Author's Note: A Santaresa installment of the Don't Blink universe set a few weeks after My Friends They Are So Beautiful and featuring cameos by Deveright and Faberry.
This one is actually betaed by the ever awesome Skywarrior108.
Warning: Santana pov.
It's A Work of Art When You Shine Like the Sun
Come with me and I'll take you away if you'll let me
Stay with me and I'll cover your soul with my body
Give me your heart, and I'll give you my love
It's a work of art, when you shine like the sun
So give your heart to me
~Come With Me, Echosmith
Santana Lopez is feeling pretty damn lucky right now. She's got a career that she loves—though there are days when it puts her through the wringer both physically and emotionally—friends who'll be there for her no matter what, and a hot, talented girlfriend that she's falling for more and more every day. And tonight she gets to show off that hot girlfriend to all her friends and colleagues.
"Have I mentioned how incredibly sexy you look tonight?" Santana asks, slipping an arm around Teresa's waist. Her girlfriend sure as hell cleans up nice. The satiny blue dress she's wearing hugs all the right curves, and her short hair is artfully teased into spiky waves that make Santana want to sink her fingers in and tug while Teresa—well, yeah, those thoughts probably aren't suitable for where they are right now. Once they're back at Santana's place, though, she's going to indulge in every single fantasy that Teresa is inspiring in that dress.
"A few times," Teresa drawls with an indulgent roll of her eyes, but then she bites into her glossy lower lip and goes from sexy to shy in the blink of an eye. "Do I really look okay?" she asks uncertainly, glancing down at her dress as she runs a palm over the material. "This dress isn't too informal or anything?"
The little show of insecurity is kind of endearing but completely unnecessary. Teresa could put everyone here to shame with how stunning she looks. Sure, the dress isn't the fanciest one in the room, but on Teresa, the simple style is a perfect complement to her natural beauty. Still, she gets that Teresa wants to make a good impression on the people Santana works with every day, so Santana smiles reassuringly and tightens her arm around Teresa's waist.
"You look amazing. Everyone in this room is so fucking jealous of me right now," she promises, smirking. "Of course, they're more jealous of you, with the hot doctor on your arm," she brags, gesturing to her own sexy-as-hell, strapless, red dress and totally confident that Teresa is fully appreciating the way her boobs look in it.
Teresa laughs, shaking her head as she lifts a hand to give Santana's cheek a fond pat. "There's that ego I know and love."
And yeah—okay—Santana's stomach does this pleasant little dip at the word, even though Teresa hasn't come out and said it for real yet. It's still early days, after all, and maybe she's still a little gun-shy about Santana's past track record, but Santana is feeling like those words might come spilling out of one of them really soon. It might just be her.
"The point is, you're gorgeous," Santana tells her frankly, "we look hot together, and I'm proud to be here with you."
Teresa's smile turns soft at the declaration, and her blue eyes sparkle with happiness. "The feeling is very mutual."
"Well, obviously," Santana responds smugly—because she's absolutely not blushing under the warmth of Teresa's approving gaze. "I'm a catch."
Teresa shakes her head again, but it's purely affectionate. Santana tells herself it's because Teresa secretly agrees with her, which would be kind of convenient since Santana considers Teresa to be a damn fine catch too. She's already won over every single one of Santana's friends and both of her parents, who'd booked a flight to New York a few weeks ago with the express purpose of meeting the woman that their daughter had actually considered important enough to mention by name to Maribel Lopez during a random phone conversation. Teresa had had a little freak-out over it when Santana dropped the bomb that her parents were coming to check her out in the guise of an impromptu visit, but she'd still managed to thoroughly charm them before their trip was over.
"Do you see Quinn and Rachel anywhere?" Teresa asks, glancing around the room for their friends—yeah, Santana's friends are their friends now—who are supposedly already here somewhere since Rachel is on the list of performers for this shindig tonight.
"Knowing them, they're probably having their own party in the nearest bathroom," Santana responds with a shrug.
Teresa chuckles. "I'm being serious."
"So am I," Santana informs her with a roll of her eyes, well aware that her best friends have some freaky affinity for public bathrooms. "Don't worry. The Faborings will turn up eventually. In the meantime, let's go track down our table and get started on those hors d'oeuvres."
"Of course. We wouldn't want you to wither away from a lack of sustenance," Teresa quips impishly.
"Damn right," Santana affirms with a wicked grin, sliding her fingers down Teresa's bare arm until she can tuck them into the familiar warmth of her girlfriend's hand. "I'm gonna need the extra calories for later."
"Are you planning to dance the night away?" Teresa teases.
"First on our feet and then between the sheets," Santana answers unabashedly. She doesn't care if she does have to be up at five o'clock tomorrow morning; she has every intention of filling up the hours until then by enjoying Teresa both in and out of that dress.
"You're awfully confident there, tiger," Teresa drawls.
A pleasant tingle of heat zings through Santana's blood at the reappearance of her occasional pet name. She's not entirely sure why she likes it so much. The first time Teresa had used it had been as a gentle admonishment to Santana's overzealous seduction techniques with a laughing, 'easy, tiger,' while Teresa had been putting the brakes on their first make-out session. Now it just makes Santana feel like purring every time she hears it.
"Well, yeah. It's me. And I think I've proven I have the skills to back up my promises. Multiple times," Santana adds cockily.
She watches Teresa's tongue poke out to moisten her lips before admitting, "I can't really argue with that."
Santana does her best to ignore the way her body reacts to the sight of that tongue by challenging her girlfriend's assertion with a smirk. "That's a first."
