Act I, Scene II
Hi guys, I mostly forgot to post here so sorry for the wait :)
She had a plan. A very precise, multi-faceted, layered plan with steps and directions. Although she knew one couldn't force love, Rachel just wanted to give Santana the chance to fall in love with her. So the basis of the plan - the watered down, simple version of it - was; create situations that allowed them to spend more time together.
Rachel didn't think the girl would willingly spend time with her, at least not to start with, but she'd been civil, if not kind to her lately, so only time would tell.
The duet hadn't quite worked, but Valentine's was still a while away, so she had to find something else for the meantime. Something that not only got them to spend time together in a public space; a way for Santana to treat her nicely even with people around them, but also privately.
The opportunity came about in the form of an English project in their shared class. A romantic project at that - reciting a love scene from a Shakespeare play of their choosing.
Rachel initially had been paired with Jacob Ben Israel, horrifyingly (she was quite certain that if she weren't already planning on swapping partners, the universe was treating her cruelly on purpose).
With a little behind the scenes scheming and classic deceit, she managed to acquire Santana as a partner.
Although the girl had grumbled about Rachel stalking her lately when she primly took the seat beside her, which was a tremendous exaggeration, there wasn't an overwhelming amount of complaints. And although she expected Santana to make her do the brunt of the work, with choosing the play and characterisation, she was ecstatic to have the chance to be closer to the girl (even if she'd executed it herself).
"Let's do Act 2, Scene 2 from Romeo and Juliet. You'll be Romeo, I'll be Juliet." Before she could even find her copy of the play, nestled deep within her bag, something she'd accounted for when she found out what their project would be, Santana was shaking her head.
"No."
"What?"
"I am not doing Romeo and Juliet. Especially not that scene," She scoffed, raising her hand to appraise her nails offhandedly.
"Why not? You clearly don't appreciate the romantic side of Shakespeare, or perhaps even Shakespeare hims-"
"No, because one, everybody's going to choose Romeo and Juliet because that's the only romantic Shakespeare play they know. Or rather, the only Shakespeare play they know. And two, I'm not romanticising suicide."
Wow, she loved her.
"How basic are you, Rachel? You seriously want to do that scene? I thought you'd know more Shakespeare than that, and have a deeper understanding of romance in literature," Santana seemed to forget herself in her passion, because suddenly she was slumping in her seat, rolling her eyes. "Not that I do. Or care, or anything."
There were a few seconds of silence as Rachel just stared, her nerve endings alight. Perhaps she'd found somebody as interested in Shakespeare as herself. And somebody she loved, too! It only made her love her more.
"Quit staring. I'm not a Shakespeare nerd or anything. I'm just good at school stuff."
Blanching slightly, Rachel looked away with a hint of a blush. "Okay, well, what would you suggest we do?"
After a moments contemplation, Santana smirked, "Much Ado About nothing. You play Beatrice, I play Benedick. Then I can insult you. It's still popular but not in that cliché kind of way."
Rachel wasn't sure she liked the idea of Santana insulting her, Beatrice and Benedick had been rather ruthless to one another at the beginning of the story. But then she remembered the ending and how their relationship had evolved into mutual admiration. Before she could agree, Santana was continuing, seemingly displeased.
"Or Twelfth Night. The glee club could do that one with all the pairings Shakespeare pushed."
Rachel began to wonder how well versed in Shakespeare's plays Santana was.
"Oh, wait. The merchant of Venice. I'll be Lorenzo, you Jessica."
Narrowing her eyes, Rachel felt a little affronted. She didn't appreciate typecasting. Unless, of course, the casting pertained to Funny Girl. That was an entirely different matter altogether. It'd be an offence if Fanny was played by anybody other than a Jewish woman (truthfully; she'd be offended if Fanny were played by anybody but her - she was, after all, destined to carry on Barbara Streisand's legacy).
"Is that just because I'm Jewish?"
Santana sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "Okay, how about Macbeth? I doubt anyone will choose a tragedy, and we'd stand out."
"But that ends so badly. And not in a romantic way," She frowned, picking at the end of her sweater sleeve.
