Tears Stained
Chapter Ten: Sleepless
Santana and Jeff have one thing in common this cold winter morning as they are sitting miles and miles apart in different cities, different schools, different classes – not thinking in the least about each other.
They are both, after a night decidedly lacking sleep, exhausted.
And while Santana suffers through another lesson of SpanishSole – as she has called Mr. Schue's Spanish class mockingly ever since she learned in her German class with Mr. Walter that sole is called Schuhsohle in German, and Schuster is German for shoemaker, because her German teacher actually does speak German – Jeff is fighting to stay awake through World Geography, halfway through only briefly noticing that he has no idea what country they are even talking about.
Both their thoughts, when not stuck on Blaine and Kurt, or Smythe, keep returning to Wes.
Wes and Santana had bonded through a rather surprising encounter, running into each other one day at the mall in Westerville only weeks away from Wes's graduation from Dalton.
Wes alone and out of the school uniform, Santana had been in Brittany's company. Remembering each other from the Warbler's Valentine's Day performance at Breadstix, they had gotten talking. Which in Santana's case of course meant at first only exchanging quips, Santana finding herself surprised by the amount of sass one Wesley Montgomery, Mr. School Uniform in person for years in a row, Santana had been sure, had been able to put in every single sentence.
Wes had won Santana over in a landslide only minutes later, had even outright won the Latina's affection, when he had stood up to two guys calling Brittany stupid for, as Wes had put it, "…no good reason at all, and clearly demonstrating they lack reason in general."
And even though Santana is and has always been positive Brittany and her are more than capable of dealing with ignorance of any kind on their own, it is '…a damn amazing thing,' to have someone with no ulterior motives stand up for you.
Because no matter how capable you are yourself, for someone to demonstrate selfless compassion so openly as Wes had done that day …, even Santana had not been able to bring herself to so much as try to diminish Wes's action by attempting to play the whole incident down with sarcasm.
Further, Santana has always admired people who can deliver a good smack down. And Wes somehow manages to deliver the most epic and eloquent ones she has ever had the pleasure of witnessing, well, except for her own, … of course. This is how she is now hoping for his help in thoroughly breaking Sebastian Smythe in any and all ways possible.
Santana has never bonded with any of the other Warblers. And she has kicked herself several times since the attack on "…our sweet dolphins," as Brittany, crying in Santana's arms last night before she had fallen asleep, had put it, for not having ever exchanged numbers with Wes.
She has left him a Facebook message with her phone number in it after finding him in Blaine's friends list in the last days, but somehow he does not seem to have seen it yet.
Already the day before, when they had talked briefly about what to do next and Kurt had insisted on taking the high road, she had wanted to mention her idea of involving Wes.
In the end she had resisted, not wanting to give false hope when not even having heard from Wes yet.
So while Jeff is still avoiding Wes's phone calls Santana is hoping to receive one, and soon.
Right now though, they are both sitting thinking, each trying to compile a mental list of '1001 ways to kick Sebastian Smythe's ass', Santana admittedly much more successful though than Jeff, who finds himself still mostly confused about everything going on in his life with the Warblers right now.
They have both spent the night sleepless. Jeff alone, tossing and turning, Santana wrapped in Brittany's arms, where she can always, always, relax, this time staying tense, annoyance cursing sharp through her body.
It is annoyance with herself for not acting weeks ago, after she had first come across Smythe backstage at their opening night performance of West Side Story when she had found him hugging Blaine all too tight, and seen Kurt standing paralyzed only a few feet away, clearly pushing down tears threatening, Smythe smirking at him with perverted pleasure over Blaine's shoulder.
She had marked Smythe there and then for a beat down, lost focus when soon after her own life had been thrown into chaos with one vicious remark from Finn in hallways overcrowded.
It is annoyance, too, with the Warblers for following all so blindly a guy whose smirk that is never a smile, never holds any true affection or warmth, so clearly screams self-obsessed jerk. And Santana does know a jerk when she sees one.
And while Santana keeps mental notes of one already in her mind definite and many more possible plans to execute and some to go over with Kurt later, Jeff sits plagued with thoughts of the Warblers' midnight meeting. 'Why does no one stand up to him? Why did …, why don't I? I need to do something. I … '
Jeff is ripped from his thoughts first by the school bell then Trent appearing next to his seat a second later, "Jeff, we need to do something. You heard him last night, he is never going to stop on his own."
"I know," Jeff bleeps, sinking a little deeper still into his seat, looking around nervously as to make sure no other Warblers are around, because frankly, apart from Trent, who had shot him a worried look already during last night's meeting, Jeff has no idea anymore where any of the other guys stand – not even Nick, which scares Jeff to no end, has him doubt everything, everyone. "I know, Trent. But what can we do?"
A/N: I adore the idea of a kind of connection between Santana and Wes way too much to just let that opportunity slide. Do you think I can deepen that relationship without breaking away from canon? I hope you do. Would appreciate feedback on this idea so much, because I really, really want to do it.
Thank You to all my lovely reviewers. It is a pleasure to write for you, because I do write with you and your passion for this story in mind, always.
Love, M