Hello everyone :) Its been about three weeks since my last update, and I apologise for the delay. I'm a bit hard pressed for time, and one of my beloved dogs had to be put down a couple of weeks ago, so apart from not having any spare time to write, I also lacked the motivation. Losing a pet is like losing a part of yourself, and is thoroughly devastating. That said, I know he is now pain free and in a better place.
Your reviews and follows have been wonderful. As always, I have received mostly kind words of praise as well as a few less flattering critiques of this story. Both are equally welcome, but I do wish that people writing to say they don't like the story or an aspect of it would tell me the reason behind their dislike. It's hard to take things seriously when someone just calls your work stupid, and leaves it at that :p It's amusing, yes, but pointless.
I'll keep this note short. The aim is to have an another update up before the end of the year, and I'll do my best to meet that self-set deadline. In the meantime, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Here's hoping you're on Santa's Nice-List!
Happy Holidays, everybody :)
Rachel took her eyes off the TV screen to focus on the two pairs of feet resting on the coffee table before her. She smiled at the sight, thinking how cute it was that Brittany was resting her left sock-clad foot on Santana's naked right one. Turning to gaze at the pair more fully, she 'aww-ed' out loud at the sight of the Englishwoman tucked into the Spaniard's side. Santana raised a quizzical eyebrow at the New Yorker, her soft expression rendering the usually intimidating gesture harmless.
"I can't help it, you guys look adorable all cuddled up. Like koala bears!," Rachel defended herself with a grin. "Hold on, I wanna take a picture of you two."
Brittany burrowed deeper into her girlfriend and Santana wrapped her arm even more securely around her shoulders. "First up, they're koalas, not koala bears. And secondly, you want to share candid pictures of us with the world just because the cat is out of the bag now?," the dark-skinned half of the pair asked.
Rachel, who was unlocking her phone screen, paused and glanced up at the duo. "Would you rather I not?"
Santana gave up her serious façade, her face breaking into a grin, "Oh, hell no, Berry! This world could use more images of well-known couples doing every day things. Think of this as my good deed for the day." Brittany's muffled giggle reached Rachel's ears as the Latina turned her attention back to the TV, "Just make sure it looks natural. I don't want to look like one of those idiots only pretend to be pondering the meaning of life as they thoughtfully gaze out into the distance. I ain't that vain."
Rachel rolled her eyes, "Of course you aren't." The brunette took the picture and it was one of those rare instances where she was happy with the very first one. She spent the next few minutes tweaking it on Instagram before sending it out into the world, making sure to put in the 'Brittana' hash tag that had begun trending immediately after her two friends made their relationship public two days ago.
That had actually been the day Rachel and Quinn flew in to Moscow with Marley and Emma, and the mild chaos that followed the reveal meant the teenager hadn't spent all that much alone time with the pair. Besides the fact that Santana and Brittany had to train for the Kremlin Cup, which had begun that morning, the couple had been swarmed with requests for print and television interviews, and had photographers trailing them in hordes from the moment they stepped out of the hotel's elevators. Their pre-tournament press meets had turned into media circus shows, and Brittany had later told Rachel that the amount of people crammed into the press room for her interview had reminded her of when they'd gone to see the Rolling Stones perform in London.
To top it all off, Russia's infamous laws meant there were anti-gay protestors and queer-friendly supporters screaming their lungs out outside the Olimpiyskiy Sports Complex either in support of or against the pair. Rachel had been very tempted to climb out of her car and tell a man exactly where he could shove his picket sign when he'd loudly proclaimed how Brittany and Santana were going to eternally burn in hell for their sinful acts as she'd been chauffeured through the gathered mob for training that afternoon. The American hadn't been able to get his hateful words out of her mind since then, and she was supremely grateful to the organizers for giving Santana, Brittany and Asami Sato increased security while they were in Russia for the tournament. Asami's girlfriend Korra had made the trip too, a fact that Rachel had noted with interest since she remembered the Japanese player saying her MMA-star girlfriend rarely traveled to one-off tennis tournaments halfway across the world. Rachel had a sneaky suspicion the professional fighter and her 'buff arms', as Brittany called them, were there to ensure Asami's safety.