Truth be told, she enjoys the playful arguments that Teresa is always more than willing to engage in with her. It keeps her sharp. Teresa seems to recognize that fact too, because pink lips curve into a knowing grin. "You'd get bored if I made it too easy for you."
"You know," Santana muses softly, taking a courageous breath, "I really don't think I'm gonna get bored with you."
Yeah, it's only been a few months, and she guesses anything is possible, but so far this thing with Teresa is only getting better—which is so not the norm for her. In the past, this was always around the time when Santana started looking to duck out of her extended arrangements.
Something warm and tender and almost dreamy flickers over Teresa's expression in the moment before she squeezes Santana's hand and leans in to connect their lips in an almost-but-not-quite chaste kiss, and it's enough to leave Santana feeling a little bit breathless.
When Teresa pulls back with a smile, Santana's eyes are drawn to her glistening mouth, and she has to fight the urge to taste it again. It's a good thing they'd chosen to wear the same shade of lipstick. "Come on," Teresa urges, still grinning, "let's go find our table."
Santana nods her agreement, tearing her eyes away from her girlfriend's mouth as they start moving. She's looking forward to snagging a seat and then snagging some booze and eats, but that doesn't stop her from taking her time while she struts through the room with her hand tucked into Teresa's.
Yeah. That's right. She's got a hot a lady to show off. She catches sight of more than one of her colleagues giving them an appreciative once-over as they pass by. She doesn't even care that their minds are probably in the gutter as long as they're suitably jealous.
They weave their way through the dozens of tables scattered around the ballroom at Cipriani Wall Street, on the lookout for table number six where she knows they're supposed to be sitting. Rachel had made sure they'd be seated at her table, along with Josie and Sarah, who'd snagged a pair of tickets to the hospital's annual charity event thanks to one of Josie's legal connections. Kurt and Harry had opted to spend their evening doing something a little less formal—probably each other.
It doesn't take very long for Santana to pick the familiar redhead out of the crowd, spotting her and Sarah at a table near the front of the stage. She should have figured the rising star of Rachel Berry (because the Fabray doesn't really play into professional events) would score them prime real estate tonight.
"Red and Michigan are over there," Santana announces, gesturing over to them.
"You and those nicknames," Teresa comments with a trace of mild exasperation even as she takes off in their direction, tugging Santana along behind her.
One of the brand new irritations in her life is the fact that Teresa and Sarah are, in fact, becoming friends—like, actual talk-on-the-phone-and-make-plans-to-meet-for-coffee friends. Santana isn't certain she likes that particular development much, but she doesn't exactly get a vote in the matter. Teresa's got some lady-boner for talking about boring artsy stuff that Santana can't quite satisfy but apparently Sarah (and Josie) can. Teresa has a few other friends to talk to about that crap too, but apparently she's digging the fresh perspective she's getting from her newest acquaintances.
They're barely at the table before Teresa is dropping her hand and sliding into the chair next to Sarah with a friendly smile. "Hey. This is one gorgeous ballroom, huh?" she directs to Sarah, briefly glancing up at the fancy gold and crystal chandelier hanging from the weirdly mausoleum-like ceiling above them.
Frankly, Santana thinks the place is a little on the gaudy side. She feels like someone dropped her into some wannabe Olympic temple or something, but she figures it's right up Michigan's alley. She's ridiculously predictable that way, so of course she's all over Teresa's comment like an eager puppy. "Absolutely. Finally getting to see the inside of this building is the only way Jo could convince me to come tonight."
Santana doesn't doubt it. The woman is still a wet-blanket when it comes to social situations, even if Josie has managed to loosen her up enough to be mostly tolerable fifty percent of the time.
"Well, it certainly didn't hurt my cause," Josie admits with a shrug of her ivory shoulders, grinning as her twinkling eyes dart to her fiancée, "but I had other ways of convincing her to come."
The instant blush that crawls over Sarah's cheeks is also ridiculously predictable, and Santana can't resist needling them with a lascivious, "Wanky." Watching Michigan do her best impersonation of a cherry is totally worth the slight pinch Teresa lands on her hip.
Josie merely rolls her eyes at Santana's comment, refusing to take the bait. "You both look gorgeous tonight," she tells them instead.
Teresa's modest, "Thank you," almost gets lost under Santana's brash, "Of course we do. We're the hottest bitches in this room." Three sets of unamused eyes aimed in her direction have Santana rolling hers. "But you're looking pretty good too," she allows, giving Josie and Sarah another quick onceover. She can only see their upper halves across the table, but Josie's strapless, cream dress shows off her even creamier shoulders—and other assets she's not gonna admit she's still noticing. Meanwhile, Sarah's modest black dress—well, it suits her enough to have Santana add a teasing, "Even you, Mich…Sarah," she amends quickly, glancing at Teresa with a smirk, proud that she'd caught herself.
Sarah sighs in resignation, shaking her head before glancing to Teresa. "I guess the training is coming along slowly."
Teresa and Josie both share a laugh at Santana's expense, and once again, Santana finds herself mildly impressed that Sarah actually grew a set sometime in the last six months. Teresa leans into her side with a cheerful smile, reaching up to pat her cheek affectionately. "I've found that she responds fairly well to a positive reward system."
Santana lets her lips curl into a wicked grin. "Awesome sex keeps me sweet."
"Now if only I could figure out how to keep you from announcing these things in public," Teresa laments playfully, giving Santana's cheek a final pat before pulling away. The smile on her lips assures Santana that she's not really bothered by the (pretty damned honest) boast.
"Like this even counts as public," Santana scoffs, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of their tablemates. "Our friends know how I roll."
"Sadly, we do," Josie teases with an easy smile. "But we've learned to accept what we cannot change."
