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 11: Something Unexpected

The room was dark and quiet, yet wholly uncomfortable.

She hadn't spent much time in hospitals, but she had a feeling most people felt uncomfortable in them. The recliner she'd been somewhat propped up in next to the bed had done nothing but put a crick in her neck, and the IV machine alarm had gone off at least 5 times the past 2 hours because Santana had bent her arm while sleeping. So far, there had been people in and out of the room every couple of hours, and once it hit 6am or so, there was a steady stream of nurses, doctors, and their students coming and going.

If rest was a requirement for recovery, it was a wonder anyone managed to recover at all.

Santana didn't seem phased. She quickly fell back asleep after every interruption, eyes falling shut even while people spoke to her. When she'd raised her concerns over Santana's somnolent state, a nurse reassured her that she was just taking a little while longer to recover from the anesthesia. After surgery, due to that same drowsiness, she'd apparently spent quite a bit of time in the PACU before they'd brought her up to her room.

Even with that explanation, seeing Santana's eyes so unfocused—eyelids seemingly as heavy as her head, as they drooped and her head lolled to one side or another—it was all a bit much. It made her anxious. She figured even if she'd had a comfortable sleeping arrangement, she wouldn't have slept a wink.

"Come to bed," Santana's voice drifted across the small space between the bed and the recliner.

Rachel tensed, having not expected to hear her friend speaking to her. She looked up and saw the brunette peeking at her through one barely opened eye.

"How are you feeling?" Rachel asked instead, hoping to assess her pain more comprehensively than the medical staff had when they came in and received only nods and shakes of her head in response to their questions.

"Fine," Santana said, letting her eye close all the way. "But every time I wake up, I see you sitting in that chair and my back aches. So, come here. I'll make room."

Rachel hesitated, watching Santana scoot to the right side of the narrow hospital bed, up against the rail.

Santana didn't speak again and Rachel wondered if she'd already fallen back asleep. Before she could lean back in the chair Santana patted the sheets with her hand and Rachel sighed, stepping across the tiny divide to slip into the hospital bed with Santana. She didn't relax again until she felt Santana's hand on her hip.

She felt tears sting her eyes and she pressed a hand to her own uncomfortably warm face.

She'd been so scared.

Santana's parents had called her around 10 o'clock at night, telling her that Santana was going in for an emergency surgery and that they'd hoped she could make it to the hospital to check in on her the following morning. Apparently Santana had told them not to fly in to see her and that it was a minor procedure and she'd call afterward. But Rachel was on edge from the start. There was nothing about an "emergency surgery" that suggested a minor procedure; especially if it was something that had to be done immediately and could not wait for the morning.

She took the first flight possible out of New York, arriving just after midnight. By the time she'd arrived at the hospital, Santana was already out of surgery, but recovering in the PACU where she would not be allowed to go a see her. She had to wait until she was moved to her room; which didn't take long after she arrived.

The nurses explained that Santana had her appendix removed laparoscopically, and that she wouldn't have to stay in the hospital long. Probably just until the following evening, or maybe the next morning.

She was relieved to hear it, but was still worried. Perhaps it was the panic she'd experienced during the call, despite Santana's parents telling her that it was alright. Maybe she'd really spent the entire plane ride allowing her morbid imagination to run wild.

But here was her friend, resting peacefully in bed. Lungs breathing, heart beating. Warm. Soft. Alive.

She sighed and willed her brain to relax.


The first thing Santana realized was that her stomach wasn't hurting anymore. Or rather, it no longer hurt where it had the night before. Instead there was a dull ache at her bellybutton.

She opened her eyes to find her hospital room empty. Rachel was nowhere to be found.

Sitting up in bed, Santana reached for her nurse call button. Right now, all she could think of was how hungry she was. After she ate, she hoped to talk to her doctors about when she could leave. She was told this was usually an overnight stay situation and that she was likely due to leave the next day, but that all hinged on whether the doctors saw it fit to send her home.

In any case, she hoped to be home today.

While waiting for the nurse she decided that she needed to call her parents to update them. Though she's sure Rachel had been doing a fine job with that, she knew they'd be relieved to hear her voice.

