A/N: My deepest apologies for the long hiatus. Thank you so much for sticking with this story! Here's Chapter 7, I hope you enjoy it :)
November 2024 – New York, New York
"Ms. Lopez?" Santana looked up from the book in her lap when she heard the assistant call her name. "Dr. Broffman is ready for you."
Santana dog-eared the page. She couldn't believe she was reading the book again. She stood up from her seat on the padded bench in the lobby to follow the younger woman through the door and down the hall.
"Thanks Patricia," she half-smiled to the assistant as she stepped over the threshold into her doctor's office.
"Santana!" Dr. Broffman called out, hunched over behind her desk. "Have a seat, I'll be right over."
"Take your time," Santana chuckled to herself as she slipped off her long wool coat and made her routine two-step to her seat on the couch.
"Long time no see," the doctor said as she walked over to the seating area, folder in one hand, coffee mug in the other. She carefully set the mug down on her side table, smoothed out the back of her skirt to sit, her leather chair squeaking as she landed. "How are things?"
"Thanksgiving with my in-laws is over," Santana answered. "So, better now," she smirked.
"Understandable," the doctor chuckled as she nodded. "How are you?"
Santana drew in a deep breath. "I think I'm okay," she exhaled.
The doctor nodded, studying her client. "You've been coming here for," she looked down at the dates on the folder to verify, "four months now, and I want to check in on our progress. To make sure we're using our time in here to accomplish what you'd like."
Santana nodded. "I think we are. I mean, I go off on a tangent every now and then, but you do a decent job of bringing me back around," she smirked.
"And that weight you came in with when we met in August? Is it any lighter?"
She drew in another deep breath. "Some days." She nodded to herself, "Some days," she clarified. "But as time goes on, I wonder if I should just…accept it as part of my life at this point, you know?"
"Mmmm," the doctor nodded. "Is talking through certain parts more helpful than others?"
"Definitely."
"Remind me, Santana," she prompted, lifting her glasses over her hair. "What were we discussing the last time we met?"
February 2017 – New York, New York
"You know," Santana droned as she rested on her side, her head propped up on her hand, "this is not…" she stopped when she saw her throw her head back. Quinn had clearly never laughed this hard before. "What the hell is so funny?"
The mattress bounced as Quinn snorted.
"Quinn!"
"It's just," Quinn stopped to take in a deep breath, "this is, this is," she struggled to get her words out.
"What?!" Santana pressed.
"It's absurd!"
"Huh?" Santana asked, indignant.
"It's absurd, Santana."
"Is it though?" She asked.
"You splashed dish soap in my eye just so you could kiss me."
"Now that is absurd," Santana countered. "That's not what happened."
"Pretty much."
"You pretended to not know how dish water works so I would come over and have to rescue the damsel in distress who couldn't get soap out of her own eye," she told her. "Then!" She added. "You took my phone so you could kiss me without interruption. These are the facts, and they are not in dispute."
"Fuck you," Quinn half-assed.
"You already did," Santana whispered. She caught Quinn trying to hide a smile. A silence fell over the room. Comfortable, even. The ceiling fan whipped round and round above them. Santana opened her mouth to speak, but the feeling of the mattress dipping next to her stopped her before she could.
Quinn shifted her weight, rolled over, and stood up from the bed. She walked, naked, over to her dresser. Santana watched as she bent over to pull out that oversized sweater from the bottom drawer. She watched her pull the sweater over her head, tugging at the hem as it fell over her bare hips.
Quinn reached up to run her hands through her hair, smoothing it over one shoulder.
"What?" Quinn tossed over her shoulder.
Santana opened her mouth again, closing it as her eyes fell to Quinn's bare legs. She shook her head. "Nothing."
"Then stop staring," she teased as she crossed the threshold out of her bedroom.
Santana laughed at herself as she fell onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling fan, her chest rising and falling as she laid there. She wondered how this happened. Again. Maybe it was mortality. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was the inevitability of mortality. "That's it," she nodded to herself. She was sure of it. The crackling of a cap being twisted off a bottled water pulled her out of her thoughts.
