
She'd requested that she not get any special treatment—that she'd prefer to work with the rest of the team in the common space, but the partners at Schuester and Rhodes insisted that she'd need privacy and that the other associates wouldn't have a problem with it.
She knew better than that. In a setting like this, she knew she'd have to fight to prove her worth. She knew there would be animosity given that she'd been given this space, that she'd merely just stepped foot into the fold and was already being given privileges other lawyers had been working months or even years for.
Her mentor had told her not to worry. The clients they'd attract with a former politician who'd made a name for herself on the national stage would be enough explanation for anyone who had an issue. At least, that's what she'd been told. Still, she was nervous. She felt sorely out of practice. The last time she held any type of position in a law firm was during a summer internship during which she was most certainly doing bitch work. She knew she'd need guidance.
Santana knew she'd need to make friends.
With a sigh she rolled her eyes at her own concern. Santana Lopez wasn't in the business of making friends. She'd make nice with her colleagues and hope to earn the respect her mentor—a partner in the firm—had not so subtly demanded for her by giving her a personal office space to call her own.
She removed the portraits from the top of the box, arranging them carefully on her new desk. Her parents smiled at her from a professional photo and she put it off to the left side of the desktop monitor situated in the middle of the desk.
On the right, a picture of her and Jesus taken on a pier in the Outer Banks—they were both young and bright-eyed. Santana's hair was somewhat disheveled from the damp salty wind, but there was a softness to her smile that she was sure no longer existed. She and Jesus wore matching Salty Dog Café shirts, hers red and his green. Jesus was giving the camera a lopsided smile he'd been trying to cultivate all summer. Santana remembered when, on their drive back inland, her mother had told the boy his lopsided smile made it look like he'd had a stroke. He pouted for all of 30 minutes before Santana distracted him with Mario Kart DS.
She then turned to place some books from the bottom of the box onto a small bookshelf situated behind her desk. She'd already read them over the summer, but knew she'd probably need to reference them time and time again until she got a better handle on her new job. She was nervous, that's for sure. But these nerves were better than the anxiety she felt at the thought of having to campaign again for state office. She didn't want to bother with the scrutiny. At the end of the day, the lower courts were not her life's goal. She was finally doing something for herself and she felt good about it.
It wasn't a feeling that came easy. Her initial desire to run for office had been born of a desire to help right the injustice that her family and many other American families had suffered through. She had to reconcile that, try as she might, she was but one woman and she could only do so much to introduce laws that produced proper police oversight and protected citizens from those who would hide behind the badge to commit crimes.
In the end it seemed the state legislature had its own agenda, and none of it was about affecting change. Instead they seemed to want to uphold the status quo. That said, she was optimistic. The democrat running in her place had spunk and she knew he'd fight just as ferociously as she had for basic human decency. Plus, she'd practically written a police accountability bill with a national think tank over the summer and she had high hopes that somewhere in the country, a more liberal state will adopt it and that would the first step in a long journey.
She dropped some pens in the top drawer and gathered her now empty box. With a quick sweep of her eyes, she assessed the office again and decided one of those potted plants she kept at home would make a nice addition to the empty bookshelf behind her.
Locking her door, she quickly made her way through the shared office space not drawing any attention from the others working diligently. Or rather, they were purposefully ignoring her. Which was fine—she wasn't due to start working for another week or so. She just wanted to move herself in, bit by bit, so that it wouldn't all need to be done in one fell swoop.
Election day was in two days, and while she was relieved she'd be done with politics for a little while, she wasn't looking forward to the work she'd have to do to have everything teed up for her successor. Additionally, she wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to her staff. They were a small team, but she'd grown close to all of them. The recommendation letters she'd written for the younger workers on her staff had only served to prime the sentimental bones in her body to be highly sensitive to goodbyes at the end of the work day.
She tried to rid her mind of sad thoughts as she started her car, but merely driving did little to keep her mind clear. However, on her drive back to her office, Rachel called.
