Its immediate déjà vu, in the worst way, the moment Rachel opens her apartment door. Her first thought is that she must be dreaming, and she wraps her arms around her midsection and pinches the skin of her bicep. It's real. She's real. Santana Lopez is on the other side of her door and she has a bag slung over her shoulder and she's alone. She's as unprepared for it now as she was the first time it happened. The only difference is that now she lives alone; there's no buffer of another roommate to deflect to. She's older now too, but something about Santana makes her feel eighteen again. No, not even eighteen; fifteen and awkward and plain next to Santana and her full, red lips and her low-cut shirts; eleven and small next to Santana and her long, thin legs that made her grow past Rachel's height over the summer before middle school; seven and somehow still inadequate during dance class even though Santana was never all that great at it and she was actually decent. No matter what happened between her and Santana over the years, all of those bad feelings are the first thing she notices, and she hates it.
"Earth to Berry," the girl at her door waves her hand in front of her face, "You gonna let me in or what?"
She's been here before, literally and figuratively. Her gut reaction to this girl is always going to be this nauseating feeling like she's just waiting to be called names or mocked or threatened, no matter how much of a truce they've called. But she's also not the kind of person who wouldn't open her door to someone in need, so she steps back, allowing Santana to come in.
"Where's Brittany?" she wonders. The last time she saw Santana, she was walking out of the mall in Lima on Christmas Eve, her wife Brittany's arm intertwined with hers. They'd all stopped to make small talk and wish each other a happy holiday and that was that. Now it's June and Santana is on her doorstep, no Brittany in sight.
"She's in California," Santana shrugs like it's not strange for her to be there while she's in New York. With Rachel of all people.
"So listen, Berry, I don't know what to say right now and I don't really feel like talking about anything. I'm just wondering if I can stay here for a bit. For old times' sake or whatever."
"Kurt isn't here," Rachel blurts out, "He lives in Manhattan with Blaine. It's just me here."
"I know, that's why I figured you had the space for a roomie. For a bit. Just for a little while, I swear, and I'll be out of your hair before you know it."
"Santana," Rachel sighs, defeated. She knew she was going to say yes the moment she saw the duffel bag. And the dullness in her former roommate's normally sharp, mischievous black eyes. "It's late. Of course you can stay. But I'm going to bed because I have to be up early for rehearsal."
"I heard, Hotshot," Santana grins, dropping her bag onto the floor and stepping toward Rachel like she might give her a hug, but she doesn't, "another big Broadway role. That's amazing!"
"It's not Broadway, it's off Broadway," Rachel says, "And I have to be on my best behavior because basically no one in the industry trusts me. Which is fair."
"Well, you're more successful than I've ever been, that's for sure," Santana says and their eyes meet, their conversation venturing toward uncomfortable territory for both of them.
Rachel doesn't know what to say. It's true and it's not, in different ways, and it's way too late for this.
"Get some sleep, Santana," Rachel's hand twitches a little, standing close enough to reach out and touch the other girl's arm in an attempt at comfort, but not quite sure if it would be welcome, "I'll be gone until 4 or 5 tomorrow, so make yourself at home."
She turns and walks toward the curtain that divides her bedroom from the rest of the apartment and slips behind it without another word or glance at the other girl, unsure of what else to say. She knows better than to pry at Santana when she's said she doesn't want to talk about something. She lies down on her bed, on top of the covers because it's a warm night, and listens. When Santana had moved in with her all those years ago, when they were just starting college, just starting life, Rachel would sometimes hear gasping and sniffling coming from the living room, where Santana slept on their couch. She wonders if Santana will stay on the couch or if she'll go behind the other curtain to the room that used to belong to Kurt. She hears nothing; no shuffling, no footsteps. She falls asleep thinking about an argument in the bathroom of their high school that left her with more questions than answers.
1
Santana jerks at the sound of a door slamming, her body nearly falling off the couch, but catching herself on the coffee table before she does. A practiced move. She narrows her eyes as the sunlight hits them for the first time since the previous day and she realizes she must have slept in pretty late. The blissful few seconds have passed where she forgets she's at Rachel's apartment, and the memory of last night comes rushing back, regret and shame with it. She knows and yet doesn't know how she ended up here, and the idea of anyone, especially Rachel witnessing the downfall of the great Santana Lopez is too much to think about right now.
