*0*0*
Goodnight From Me, Good Morning To You
*0*0*
You were back to being scared to open a damn door, but this time, you knew what was on the other side.
You hadn't returned to B02 since your freakout, and while you had finally answered Mike's texts, you were a little uncertain about heading back. In all honesty, you would have been fine, if the thought of seeing Santana again wasn't scaring the shit out of you. She was most likely going to be there at some point, and you couldn't avoid her forever, even if you wished you could.
What you really wanted was to put that one day last week out of your mind.
You wanted to pretend it had never happened, and that she hadn't witnessed one of your worst freak outs to date. According to Rachel, who had been receiving texts from Santana, she wasn't going to say anything, but you really couldn't guarantee that. Santana was nothing if not predictable.
Rachel had also gone on to say that Santana was concerned, worried, and you scoffed upon hearing that. But looking back, she had tried to ensure you weren't going to fall flat on your face when you were dizzy from the panic, and alright, so she might possess just an ounce of concern for you. What she did with that concern was the main worry, though.
You didn't want everyone to know what you had been before Yale. You didn't want your past becoming the stamp that everyone knew you as. You wanted to put Lima, and all that happened there behind you.
Okay, that wasn't always going to be possible; like the days you could hardly walk three feet without feeling the stinging pain up your body and across your chest, but it was possible the rest of the time, so you were going to just hope none of it impacted you more than that.
If people were to find out about the crash, they were going to want details, and given you were still living flashback to flashback, you didn't want to even broach that topic. Then there was Beth, and getting kicked out, and that stint of living in your car before you could live with Mercedes, and you really needed to keep all that private.
So plucking up the courage to turn a simple handle, push a simple door open, was becoming harder and harder, because what if Santana pried and pushed and she wanted more details, and you caved. You would try not to, but panic could do crazy things to people.
"Hey," a voice suddenly said, and you felt your body tense up. "You heading in?" Santana asked, walking up the hallway, only to lean next to the door with you. She could see your hand on the way to the handle, and she was giving you a curious look, but the shakes had already started, and you pulled your hand back.
"Yeah, no. Get your ass inside," she suddenly said, seeing your retreat.
Grabbing your hand, Santana didn't think twice before opening the door and pulling you in. You were so dumbfounded by her move, you didn't pull back, but instead, followed her in.
The place was relatively quiet, with music on low, and what looked like folks studying. You were kinda glad it wasn't some big event or anything, as then more people would be looking your way. Instead, you only had the attention of one, and she was still holding your hand.
Dropping it, you couldn't help but squeeze your hands together, realising that aside from Rachel, she was the only other person to have done that in years. Glancing up to see if Santana was still looking at you, you expected an onslaught of questions, or at least viciousness, but instead, she was looking unfazed, although a little guilty, if you were reading that emption right.
"So I fucked up," she said, chewing her words as she did so, not looking comfortable at all saying them aloud. "Last week, I fucked up, and...I'm sorry." You would have been amused if you weren't taken a little aback by this move on her part. "You should come back to the radio station, Mike's got a job you can do, and I know they'd be glad to have you."
"Okay." You said, simply, not wanting to tell her which part you were accepting; her apology, or the job.
"Alright, well, great." Giving you an awkward wave, Santana made a break for the mixing deck, and plugged her headphones in, shutting the world out. You couldn't help but think that that interaction was the strangest thing to have happened to you to date at Yale, and if it hadn't been for the tingling in your hand at her ouch, you would have thought you'd made it up.
Pulling out your books, you settled down in the nearest couch and waited Mike coming over. It seemed as if she wasn't going to ask questions, and that thought had you thinking maybe it was safe to hang around again. And if that was the case, you could certainly take that job at the radio station.
*0*0*
When you made your way back to the radio station, it was different. Or, rather, the building was the same but the experience was different. You weren't confused, getting lost, and looking around for some clues. You were walking with Mike, who was filling you in on the basics. This time, he opened the door, led you down the hall, and rather than go into the room at the end of the hall, he took you left, to another room.
Inside was a young guy, perched over a bench, rooting around through his bag. He caught sight of Mike and yourself and shot you both a grin, and Mike turned to introduce you.