…But she couldn't find her phone. In fact, she hadn't seen her phone since she was wheeled to the surgical floor for pre-op procedures. She figured the nurse would know where it was.

Her door opened and she looked up to see Rachel entering the room. Her friend smiled at her and approached.

"Hey, you're awake," she smiled gently.

"I am. And I'm hungry," Santana complained.

"Want me to go grab your nurse?"

"Yeah, because I think she has my stuff."

"Your stuff?"

"Yeah. My clothes and my phone."

"Oh, no, that's all here," Rachel rounded the bed and reached beside the recliner for a plastic bag. "I have your phone, by the way. I hope you don't mind but you were getting a lot of messages and calls and I wanted to make sure nothing pressing was going on."

Santana merely hummed in response, wondering what was taking her nurse so long to get to her room.

"Ms. Holliday was happy to hear your surgery went well," Rachel said, passing the phone over. "Jessica said she'd stop by this morning to see you. Your parents wanted to know if you still didn't want them to fly in."

"Ok," Santana nodded, unlocking her phone (which, apparently, Rachel knew the code to) so that she could call up her parents.

"I also spoke to Lucy."

At this Santana paused, a strange sense of foreboding descended upon her. Was this fear? It had to be—she was afraid of how her best friend would react. Would she lose her respect?

"You spoke to Lucy? Like… on the phone?"

"Yes," Rachel said with a shrug. "Her text messages were getting frantic… and, well, I felt bad when I thought about having her wait until you fully recovered before responding."

"Rach…"

"Look, I'm not even going to ask, ok? What you do in your free time is your business."

That tone… Santana couldn't figure out what that tone meant. She'd never heard Rachel use it.

She looked at her friend. Really looked at her. But Rachel merely held her gaze for a few seconds before heading back toward the door.

"I'm going to go find your nurse. The doctors were in here earlier discussing your diet. You're probably famished."

And with that the Broadway star swiftly departed from the room. Santana was stunned.

What the hell was that?

God, she didn't have the energy to deal with whatever the hell Rachel was going to put her through today. She was curious as to what Quinn might've said to her. Did she know Lucy was Quinn, or was her strange behavior due to something else? Did she feel left out? Lied to? Betrayed? Confused?

What was that look she'd received?

With a heavy sigh, Santana navigated to her text messages.

What she saw there made her sigh again. Quinn had… well, Quinn had sent her quite a few messages.

See, when she'd received the message about the ex-boyfriend being the source of the leak, Santana hadn't gotten a chance to respond for a solid half hour. She then expressed her sympathy for Quinn being put in a tough situation, and then the radiologist had apparently called down to the emergency department to confirm that she had appendicitis. Soon it was a whirlwind of general surgeons and ER doctors talking to her about going to surgery that night. She called her parents to update them and reassure them that she'd be alright. Soon enough, she was wheeled up to pre-op.

Quinn had texted again about still being uncertain of what to do. She was supposed to go on her show that night and spend the first 3-4 minutes addressing the recent news of her abortion. Her PR team was adamant about her protecting her own image. The station heads had apparently promised her that their lawyers would have no issue challenging a defamation suit. It seemed like everything was arranged for her to just speak her truth. But Quinn was conflicted.

My relationship with my dad is complicated. I want to tell the truth but… I don't want to hurt him. He hasn't been the most supportive dad. And he's hurt me more times than I can count on my hands. But he's my dad. And I already lost my mom. I don't want to lose him too.

And then, Is that stupid?

Followed by, It's probably stupid. But it's just how I feel. I need you to talk me out of this. I'm really thinking of just doing what he says.

Then, He's been a constant for me. Maybe not the best support, but he's still in my life. That's got to mean something. Right? It has to.

And, I can't just let him down like this.

God damn it, San, answer your phone.

Please. Where are you? I need your support.

Santana where the fuck are you? Please. I just need a voice of reason. What would you do? If you were me, what would you do?

I can't believe you'd leave me hanging like this… is everything ok? Did I do something wrong?