"And it helps that we don't have to spend as much time with her as you do," Sarah adds, obviously feeling brave tonight.
"Actually,she gets more endearing the more time you spend with her," Teresa reveals with a tender expression aimed at Santana while she reaches for her hand under the table.
Santana is pretty sure she's actually blushing now, and her attempt at a cocky, "You know it," comes out sounding almost shy. Damn it!
And Josie and Sarah did not just exchange some cutesy look of wonder at her expense!
"So, Santana," Josie interjects, taking pity on her, "who's manning the hospital tonight with half the staff here?" she asks jokingly.
"The suckers who got stuck on call," Santana snarks, happy to move the focus away from her sappy, traitorous feelings.
"And how is that not you?" Josie wonders.
"Hey, I put in my time with double shifts last week," Santana defends—and that had been one hellish surgical rotation too. She'd barely even seen Teresa, let alone gotten to enjoy some much needed tender loving care courtesy of her girlfriend's very talented fingers. "And I'm back on at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow morning," she grumbles peevishly. But for some reason, Doctor Asano, the chief of cardiothoracic surgery, had made sure the schedule got worked so she and one of the other residents looking to focus on the specialty could attend this thing. He'd invited them personally too, even offering up the tickets at a (very) small discount. He might actually like them or something.
"Ouch," Josie grimaces in empathy. "And I thought Sarah worked ridiculous hours."
"You're one to talk," Sarah counters dryly. "You work more twelve hour days than I do."
Josie smiles at that, shrugging. "Guilty as charged."
Their schedules aren't quite the same kind of crazy that Santana's can be, but she silently acknowledges that—yeah—they're both workaholics who spend way too much time at their respective offices. "Guess we can't all live la vie Bohème like some people," she comments, casting a pointed look in Teresa's direction. Her girlfriend gets to spend half her days painting and half her nights in a bar.
"Please," Teresa scoffs when she notices everyone's attention on her. "I need to work four nights a week until three in the morning just to afford a tiny taste of la vie Bohème in this city."
"Ooh. Did someone say La Vie Bohème?" Rachel asks excitedly, practically appearing out of thin air to claim the chair next to Santana. How she'd managed to sneak up on them in the shimmery gold dress that she's (almost) wearing is a mystery to Santana.
Quinn follows right behind her wife in a flowing, green one-shoulder dress that makes her look like some kind of nature goddess. "That's not your cue to start singing, Rach," she teases with a grin as she slides into the last open chair between Rachel and Josie, setting the wine glass she's carrying down on the table beside the one Rachel had just put there.
"I second that," Sarah chimes in.
"Well, that's your loss," Rachel protests, though she's smiling when she says it. "It's a great song, and I make a wonderful Maureen."
"Please, I'm more Maureen than you," Santana argues, slightly offended that she even has to voice what should be obvious to everyone at this table. "You're totally Joanne." (She's not gonna admit that Rachel managed to pull off a decent enough Maureen during her duet with Mercedes back in high school.)
"Actually, I think Josie would be Joanne," Teresa points out amiably. "She's the lawyer."
"But I really can't sing," Josie protests in a clear attempt to remove herself from the friendly argument.
"Nonsense," Rachel dismisses easily. "You really only need a few lessons on correct technique from a skilled vocal coach such as myself, which I'd be happy to…why are you all shaking your heads like that?" she interrupts herself, glancing around the table with a frown when she notices that they've all been attempting to silently but emphatically communicate to Josie that she should politely decline Rachel's offer.
An apologetic smile curves Josie's lips. "I appreciate the offer, Rachel, but I think I'll stick to my guitar whenever I feel like expressing myself through music." And yeah—she's actually pretty good with that thing. Santana suspects that even stick-in-the-mud Sarah gets a little wet and wild when Josie straps on her guitar. (She's totally not thinking about anything else Josie might be strapping on because she's got her own lady to get wet and wild with these days.)
"That's probably a wise decision," Quinn muses, taking a sip of her—whatever that is in her glass.
Rachel pouts at her wife. "Et tu, Quinn?"
Quinn reaches over to take her hand with a gentle smile. "You can be a little…"
"Insane," Santana supplies helpfully. "Neurotic. Bossy."
"Particular," Quinn says tactfully, sending a glare in Santana's direction at the same time that Rachel does. It's almost creepy how in sync they are—especially when they turn their attention back to each other in tandem. "Not everyone is meant to be a professional singer, sweetheart," Quinn soothes her wife.
"Well, obviously," Rachel concedes, instantly mollified. "You can't all be as talented as I am."
Santana rolls her eyes at the familiar show of arrogance. At this point she almost finds it as endearing as Quinn so obviously does—god help her! "Where did you score the booze anyway?" she asks, changing the subject before Rachel decides to expound on any of her imagined superior skills.
"Oh, it's over there by the hors d'oeuvres table," Rachel answers with an indifferent wave toward the other side of the room. "We picked it up on the way back from the restroom."
Santana snorts, turning to her girlfriend with a triumphant smirk. "Told you that's where they were."
"Stop it," Teresa scolds quietly even as she attempts to smother her laughter.
"What was that?" Quinn asks suspiciously, that one eyebrow of hers inching up as she gazes between them.
Santana ignores her, gesturing to Rachel's glass instead. "I'm surprised you're getting your drink on before you have to go up there and sing, half pint. I mean, we all know you're a lightweight when it comes to alcohol." Santana's had some hilarious firsthand experience with that over the years, and even though this event isn't exactly the Tonys or anything, there's no way Rachel Berry Fabray would ever give any public performance less than her full two hundred percent—unless you count that awful rendition of "With You I Am Born Again" that she'd hammed up with Finnsufferable back in glee club just to throw the duets competition so Quinn could win. Huh? Apparently she was pretty gay for Fabray even then.