"Okay, fine, you pick then. But not something clichéd and stupid," Rolling her eyes, she gave up, allowing Rachel to choose - which was how she'd expected the project to go, before Santana jumped in with all this Shakespeare knowledge and accusations against one of the greatest romantic plays ever written. It was enlightening though, and exhilarating to have somebody challenge her with something she was good at.
"I like the idea of Much Ado About Nothing. Although the pair initially held an animosity towards one another, they eventually realised they were in love."
Santana looked a little sceptical, probably noticing how close it sounded to their situation when summarised like that (minus the falling in love part, at least on the cheerleaders side) but nodded in agreement.
"You realise we'd be reenacting Act 4, scene 1, so there would be no insults."
"Whatever. I'll make up for that."
•••
When the doorbell rang, three minutes after their decided time - which was Rachel requesting a time and Santana rebutting it with another (most likely just to annoy her) - Rachel rushed to fluff up the cushions for the hundredth time, and straightened her hair in the hallway mirror as she passed by.
She hadn't overdressed, as to not make it obvious that she was trying to impress Santana, but she'd put a little care into her attire. Not often wearing jeans, she slipped on an old pair she hadn't worn for a while that she knew accentuated her legs and behind rather nicely, and a simple black T-Shirt.
It was a little different, but along the lines of the casual dress she usually wore around the house. Although, she didn't usually wear pants so tight.
Santana didn't look like she'd put in much of an effort, sweatpants and a tank, but she looked effortlessly attractive. Rachel was a little distracted by the way the sweats clung to her hips, and almost forgot her usual hosting manners.
"Good evening, Santana. I'm glad you could make it," She forced a smile, trying to keep her eyes in appropriate places, being the polite young woman that she was.
Santana just grunted in response, pushing herself past Rachel as she stepped out of the way. She slipped off her shoes, asking Rachel where she should put them, pulling at the strap of her bag.
Now they were in Rachel's territory, and she could tell the cheerleader was a little unsettled.
"Would you like a drink? Water? Soda?" Rachel spoke over her shoulder as she lead Santana into the living room in the hopes that she was being checked out. Of course she had no way of knowing that, unless she turned around abruptly, but she didn't want to make the girl uncomfortable.
"Uh, water would be good."
"Sit right here," Rachel pointed to a spot on the sofa with a wide smile, before traipsing off to the kitchen and coming back with some water.
"So, got a ten step plan for us, Berry?" Santana asked as she took a sip, following Rachel's lead by placing the glass on a coaster.
"I think we should begin by reading through the scene individually to get a feel of our characters, then we can watch film versions to build up our understanding and see other people's interpretations."
"Aight. Sounds good."
"Do you have your own copy or would you like-"
"Got it."
"Okay, great. Let's get started."
It was a little awkward, sitting on opposite ends of the couch in silence, the only sound the rustling of pages. It was worse when Rachel put the 1973 film adaptation on, the distraction of television less effective than reading.
She'd chanced a glance in Santana's direction, but the girl had scowled at her. She had great peripheral vision.
"Why did we just watch a Polish version?" She questioned once it'd finished, clearly displeased.
"It was actually Russian," Rachel corrected, "And I feel we should consider approaches that expand beyond our language barrier to get a real taste of how directors approach-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Santana rolled her eyes, eliciting an affronted gasp at how quickly her meticulous approach to performing Shakespeare was disregarded. Interpretations were important. "Can we watch something I'll actually understand?"
"There were subtitles, you should've understood perfectly," Rachel huffed, reluctantly removing the DVD and placing it back in its case.
"Yeah and that's just reading the scene all over again, but with bits cut out. We're not looking to broaden our horizons here by comparing the entire play and different critical approaches. We're just performing one scene."
She found herself not altogether disagreeing with Santana, but with her stubborn nature and superiority complex, she was unwilling to admit that; so sighed and made a scene of putting in the next CD. "Fine."
Choosing to ignore the quiet snicker behind her, most likely at her dramatics, Rachel settled back on the sofa with her arms crossed and a mulish frown overtaking her features.
"If you start reciting this play in Russian we're gonna have some problems, Berry," Santana said after a beat, just when the scene had began - to Rachel's chagrin.
"Good job the extent of my Soviet knowledge only covers the Tsarist autocracy and Cold War."