"Woah," a deep voice croaks from somewhere near the doorway, "shit, did I-," and the door slides open again. After a few seconds, it slides yet again and Santana sees a man come through, looking confused. "I'm in the right apartment."
"Yeah, sorry, I guess Rachel didn't tell you I'm here. I'm her, uh, friend from back home and I'm just crashing for a bit."
"Oh, nice," he rushes over to the couch where Santana still sits and extends a hand, "Sean, pleasure to meet you."
"Santana," she reluctantly takes his hand.
"Santana! Yeah, I know you," he rushes to the kitchen and yanks a photo off the refrigerator, bringing it over to her and pointing enthusiastically, "This is you, right?"
Santana looks down at the photo and a tiny smile breaks out against her will. It was taken on this very couch, she and Rachel and Kurt after their day working at a mall together as Christmas characters. Santana is dressed as a sexy, lady Santa Claus and seated on the couch, with Rachel on her lap dressed as an elf, pretending to whisper her Christmas gift list into her ear. Kurt stands behind them with a hand on Santana's shoulder. The three of them are laughing hysterically and she remembers it was at something that strange man they brought home from the mall, also dressed as Santa, said as he snapped the photo. What a weird night.
"Yep, that's me," she nods.
"Wow, well it's so nice to meet one of Rachel's friends from back home," he sits across from her on the coffee table, entirely too close, "I hope it's okay I let myself in. I'm supposed to meet her here for dinner when she gets off work, but I came a few hours early. I can take off though, if you need some space. I'll just come back later."
This man obviously thinks Rachel has mentioned him to her before, but in reality she has no clue who he is. He looks so damn happy that she doesn't want to ask him and risk upsetting him, so she decides to play along.
"No, it's all good. Plenty of space for both of us here. Nice to finally meet you, Sean," she says. He beams.
"I was just about to hit the shower and run to the store and get started on dinner. Did you want to join us?" he talks a mile a minute and Santana is still just processing the idea of being awake.
"Uh, no, that's okay. I'm gonna head out in a bit, too," though she has no idea where. She just doesn't want to interrupt Berry and whatever she has going on with this admittedly cute and seemingly sweet man.
"Alright, well let me know if you change your mind," he winks but in a way that's charming and not creepy. It's a difficult line to straddle.
Santana lies on the couch playing on her phone until Sean leaves to the grocery store and she slips into the shower. She spends nearly an hour in there trying to figure out where she could go, until her fingers get pruny and she turns off the water. She wants to text Quinn and gossip about who this man could be to Berry, but she also doesn't want her knowing where she is. She puts on some clean clothes and heads out the door before either of them comes back.
1
Santana stumbles through the door around midnight. She'd overstayed her welcome in at least 5 different coffee shops all day, and she's feeling wired and out of sorts. She's lonely and missing Brittany but she can't talk to her just yet. She knows it will lead to a conversation she isn't ready to have. So instead, she'd people-watched and drank at least 8 shots of espresso. She's eager to spend the night alone, maybe on the balcony smoking a cigarette or if Rachel isn't busy with her boy toy, watching an episode or two of The Facts of Life, for old time's sake.
"Santana?" a voice comes from somewhere in the kitchen. It sounds strangled and scratchy and like someone who's been crying for a while. Uh oh.
"Uh, hey, Berry. Sorry I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Santana said with a hint of playfulness, glancing around for Rachel's beau.
"No," Rachel sighed, her eyes focused down on the kitchen table.
"Where's your man candy? Is he, like, your boyfriend or whatever?"
"Santana. Don't you check Facebook? We've been together for nearly two years," Rachel says before sighing again and adding, "well, we were."
"Um, funny story. Remember that time that me, you and Kurt got super drunk and I put that you and me were together on my Facebook just to watch all the Gleeks freak out? Britt got mad and deleted you from my friend list. Apparently even joking about it made her jealous."
Rachel just stares at Santana, not feeling much like laughing, though she remembers the events fondly. Tina had texted her 45 seconds after posting it saying she was absolutely thrilled, though not surprised, which had freaked Santana out so much she group texted everyone to say it was a joke before anyone else could claim they saw this coming.
