Fic: Quicksand, Rated: M (Santana/Brittany) (1/7)
Title: Quicksand
Pairing(s): Brittana with a side of Puck/Quinn and a heavy dose of the broship of Pucktana
Rating: Mature
Words: 51353
Summary: Life in Huntington Beach has been a rollercoaster for Santana Lopez, but she's finally finding her balance and learning how to move on and forward. Agreeing to give a free surf lesson might just be the best decision of her life. (Alternate Universe fic)
AN: First off, I need to thank Rockinrye. This fic would never have been written if it weren't for her and it certainly wouldn't have been finished if it weren't for her constantly whipp...er cheering me on. Extra thanks to Slush and Nash for their beta help. Any errors are purely mine, feel free to tell me about them. Extra extra thanks to those of you on here who cheered me on along the way with the posts I made. I love y'all. (as per usual, if you think it sucks, let me know...the same for if you like it. lol) ♥ Crossposted to AO3
I made a playlist for this along the way, you can check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL082317392E942F98
But whilst writing I was mostly listening/watching Sipping Jetstreams / Montaj / Intersection / insert surf film here, so any of those soundtracks work too. ;)
Whatever it is you’re looking for - beauty, enlightenment, salvation, danger, or just to disappear - this will only be a fraction of what you find. - Taylor Steele, Sipping Jetstreams
Tires squealing, heart racing, she feels the rush of adrenaline shoot through her veins as wind and rain collide against her. The rain pelts harder the faster she goes. She looks back to see where her competitor is and finds them way behind. She’s got this in the bag. She’ll pull five grand easily tonight for this cakewalk. She brings her head forward to finish the quarter mile, but it’s too late to react. Skidding tires, wet asphalt tearing through her jeans and leather, she’s tumbling over and over. No longer knowing which way is up; she collides with something hard and feels a sharp pain before everything fades to black.
Santana Lopez wakes up on the floor of her bedroom. The arm she landed on is throbbing, she feels like shit and wants to throw a shoe at her alarm. She pushes herself up, favoring her left side, and walks across the room to turn off the incessant drum and bass beats of Current Value’s Peace coming from her speakers. Santana undocks her phone and checks the surf report -- on days like these it doesn’t matter, she’ll be out on those waves no matter what, but she likes knowing what she’ll be in for. The report suggests decent waves, about three to four feet that are nothing spectacular, but better than sitting on a lake with a stormy mind.
She makes her bed, listening to the waves that are calling her through her window, and does some arm stretches. Raising and lowering, curling and extending, simple things that her doctor told her to do on the days her arm acts up. Santana puts on the bottom half of her wetsuit, it fitting like it’s brand suggests, before stepping into a pair of magenta board shorts and pulling on a heather grey sweatshirt over her head. She grabs a hair tie and loosely ties her long black hair into a ponytail as she heads down the stairs.
Santana passes through the kitchen, turning on lights and appliances as she heads to the back door. She opens it to find a tall man with wavy blonde hair and green eyes waiting for her.
“Five by, S?” The man asks, though he already knows the answer based on what Santana’s wearing. He follows her into the kitchen while putting on a brown apron with LoCoRo written in white on the front.
“Not today, Schue.” Santana lets out a lopsided smile before continuing, “Gonna get a session in before my appointment with Doc.”
“Sounds good.” Schue starts the brewing process of the typical morning coffees that keep the regulars of Lopez Coffee Roasting coming back for more and the new people falling in love at first taste. “What’s the LoCo taste of the day S?”
“I’m feelin’ the Costa Rican, let’s give ‘em a jolt.” Santana places some bread dough into the brick oven at the back of the kitchen. “You hooking up with Emma yet?”
“Santana!” Schue barks out a laugh, “No, not yet. You know she’s got some old fashioned ideals about these things.”
“Yeah, yeah, Schue.” Santana places some pastries into the regular oven before turning and looking at Schue with a serious expression, “You know, William, if you were gay, it’d be okay.”
“Why must I be the first person to see you in the mornings?”
“Lots of people are gay, I’m half gay and everyone still loves me. I’m just saying…”
“Go! Just go surf already, you clearly need to.” Schue throws his towel at Santana, hitting her in the face.