"God, you're so-"
"Can you please hush so we can watch the scene?" She interrupted before her insults could get out of hand.
"Can you please hush so we can watch the scene," Santana said in a high pitched, awful imitation.
"Santana, I do not appreciate your childish mockery."
"Whatever, Berry. Just start it again."
Despite the awful attitude, Rachel found the tension between them oddly exciting. Indifference was worse, because this- there was that passion. A spark of something, and although it was mostly fuelled by insults and Santana's snark, it was still something , rather than nothing.
They restarted the 1993 version, then the 2012 black and white version, before Rachel decided that might've been enough content to work with, lest their performance have no originality.
There was silence as she organised the DVD's and stowed them away with the rest of her movies, tucking her hair behind her ears when she'd finished. She was pretty certain Santana was checking out her butt where she was bent over, because her gaze averted quickly when Rachel turned around, and the triumphant feeling, mixed with a tug in her lower stomach, had her grinning.
"So, do you have an idea of how you're going to portray Benedick?"
"Yeah, I guess," She shrugged, indifferent.
It had already been half an hour, and Rachel didn't think Santana would be planning on staying too long. She hoped to get in a chat that deviated from Shakespeare, to show that they could potentially find common ground and get along outside of singing songs together in glee. She just...didn't quite know how to approach it.
Asking too many questions would make Santana think she was digging into her business, or something equally as ridiculous, and talking about herself in the hopes she'd respond with her own anecdotes would probably lead to Santana thinking she was self-centred and could never shut up (more than she already did).
"Great. Where will you draw most your inspiration?"
"Well...the Russian version was bullshit, and even with subtitles the character lacked depth. The 2012 version was okay, and the whole movie would probably be a great standout with the modern twist, but I think I prefer Benedick in Branaugh's adaption. I mean, it's the only movie version I'd seen before and I think he encapsulates his character and wit really well," Trailing off awkwardly, she'd simultaneously avoided depth, and gave enough detail that suggested she'd thought about the adaptions more than she was portraying.
Rachel felt a little awed, and shifted ever so slightly closer, so that her jean clad leg rested against off-white sweats. "Santana, it's okay if you enjoy Shakespeare."
The scoff in response was all the confirmation she needed.
"I won't tell anybody. And I can hardly judge you when I myself delight in Shakespeare's literature."
She was quite certain Santana was going to blow her off and storm out or something, effectively ruining any chance of a good grade or progressive relationship between them, but then she was deflating, glancing at where their bodies were touching and shaking her head in resignation. "Alright, I like Shakespeare. I'm not like, a lamo who knows everything about the dude and has read every single thing of his. It's just...it's like music, you know?"
There was that thrill of finding something out about Santana, but also finding out they had a common interest as well as opinion.
"That's exactly what I think!" Eyes sparkling, a sign that she was on the verge of a soliloquy of her own, Rachel shifted even closer, a hand resting on her own thigh, fingertips brushing at Santana's leg. "His plays are always rather poetic, and lyricism is just a form of poetry."
"Exactly," Surprisingly, she'd responded with a level of enthusiasm, like she was afraid Rachel would think she was stupid, only to have her thoughts validated. "It's like reading art, only on paper. The same way music sounds like a painting, or just splashes of paint on a canvas. I always appreciated the poetry in his work."
"Do you like poetry too, then?" Rachel was practically beaming, feeling like she'd gained a level of insight into the way Santana's mind worked without reservations and HBIC masks.
"Yeah. A bit," Santana shrugged, as if it was nothing, but she could see the spark in her eyes; like she'd been waiting to talk to somebody about her passion for poetry and literature.
"Shakespeare's sonnets?"
"They're dope. And I like them, but I prefer modern stuff when it comes to actual poetry."
"Like who?"
"Uh, well Margaret Atwood has some good stuff. But I prefer her books."
Rachel nodded along, having read some of Atwood's stuff and agreeing that, yes, whilst she was a great poet, her novels had always been her strong suit.
"Gwendolyn Brooks is brilliant, she was the first African American to win a Pulitzer Prize. I talk about my Puerto Rican descent a lot, but I'm also African American, so, I find some comfort in her work."