"I'm only indulging in one glass of champagne, Santana," Rachel defends huffily. "And in any case, I don't perform until after the welcoming speech. There's at least another forty minutes of cocktail hour until then."
"Forty minutes?" Santana repeats incredulously. And damn—that's champagne? "Well, hell, let's go get our drinks on before they pack up the good stuff," she prompts, scraping back her chair and standing with one hand outstretched to her girlfriend. "Resa?"
"I'm there for the champagne," she affirms, taking Santana's hand.
"That actually sounds like a good idea," Josie agrees, turning to her fiancée. "Care to check out the spread with me?"
"I'm game to see what they have," Sarah answers with a nod, standing along with Josie.
"You're all leaving?" Rachel questions forlornly. "But Quinn and I just sat down."
"Sorry," Josie offers as she takes Sarah's hand.
Santana aims a wicked grin at them. "We can't help it you two had to cross another bathroom off your secret list before you hauled your asses over here."
Quinn shoots her a familiar look of irritation. "We don't have a secret list, Santana."
Santana snickers. "Uh huh. Whatever you say, Fabgay. But you might want to fix your smudged lipstick while we're gone," she advises as she points to the corner of her own mouth in demonstration.
She has the pleasure of watching Quinn's eyes widen slightly before her head whips in her wife's direction. "Rachel?"
"Oh, it's fine," Rachel promises before gazing at Quinn thoughtfully. "Maybe just," she trails off, lifting a hand to gently brush her thumb along the corner of Quinn's lower lip.
Quinn's eyes widen even more. "Oh, my God. You could have told me," she growls, jerking away from Rachel's touch and fumbling for her purse because she's still a vain bitch who'll go straight for her compact.
Santana cackles, wiggling her fingers at them. "Later, you horndogs." She has a feeling she'd probably get that compact thrown right at her head if Quinn didn't need it to check her makeup, but she's not sticking around to test which impulse actually wins out, so she leads Teresa away from the table while Rachel attempts to assure Quinn that the smudge was barely noticeable.
Teresa leans into her side as they walk. "Okay, they weren't seriously making out in the bathroom, were they?" she checks uncertainly.
Santana laughs again. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Teresa joins in the laughter as they make their way over to far end of the ballroom where a long table filled with a variety of fancy-looking hors d'oeuvres stands flanked by two tables overflowing with glasses of champagne and sparkling wines. Each table is manned by waiters in pristine, white jackets who've been tasked with keeping the refreshments flowing—at least until the hospital mouthpieces get up there and start begging for money. Then again, they'll probably bring out even more alcohol at that point to loosen up those wallets and purses.
Santana is just about to say hello to the food table when she hears, "Doctor Lopez. I'm glad to see you could make it tonight."
The familiar, lightly accented voice tears her away from her immediate destination and has her standing up just a little straighter as she turns to face the chief of cardiothoracic surgery. "I'm glad I could too. Thank you again for the invitation, Doctor Asano," she's quick to say, hard-shifting back into the more professional persona she tries to maintain at the hospital. It doesn't always stick, of course, so most of her coworkers have gotten an occasional taste of her more colorful commentaries, including Doctor Asano, but she always makes her best attempt to keep her filter on in his presence.
"You're quite welcome," he returns with a nod before his curious gaze drifts over to Santana's left side, where Teresa is hovering a little uncertainly.
"Oh, yeah…this is my girlfriend, Teresa Rinaldi," Santana introduces, answering his silent question without an ounce of shame. She's never made a secret of her sexuality at the hospital, so just about everyone she works with knows she's a lesbian, and yeah—there are a few doctors and nurses who can be kind of dickish about it, but most of them are either pretty accepting or at least indifferent. Doctor Asano has always seemed kind of indifferent, but then he's not one to want to know much of anything about anyone's personal life. He's only seems to care about skill in the operating room, and Santana has that in spades. So Santana considers it a win when he smiles warmly at Teresa and holds out a hand to her in greeting.
"It's lovely to meet you, Ms. Rinaldi."
Teresa returns the smile, visibly relaxing as she accepts his hand and gives it a firm shake. "Likewise, sir. Santana has told me how much she admires you." Which yeah—that's kind of true, even though Santana didn't use those words exactly, but she guesses it sounds better Teresa's way.
Doctor Asano chuckles. "Well, that is nice to hear. I never can tell if this one is being entirely sincere or simply sucking up."
"I think I learned my lesson the first time I tried that," Santana admits wryly. The usual tricks she'd used to con her teachers and coaches and the bouncers at the clubs she frequented in college didn't impress him in the slightest, and he'd straight-up called her out on her bullshit and told her the only way to impress him would be to become a great surgeon. She thinks she's well on her way.
"Santana has mentioned you as well, Ms. Rinaldi, but I believe she's actually managed to understate your charms," Doctor Asano compliments kindly. "And I'm certain you must know that understatement is not her forte," he adds with a perfect poker-face.
Teresa suppresses a laugh but not the amused smile that results. "I do," she confirms, sparing an affectionate glance for Santana before thanking Doctor Asano for the compliment.
"If you can spare a few moments," he addresses to Santana, "I'd like to introduce you to one of our benefactors who has a keen interest in cardiothoracic surgery. You can suck up to her as much as you like."
Santana recognizes Doctor Asano's request as an opportunity to rub elbows with people who might someday help her get a fellowship or win a permanent staff position at the hospital once her residency finally comes to an end, so she easily decides, "I can do that." And she means both the meeting and the sucking up.