"Sorry," Santana clears her throat, "Did you say 'were'?"
"Yeah we umm, broke up," Rachel chokes up a bit at the last word, her hand coming up to wipe a tear from her cheek.
"That's, uh, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" Santana cautiously sits down at the table across from her. She remembers what it was like to comfort Rachel. It's not hard, but it can get time consuming and sometimes you have to repeat the same words over and over again until they stick.
"Not really."
"Do you want a drink?" Santana offers what she's best at. Drinking to forget.
"I've already had some."
That's when Santana notices the wine glass and an entirely empty bottle next to it.
"Shit, Berry, did you drink that whole thing yourself?"
"Santana, I can handle my alcohol now. You don't need to worry," Rachel drawls, cradling her head in her palm.
"Okay, but-,"
"Santana, can I ask you for a favor?"
"Yeah, sure."
"I'd like to have," Rachel begins, stopping to take a deep breath, and then continues, "I'd like to have a hook up if you'd be interested."
Santana is rarely rendered speechless. Having a snarky comment for any situation is kind of her thing. But right now…there are no words. She isn't even sure she heard Rachel correctly. She might be dreaming. That's it, she definitely must be dreaming.
"Santana, did you hear me? I'm asking you if you'd have a one-night stand with me. Just once. And then never again."
"Rachel," Santana nearly shouts, "are you hearing yourself? You're drunk."
"Do I sound drunk, Santana? Am I slurring my speech? Are my eyes losing focus? Am I falling over?"
"Well, no, but you just asked me to have sex with you."
"Right."
"Rachel, have you ever even had a one-night stand? Like ever?"
"No."
"Do you even like girls like that?"
"I…I'm not sure.
"What does that mean?"
"Do you want to discuss my sexuality right now or do you want to help me out?"
"Rach, I…," Santana begins, unsure of how to turn down a girl delicately because girls don't usually come onto her this directly. Or at least, not girls she cares about. Cared? No, cares. Go figure when girls finally start to be clear with their intentions, the first girl to do it is Rachel, "I can't."
Rachel just stares up at the ceiling and then blows out a puff of air, "Okay then."
"That's it? You drop that bomb on me and you're just gonna say 'okay then'?"
"It's fine, Santana, really," Rachel slides off the barstool and grabs her wine glass, walking toward the sink, "I just thought you never said no, that's all."
"What?"
"In high school, you said you 'never say no' to a sexual encounter. But I guess I'm just too repulsive to you. Still."
"I, what?" Santana needs to sit down so she does as Rachel starts marching around the kitchen, wiping a spot here and there, picking up dishes to be washed, "Rachel, that was a joke. I obviously don't have sex with every single person who offers. Don't you think I have standards?"
"And I don't fit into those standards, got it," Rachel tosses the wine bottle in the recycling bin and heads toward her curtained-off bedroom.
"Rachel! That's not what I'm saying, come on. Come back here! Please, if we go to bed like this it's gonna be so awkward in the morning," Santana whines as Rachel pulls back her curtain, taking one last glance in her direction.
"Well, I wanted to go to bed a much less awkward way, but you made your choice. Goodnight, Santana."
Okay, what the just happened? And why was Rachel kind of hot talking like that? And why does Santana feel like she has the butterflies the size of crows in her stomach? She stares at the other side of Rachel's curtain, wondering if she should just follow her in there. But then what would happen? In a complete and total 180 of every moment she's ever spent with Rachel, she wants to talk, hash it out, figure out what the hell is going on with Rachel that made her want whatever it is she wants from her. She tiptoes across the living room, not wanting to make her presence known too quickly. She reaches the curtain and lifts a hand, but she stops herself. She realizes she has no idea what to say, no idea what she's even really thinking. This sudden fear of the unknown causes her to drop her hand down and turn back toward the couch. Should she even stay here tonight? She could call Kurt and Blaine, see if they can spare some room for her, just for the night. But if she leaves, does that makes it worse than if she stays? So, she sits down on the couch, takes out her phone and starts playing a game until sleep eventually takes her.