Sitting wide eyed and attentive, Rachel realised that she hadn't known that, and it made her realise she hadn't always been a great listener when it came to members of the glee club. Perhaps she had to revaluate. Learning these little tidbits and passions that Santana had, it felt like a dream. An odd, wonderful dream.
"Then there's Mary Oliver, and Carol Ann Duffy."
"Oh, Carol! I love how she uses literary and pop culture references and displays her sexuality so openly throughout her works, with poems about both men and women. I have the World's Wife, I don't know if you've read it, but gosh, it's one of my favourites! The way she depicts all these significant male figures through their wives. Oh, and Rapture! That was the first modern poetry collection I read that explores sapphic love so beautifully."
Somewhere in her animated rant, Santana had recoiled slightly, turning in on herself. "Right."
"I one day hope to produce work similar to Carol's. I figured I'd have some trysts and passionate romances with men and women during college, a few bad ones along the way, and maybe even into my broadway career. Although broadway is my passion, poetry always keeps me on my toes. I'd take on a style similar to Duffy's, incorporating techniques from some old school poets, because I do have a soft spot for the Romantic era, with a mix of contemporary influences."
Feeling she'd turned the spotlight onto herself when she'd been making some progress in learning more about the Latina, Rachel took a pause, trying to read Santana's curious gaze.
"Wait, men and women?" There was surprise, along with a slight tinge of curiosity.
"Why, yes. I don't trap myself in a heteronormative world view, and find that, limiting myself to only men will limit my experiences and the chance of finding true love. It might be growing up with two fathers that has made me more open to the idea, although sexuality is biological, the attitudes towards sexuality change when you're in a more liberal environment. At least, that's what I think."
Growing quiet, the girl seemed to think over this, tugging at the hem of her tank and shuffling about in her seat. "Why don't you tell anybody?"
"Well, I don't actively hide it. It's just never come up. And it's not as if I'd find a girl willing for a romance at McKinley. If there are any girls with sapphic inclinations, they're too far in the closet to even consider it."
There was a spark of hope there, like Santana didn't feel quite so alone, like...Rachel might've been reading too far into it, but there was something. And perhaps this was where they'd bond further, where they'd share their strifes and hopes of the future, but then Santana was frowning, picking at a thread from her sweatpants.
"Uh, it's getting kinda late. I should head home." As the girl stood abruptly, Rachel remained dazed, feeling floored.
"It's not even six."
"I've got dinner. My abuela's joining, so."
"Oh, okay." She tried to hide her disappointment, but despite her excellent acting skills, she'd never been great at concealing emotions. Especially intense ones. And this was an intense feeling of disappointment. Two steps back, when she was sure they'd taken a step forwards.
"We can, uh, go over it more another time."
She was already heading out towards the hallway, slipping on her shoes at the door. "Yeah, okay."
"I'll see you later." The farewell was weak, disappointment evident in her voice, but Santana was just as distracted as before, moving to leave the house.
"Yeah. See ya." Before walking out the door, Santana turned to her seriously. "If you tell anybody anything about how I like Shakespeare and poetry, I won't hesitate to beat your ass."
Gulping at the proximity and threatening tone to her voice, Rachel could only nod.
When she was halfway down the drive, she turned, offering up a stiff smile. "Thanks, Rachel."
Santana still remained a mystery, despite the small part of her she'd learned that evening. Ruminating over what had caused such a volatile reaction, no answers came to her quickly, and she resigned herself to the knowledge that perhaps she'd never truly learn much about the cheerleader - at arms length just like everybody else.
•••
They'd rarely interacted from that point onwards during school. Santana hadn't even acknowledged her in lessons or in the hallway, which had Rachel thinking the night had to hold no significance to her. Yet, she remembered the sincerity in her voice when she'd thanked her. And maybe she was underestimating Santana.
The answer came in the form of a small smile when their eyes met across the choir room, and Rachel knew that, although the evening might not have held the same depth with Santana as it did with herself, it wasn't nothing. There was something she'd taken away from it. Perhaps the opportunity to talk to somebody about something she was passionate about. And although her abrupt departure still didn't sit right with her, she'd tried to brush it off and focus on what could come of their new relationship (no matter how hesitant it was).
•••
Their next practice session was a few days later. Rather than going to Rachel's house, they'd found out they shared a study period when planning when to next meet, and decided on finding a spare classroom.