And, then there was a gap of a few hours before the next text came through.

I went off script. My producer seemed upset, but it's done. I hope you were watching. No half-truths for me. I guess this is it.

This one had received a text response, written by Rachel: Hey Lucy, this is Rachel, Santana's friend. She's currently at the hospital recovering from an emergency surgery. She'll call you when she can. And, if it's any consolation, I was watching and you were very brave. Santana would be proud of you.

Well… ok, so, Rachel knew. She knew who "Lucy" was. That did not necessarily mean that she knew the nature of their relationship. Aside from what Santana had said the last time she'd been in New York, several months ago. And even then, if Rachel had decided to snoop and scroll through their text messages they were all mostly very tame. They really had been building a friendship over the months following their last in-person interaction. It was still mildly adversarial, but clearly supportive and obnoxiously cerebral.

Regardless, Santana found herself not feeling panicked. The fear she'd initially felt had dissipated, like fog clearing and leaving the crispness of early morning clarity in its wake. Part of her wondered if it was because she knew Rachel (despite being a whole drama queen and a half) only wanted her to be happy. Even if that meant making friends with someone who seemed so fundamentally misaligned as far as morality went.

Santana closed the text messages and opened up her caller list. Over 12 missed calls from Quinn overnight. And then, one incoming call this morning that had been answered.

That made her uncomfortable. And as she stared at the list of red with a final block of black text, she wondered what Rachel could've said. Had she allowed herself to be judgmental? Did she sympathize with someone who was now worried about their mutual friend? Or had she been cold? She worried that Rachel might've behaved poorly—she'd been acting weird this morning. She must've said something.

Santana found herself tapping on Lucy's contact to call her.

The call went directly to voicemail.

With a frown, Santana laid back in bed and dialed her parents.


As the car was put into park, Santana breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been an awkwardly silent drive and she really wanted to get home and into her bed because her abdomen was sore at the 3 surgical incision sites. She just wanted to lie down. Rachel said nothing as she grabbed her bag and followed Santana through the garage door. She disappeared upstairs quietly, without comment, and it was then that Santana could confirm that Rachel was upset with her.

Santana heaved a tired sigh and trudged up the stairs as well, standing in the doorway of the guest room Rachel had selected as her own.

"We need to talk," Santana said evenly. Rachel paused, her hands stilling inside her bag. She then pushed the bag aside and took a heavy seat on the bed.

Santana stepped into the room then took a seat on the bed as well.

"You've been acting weird all day. So you're going to tell me what's wrong so that I can fix it."

"So you can fix it?" Rachel immediately snapped, her brown eyes sharply moving to meet her own. Then, her eyes grew watery.

"You can't 'fix it', Santana," she bit out, clearly upset. "You were going into surgery and you didn't even bother to tell me. Your parents called me. Do you know how terrified I was? I keep sitting around worrying that one day, your parents are going to call me and say that you're gone. That you just…"

She took a very long, tremulous breath through her nose.

"I love your parents. I do. But every time they call me I experiencing this insurmountable, visceral fear that something has happened to you. Because the very first time they called me, something terrible had happened. And I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that day. Because we lost JJ… and I almost lost you too, Santana. I almost lost you too.

"Every time they call I think back to…" Rachel shook her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Look, it's really hard for me to be in New York when you live here. It's really hard for me. I worry about you all the time. So, you can't just go into the surgery and not tell me. You can't have your parents deliver news to me. Good or bad. That's unfair. Ok? That's a lot of responsibility, with your parents in Puerto Rico now. I'm just… I'm doing my best. But this is so unfair."

"You're right," Santana swallowed, guilt gnawing through her chest at the sight of her best friend in tears over a fear that should've dissipated several hours ago. She scooted closer to Rachel, hoping to take her hand to sooth her. But Rachel pulled her hand back, leaning away from Santana.

"I'm not done."

"Of course you're not," Santana mumbled, annoyed, and Rachel's eyes grew sad.

Ok, not the best response.

"Why didn't you trust me with Lucy's identity?"

Santana suddenly felt very small.