“Oh, how convenient, you tell me to leave when everything is ready. Couldn’t have done this earlier?” Santana throws the towel back at Schue, who is shaking his head. “Okay, okay, I’m out. Call me if you need me?”
“Yeah, like I didn’t run this place for a couple of years without your supervision or anything.”
“Shut it, old man.” Santana waves as she walks out the back door of the kitchen. She grabs her surfboard from the garage, before heading across the highway that prevented her from having beachfront property.
Santana will never understand how her parents lucked out on such prime real estate, a mixed use building right across the Pacific Coast Highway from the beach. There were some drawbacks to living in Huntington Beach, especially during tourist season, but the perks definitely outweighed the cons. Perks like being less than five minutes, walking, to the stairs that led down to the soft sand that somehow travels with her wherever she goes.
Another perk was that her best friend lived next door and was usually waiting for her at the top of those stairs.
“That iP4 dock is amazing.”
“I fucking hate that song.” Santana nods in greeting to the tall and muscular boy with a tightly cropped mohawk.
“It wakes your ass up though.” He takes Santana’s surfboard from her and proceeds to carry it with his down the stairs. “I swear you’d sleep through a plane landing on your house.”
“Didn’t expect to see you, Puck.”
“Yeah, well, when you don’t wake up until halfway through that song, and those fucking drums kick in, I think you wake up the entire neighborhood.” Puck playfully nudges Santana with his shoulder, “’sides, when you get that deep into it, I know it’s an emergency session day.”
“I’m that predictable, huh?” Santana quickly removes her sweatshirt, throwing it down onto the sand.
“Just to me, babe.
“You just like the free show.” Santana begins zipping up the top of her wetsuit, slowly encasing her naked torso.
“That never hurts.” Puck winks and hands Santana her surfboard. “If you’d rather be solo, I’ll go down the beach some.”
“No. You can distract me with your horrible life choices that I’ll never make.”
“Again. I think you forgot to add, again, to the end of that sentence, ‘Tana.” Puck laughs.
It’s easy enough to paddle out into the water; they were getting in at the tail end of low tide, which made wading out effortless compared to competing with 4ft and higher waves. Not that Santana, or Puck for that matter, ever let size get in their way. They’d both prefer to save their energy for riding the waves, not fighting them.
“If we’re lucky we should see some shoulder-high sets.”
“I saw that too, but that’s hours from now. Gotta give mama some time to wake up first, you know?” Santana strokes the top of the ocean water with her hand.
“I don’t know, ‘Tana, I kinda like my women fired up.” Puck smirks and Santana laughs before slapping some water in his direction.
“Careful Puckerman, wouldn’t want the lady to think you don’t respect her.”
“Oh, no way, man. There’s only three ladies I respect with the proper amount of fear and two of them are here right now, easily within killing distance of me.”
“Yeah, that’s right and your mom is just across the street.” Santana laughs again and Puck shakes his head.
They lapse into a silence, just letting the waves lull them into a peaceful trance. It’s easy for Santana to forget all of her worries when sitting on that vast ocean; she seems so small in comparison. Sometimes it’s the only place where Santana can properly sort out her mind, where all her distractions slip away and she can focus. She doesn’t have to think about being on a wave, in fact that’s the last thing she’d want to do. No, she likes that her body just knows what to do as she drops in and guides that board down an open face. It’s refreshing to be able to forget everything and be fully in a moment, where everything seems so clear, no decisions, only actions.
It’s in the lull between sets where Santana gets left alone with her thoughts. Sometimes it’s helpful to just sit and think, work out any issues that need resolving. Days like today, when she’s woken up from a particularly vivid flashback, are when Santana’s especially thankful for Puck’s presence. He’s always able to provide a distraction.
“Tell me a story?”
“Got another letter from my Dad.” Puck looks at Santana with a sardonic smile.
“Really? How are things in New Zealand?”
“Mom still hasn’t forgiven me for the tattoo, by the way. It’s been eight years and she still curses his ‘archaic Maori traditions’ every time I bring a letter over.” Puck lets out a chuckle.
“Maybe you should stop bringing them over?” Santana smirks; she knows that’ll never happen. Felicia Puckerman likes to pretend that she can’t stand Puck’s father, but it’s easy to tell how the woman hangs on every word of his letters to their son.