Santana stood up and stretched before proclaiming, "I need to pee," and heading off towards her bedroom.
Rachel watched her walk away and suddenly remembered something she had wanted to ask the two. "So, I've been meaning to ask," she began, prompting Brittany to roll her head that was leaning against the back of the couch to the left, "why'd you decide to come out the way you did?"
The blonde blinked, drawing Rachel's attention to how tired her friend looked. Tired, but happy. "Well, you know we didn't want to make a formal announcement or anything. I mean, c'mon, this isn't news," she emphasized, earning an agreeable nod from her friend. "So anyway, we bumped into Asami and Korra when we went to pick up our tournament accreditation at Olimpiski, and- Have you ever hung out with them? As a couple?" Rachel shook her head, and the Englishwoman continued, "Well, they're really nice. They were friends for three years before they got together and you can tell they just fit. And it took them about two seconds to work out that San and I were together. So San and I figured, why not just go out on a double date with them, and let the world figure it out themselves."
Santana reemerged from her bedroom near the end of Brittany's statement and sauntered back to the couch. "Did you tell her how we'd definitely decided to do it in Russia anyway?" The blonde shook her head as the Latina sat back down. "Well, Brit and I had decided to do it here because of how archaic the gay laws are in this country. The original plan was to have a date night at the movies or something and hold hands enough so people could put two-and-two together. We thought it could be an up yours to the ass hats that keep the laws in place and maybe even a source of inspiration to people that live here under the oppressive laws and could do with seeing someone brave enough to defy those laws. I know it's easier when you aren't a Russian citizen and you're just here for a week, but still, maybe it'll do someone some good."
"So even though we weren't too keen on the world going bananas over us dating, we figured we might as well try and make something good out of the attention we knew we were going to get," Brittany added.
The trio fell silent, and Rachel knew the two women were processing everything they'd just discussed, just as she herself was. She couldn't imagine living somewhere she couldn't be who she wanted to be, and her heart went out to the millions of people that lived their lives under those circumstances in different parts of the world.
The Latina took a deep breath and broke the silence, "I was surprised by how quickly the media caught on though. My phone was going crazy before we even looked at the dessert menu."
"And 'Brittana' was born before the paycheck arrived," Brittany threw in.
"I actually like the portmanteau you've been given," Rachel observed.
"Really?" Santana asked. "I preferred 'Santittany'."
Brittany let out what sounded like a grunt before lifting her head and resting it on her girlfriend's shoulder. "I'm with Rach. 'Brittana' has more of a flow to it."
The Latina looked down at the blonde with a predatory look. Lowering her voice to a purr, she began saying "Oh, I'll show you fl-", only to be cut off when Rachel shrieked, closed her eyes, covered her ears and started to say 'la la la' over and over again. When she reopened her eyes ten 'Mississippi's' later, Brittany was red in the face from how hard she was laughing and Santana's eyes were shining with mirth.
The memory was one she drew upon in her press conference the next afternoon when she was inevitably asked, for the umpteenth time in the last few days, about the biggest story to emerge from women's tennis that week. The brunette smiled, her mind flashing back to the vision of Brittany wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, before she was brought back to the present.
"As you've said previously, Miss Pierce is your best friend. So the news mustn't have come as a shock to you, right?," a man with a Scottish accent asked.
Rachel decided to use Brittany's own words, "It's still not news to me."
The man looked confused. "I don't follow..."
Rachel took a deep breath, "The war in Afghanistan is news. Pussy Riot being jailed is news. Lance Armstrong's poor decision making is news. Trayvon Martin, sir, is news. Brittany dating Santana is not news."
The press gathered in the room now clamoured to earn the right to ask the next question, with almost everyone raising their hand or speaking up at once. However, the Scottish journalist wasn't done yet. "So you don't think people should be talking about it?"