Barreling straight through pleasantries, Rachel launched into how excited she was that Santana was finally starting her new job this month. That she was so happy for her for finally following her dreams of practicing law and working for a mid-sized firm that would allow her to begin her foray into criminal law. She rambled on about how Santana would be a beast in the courthouse and how they better watch out because they won't know what hit them.
Santana hummed and vocalized appropriately, albeit distractedly, throughout the conversation. She didn't really want to go back to work. She'd had a vague pain in her stomach all day and desperately wanted to go home and rest. She had been parked outside of the statehouse for about 5 minutes now, but she still had 15 or so before they'd be back in session so she just let Rachel's incessant talking wash over her. She'd honestly tuned the other woman out until she heard the name Quinn Fabray fall from her lips.
Santana came skidding back into attentiveness, "Wait, what was that?"
"What was what?" Rachel asked, suddenly confused by the sentence Santana had offered.
"What about Quinn Fabray?"
"Oh, that. I was just saying that you must be glad to not be running for office again because these smear campaigns are getting out of hand. I honestly don't know what Quinn's obstetric history has anything to do with her father's ability to hold office, yet here we are, perpetuating non-sequiturs like this while simultaneously damning a woman for her right to choose. If anything, he shouldn't win the election because the platform he's running on is archaic and the people of Ohio deserve better. And while I do find it hypocritical for her to have had an abortion while disparaging Planned Parenthood for offering the same to American women, I find it—"
Santana had stopped listening to the sound of Rachel's voice pouring from her car's speakers. She fumbled for her phone and opened up her twitter app to see Quinn's name trending.
"Daughter of Ohio Gubernatorial hopeful Russel Fabray silent as news of her abortion breaks" Santana reads. Over eight thousand tweets and counting.
"Rach, I'll call you back later," Santana said, distractedly hitting the button on her steering wheel to hang up without waiting for a response. She quickly navigated to her recent calls and tapped on Lucy's name.
She and Quinn were in a good place as far as their friendship went. The day after Santana's embarrassing episode of practically begging Quinn to stay with her one boggy day in early summer, she'd called Quinn to apologize. She said she'd been out of line and it had been entirely inappropriate for her to ask something like that of her new friend. Quinn seemed hesitant to accept the apology, but did so anyway. And the next week she was texting Santana again like nothing had changed between them.
It was why Santana hadn't hesitated to call Quinn as soon as she heard; however, she was a bit confused by it all. She hadn't known that Quinn was pregnant. They had been speaking frequently enough—deeply enough—for that to have made it into one of their conversations if true.
Quinn's phone rang up to what seemed like the last possible moment until the sound of the call connecting clicked through the car.
"Quinn?"
"Who is this?" a familiar male voice asked.
"Sam?"
"Uh… yeah. Santana?"
"Yes," the brunette answered, holding back a sigh. It wasn't that she didn't like Sam; he was nice enough, but his response time was so slow at times that she didn't even want to bother talking to him right now. Why was he answering Quinn's phone? And didn't she have her number saved in her phone? "Can I speak to Quinn?"
"Oh… um, yeah. Wait, no," he fumbled. Then he sighed, "Let me check."
This time, she let the sigh free.
A few seconds later, Quinn's hesitant "Hello?" was ghosting through the speakers.
"Hey Q, what's 12 doing answering your phone?"
"He's fielding my calls for me," Quinn answered, then, after a beat, "You've gotta stop calling him 12."
"Whatever," Santana dismissed. "Are you ok?"
The question was loaded.
"Honestly?"
"Yeah, honestly."
"I've been better," Quinn offered, her voice sounding weak.
"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" Santana asked softly, wanting to get straight to the point.
"Wait… what?"
Before Santana could respond, Quinn was speaking again.
"Oh, this wasn't a recent pregnancy," Quinn said wryly.