“Right.” Puck shakes his head and brings a hand to his right shoulder, “Still can’t believe she didn’t appreciate it when I told her that it was the shoulder or the face.”
“Yeah, that was one of your finer moments.” Santana leans over and smacks the back of Puck’s head.
“She cursed the hell out of Arana for that one.” Puck smiles then continues, “I don’t think he’d really let them tattoo my face, it’s too good looking as it is.”
“Yeah, cheekbones that could cut glass my friend.”
“This face had you calling out my name at one time.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t your face.”
“Fuck you.” Puck barks out a laugh.
Their conversation gets interrupted by a new set of waves coming in, a nice clean set that comes to Santana’s chest. She loses herself in the rhythm of the waves and the sounds of them breaking. Time seems endless and Santana loses track of it until she notices that the sun is visible in the sky and no longer skirting the horizon. She’s spent enough time out on those waves to tell time by the angle of the sun in the sky, but she checks her clunky white waterproof watch and it verifies that she’ll be running late for her appointment by the time she gets back to shore.
“Shit, I’m late for Doc. See ya later loser.”
“Send my love to the Doc.” Puck winks.
“Whatever. Enjoy the rest of the session. See ya tonight?” Santana begins to paddle to shore and picks up a guppy wave to help her in as she hears Pucks response in the positive. She always appreciates things to look forward to on days like these.
-x-
Santana enters the clinic with a light sheen of sweat adorning her skin. She’d taken a moment to use the bottom of her white tank top to wipe off some of the sweat from the bike ride over, but it’s always the stationary stuff after a ride that brings on the most sweat.
“You’re late.” A woman with long blonde hair and hazel eyes, who is wearing a light blue polo with a dark blue HBPT embroidered in the upper left corner, the name Quinn in white underneath, and khaki shorts, greets Santana with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, sorry, Q.” Santana gives a lopsided smile and a shrug.
“Caught out on the waves again?” Quinn asks and, at Santana’s impish grin and nod, continues speaking, “Let’s get that arm stretched before your tests.”
“Thanks, Q.”
“Leave it to you to exhaust yourself before the tests that indicate if you need to keep coming back or not.” Quinn shakes her head as she leads Santana to the therapy room, or gym as Santana refers to it. There are weight machines strewn throughout the room, not that she got to use them all those years ago when she first got here. It seemed to take Santana ages before she was even allowed to use a resistance band. She remembers how hard it was to train her arm how to work again, it was frustrating as hell, but at least she still had her arm.
“Flashback again, huh?” Quinn gestures to a chair for Santana to sit in.
“When did I get so fucking predictable?”
“Probably the day your femur tried to escape from your body.” Quinn grabs Santana’s arm and starts guiding it through some stretches.
“Yeah,” Santana grimaces, but doesn’t make any other sign of pain. “It’s a wicked sexy scar though.”
Quinn looks down at the scar that practically wraps around the entirety of Santana’s tanned bicep. She’s grown accustomed to seeing it after all these years of helping Santana heal, but she never fully knew how Santana would handle the mental aspect of healing. Most females tend to treat their scars like something to be ashamed of, something to hide, but not to Santana. Apparently it’s a war wound, a visible achievement for surviving something horrendous.
“Definitely more badass than a shoulder tattoo.” Quinn winks and helps a laughing Santana stand up.
“I’m totally telling him you said that.”
“Like Puck needs his ego stroked any.” Quinn leads Santana to a room with monitors with wires and various other testing instruments.
“He needs something stroked all right.” Santana winks and receives a slap to her arm, “Ouch, bitch! I’ve got to test that arm for perfection in a minute here. It’s not my fault you two are pretending like you’re not dating.”
“What?” Quinn squeaks out.
“He told me to say ‘hi’ and we both know it wasn’t a message for Dr. Hummel.” Santana rolls her eyes.
“You sure? I’m a fine specimen of man.” A tall man with brunette hair and bright blue eyes says as he enters the room.
“Sometimes I wish Puck were gay, Doc, but I think you’d be too much man for him as it is.”
“You ready to pass some exams, Santana?”
Santana looks to Quinn who gives a smile and a slight nod.
“Sure thing, Doc. Let me make this test my bitch.”