Santana sat on the chair backwards, arms draped over the back of it as Much Ado About Nothing rested lazily in her hands.
"Is there any way to show such friendship?" She drawled, head moving to rest against her arms.
"Santana, your lack of enthusiasm makes for a rather unproductive rehearsal," Rachel sighed, placing the play face down on the desk.
"M'tired," She murmured back, voice muffled by her elbow.
Rachel hated that she found it entirely too endearing. That she was seeing a somewhat vulnerable side of her, all due to some sleepiness.
"Then maybe you should stick to an efficient sleep schedule, and tiredness during school hours would be avoided," She huffed, not appreciating the slow start to their hour together.
"You're so uptight," She grumbled, rubbing her eyes as they met the bright lights of the classroom.
"I resent that accusation."
"When do you do anything for fun that doesn't fit in with your career plans and future?"
"I find several ways to relax and have fun. I just don't see how slacking when we only have forty minutes is in any way logical."
Santana's scoff was every bit infuriating, reminding Rachel why she might not have figured out her attraction for so long. "Yeah, right."
"Fine. I guess I'll just take a rest. My Biology lesson this morning was rather taxing." Kicking her feet up on the desk, something she'd never actually done (finding it was rather unsanitary) she leant back in her chair and crossed her arms behind her head as a makeshift pillow.
There was a beat before Santana was sighing, most likely rolling her eyes.
"Okay, I'll stop trying to nap," She said, but Rachel's eyes remained screwed shut.
"No, it's perfectly fine with me if we just relax today," She waved off, slumping further in her seat.
"Rachel."
"What? I'm just doing as you said and being less uptight."
"Okay, I get it, I get it." Sitting properly in her seat, Santana raised her book with a dramatic flourish, whilst Rachel watched with one eye peaked open. "I'm up. Just read your damn line."
Shaking her head, she lifted her version of the play, leaving her feet up on the desk. "A very even way, but no such friend."
"May a man do it?"
"It is a man's office, but not yours."
"I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?"
Moon-eyed and staring at Santana, Rachel sighed deeply, letting the play slump against her chest. Perhaps this was a bad idea. How she could disguise her affections when Santana was confessing her love in the character of Benedick was beyond her.
"Rachel?"
And the fact she was referring to her by her name! She placed a hand on her forehead, sighing again.
"Oh my God, if you're gonna be a drama queen I'm leaving." The sound of movement, as if she were about to pack away her stuff and flee the room had Rachel panicking.
"No, no! I'm fine." Sitting abruptly, she made to reach for her arm but slapped the desk instead.
"Why are you huffing and puffing again? We're not doing the three little pigs," Santana said, a little exasperation in her voice. "Jesus, you're so hard to please."
"I'm sorry, I'm being very unprofessional."
Santana rolled her eyes, a character trait at this point. "This isn't a script reading for a broadway show."
Rachel really had to focus. But instead she found herself distracted once again by Santana's impatience; finger tapping against the desk, a pointed stare urging her to continue reading.
Hypocrisy wasn't a good look, considering she'd only just reprimanded Santana for slacking, but before she knew it she was shifting her chair so that it was a little closer to the cheerleader's, Much Ado About Nothing long forgotten. "Do you write your own poetry, Santana?"
A little taken aback by the question, she hesitated. "Sometimes, I guess."
"Do you write your own songs?" She continued, eyes lighting up as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow reaching Santana's desk.
Dark eyes flitted to it for a second, narrowing, before she was shrugging. "If I get a good melody going."
"Do you play an instrument, then?"
"Jeez Berry, what is this? Twenty questions?" Santana scoffed, rocking back in her seat like she was trying to move further away, looking put on the spot.
"No. I count 5, including the two you just asked," She said, quite seriously, but Santana was glaring.
"Don't be a smart ass." Arms folded, a classic defensive stance, Santana was eyeing Rachel's elbow again as if it's mere existence offended her. "What about you then? Write any poetry, write any songs?"
It wasn't often Santana found any remote interest in what Rachel did. And although she recognised it as a sort of deflection from her torrent of questions, she felt the need to jump at the chance of answering.
"I often write poetry, but I can't seem to translate any of that into lyrics or musical ideas."