At this, something akin to relief flowed through Santana's limbs to settle in her chest. She had no idea why. Well, perhaps she did have an idea—not one she'd readily admit to.
"God, sorry. I thought you and Sam… Well, I guess I should actually read the article instead of just the headline," Santana chuckled, bringing up a pet peeve of Quinn's. The blonde absolutely hated inflammatory headlines and what she considered "clickbait". She said it was cheap journalism.
"I told you so," Quinn attempted to joke, but it fell flat.
"Look, you don't have to tell me anything. I just want to make sure you're doing ok. This can't be… this can't be easy."
"I want to tell you," Quinn said, and her voice sounded thick. Santana immediately felt her eyes burning at the thought of Quinn fighting back tears. She heard Sam say something in the background, his voice rumbling through the speakers unintelligibly. "I don't want you to read those articles. I want you to hear it from me."
Santana finally allowed herself to lean back into her seat comfortably.
"Take your time," Santana suggested, ignoring the text messages coming through her phone regarding the session she needed to be in that started 2 minutes ago.
"I was a kid," Quinn started. "I was just 16 and I was stupid. I thought I loved him, you know? I thought sex was how to keep the people you love."
Santana remained silent. A teen pregnancy. She knew how this story would end before Quinn would even finish it, because Congressman Fabray would never let anyone tarnish his good name, not even his own daughter.
"And dad was furious," the blonde continued. "I'd been staying at a friend's place because he'd kicked me out… but then one afternoon he just showed up and drove me to the clinic. He gave me no choice. He told me he'd never take me back if I didn't terminate. And I had nothing—I had no one else but my parents. My boyfriend was in and out of juvie and I knew I couldn't rely on him so…"
The next sound through the speaker was a shuddering breath. A few more murmurs from Sam and then silence.
"Quinn, I'm so sorry," Santana offered lamely, unsure of what to say.
And, suddenly, she was angry. Her friend's privacy had been violated, and now she was reliving a horrible moment in her life that she'd clearly wanted to move on from.
"God, what asshole leaked this to the press?" Santana grumbled.
She heard Quinn groan in annoyance and then Sam was again speaking, but she couldn't hear him.
"My dad called and was convinced it was the friend I'd stayed with when I first found out I was pregnant. But she would never," Quinn explained, seemingly overcoming the tears that had clearly overwhelmed her earlier.
"Are you sure? Have you spoken to her?"
"Well, no…"
"Quinn!"
"I know what you're thinking but, I trust her. I'll call her, but even then I doubt she said anything. Even if she did, there's nothing I can do now about it anyway."
"Ok but… ok," Santana finished gently, the fight leaving her voice.
A beat of silence, then Quinn was speaking again.
"Please don't read those articles," she requested and Santana nodded before she remembered that Quinn couldn't see her.
"I won't. I promise."
"Thank you."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No… just, thank you for calling. I'm about to meet with my PR people and figure out how to respond to this. I just needed to calm down. I might've gotten a little destructive earlier."
"A little?" Santana heard Sam scoff clearly (finally).
"Ok, I definitely threw my phone across the room. But that was only because my dad and his people were blowing it up and I just… I needed some relief from them. Sam got me a replacement but I haven't done a data transfer yet."
Well, that explained why Sam was answering her calls and why the caller ID wasn't working.
"Alright," Santana breathed. "Call me if you need anything."
"I will. Thanks San."
The call ended and Santana slumped in her seat. It took her a few moments to mobilize and mentally prepare herself for work.
Throughout the House session Santana found her mind wandering, and she didn't bother to correct its meandering course. She thought back to her own time as a 16-year-old. High school hadn't been the best time for her, mainly due to her struggles to understand who she was as a person. She supposed that was a universal feeling. Did there ever exist a high school student who had it all figured out?
Even so—with struggling with her sexuality and then her abuela's intolerance—Santana had never once felt like she didn't have a place she belonged. She never once felt unsafe and uncared for. She never once felt threatened.