"Water?" Quinn shouted from the kitchen. She could hear the loud gulps coming from her throat as she drank.
"Uh, yeah," Santana shouted back. She heard Quinn clanging around in the kitchen. She was probably putting away the dishes that started all this. She heard footsteps grow louder as Quinn walked back to her bedroom.
"You should go," Quinn let out a sigh as she handed Santana the bottled water.
"Kicking me outta bed already?" She teased.
Quinn huffed out a laugh, shook her head, and tossed Santana's phone in her direction. It landed face down on the bed next to her. "You should go," she repeated.
Santana flipped the phone over and tapped the screen. Two missed calls, a voicemail, and three texts from Brittany stacked up on her lock screen.
"Let's not," Quinn offered. "Let's not make this a thing, okay?"
Santana didn't know how long she stared at her phone. She looked up at her roommate and nodded. She watched her walk out of the bedroom. Her steps grew quieter as she made her way down the hall. She heard the squeak of the faucet as Quinn turned on the shower. She heard the sputtering of the water as it pulsated out of the shower head, the pressure building with each spray. She went back to her phone, opened her messages, and started typing.
November 2024
"Let's not make this a thing?" Dr. Broffman repeated.
Santana nodded.
"What did she mean by that?" The doctor narrowed her eyes.
"I was never sure," she admitted. "Like, did she mean 'let's not make this a thing' or 'let's not make this a thing?'"
"A distinction without a difference, no?"
"Not necessarily." She lifted her left hand and posited, "Let's not make a big deal out of this," she raised the other, "Let's not make a habit out of this."
"I see," the older woman nodded. "Which one feels truer to you now?"
"It doesn't matter," Santana shrugged. "We sucked at both."
March 2017 – New York, New York
Quinn's breath hitched in her ear, the time between sharp inhales got shorter and shorter as Santana's fingers maintained their steady pace in and out, in and out of the other girl's wetness. She felt Quinn's arms tighten around her neck. She felt her muscles tighten around her fingers the same way.
"Mmmm…fuck." The sound muffled as it traveled from deep in Quinn's throat through Santana's thick dark hair covering her ear. Santana rubbed her clit once, twice, and twice more before she felt Quinn's muscles spasm then relax, wetness falling over her fingers as she withdrew them from her panties. She felt her relax as she loosened her arms from around her neck. She felt her brush her thumb over her cheek as she pulled her head down into an open-mouthed kiss.
Santana lowered herself onto the bed and felt herself relax between the other girl's legs, their tongues intertwining as they laid there. She moaned into Quinn's mouth when she felt her nestle her leg between her thighs.
"Fuck," she breathed out, the move made Santana feel the wetness in her own panties.
Quinn reached behind Santana and tugged on her sweater. She knew the cue to lift up. She disconnected their lips so Quinn could lift the sweater over her head, her hair falling over her shoulder. Santana crossed her arms to grip the band of her sports bra and lifted it over her head. She didn't care where it landed.
Quinn watched as she straddled her lap, her chest freed from its restraint.
"What?" Santana asked sheepishly.
She watched Quinn shake her head, her eyes fixed on her chest. "Nothing," she whispered.
"Then stop staring." She leaned down and reconnected their lips.
November 2024
The doctor narrowed her eyes again. "I think I see what's happening here."
"And then," Santana continued.
June 2017 – New York, New York
Santana's chest heaved up and down, up and down. She propped herself up on her bed and leaned back onto her elbows. She looked down to see lashes flutter open and green eyes looking up at her for just a second before they fluttered closed again. She ran her fingers through dark roots to blonde ends, her grip tugging gently as her breath hitched in her throat.
"I've always wanted to try that," Quinn mentioned as she raised her thumb, wiping her lips.
"Really?!" She couldn't believe it.
Quinn hummed innocently.
"Fuuuuck mee," she droned to herself, her chest still heaving.