"Quinn, this is Adam. Adam, this is Quinn, the one I've been telling you about."
"Hi," you said, trying not to sound shy or reserved.
"Nice to meet you," he replied, grabbing his bag and nodding for the door, slipping past and indicating you two should follow. "I hear you're going to be my go to girl for whatever I need now."
"So I'm told," you replied, nodding.
Adam led you both back down the hall and into the main music library. He continued past the shelves of vinyls that you almost passed out at, and onwards towards the booth in the corner of the room.
"Great. I shouldn't need much, but you can help out in here," he explained, waving his hand to the shelves and music that needed to be put back, "and if I need you, I'll get you in between songs."
"No problem." It sounded easy enough.
"Right, well I've got to get to it. See you later." Adam gave you a nod and then headed into the booth, striking up conversation with the current student who was airing.
"Adam's an easy going guy. I don't know if you listen to him, but he covers the college music scene. Mostly independent groups or artists," Mike began, starting to walk round the room, showing you where things were.
"And the things he'll be after? What are they likely to be?" You hadn't done anything like this, and you were pretty sure they had just made up a position for you to volunteer to do so you could hang out.
"Water, mostly. Or just someone to cover while he goes for a smoke. It's nothing difficult. You'll spend most of your time in here," Mike explained, and then led you to see the room fully.
There was a mix of CDs and vinyls, even some cassette tapes stacked on the backwall. You had never really given it a thought, how it all worked. You just assumed it would be digitally done, a playlist that was set up in advance. You really had no idea if there was anything else to it.
But it looked like you were going to learn.
"It's not all digital?"
"Some prefer to use the proper decks. It is what it is, and the equipment just lies there not being used the rest of the time, so no one sees the harm in it. Adam's stuff is usually done in advance. He won't have you running around here like a headless chicken looking for this one track that someone has put back in the wrong place, unlike some that rule the airwaves." Mike shook his head with a smile, and you knew you'd have to ask about that another time.
"Anyway, let me show you how the system works. I have about twenty minutes before I need to head to class." You shot him a thankful smile, and then he proceeded to explain the order of the cds, vinyls and cassettes. He showed you the bins that had music that needed to go back, and he showed you some of the older equipment that you were allowed to play around with if you wanted to.
Now you understood why B02 existed. With so much music, so much selection, it would be very easy to spend every waking minute, aside from those in class, at the radio station. To keep everyone out of trouble, and not creating a mess, B02 needed to be such a place.
Mike set you up with the filing of vinyls, saying it was easier than the cassette tapes, and there was no point touching the cds as there were only a few. Apparently, there was a constant stream of vinyls needing to be returned to their place after the nightshift.
So you grabbed a pile, said goodbye to Mike, and went about putting them away.
That was keeping you busy, and with Adam's set playing over the speakers, you were also learning about just who he was. You really only listened to Rosario Cruz's set, and that was it. Occasionally you'd catch another's during the day, but that was only due to it playing in public places. Now you were going to have to branch out, listen to others, and hell, it probably was going to be pretty easy, especially if you were surrounded by it all.
The sound of footsteps had you looking around. You knew you weren't alone, there were bound to be other people present, but you briefly wondered if it was Adam and if he needed something.
"I hear you're going to be Adam's bitch," Santana said, finally making her presence known, leaning at the end of the vinyl rack you were working on. You helpful look was squashed to a simple eye roll.
Before last week, you would have been offended by her words, but now you took it as a sign things were back on track. Almost. Because she still looked a little unsure when she said it, and that had you rolling your eyes harder. As if you were suddenly going to become offended by such a little word.
Sighing, you thought it best to give her the silent treatment, and continued on with what you were doing.
"Ignoring me won't work. I'm persistent," she sang.
"Like syphilis," you murmured, turning and moving to another shelf, and hearing her laugh behind you. She moved with you, and just kept staring, which what? Blowing out a deep breath, slowly, you turned to look at her, and she cocked her eyebrow in question.
"What do you want? Yes, I'm Adam's bitch, as you so eloquently put it. Whose bitch are you?" She smiled wickedly and shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm my own bitch."
"Right." Later, you'd ask Mike who Santana helped out for.