Home was a safe-space for her. Her parents were supportive, albeit a little confused by what seemed to be a sudden desire to date girls.
She couldn't imagine having been thrown out. She couldn't imagine what that must've felt like, worrying about where you'd live and how you'd take care of a baby.
Though Quinn hadn't explicitly said it, it was clear she'd intended to see her pregnancy through. Santana thought that was fitting, really. Quinn was a fairly religious person, and her personality was that of someone who held fast to her own convictions. What Santana couldn't figure out was whether or not Quinn's pride was a new addition. Had she been as prideful as she was now when she was a kid? And, if that were the case, how had she reconciled that pride with the inevitable shame of a teen pregnancy?
Clearly Russel Fabray couldn't reconcile the two. His pride won and Quinn had lost in more ways than one.
They hadn't spoken about kids. The topic seemed irrelevant given the nature of their relationship. She realized now that it was likely the topic of kids had been purposefully avoided during their conversations. Santana also realized the topic of reproductive choice had also been expertly evaded.
She was curious about Quinn's stance on it. Prior to this news, she would've thought Quinn would lean toward "pro-choice with a personal stance of pro-life". But, given how the "choice" of abortion had been weaponized against her, Santana wondered if she'd grown resentful toward the idea of choice. It was clear she'd grown resentful toward her father. Of course the man who was so vocally pro-life had secretly forced his own daughter to get an abortion she didn't want.
The thought of Russel's hypocrisy made her nauseated. And with that nausea, that dull ache in her stomach intensified. She glanced down at her right arm, taking in the time on her wristwatch as her attention came back to the session at hand.
After what felt like hours, the session ended and Santana quickly retreated to the bathroom. That vague pain behind her bellybutton seemed to be creeping lower. That along with the nausea made her wonder if perhaps her period had decided to come earlier than expected. But, when she checked in the stall there was nothing.
Upon exiting the stall her phone vibrated with alerts. She washed and dried her hands before retrieving the item from her purse and heading down the hallway.
Let's meet tonight for drinks. Would like to discuss a case with you. I'll be in the office at 7.
Santana groaned, agitated. The last thing she was expecting today was her mentor from her new job requesting a meeting. She wanted to decline the invitation. Her stomach was killing her and she was feeling unsettled. However, she knew it wouldn't look good. This woman had advocated for her in the firm—she couldn't start slacking off before she even officially started her job.
She typed out a quick response confirming the meeting and left to sit in her car. She now had about 3 hours to kill. The issue being it would take her a little under an hour to drive home from downtown Raleigh. And she'd need to consider another 40-minute drive back to her new office… Which would barely leave her with an hour to relax at home. At that point, it seemed like a waste of time. Her best option would be to just either stay in Raleigh or drive over to downtown Durham. She had a friend that lived in northern Raleigh but she was hesitant to reach out…
Fuck it.
She dialed the number but was quickly routed to voicemail. She soon received a text.
What's up?
Santana sighed, shifting in her seat to find a comfortable position to alleviate the discomfort in her stomach.
Had some time to kill downtown after work, before I need to get back to the office. Was wondering if I could rest at your place. Not feeling so hot.
She waited patiently, still somewhat second guessing her decision. This friend was… well, they had a questionable history. Her name was Jessica; they'd met in the local running group Santana had joined earlier in the year. Jessica was new to area, recently having moved to Durham for a job. They'd hung out a few times outside of the running group, mostly due to her persistence in getting Santana into a more social setting. The politician had found herself being more aggregable to socializing once she'd realized Quinn wasn't really an option anymore. It was nice to have new friends to take her mind off of things. One night, after dinner, Jessica had kissed her.
And Santana had kissed back.
Even so, she went home that evening feeling somewhat conflicted. The next time they saw each other, Santana explained that she was still trying to get over someone and that she wasn't really in the right headspace for starting something new. Jessica understood and insisted that there were no hard feelings. But the girl was still, obviously, very smitten. Either that or she was just way too nice of a person.