"You're welcome to join us as well," he offers Teresa, and it seems pretty genuine. Santana figures whatever benefactor he wants her to meet must consider herself to be an ally too.
Teresa glances at Santana again, as if to verify that it would really be okay to be introduced around to potentially important people as Santana's girlfriend, and Santana smiles in an attempt to silently convey that hell yes it would. But either it doesn't work or Teresa just wants an excuse to make a graceful exit from boring medical discussions, because she's turning back to Doctor Asano and saying, "Thank you, but I think I'll leave the skilled removal of donations from pocketbooks to the surgeons."
Doctor Asano chuckles again. "Beautiful and witty as well. I very much hope to see you again in the future."
Teresa smiles politely, nodding. "I'd like that too." Then she turns to Santana with a wink. "See you back at the table."
And so Santana gets dragged away to network while her girlfriend gets to indulge in the food and the booze. The benefactor, Louisa Franco, turns out to be a wealthy restaurateur of Spanish descent whose son was born with pulmonary valve stenosis—hence her interest in cardiothoracic surgery. Santana figures her own Mexican heritage is probably the reason for her introduction, but she can't really blame Doctor Asano for using all his available assets to squeeze out a few more dollars for the hospital wherever he can, and Santana actually finds herself enjoying the conversation with the woman. If it'd been a year ago, and Louisa was twenty years younger, she might have even tried her hand at a little flirting to see if the woman maybe swings both ways. Hell—who is she kidding? Louisa wouldn't have needed to be twenty years younger. Santana could totally go for a cougar if she was still single. But she's not, so she (mostly) behaves herself.
When she finally makes her way back over to the hors d'oeuvres, she grabs a plate—really, they could have splurged on the big ones instead of these dinky little dessert-sized plates—and piles it as high as she can with a little of everything, balancing it in one hand while she snags a glass of champagne before heading back to the table.
"Do you think you got enough food?" Teresa teases when she sits down.
Santana shrugs. "For the first trip, yeah." Though she's not sure she'll have time to make a second thanks to Doctor Asano. The plate in front of Teresa is much emptier, and Santana is going to guess it didn't have much more on it before she'd started sampling. Josie and Sarah seem to be sharing the same plate, and apparently Quinn and Rachel had been fine with just guzzling the champagne.
"You know they are serving dinner after my performance," Rachel reminds her, eyeing Santana's plate warily.
"So?"
"I'll never understand how you manage to stay so thin with all the food you pile away," Josie admits, sounding mildly impressed.
Honestly, Santana doesn't eat nearly as much as people seem to think she does. From the time she'd hit college to now, her meal schedule has been erratic at best and non-existent at worst. Some days she's been lucky to eat anything more than a bagel or a cup of yogurt, so she's not about to pass up real food whenever it's put in front of her. But instead of telling them that, she grins cockily and holds up a finger—not that finger. "One; I have fabulous genes, unlike Lucy Q over here." She hooks a thumb in Quinn's direction, grinning cheekily at her. "No offense."
Hazel eyes narrow on her dangerously. "Fuck you very much, Santana," Quinn responds cattily.
Santana's grin widens at the predictable response, and she nods, holding up a second finger. "And that's number two. Sex burns a ton of calories."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "I should have known you were headed there."
"Hey, it's a fact. Look it up," Santana defends. "Sex is the best workout."
"It is technically considered cardio," Rachel agrees thoughtfully, "and it's certainly more enjoyable than thirty minutes on the elliptical."
"See," Santana crows, pointing at Rachel in victory—grateful for the assist. "The better the sex, the better the workout."
"Can we change the subject before she starts trying to give us pointers on how to maximize our workouts?" Sarah asks the table at large.
"Yes, please," Quinn concurs.
"I don't know. I've got some great pointers to share," Santana boasts, winking at Teresa.
Teresa rolls her eyes, reaching over to snag a mini crabcake off Santana's plate. "Those really need to stay between us, tiger," she warns, pressing the crabcake against Santana's lips until she has no choice but to open her mouth and take the offered bite. And damn—that is a really good crabcake. "You just keep your mouth occupied with other things for a while," Teresa suggests, patting Santana's cheek again.
"Mmmhmm," Santana hums around her mouthful.
"That's one way to shut her up," Quinn notes with a smirk to everyone's amusement.
"And I don't think we want to hear about the others," Sarah adds.
There a general murmur of agreement—which, their loss—so Santana turns her attention to her food because if the rest of the hors d'oeuvres are as good as that crabcake then she's definitely gonna try to make it back for a second plate before the entertainment starts.
The subject does end up getting changed multiple times—from Rachel's recent workshop that she's hoping will get full funding to take to Broadway to the progress of Quinn's third book to the hotel construction that Sarah is overseeing. Santana even manages to sneak back for a small second helping of her favorite hors d'oeuvres and another glass of champagne before the hospital chair takes to the stage to give his introductory speech and initial pitch for funding so the hospital can expand its trauma services.
Rachel takes the stage about fifteen minutes after that for a three song set—all Broadway numbers because that's what the people expect from her. Her first song is "Somewhere" from West Side Story, a nod to her first leading role, and Santana gets the distinct impression that she's singing it to Quinn. She kind of thinks Quinn gets that impression too if the doofy smile on her face is anything to go by.
The second song, Rachel announces, is an original from her recent workshop that she's hoping will become a Broadway standard very soon—everyone applauds this, of course—and Santana figures the free advertising for her newest project is probably at least part of the reason she'd agreed to perform here tonight. The song—Santana thinks she said it was called "Blank Canvas"—is actually pretty good, and it kind of makes Santana want to experience it fully staged in the context of the show. She guesses that's probably the point, and she wonders how many of the wealthy donors here tonight might decide to make an impromptu investment in an original Broadway musical.