"Fine, don't believe me, whatever. Don't come crying to me when you need help getting Adam's shit together." The way she said it implied there was more to this job than just fetching water.
"What shit? Mike said that Adam is pretty easy going... " And you can't think that Mike would have lied to you.
"He is, but he sometimes gets 'inspiration' to go meet certain bands, to talk to them on air," Santana mocked, curling her lip in distaste at the mere thought, "and in that situation, you'll be like a waitress. Or, you'll be covering the booth. So, listen to his sets, get to know his style, make sure the kitchen is well stocked with snacks and drinks, and it'll help you in the long run. "
"Thanks," you replied, honestly, appreciating the help. Santana shrugged like it was nothing, and didn't make eye contact.
"Anyway, enjoy the clean up," she said, nodding to the pile of vinyls you had lying next to you, that needed to be put away.
"Aren't you going to help?" you asked, waving one at her. Santana looked at it, looked at you, and then took a step forward, slowly reaching out for it. You'd think from the way she was acting that you'd tried to hand her a bomb.
Smiling to yourself, that you managed to get her to actually pull her weight, since you were pretty sure she probably didn't do that, you then noticed that she was still holding the record in her hand.
"What?" you asked, frowning.
"You're being nice to me," she said, and you frowned deeper.
"No. I'm insisting you help, because you work here too."
"No, you're totally being nice to me." She grinned, and it was wicked, and your stomach flipped. "We can play this game," she said, and you wondered what game she was referring to. "You like the hot and cold treatment, and I can do that."
"Hot and cold treatment?"
"Yeah, you know; I call you a bitch, it gets you hot and bothered, we play nice so you can pretend no such thing happened-"
"And that is completely wrong! Good lord," you groaned, shaking your head. "Get away from me." Santana just laughed, and you hated how you enjoyed hearing it.
"So no hot and cold?" she enquired, looking hopeful, licking her lips, and goodness.
"No. Now leave me alone, pervert." She laughed harder, and you took that as your cue to grab the vinyls and head off in the other direction from her.
Once safely in the other aisle, you let out a deep breath, and tried to pretend there was no heat in your cheeks.
Well, you knew you were attracted to her, you knew that the minute you'd seen her, but this...this reaction was new.
Shaking your head, you pushed it from your mind, and worked hard to ignore the flutter in your stomach. It would be like playing with fire, and you had already been burned too many times.
*0*0*
Later that night, lying in bed, you plugged your headphones in and waited for Rosario's set to begin. You intended to study for an upcoming assignment while listening, and seeing as your roommate was out at some pledging thing, you didn't need to worry about having the light on.
The music was good enough to not distract you too much, and also keep you smiling, but the biggest smile on your lips didn't happen until the last song, where you were able to learn a little more about the one Rosario Cruz.
"So, some of you smart asses have been plundering the Facebook page, wanting more details about the girl I call the ghost of Grace Kelly. Well, it's safe to say, she's way out of your league. And mine, too. But there's nothing quite like using a song to say exactly what you're thinking." You knew you were going to have to check out the Facebook page to find out just what stick she had been receiving.
Rosario began to play the intro on repeat of the last song of the night, before speaking again.
"Anyway, tonight, I'm ending things with Deacon Blue's classic 'Real Gone Kid'. It was written by, Ricky Ross, the lead singer, about his girlfriend when he saw her on stage performing. She was apparently in her element, and a sight to behold, truly mesmerising. Kinda like someone I know, Grace Kelly." Rosario chuckled to herself, a chuckle that sounded oddly familiar, before she cleared her throat. "Alright, that's enough, before you all break the Facebook page. With that, it's goodnight from me, and good morning to you. Enjoy."
Chewing your bottom lip, books abandoned, you couldn't help but feel like you knew that chuckle, somewhere. Tomorrow, tomorrow you'd investigate further, but for tonight, you were going to enjoy the awesome song, like Rosario had suggested.
And I'd tear out the pages
That I've got in these books
Just to find you some words
Just to get some reward
And I'll show you all the photographs
That I ever got took
And I'll play you old 45's
That now mean nothing to me
And you're a real gone kid
And maybe now baby
Maybe now baby
Maybe now baby
Maybe now baby
Maybe now baby
Maybe now baby
I'll do what I should have did
*0*0*