Rachel looked him in the eye, "No, I don't believe their love life is anyone else's concern, and I don't really understand the level of interest it's generating. Just as I have no interest in the love life of anyone here in this room." The man opened his mouth to say something, but this time Rachel was the one that wasn't finished. Raising her hand to stop him, she continued, "However, if people insist on discussing the fact that two of my friends are in a relationship then I think the context in which it's being spoken about is important. Don't portray them as predatory lesbians trying to gay up the whole tour, or a horn dog's fantasy of two stunning women hooking up."
There was silence for a moment, before a flurry of hands filled the air again. The media handler pointed to a random journalist, who didn't bother to introduce herself. "What's a good context then?"
"How it's ok to be yourself," Rachel promptly replied. "If you look at the stats you'll see that queer kids are often the target of bullying. If these kids can see people they identify with standing tall and being proud of who they are, it'll do them a world of good. On the contrary, imagine being in the closet and seeing gay people, famous gay people, champion athletes, being treated differently by the media just because of their sexual orientation. What sort of message does that send out?" The teenager ran her gaze across the members of the press seated before her, "I know for a fact that Brittany and Santana are making themselves available to speak to LGBTQ publications and websites and any journalist that wants to sit down and talk to them like normal adults, and that they'd love it if the world treated their relationship just like any other. And that's how it should be."
The interview moderator pointed to a journalist as Rachel reached for the glass of water before her. "Hi Bob," Rachel smiled, recognizing the reporter.
"Rachel," the Englishman nodded back. "Many of your fellow WTA colleagues have been asked to comment on the matter these last few days, and it appears to be a rather supportive environment all around. Would you say that is true behind the scenes too?"
The brunette had sipped from her glass while he posed his question, and licked her lips before replying, "Yes, I'd say it's definitely a supportive atmosphere. We've had girls that are out on tour for years now and I've never seen them treated any differently from the rest. They bring their partners to pre-tournament parties and events and, yeah, it's very inclusive. Just like when the girls bring their boyfriends along. The WTA Tour doesn't discriminate," she smiled.
Another journalist was selected. "Oleg Peskov, The Moscow Times," he began. "So the vemen on tour, they are not uncomfortable, sharing locker room vith lesbians?"
Rachel felt a wave of irritation pass thorough her, but managed to prevent her annoyance from showing on her features. Willing her voice to stay calm, she said, "And why would they be uncomfortable?"
The journalist made a derisive sound, as if it was obvious, "Because the lesbians vould look at them, no?"
"And?" Rachel asked, still playing dumb.
"And they might, eh, vot you say... prochest... leer," the reporter said.
"Um, I'm not sure if you've ever been to a women's locker-room, or you know any locker room, although you do appear to work out," Rachel said, immediately thinking that Jesse was going to give her an earful for saying that to the podgy man even as she heard a few sections of the room laugh at her words, "but women do not check each other out in there. And we don't hang out in there for fun either. The locker-room is a place to store your belongings, a pit stop you make before and after games, somewhere you might do some light stretching and put a grip on your racket. And yes, there are showers somewhere in there, so women do walk around butt naked. But no one has the time, or inclination, to spend any more time than is necessary in there, least of all to check their peers out. So, to answer your question, I don't think any of the women on tour are worried about their privacy being violated in the locker-room."
"Yulia Ostrovsky, Sport Express," a woman said, standing up from her seat. Rachel was mildly surprised by the American-tinged accent the woman spoke with, "You have been friends with Pierce for many years now, so you probably have more insight on this story than many others. She's said that she and Santana have been dating for a few months now, and discussed revealing their relationship to the world in depth before actually doing so. Could you provide any more information on that?"