"It's not that I didn't trust you," she responded immediately.

It was true. She'd wanted to tell Rachel multiple times over the past year. She'd wanted to talk to her about it. Rachel was her best friend—she'd have been able to help her reason through her feelings. She would've supported her when she was feeling down and unwanted. Guided her through what felt like a break up even though they'd never officially been dating.

Yet… she hadn't.

Part of her had reasoned it was because her identity was irrelevant. Quinn had chosen Sam. Quinn didn't want to upend her life. Quinn didn't want to be with her. What did it matter then? They were just friends, right?

"It just didn't seem necessary by the time I felt comfortable enough telling you. I suppose I felt the need to protect her. Her privacy... I am the only thing in her life that isn't in the public eye. She doesn't like having everything out there for everyone to see. It felt more authentic—just the two of us. It felt real."

"Santana, I'm not the public eye. I'm your best friend. I'm not going to… Ugh, never mind. This is stupid."

"No, it's not stupid," Santana further slumped on the bed. "I should've told you. I made promises to her, but you could've too. You would've kept our secret. I needed you and I sacrificed my own happiness for her comfort. And in turn I made you feel like… like I didn't trust you. Like you didn't matter. But you do matter, Rach. Your opinion is the only one that matters."

"Do you love her?"

Santana covered her face with her hands, as if not being able to see Rachel would make the question disappear. The look Rachel was giving her was too much. That question was too much.

"I did. But I think I'm… I think I'm moving on, you know? Like… I'm finally accepting that she's the kind of person who just can't live her truth. And that's ok, right? It sucks that it has to be that way—that anyone has to live a lie. But I can't let myself get dragged down into that fear."

Rachel didn't respond immediately. Santana took the time to school her face and will the redness in her cheeks away before pulling her hands away from her face. She turned her neck to look at Rachel and found her friend already staring at her. It took a moment before she finally was able to identify the look in her big brown eyes. The look that matched that strange tone she'd heard back at the hospital.

Pity. It was pity.

"I watched part of her show last night. Just the introduction. It was after I'd read the text messages. I wasn't going to respond to them at first, but then I was suddenly very curious about her. I needed to know what it was about this stupid, hateful racist that would make you turn your back on everything you stood for."

Santana tensed, shifting into a defensive mode immediately. But Rachel just barreled on.

"When I loaded up the clip I was convinced it was just that you had a type. Hot blonde airhead. Cute face, blonde hair—that's all you needed to seduce Santana Lopez, apparently."

"You're out of line," Santana interrupted, shocked by the words coming from her best friend's mouth. Neither Quinn nor Brittany were "airheads". But Rachel's expression hardened.

"I hit play, ready to pick apart everything she would say and do. But then when I saw her, and heard her, I wasn't so sure I had the right woman. There was no way the same girl who'd been panicking and losing it—sending you a trillion texts without receiving a response—was the same woman on the video. She was calm, collected, direct. She was open and raw. She was in control of just how out of control she was. She was smart, moving…. Sympathetic. Unapologetic. Brilliant. Beautiful...

"Look. I don't know what the story is here. I don't know how you two fell into bed together. I don't know what your relationship is, currently. I don't know if she's really a hateful racist, or if she's… something else. Something unexpected. All I know is that I had her wrong. I didn't know who she was. It was confusing. So I sent her a text message to reply, because I figured it was unfair to let her sit around unanswered for so long, especially after what she said on live television."

Santana softened at Rachel's thoughtfulness. She recalled thinking the text message had been kind. Knowing that Rachel sent it when she was still probably upset about being lied to made the gesture matter so much more.

"That was kind of you."

"I didn't do it for her," Rachel corrected quickly. "I did it for myself. Because I needed to force myself to have this conversation with you. I needed there to be evidence that I knew who she was, so I wouldn't back out of confronting you about lying to me for months. I'm devastated that you didn't trust me with this. I'm so upset with you. I'm barely keeping it together. I think the only thing that has kept me from exhibiting the appropriate, hysterical response is the fact that just under 24 hours ago I was sitting on a plane, crying about the possibility of losing you. Your intestinal illness has spared you a most righteous reprimand."