Rachel's final number is "Don't Rain on My Parade"(because of course it is) and it receives an even more enthusiastic reception than the version she'd belted on the fly back in high school—although that version will always impress Santana more just because Rachel had had zero rehearsals and next to no time to warm-up properly. That had been something to see, though Rachel does an even better job of working this audience now that she has the extra years of honing her performance skills. She really is kind of a fucking star now, and Santana is more than a little proud of her.
When Rachel eventually returns to the table, she's flushed and smiling from the high of the applause. Teresa and Josie stroke her ego with compliments (while Sarah just smiles and nods along to Josie's praise, no doubt out of sheer politeness since she's still not into the Broadway stuff), and Quinn kisses Rachel's cheek, looking like she really wants to stroke something other than Rachel's ego. Santana won't be surprised if they both disappear to the bathroom again sometime before the entrées are served.
Dozens of white-coated waiters run the maze of tables to serve the salads while the band plays instrumental versions of familiar Broadway and Big Band songs, and then they come around again to collect the empty plates and replace them with full ones while a sleek, feel-good video plays on the large screens strategically placed throughout the ballroom, complete with heart-tugging, firsthand stories about life-saving procedures performed at the hospital over the years. Santana mostly tunes it out for her own sanity—her job can be emotionally draining enough without her getting pulled back into it on her off-time—and focuses on the food, which is pretty freaking amazing. Whatever local chef donated his or her time to cater this party is a fucking godsend.
After dinner, the waiters spread out hundreds of sinfully sweet confections on those tables that once held the hors d'oeuvres and swap out the champagne for two different kinds of dessert wines while the guests have to sit through one more (blessedly short) give-us-your-money-please speech. And then they're set free to mingle, throw money at the fairly impressive silent auction items on display in the corner of the ballroom, or sample the desserts while some other Broadway dude that Santana has never seen before starts singing with the band. Rachel says his name is Mark something or other and he's a promising new talent.
"Not as promising as I was, of course," she qualifies shamelessly.
Quinn pats her wife's thigh under the table. "As if anyone ever could be," she agrees with placating grin.
"I know you think you're humoring me, but we both know you're only speaking the absolute truth."
Quinn laughingly shakes her head. "Come on. I want to go check out the silent auction," she announces, rising from her chair.
Rachel's eyes narrow suspiciously. "You're only planning to look, right?" she asks warily as she slowly stands. "Because I think my performance qualifies as a more than adequate donation tonight."
"Wow," Santana breathes out in mock awe. "If only your monetary generosity was as boundless as your ego, the hospital could be fully funded for the next twenty years."
"Very funny, Santana," Rachel grumbles while Quinn rolls her eyes, laughing as she grabs Rachel's hand and tugs her away.
"I think I'm going to join them," Josie decides, pushing back her own chair to stand. "Are you interested?" she asks Sarah, holding out a hand in invitation.
Sarah slips her hand into Josie's with a soft smile, saying, "I'll keep you company. Don't worry. I know better than to even try to convince you not to bid on anything," she promises with an indulgent smile. "And I really need to make a stop at the ladies' room anyway."
"I should do that too," Teresa decides, tossing her napkin on the table as she glances at Santana. "I'm guessing I'll find you at the dessert table and not the auction."
Santana grins. "You do know me well."
Teresa laughs. "You really weren't kidding about those extra calories," she muses, eyes twinkling with merriment.
"I have a lot of appetites that need satisfying," Santana reminds her huskily.
A pink tongue darts out to moisten smiling lips before Teresa leans in for an all-too-brief kiss. "I'll be back, tiger," she promises in a purr. "Just don't overdose on sugar while I'm gone. I'm gonna need you fully conscious later on to show me some of those…intense workout techniques of yours."
And yeah—Santana seriously contemplates taking a page out of Quinn and Rachel's playbook by following her sexy girlfriend to the bathroom and seeing how creative they can be inside one of the stalls. But then she considers all the ladies who have probably been in there already tonight doing not-sexy things and decides to pursue the desserts instead.
Of course, she gets pulled into a conversation with one of her colleagues and her boyfriend while she's debating between the tiramisu and panna cotta (and pretending that she's not going to just take both with the excuse that she's dating an Italian girl so she has to sample all the ethnic cuisine) and ends up being away from the table longer than she'd anticipated.
When Teresa doesn't come looking for her, she figures her girlfriend had probably just followed Sarah and Josie to the auction table. She's not worried about Teresa placing any bids since the whole struggling artist thing is pretty close to the truth. It's the tips she makes at the bar that keep her head above water—and apparently, those tips can be a couple thousand every shift thanks to her killer body, sexy smile, and tendency to flirt with people she deems safe. Santana's admittedly not super thrilled about that last one, but she doesn't have a whole lot of room to complain when Teresa knows all about her own overly-salacious nature.
It's when she's on her way back to the table, taking an outside path so she doesn't have to elbow her way through all the people loitering between the tables while she juggles her food and drink, that she sees Teresa standing on the outskirts of the crowd, talking to an attractive, dark-skinned woman that Santana doesn't recognize. Teresa's arms are crossed, and her entire posture seems a little defensive, but she's standing pretty close (like way too close) to the other woman, and Santana has the sense that there's a certain familiarity between them. Her eyes narrow on the woman, taking note of the expensive shoes and designer dress encasing not-unappealing curves, and her stomach clenches unpleasantly. She blindly sets her plate and glass down on the nearest flat surface, ignoring the guy trying to tell her she has the wrong table, and makes a beeline for her girlfriend.