Rachel shrugged, "I know Brittany had some reservations about telling the world about their relationship, which I am sure you can understand. It's unfair that gay athletes have to come out, while straight ones just date whoever they want to and no one blinks an eye. You have to admire the courage it takes to declare yourself out and proud in these times, especially in a world where everyone and their grandmother thinks they get to have an opinion on your life choices. And then sometimes there's pressure from your management to stay in the closet, for fear of turning away potential big money sponsors. Not that Brittany faced any of that pressure, as far as I'm aware. But yeah, I think it was a very ballsy move on Brittany's part especially, since Santana's always been out, and I hope I'll be half as brave if I were to ever date a woman." 'Wait, what?' Rachel asked herself as the words left her mouth. 'Where did that come from?'
The room seemed to have gone quiet after the revelation that had surprised even Rachel herself. "So...," Yulia began, her pen-wielding hand hovering in the air before her, "you would date a woman?"
"Umm," Rachel began, trying to clear her head and figure out what would have made her blurt out the unfiltered statement to a room full of reporters, no less. Jesse really wasn't going to be impressed. She'd broken one of his cardinal rules - always give him and his team a head's up before making any big personal revelations. "I believe sexuality is fluid," she said slowly, carefully, "so I guess it's more of a never-say-never kind of thing."
She turned to glance at the media handler; it was a cue that had been worked out by the tournament, allowing the players to silently request the press conferences be ended anytime after the acceptable fifteen minutes were through. The interview moderator must have caught on because she immediately announced, "Last question for Ms. Berry," before selecting the day's final journalist. Rachel said a silent thanks when the reporter moved away from the previous line of questioning and asked about her preparations for her match against Sunshine Corazon the next day instead.
The handler led Rachel out of the room a few short minutes later. The brunette followed her, wishing she'd taken Shelby up on her offer to sit in on her post-match interview. It was an offer the coach made after every match, but more-often-than-not her young charge declined; the only exceptions were when she'd just suffered a difficult loss and could use a friendly face smiling at her from the back of the room.
The American's mind was still ticking away when she reached the locker-room to grab her belongings before she headed back to the hotel. Rachel wasn't naïve; she knew there was a high chance her spur-of-the-moment comment would be taken out of context and splashed all over the internet in no time. Which is why she wanted to speak to her fathers, pronto.
She did just that the second she was in the privacy of the limo that would drive her back to the Hotel National. The tennis player politely asked the driver to please raise the partition between them before pulling her phone out of her pocket. Noting with some guilt that the time in New York would be just before six in the morning, she hit the call button on her phone and listened to the sleepy voice of her Daddy pick up.
"Rach?," Hiram asked, the worry evident in his tone that at the same time was heavy with sleep. "Is everything alright?" Rachel could hear some movement in the background, and her Papa's voice drifted through the phone too, asking who it was. "It's Rachel," Hiram supplied to his partner. "Honey?"
"Hi Daddy. Everything's alright, really. But I wanted to talk to you before you read or heard anything from someone else."
The brunette could almost hear the frown on her father's face when he said, "Um, I'm confused. What would I hear, and from whom?"
"Could you please put the phone on speaker? That way Papa can hear this too," the young New Yorker asked.
"Sure," Hiram agreed. "Done," he said a moment later, his voice sounding more distant.
"Hey baby girl," Leroy called out. "Are you alright? Has something happened?"
God, Rachel missed them so much. "I'm sorry to wake you up so early, but this couldn't really wait. Or maybe it could, and I'm just overreacting."
"Yeah, you're still not making any sense, Rach," Hiram calmly provided.
So Rachel began to relate the story of her press conference, and how she'd blurted out that she might consider dating a woman at some point, and how she was certain her parents were going to read about their bisexual daughter in the morning papers. Hiram and Leroy mostly remained silent at their end, making the occasional non-verbal sound while the tennis player told her story. "I just wanted you to hear it from me, before the media puts some weird spin on it. I'm half-scared I'm going to read an article about a love triangle between myself, Brit and Santana in the evening's papers here."
Rachel could hear her Papa chuckle at her last statement, and cracked a smile herself. Ok, so maybe that last sentence was a bit of an exaggeration.
"Are you done?" Hiram asked, after a moment of silence.
"Yes," Rachel responded, staring out the window at Moscow even as her ears were tuned into sounds coming from half a world away.