The girl seemed to ponder over this, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she was leaning forwards, elbow close to Rachel's. "Look, if you're any good at poetry, and I know you're brilliant with music, it's easy to put them together. You've just gotta know some basic music theory, know an instrument or at least be able to put something together on GarageBand, and then whatever you put into the poetry you're writing - put it into song."
There came that awe that always preceded anything more than a sharp retort from the Latina. The compliment, the faith, Rachel was practically buzzing under the attention.
"Okay," She nodded dumbly, stumped for words. There were too many metaphors taking up space in her mind.
Santana raised an eyebrow, glancing down to the book in Rachel's hand as if to urge her to continue reading. Feeling the conversation slipping away from them, she made a quick decision.
"Would you- I mean, you don't have to, and you're rather private so I doubt you'd want to, or even consider showing me, of all people-"
"Spit it out."
Taking a deep breath, Rachel clasped her hands together and squared Santana with a very serious look. "Could I hear it some day?"
"My music?"
"Yes. Or the poetry." Rachel would take anything that had some sort of emotional depth from Santana. A part of her thought that, perhaps her music wasn't that emotional, but the way she spoke about it. The way she spoke about poetry and Shakespeare and the meaning it had to her, Rachel just knew she put her soul into it.
"I don't know," Santana shrugged, a little self conscious it seemed. Frowning, she tried to hide her disappointment. "I don't really show many people. Or any people."
"What about Brittany?" She dared to ask, wondering if Santana had ever sang something original to her, or slipped a poem into her locker. The idea that some day Santana could do that for her...Rachel was sure she was having palpitations.
"She's heard bits and pieces here and there, but, I don't know. I don't like showing it." She was pulling at the edge of her Cheerios shirt, clearly not used to talking in depth about the things she was passionate about. "It's not like a confidence thing, I'm hot shit and I know it. I just, it's personal."
Rachel didn't completely believe Santana. She was certain there was an element of confidence (or lack thereof) that was preventing her from showing others. But it made sense.
Santana was very obviously a closed book. The relationships she'd formed with the rest of the glee club were all surface level. Even her insults never went too deep. It was like she'd removed herself emotionally from the people around her, and although Rachel was getting glimpses into her mind and the things she liked, there was still a barrier there. Still distance.
It wasn't like Santana was confessing anything too profound or putting her poetry on the table. She still kept the rhymes close to her chest, behind several layers of protection. Even though Rachel knew they were there, she didn't know what they were.
That unwillingness to portray any type of emotional vulnerability didn't mean she didn't feel. She'd heard jokes, even from the glee kids, that the girl didn't have a heart. That she was cold and passive. It was easy to come to that conclusion, what with her brash words and resting bitch face. Rachel liked to think she saw beyond that.
She just hoped Santana could somehow trust her enough to truly show her. Not glimpses or the same surface level stuff - but the real depths of emotions she was sure her music and poetry expressed.
"Look, are we practising or not? Cause if not I have a meeting with the bed in the nurses office and my pitiful pleas for a half an hour rest," Santana was frowning, folding and unfolding the corner of her page.
"Yes, let's get on with it then." Perhaps she'd have to push another time.
They weren't quite close enough to be called friends, but Rachel thought there was progress.
When Santana sat next to her in glee club the next day, she tried not to read into it too much. She didn't actually say anything to her, or really acknowledge her much, but the presence beside her was hard to ignore.
It'd thrown her off her game so to speak, because she was quiet for most of the session. They'd sat beside one another before (mostly because everybody else had taken the other seats) so it wasn't entirely foreign, but with her new feelings, and the fact that Santana had several other seats to choose from being surprisingly early, Rachel was reading into it. It was in her nature to warp reality to suit her feelings.
So most of glee she was trying not to lean into Santana's warmth rather than ranting about solos and how they should pay tribute to Streisand at regionals.
The group performance mid way through, spontaneous, was some modern song Mercedes or Tina had chosen - something Rachel was familiar with, being that she tried to be well versed in all types of music at all times, including the top hits - no matter how talentless a lot of the artists were.
Santana smiled at her as they sang, bumping her shoulder, and she couldn't even find it within herself to be annoyed that she was a mere background vocal.