"Already did."
November 2024
"Okay, okay, I get it," Dr. Broffman insisted.
"Sorry." Santana bit back a smile. She watched as the older woman crossed her legs tightly.
"So," she smoothed out her skirt, "how long did this…habit…go on?"
"Months."
"And how did this effect your roommate relationship?" She lowered her glasses to her eyes. "Forgive me for paraphrasing, but I recall you mentioning that roommates should be careful about getting involved in one another's affairs because once that happens, there's no going back." She uncrossed her legs to lean forward in her chair "Am I correct?"
Santana nodded. "You're exactly right," she paused to let out a deep breath, "there's no going back."
October 2017 – New York, New York
"Figured out what you're wearing?" Quinn asked as she walked into Santana's room and leaned against the doorway like she always did.
"Not yet," she called out from her closet, the sound of hangers screeching as they slid across the metal rack made her wince.
"Santana!" She could hear her straighten up in the doorway. "The party is tomorrow! It's been on the kitchen calendar for weeks.I mentioned it to you yesterday,how have you not fig…" she stopped. Santana figured she saw the duffle on her bed. "Where are you going?"
"Boston," she breathed out as she carried a couple pairs of jeans from the closet. She should have said something sooner.
"Oh!" Quinn said.
"Yeah," she let out another deep breath. "Britt and I have been texting for a while now, and uh, this is sort of my only free weekend for a while, so we're gonna…hang out." She paused. "I should've said something sooner, I'm sorr…"
"No, it's okay," Quinn nodded.
"It's just, I think it's gonna be…," she added as she folded the jeans and stuffed them into the duffle.
"Don't you think that's kind of a bad idea?" she interrupted.
"That's the thing," Santana tried to explain. "I don't really know, but…it's Britt, you know?" She shrugged as she walked back to the closet.
She could feel Quinn's eyes on her as her back was turned to the doorway.
"Actually," she heard from across the room, "I…don't know."
"It's like…" Santana tried to explain.
"To this day, I don't know what happened with you two," Quinn cut her off again. "But what I do know is that whatever it was…it was bad enough for you to ditch us at Disney…for you to show up at my door…basically cut off all contact with her…fucking cut yourself…and you 'don't know' if it's a bad idea?!"
Santana froze.
"You know what?" Quinn raised her voice before lowering it again. She lifted her hands to concede. "Forget I said anything. Good luck with that." She flashed a smile as she stepped out of Santana's doorway. Santana hated that smile. She heard the bathroom door slam shut.
She kept packing. She stuffed the bag more and more aggressively as Quinn's words replayed in her head. She took in a deep breath and marched down the hall. She let it go when she knocked on the bathroom door.
"What?" Her answer came out muffled from the other side of the door.
The curtness threw Santana off. She cleared her throat. "I need my toiletry bag."
She heard the toilet flush and the snap of Quinn's leggings as she pulled them up over her hips. She heard the faucet turn on, then off. She opened her mouth to tell her exactly what was on her mind when the door swung open.
"It's all yours," Santana barely heard Quinn as she brushed past her on her way out of the bathroom.
She shook her head as she bent over and grabbed her bag from underneath the sink. She stood up and let out a deep breath as she walked to the shower to grab her things. What was her problem? Santana didn't know.
November 2024
"Hm." Dr. Broffman leaned back in her leather chair. "Do you think she had a point?"
Santana exhaled through pursed lips. "Maybe," she admitted, "but…"
The sound of the phone ringing pierced through the quiet of the room.
Dr. Broffman whipped her head around toward her desk. She pulled her glasses from her face. "I am so sorry, Santana. Patricia knows to hold my calls during my sess…"
"Oh no, no it's okay," she assured her. "We're about out of time today anyway," she noticed as she looked down at her watch.
"You can finish your thought if you'd like."
"It's okay," she smiled toward her doctor. "Next time."
Dr. Broffman nodded and closed the folder in her lap. "See you next Wednesday."