It's not until she's practically on top of them that she's able to hear some of their exchange, and the other woman's husky, "I really have missed you, Teresa," ruffles every one of Santana's feathers.
"Careful. Someone might overhear you and get the wrong idea," Teresa warns lowly.
The woman nods jerkily, saying, "I suppose I deserve that."
Santana figures it's more than past time to crash their private party, so she takes those last steps into Teresa's personal space, finally catching her girlfriend's attention with a calculated smile. "There you are, Resa. Sorry I got sidetracked," she apologizes in her best innocent voice—which yeah, really isn't all that innocent—while she runs her palm over Teresa's shoulder in a move that's meant to be part soothing and part possessive. "I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long."
Teresa's arms immediately fall out of their defensive position, and Santana thinks she even looks a little relieved to see her. "It's okay," she reassures with a tight smile, probably hoping that Santana will accept it as a blanket statement to cover the tense conversation she'd barged in on.
Yeah—not happening. Santana turns her attention to the woman standing across from them. She's just as attractive up close as she had been from behind, though looking suddenly paler than her complexion should really permit and kind of tense like a cornered rabbit. Santana's lips curl into a predatory grin. "I'm sorry. I don't think we've met. Doctor Santana Lopez," she announces with a touch of well-deserved arrogance as she holds out a hand.
Santana is fairly sure she already knows who the woman is before she gets the confirmation of, "Olivia Jefferson," along with a very brief handshake. "Teresa and I were…just catching up," she explains weakly. "We're," she hesitates, brown eyes shifting to Teresa with something close to regret, "old friends."
"So I've heard," Santana mutters irritably, knowing the friends part is complete and utter bullshit.
Olivia Jefferson is Teresa's ex-girlfriend—the one with the story. And as it turns out, the story features a whole lot of Teresa getting fridged every time the closeted bitch got invited anywhere having to do with the investment firm she works for, any of her coworkers, or her clients—anywhere like this—until Teresa just hadn't been able to take living that way anymore.
The fact that Santana had torched her own closet years ago and scattered the ashes to the wind back in Lima is the biggest reason that Teresa had been so willing to give her a chance when they'd met up again. After living some weird half-life with this woman for nearly two years, Teresa had wanted someone out and proud and willing to be with her in public.
Santana is all of that, and Olivia's loss is most definitely her gain, so she's obviously not going to pass up the chance to rub it in just a little. She slips her arm around Teresa's waist, proudly informing her that, "Teresa and I are girlfriends. You know, the gay kind," she qualifies, so there can't be any confusion.
She feels Teresa tense under her touch, hissing, "Santana," in a warning tone, but it's so worth it to see the obvious discomfort Olivia is feeling at the blunt confession.
"What? It's not like I'm ashamed to be with you or anything," Santana responds deliberately just to drive the point home.
Olivia visibly winces, shifting uneasily. "I'm sorry. I should probably get back to my table," she excuses in a clipped tone. Her judgmental eyes travel over Santana once more, and she forces an insincere smile. "It was…nice to meet you, Doctor Lopez," she grits out before her gaze moves back to Teresa with poorly concealed longing. "And it really was good to see you again, Teresa."
Teresa gives a short nod of acknowledgement. "Take care of yourself, Liv."
Santana's stomach clenches hard at Teresa's use of the affectionate nickname, and her arm around Teresa's waist tightens a little while she has to stand there and watch Olivia smile wistfully at her girlfriend before she finally turns to walk away.
"So that was the infamous Olivia," Santana comments once they're alone, trying for her standard flippancy despite the way her gut is still churning with a veritable smorgasbord of unpleasant emotions. "Gotta admit, I pictured her differently." Like—kind of frumpy in a mannish business suit with zero cleavage. That nice, safe image is blown all to hell now.
Teresa shakes off Santana's hold when she turns—irritation flashing in her eyes as she grabs Santana's hand and tugs her a few steps closer to the wall and away from the people around them. "What the hell was that?"
"Um…you're welcome."
Blue eyes narrow dangerously. "You know, some women might find the possessive girlfriend act kind of hot, but I'm not really one of them."
Wait? Are they fighting over this? Seriously? "Well, pardon me for rescuing you from what was clearly an awkward reunion," Santana defends snarkily. She fucking knows she wasn't imagining Teresa's defensive posture when she first walked over here.
"It was less awkward before you decided to rescue me," Teresa fires back.
The churning in Santana's stomach increases. "You do know I heard I tail end of your conversation, right? She said she misses you," she reminds her bitterly.
"She did," Teresa acknowledges, her expression softening noticeably when she points out, "but I didn't say it back, Santana."
"No, but that passive-aggressive bullshit of yours was pretty telling." Teresa is obviously not over being Olivia's dirty little secret, and Santana is a little worried about what other buried emotions their reunion might have stirred up.
Teresa looks like she wants to argue the point, but then she glances off to the side, worrying her lip for moment before she admits, "This isn't the first time Olivia has been to an event like this." A sad smile twists her lips. "But it is the the first time I've been to one. Olivia seemed shocked that some other woman would actually invite me to be her date to something that gets covered on the society page." And Santana suddenly remembers how awed Teresa had been when Santana had asked her to come—how many times she'd asked if Santana was sure she wanted her here. "So I guess her getting nostalgic over our less than perfect relationship rubbed me the wrong way," she explains, reaching out to run a comforting hand down Santana's arm. "It was just an old wound getting poked. That's all. There's no reason for you to be jealous."