Santana knew Jessica wouldn't hesitate to let her come by. Part of her felt somewhat shitty about using that poor woman's affection for her own benefit, but she was too tired to care at this point.
Totally! I'm at work until 11 tonight, but you know the code to the door. Make yourself at home. Blankets are in my bedroom closet. Tea and meds are in my pantry. I hope you feel better!
Santana smiled, a fondness floating up into her chest. This woman was… she was a good friend.
After a solid nap at Jessica's townhouse, Santana found herself driving the rest of the way back to the law firm. She navigated her way through the open space of tables and cubicles, noticing that only two people were left in the office that evening. They were diligently organizing packets of documents. Santana turned left down the hallway, past the glass-walled conference rooms to where the partners' offices were.
Her mentor's office door was cracked open, the warm lighting from her desk lamp and the standing lamp in the corner of the room spilling out into the darkened hallway. Santana knocked briefly before pushing the door open the rest of the way. Sitting behind a stylish, sturdy wooden desk was Holly Holliday, her mentor.
"Santana! Come in, have a seat," the blonde woman requested, her smile softening her tired blue eyes.
Santana took one of the seats available to her across from Holly, sinking down gratefully. While the pain in her stomach had decreased, it was still present enough to be a little distracting.
"Good evening, Holly," Santana said, her eyes darting down briefly to the two manila folders sitting atop Holly's desk. One was thin and closed; unlabeled. The other was opened and had several documents stacked on either side of the fold.
"Have you had dinner yet? I was just about to call in for some delivery from that sandwich shop a few blocks away."
"I'm alright," Santana declined. Her appetite was certainly absent today. She shifted uncomfortably in the chair again.
"Could I offer you a drink then?" Holly asked, tilting her head toward her own glass of wine which sat atop her desk.
"I've got some water in my bag," Santana declined again, pulling out the bottle of water she'd taken from Jessica's pantry.
Truth be told, she'd been cutting back on drinking anyway. After that whole embarrassing fiasco with Quinn, she'd taken a long hard look at her relationship with alcohol and realized it was trending toward what could be considered inappropriate use. She would have a drink or two with friends, but she couldn't currently justify sharing a bottle of wine with her boss at this moment. Despite it's likely benefit of calming her nerves, she doubted it would help with her stomachache.
"Do you not drink?"
"I do," Santana responded quickly. "I've just been feeling kind of sick all day. Not sure alcohol would help."
"Oh," Holly gave her a strange look for a long moment, her hand quickly scooping up the thin folder on her desk. "I wish you'd said something. This could've waited."
"I'll be alright. I probably just ate something weird yesterday," Santana brushed it off. "You said you wanted to discuss a case?"
"Yes, I did," Holly said, setting the thin folder down before sliding it toward Santana. "Once you start you'll be working with me on the McKinley case. However, I wanted to discuss this first."
Santana reached forward, her fingers pulling the folder toward herself before she flipped it open. She looked down, realizing it was filled with several 8-by-12 photographs along with three sheets of paper. Her eyes looked down at the first picture, her stomach clenching uncomfortably at the first glimpse of blonde hair and creamy white skin.
How and where did Holly get these pictures?
Santana calmly and slowly closed the folder, while nausea, anger, and shame rapidly spread through her body.
"Where did you get these pictures?" Santana managed to ask evenly while the base of her throat felt uncomfortably tight. Suddenly, she felt feverish and sweaty.
Her biggest secret—her greatest shame—and Holly had it neatly packaged in a manila folder.
She couldn't bear looking at the steady blue of Holly's eyes, so she dropped her gaze to the dark black of the woman's fitted blazer jacket. When she breathed out, she held her breath. Her lungs were desperately empty but she was trying to convince her brain to focus on something—anything. She could not lose it. Not here, not now.