Santana couldn't help the chuckle that fell from her lips. Honestly, Rachel was obviously upset and it was kind of frightening. But the idea of Rachel being frightening was funny. So she could only laugh.

Rachel rolled her eyes, a tiny smile quirking the corners of her lips up. "Go ahead and laugh, Santana. But you're going to have to put in some work from now on."

"You're right," she sighed. "It's not funny. I'm sorry I hurt you. If I could go back in time I wouldn't have chosen to lie to you. NDA be damned."

"NDA? She made you sign an NDA?"

"Yes," Santana nodded. "Two. And the lawyer in me cringes at the thought of breaking a binding contract."

Rachel seemed to have some level of awe on her face. "Wow… she just…knows." She laughed, "She knows just how to keep you in line. Brilliant."

Santana blushed, embarrassed for some reason.

"Look, we'll talk about that later," Santana dismissed, sure that Quinn would now be a little open to discussing their friendship with Rachel. Or maybe she'd already drafted and mailed another NDA to Rachel's address. That seemed more her style. "I have to ask… When you spoke to her, what did you talk about? Was she upset that you knew?"

"No," Rachel shook her head. "She seemed… pensive? Quiet, really. She asked if you were ok. And when I told her you were snoring peacefully in bed, she laughed a little and thanked me."

"Thanked you?"

"Yeah. She said 'thank you for the kind words'… and she thanked me for looking after you."

"Weird… nothing about keeping her identity secret?"

"Nope. Nothing."

"And that was it?"

"That was it."

Santana frowned, wondering what Quinn was thinking. She hadn't received any more calls or texts from the woman since Rachel's contact with her. Part of Santana wondered if this was it—since they'd been found out she'd want to just cut off all contact. Get out in front of what Quinn likely thought would be a PR nightmare. The thought of being so disposable made Santana a little sad, but the woman had grown used to disappointments and knew better than to perseverate on what could've been.

"Ok… well, I'm going to take a shower and then get into bed."

"Did you need anything to eat tonight, or was dinner at the hospital enough?"

"I'm fine," Santana dismissed. "We'll do breakfast in the morning…"

Rachel looked at Santana, sensing that she was trying to find a way to say something she didn't know how to get out.

"I… um, are you sure you want to sleep in here tonight?"

Rachel just laughed fondly at Santana's thinly veiled attempt to cuddle tonight.

"Yes, Santana. I need some space. It's been an emotional 24 hours and I just… I need to decompress. On my own."

Santana nodded, her cheeks pinking up in embarrassment. "Oh, ok. Yeah, cool."

"I won't be mad forever," Rachel reassured.

"I know, I know," Santana said. "I'll give you your space. Thank you for being here."

With a strained smile she left the room and entered her own. She walked immediately into the bathroom, stripping herself of the clothes she'd picked out two days prior for work and turning the shower on. She wanted desperately to soak in the tub, but her surgeons had told her to avoid baths to prevent the surgical glue from prematurely coming undone.

Under the hot water she washed her hair first, and while her conditioner settled in she scrubbed her skin thoroughly, expertly avoiding rubbing against the 3 areas where the glue held her skin together. She was amazed by how small the incisions had been. She couldn't see the one made in her belly button, but the one just north of her pubic bone and the other a little farther left were barely a centimeter long. She let the water run over her abdomen, noting some bruising discoloration at the most lateral incision site.

Her mind immediately went to Holly and the pictures she'd been shown just yesterday.

Santana rinsed out her hair and turned off the water. Suddenly feeling a little too warm under the hot spray. She needed her mind off those pictures. They were a problem for another day.

By the time she was under the covers of her bed, she was desperately exhausted. Still, there was something she wanted to do before falling asleep. She unlocked her phone and with a few quick taps she had what she needed.

She hit play.

An image of Quinn sitting at the desk on her set filled the screen. The news anchor gave a polite smile as she opened her show. The lighting seemed aggressive—Quinn's hair looked like it was glowing and her eyes looked browner than their usual green. Quinn's dark gray dress was borderline bland, yet still flattering.