"I'm not," Santana denies huffily, instantly caught by Teresa's knowing gaze. "Fine. I am," she confesses, hating the feeling as much now as she had when she'd been seventeen and watching Brittany fall all over Wheels. "Your ex is fucking hot for a buttoned-up banker. I mean, she's obviously got a stick up her ass stiffer than Quinn's, but I'd still bang her."
"Really? This is where you take this conversation?" Teresa asks incredulously.
Santana sighs. "I'm sorry, okay," she mutters, feeling a little physically pained by the apology. "Believe me, I don't like turning into a jealous bitch marking her territory any more than you do. It's just," she takes a shaky breath, wishing she could smother the vulnerability that's creeping out from the deep, dark cave where she keeps it hidden. "You loved her. You'd still be with her if she'd been willing to bust out of her closet for you. What if she's ready to do that now?"
A short, dubious huff slips past Teresa's lips. "She isn't."
"You don't know. She could be," Santana argues petulantly. The woman had apparently decided to approach Teresa in a very public place to reminisce about their past romance, so maybe she's not quite as gay-shy as she used to be. "And I just…" got you, she thinks sullenly, shaking her head and staring at the wall with a frown. It would be just her luck to finally fall for a woman she wants to keep around only to end up losing her to her stupid, boring ex.
Teresa regards her quietly for a moment before she takes a step closer and lifts a hand to gently cup Santana's cheek, drawing her gaze back to earnest, blue eyes. "She'd be too late," she vows tenderly. "I'm over her, Santana. If I had a single doubt left before tonight, I don't anymore. You're the only woman I want." The vow is sealed with a sweet kiss, and Santana lets herself melt into it with a growing sense of relief. It's not quite a declaration of love, but it feels warm and true and real. And it's not like Santana wants any mushy I love yous to happen right here and now anyway. That shit is for private.
When their lips part, Santana traces her fingers along Teresa's arm until they reach the hand still resting on her cheek, and she gently pulls it away so she can link their fingers together. "You know, I kinda feel the same way about you."
Teresa's lips curve beautifully. "That's good to know," she murmurs before her smile turns playful. "Since you probably have a dozen ex-lovers here waiting to corner you tonight."
"Har-dee-freaking-har," Santana drawls flatly. "But no." Then she grimaces slightly, thinking about the two nurses (and that one anesthesiologist) she'd bedded. "Not a dozen anyway," she insists, pretty certain there wouldn't be that many of her past conquests here at the same time.
"Well, I promise not to claw anyone's eyes out just for looking at you," Teresa teases, give Santana's hand a squeeze.
"Your ex was doing a little more than looking," Santana feels compelled to point out, "and I did try to be nice to her for, like, a minute there."
Teresa laughs. "More like fifteen seconds."
"Hey, that's a decent attempt for me. But whatever," Santana dismisses with a shrug. "I'll work on it," she promises more sincerely.
"So will I," Teresa echoes, and she must notice Santana's perplexed expression, because Teresa offers her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not exactly immune to the jealousy, you know. I feel it too sometimes. I mean, you have a lot of names in the little black book of yours," she reminds Santana needlessly, sounding mildly more amused than upset about it. "I just tend to cover up my jealousy with humor."
"You're jealous a lot then," Santana quips, thinking of all the teasing about her past exploits that she's had to endure.
"Or I just happen to have an amazing sense of humor," Teresa corrects, giving a sharp tug on Santana's hand, "which I know you appreciate."
"Among other things," Santana agrees flirtatiously, letting her gaze slide over Teresa's body.
Teresa bites back a laugh and shakes her head. "I think you've made it pretty clear you appreciate that."
"I appreciate the whole package," Santana corrects seriously, reaching up to stroke Teresa's cheek with her thumb before she steals another soft kiss. "Although you do have some really nice packaging," she murmurs against Teresa's lips.
Teresa chuckles, pulling back with dancing eyes. "Likewise, Doctor Lopez. Now come on, let's get back to mingling with the people we actually want to talk to," she suggests, tugging her into motion by their still joined hands.
They've only taken a few steps when Santana uses their connection to pull Teresa to a stop. "Actually, can we detour past the dessert table first? I kind of lost my plate."
"You lost it?" Teresa asks in bemusement.
"Better my desserts than my girlfriend," Santana mutters before she notices the mildly reproachful look aimed at her. "I know, I know. Possessive is a turnoff," she recites dutifully. "Like I said, I'll work on it."
Teresa nods. "We'll work on it together. And I have to admit, your protective streak isn't entirely unappealing," she confesses with a small shrug. "You were right. I wasn't exactly enjoying my conversation with Olivia, so I was kind of glad when you came over…at least until you opened that mouth of yours," she adds with a wry smile.
"So I can rescue you from exes as long as I do it silently?" Santana checks, making sure she understands the rules.
"Or politely," Teresa simplifies with a laugh.
"Silently it is then," Santana decides with a firm nod, making Teresa laugh again.
"You're impossible," she scolds playfully, tugging Santana back into motion—this time toward the dessert table.
"But you lo…like me anyway," Santana quickly amends.
Teresa's expression turns dreamy as she gazes at Santana through shimmering eyes. "Yeah. I like you," she affirms, stressing the word with an enigmatic smile. "Kind of a lot."
Santana's heart does a happy little jig inside her chest, and she forgets all about sexy ex-girlfriends slinking around the ballroom (hopefully watching them and eating her heart out) as she slips an (absolutely not possessive) arm around her gorgeous girlfriend with pride. She wants everyone to know that she gets to take this beautiful, amazing woman home with her tonight and hopefully every night to come. You can't get any luckier than that.