"Santana," Holly said slowly, but the brunette could only manage to take a slow breath in and hold it, her eyes now staring ahead blindly.
When Holly's hand found its way atop hers, she realized she was trembling. She released the breath she was holding, forcing herself to breathe normally. Breathing exercises be damned. How good were they really if she couldn't even fucking do them when she needed to?
"Are you ok?"
Finally, Santana looked up, only to see concern on Holly face. The politician pulled her hand away from her boss' and stood abruptly, her stomach roiling.
"I need to go," Santana said, reaching for her bag. "I need—"
Her words were cut off as her throat emitted an embarrassing sound and she doubled over, the pain in her stomach intensifying. She reached blindly for the waste bin she saw next to Holly's desk, realizing far too late that its wire-mesh body would do nothing to hold the bile forcing its way out of her throat.
"Shit!" Holly exclaimed, jumping to her feet as the vomit splashed out of the bin though the sides.
Santana breathed heavily through her nose, her eyes now watering. The pain was… it was too much.
"I need to go to the hospital," Santana managed to breathe as Holly pressed the bottle of water into her hands.
"Please sit down," Holly pleaded as she reached for her office phone. Santana rested her forehead on the cool hard surface of the desk, trying and failing to calm herself down.
Santana heard Holly ask someone to contact the custodian and also to bring paper towels to her office ASAP. She hung up and waited a moment before speaking.
"I can drive you to the hospital, if you feel like you can walk to my car with me," she offered gently.
Santana squeezed her eyes shut, still far too embarrassed to speak but she pulled her body upright and nodded in agreement. She heard Holly shuffling things about on her desk and when Santana opened her eyes the thin folder was now tucked neatly beneath the thicker one. Holly had already gathered her bag and had bypassed the soaked waste bin and surrounding splatters of vomit. She offered her arm to Santana but the brunette merely stood, putting out a hand to silently decline the offered physical support. As the two women walked down the hall one of the two people she'd seen in the shared office space earlier rushed past them with his arms full of rolls of paper towels he'd likely liberated from the kitchen area.
Santana remained silent in Holly's car, praying that her stomach wouldn't betray her again on the drive over to the hospital. A quick 10 minutes later, she was being dropped off at the emergency room entrance while Holly went to park her car. Check-in was quick enough, but the hospital seemed to be busy and the waiting room seemed fairly full. Holly returned soon enough, finding Santana easily amongst the others ill enough to find themselves waiting to be seen.
"You don't have to stick around," Santana sighed, holding on tight to the small plastic bag she'd been given in case she threw up again. A man two seats down seemed to be coughing consistently, without coving his mouth, and Santana didn't think it made much sense for a perfectly healthy person to sit somewhere like this, exposing themselves to germs. Or whatever the hell was in that guy's throat.
"Honestly, I kind of don't want to go back into my office until I'm sure they've cleaned it up," Holly brushed her off, alluding to the vomit Santana had left on her office floor.
"I'm sorry about that," Santana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the tiny headache that had developed over the past few minutes.
"It's alright," Holly responded before turning to give Santana a pointed look. Her expression softened a bit before she continued. "Next time, when you're feeling sick, you say so. And don't come in. You're not even on our payroll yet."
"I know, I thought it was important. And I generally enjoy talking and working with you so I figured why not?"
"You flatter me, Lopez. I'll be looking forward to sharing this story at our holiday party."
Santana just rolled her eyes and Holly laughed.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"
"Positive."
"I'll kind of feel better if I can keep an eye on you."
"You can stay if you want, but I'm sure I'll be fine."
"You're lying," Holly frowned.
Santana clenched her jaw, caught. It wasn't that she was especially worried about the pain in her stomach. She really did think this was some sort of stomach bug. But she just wanted to be left alone so that she could process the jarring images she'd seen in that folder.
"We don't have to talk about it," Holly continued, seemingly knowing exactly where her thoughts had gone. "Not now at least. Later. On your terms."