"I'm Quinn Fabray and welcome to The Fabray Factor. Before I start the show tonight, myself and the producers here at Fox News felt that it was imperative that I address the current rumors circulating regarding myself and a past pregnancy.

"When I was 16 years old, I got pregnant. My boyfriend at the time was in and out of juvie, and I was terrified of bringing a child into this world…"

Oof, right to it then. But, Santana watched as Quinn's expression steeled for a moment and the blonde then turned over the stack of papers she had on her desk. Likely notes she'd been given to guide the show's opener.

"At 16 years old, I was still a child myself. No one that young—still in high school and without familial support—should be tasked with raising a child on their own. When I look back on that time, I can confidently say those were the darkest months of my life. Even before I took that pregnancy test, I had this feeling that things were going to change and I was terrified. My fears were soon proven correct as I suddenly found myself without my boyfriend, homeless, and alienated."

Santana watched Quinn's well-manicured hands fidget with the pen that usually sat atop her desk. The blonde set the pen down, taking a moment to stare at the camera, as if holding the gaze of anyone who dared to judge her. Her eyes captured the light in such a way that their greenness seemed to grow brilliantly, the hazel taking a new color.

"I graciously accepted the offer to stay at a friend's house, where I lived for a little over two weeks. During that time I made plans for how I'd raise my baby. How, even if he or she made grievous mistakes, my love for them would not be conditional. How I'd never throw my child out of the safety of their home for doing something I didn't agree with. Because life is beautiful, and the gift of creation is not something that God meant for us to take for granted. I couldn't regret something I'd done—someone I'd created through an act of love. I was going to love that baby, when I had it.

"When my father came to collect me from my friend's house, I thought that perhaps he'd seen the error of his ways. I thought that he'd come to help me through a difficult time, and that we'd work together to support his grandchild. Instead, he drove me to a clinic where he told me that the only way to win his love and support back was to terminate my pregnancy."

Quinn paused, taking a few breaths before continuing. This time, her voice just noticeably thick with emotion.

"I… I agreed to his terms. And I moved back in. I carried on as if I hadn't just broken myself. As if my body didn't feel like my own anymore. As if everything was ok. As if I wasn't sick," she'd practically spat the word, "with grief."

Santana brushed away the tears she felt on her cheeks and held her breath as she watched, noticing that the video was almost over. Her hands were trembling to keep the phone still, and she regretted not watching on her laptop.

"I'm sharing this today, not for any political or religious reason. I'm not sharing my story to drive discourse about pro-life or pro-choice stances. I'm not sharing my story to shame my father, Russel Fabray, or to validate any opinions of him or his candidacy. I'm not sharing this to garner sympathy, or even change perceptions of myself. I'm sharing this because, when I was 16 and suffering, I would've appreciated knowing that I wasn't alone. That my grief was not unique. That I'd survive what I was going through. That life wouldn't continue to just take and take until there was nothing left."

Quinn reached for her small stack of papers again, flipping them back over and smoothing her right palm over the top sheet. A single tear escaped her left eye and she brushed it away quickly.

"I hope that I was able to help someone tonight. I hope that the pain of having to relive a very difficult past was not done so in vain. I'm Quinn Fabray, and thank you for tuning in to The Fabray Factor. I will not be continuing the show tonight."


When Santana finally willed herself to leave her room the next morning, she was shocked to notice that Rachel had made breakfast. There was no mistaking the smell of bacon wafting upstairs and she doubted Rachel had had a chance to buy imitation bacon from the store prior to her waking. She made her way downstairs, optimistic about Rachel's mood this morning.

"Berry, I can't believe you touched bacon for me," Santana joked as she stepped into the kitchen.

"I didn't," Rachel said tersely, looking up from her phone. She was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of her. Next to her sat Quinn Fabray, looking quite content in front of a plate of bacon.


A/N: Lots of different point of view changes, but now Rachel knows. ! And Quinn knows that Rachel knows. ! I can already tell I'm going to have fun writing the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading! Drop a review if you'd like.