"First of all, your Papa and I are so relieved that you are ok. I think we were both a little terrified that something horrible had happened to you when you called this early", Hiram said. "Now, let's see – are you attracted to women?," her Daddy asked kindly.
Leroy's voice reached her ears, "Or was the 'if-I-ever-date-a-woman thing' just something you blurted out in a... what's the word? Not misguided or twisted or reckless..."
"Brash?" she heard Hiram prompt.
"Yeah, thereabouts," Leroy agreed. "Was it maybe a brash attempt to defend your friends? Sort've a way to show solidarity?"
Rachel contemplated the question, a pang of guilt running through her again when she heard one of her fathers yawn. Was she interested in women? Would she date one? Closing her eyes, the brunette allowed her to imagine the possibility, only to have her eyes fly open again when Quinn Fabray's face sprang to mind.
"Rach?," Leroy prompted his daughter.
"I think," she began haltingly, unable to ignore her suddenly increased heart rate, "I wouldn't be opposed to dating a woman. If, you know, the right one came along?"
"Right," Hiram replied. "Thanks for telling us. And that's probably where your statement came from, on a subconscious level. Unless..." Hiram trailed off. Rachel knew that 'unless', and could picture her fathers sharing a look of quiet understanding.
Sure enough, Leroy piped up a second later. "Have you met anyone?" he asked, his tone curious but cautious.
"I'm not sure," Rachel said slowly, before exhaling loudly. She couldn't really think right now. All she felt was overwhelmed.
"Ok," Leroy supplied. "You know your Daddy and I are here if you want to talk."
"I know," the teenager replied, grateful to her parents for not pressing her on the matter. She hesitated a moment, then asked, "You've never told me... was it hard for you two? Coming out?"
"Oh, yeah," Hiram said. "But you have to remember, the world was a different place back then. I like to imagine a young person coming out of the closet today will find more support and acceptance than we did in the late 70's, early 80's."
"How about we tell you all about it when you come home?" Leroy asked.
"I'd like that," Rachel smiled. The brunette had always known that her fathers had dealt with their fair share of struggles when they were young men and then when they'd decided to have her via a surrogate, but they'd never shared the details with her. She knew it was probably because they didn't want to tell her till she was mature enough to understand the situation, and Rachel felt she was there now.
"Ok. Anything else, sweetheart?," Leroy.
"Just that I love you guys," Rachel smiled.
"And we love you, more than you'll ever know," Hiram said. "Now, how about we call you before we leave for work in a couple of hours?"
"Sounds like a plan," Rachel said. "And again, I'm sorry for disturbing your sleep."
"Sometimes I think we've raised her to be too well mannered," she heard her Papa joke with her Daddy. "Good night, or should I say, good day Rach. Talk to you soon darling," Leroy said, before the line went dead.
The brunette locked her phone screen before popping the gadget back into the kangaroo pouch of the Adidas sweatshirt she was wearing. She tilted her head back against the car's leather seats, spotting the hotel where she was staying as it came in to view. She suddenly felt fatigue, both mental and physical, come over her as she allowed her thoughts to drift to something she had been avoiding while speaking to her fathers.
Why had Quinn Fabray's image come to her, unbidden, when she contemplated the prospect of going out with a woman? Rachel was most confounded because she hadn't even been trying to picture any particular woman when her fathers had asked her the question. She closed her eyes again, and this time she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to date the blonde tennis star. She pictured Quinn smiling just at her, and thought about what it would be like to hold the older girl's hand when they were out together in public. In Rachel's mind, Quinn's palm was soft as it gently pressed against her own. She brought up the sound of the World No. 2's quiet laughter in her head, and the picture of her at the beach that had given Rachel pause the first time she'd seen it. She thought about what it would be like to kiss Quinn.
The car came to a stop, and Rachel reopened her eyes. Her pulse rate had picked up speed again, and there was a foreign, tingling feeling in her chest. It appeared her subconscious had neglected to mention to her that, somewhere along the way, she'd developed feelings for Quinn Fabray.