She felt her face heating up again, but nodded, not willing to think of the images Holly had slid across the table to her. She held the woman's gaze steadily, trying to read her.
"I'm not mad," Holly continued, guessing what Santana was thinking. Her blue eyes were intense, but honest.
"I mean no disrespect, but your feelings about those pictures are irrelevant," Santana said, shifting in her seat as the pain in her stomach flared up sharply.
"Fair," she conceded.
"Where did you get them?"
"A friend," Holly responded vaguely. "He's a PI who works with the PD, unofficially."
Santana frowned, but nodded. She'd had no clue those pictures existed.
A nurse across the room called her name and Santana stood up. "I don't need a babysitter, Holly."
"I'm worried about you, kid. I'll leave, but you have my number if anything. Don't hesitate to call."
With that, Holly took her leave.
Santana allowed herself to be led to the triage area. As the nurse asked her questions, she was on autopilot. She answered honestly and described her symptoms when prompted. Her vitals were taken and she was then funneled into a room in the emergency department.
Soon enough a bright-eyed resident doctor came in to see her. He introduced himself as Jack and took a seat next to her gurney. He asked questions similar to those asked by the nursing staff, but then additional questions he'd explained were to help him narrow down a possible diagnosis. He completed the physical exam and immediately launched into what he thought might be going on.
"So, we'll need to do some more tests before I can definitively diagnose you, but it could be a number of things. It could be something infectious in your GI tract, but given your symptoms and your physical exam I think you might have appendicitis. You've never had any abdominal surgeries before, correct?"
"No, no surgeries."
"We'll need to do some blood work, and likely send you for a CT scan. You said your last period was a couple weeks ago, but any chance you might be pregnant?"
Santana chuckled at this question, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the doctor. "No, doc, no chance I'm pregnant."
She hadn't had sex in… well, months. And she certainly hadn't ever had sex with a man. Barring immaculate conception, there was no possible way she was pregnant.
"Alright, well I'm going to report back to my attending, put in those orders for bloodwork, and then she'll come see you. Any questions for me?"
"Um, one," Santana said, suddenly wondering if this was an inappropriate thing to ask. "Is Jessica working here tonight? Dr. Jessica Robinson?"
He had a look of familiarity pass across his face and then his eyes widened briefly before he schooled his expression. For a moment he looked astounded before a fond smile pulled at his lips.
"Uh, yeah, Jess is my co-resident. Do you know her?"
Something about the way he asked made Santana wonder if he already knew the answer.
"We're friends. If you could tell her that I'm here, I'd appreciate it. I mean, I'll text her too but…"
"She's working the high acuity side of the ER, but I'll pop over and tell her. It's always reassuring to see a familiar face. Any other questions?"
"No," Santana shook her head, frowning a bit as the pain in her stomach ramped up again. "Thanks, Jack."
Santana was left alone so she checked her phone. There were two unread texts from Quinn. Instead of opening those, she first texted Jessica.
Thanks for letting me stop by your place. I guess I might be seeing you today anyway. I met your co-resident, Jack. He thinks I have appendicitis.
She then navigated to Quinn's text to read it.
Kind of in a sticky situation. The network wants me to be honest about the abortion and play up the victim card while throwing my dad under the bus. The campaign wants me to say I acted alone and they've threatened a defamation suit otherwise. I'm really fucking over this.
And then, timestamped four minutes later: Also, my shitty ex-boyfriend was the one who leaked the story.
She didn't get a chance to respond to Quinn's text before she was whisked away to the CT scanner.
A/N: Didn't mean to go the whole of January without posting but here we are... I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Things are about to get a little spicy for Quinn, and it looks like Santana's got a bit of scandal brewing on her end too. Happy Valentine's Day to those who celebrate. And if you're in the lonely girls' club like me, forcing your single friends to watch sappy romance movies with you never hurts.
Thanks so much for reading! And a special thanks to my reviewers.