Santana wasn’t really nervous about this final round of tests; she knew that she was as healed as physical therapy was supposed to get her. It’d been four years. Four slow years full of ups and downs, mostly ups. Even if the downs consisted of explosions of emotions and tears. Looking back at how she acted, Santana’s especially appreciative of having Puck and Quinn in her life.
Puck had provided the stability, focus and determination to make sure that Santana healed, physically at least, from her injury. He insisted that she’d get full functionality of her left arm again and made sure to be there for the daily exercises she needed to perform. Their relationship, prior to the accident, had been extremely unusual but solid. Friends with benefits didn’t come close to the connection they shared after having grown up together. The process of regaining movement in her arm, after making sure that the tendons and muscles healed as solidly as the bone, had changed Santana and Puck’s relationship permanently. Their relationship had grown even stronger, but the romantic aspect ended. They realized that Santana needed Puck more than a no strings attached situation would afford. Santana is grateful for Puck, who pulled her through the toughest and most frustrating moments of her rehabilitation. The moments where it seemed like she’d never heal, that she’d never be able to use her arm again, not the way it was meant to be used at least, Puck dragged her kicking and screaming past the obstacle. He never let her give up.
Quinn was the inspiration, constantly telling Santana that her arm would heal so well that she’d be swinging baseball bats at Puck’s head in no time. Four years ago, Quinn had just been an intern at the clinic getting the final units she needed for her degree. It could’ve gotten off to a rocky start; Santana’s not the easiest to get along with on the best of days. Being injured and depressed only proved to make her more stubborn and irritable, but Quinn seemed to know exactly how to manage Santana. It was in Santana’s first truly horrible therapy session, where she just wanted to give up and not even try to do what Quinn was asking, when Quinn simply said with her soft and gentle voice, “God damn it, Santana, if you fuck up my internship, I’ll break your other arm.” By the time the shock (and the laughter) wore off, Santana realized that she’d successfully completed her tasks and gained a friend.
Quinn provided a quiet and constant belief that Santana would heal completely. She also became a confidant once Santana no longer needed Puck at her sessions. Which is why, when Santana had seemingly reached a plateau way before her body should have, Quinn suggested that Santana begin to surf again. The idea came with its own bundle of issues, but Quinn talked Santana through most of them and eventually got Puck on board to help convince Santana.
It certainly wasn’t easy at first. Santana had started with just going out in the ocean, when that stopped wearing her out, she started a slow swim in the shallow waters, she took things one step at a time (moving at a tortoise’s pace) until it got her to where she is today. Surfing’s her salvation, Puck’s her constant and Quinn knew exactly what buttons to push to get Santana there. She’s not completely healed yet, but this test should prove that she doesn’t need to keep coming in regularly for treatments. Santana doesn’t kid herself about how far she’s come and she knows she wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for her two best friends.
“That should be it, Miss Lopez.” Dr. Hummel unhooks some wires and pushes some buttons on his tablet.
“So quick?” Santana looks at Quinn, who is leaning against the massage table against the wall.
“It’s been at least an hour San, you totally zoned out there.” Quinn laughs, “Should we have tested your head for a concussion or something?”
“Ladies, at least try to keep it professional.” Dr. Hummel makes a valid attempt to look at the women sternly, but his lip quivers at trying to repress a grin.
“Pssh, whatever Doc. I saw you at Quinn’s graduation party.”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion as to what you’re implying Santana.”
“You’re right, Doc. You certainly weren’t a bit tipsy…”
“…and handsy.” Quinn adds, nodding to Santana to continue.
“Asking that one surfer with the trouty lips if his hair was made from sunbeams.” Santana smirks.
“Or asking my police officer friend, Karofsky, if the gun in his pants was loaded.” Quinn nods.
“I’d say something about that really cute boy in the blazer and tie, but I still don’t understand why you kept calling him Lion and clicking your heels together.” Santana scrunches her eyebrows and looks to Quinn who shrugs.
“You’ve been holding all this in for this precise moment, haven’t you?” Dr. Hummel sighs.
“Yup. I haven’t even started about that musically inclined one, the boy with the long hair who dressed like he was the long lost member of Aerosmith? And how you kept offering him a completely different kind of microphone.” Santana grins as she stands up and wraps her right arm around Dr. Hummel.
“Need I remind you ladies of two things? Quinn, you still have to work here when Santana is finished with her treatments. You’re about to be promoted. So, you should be careful around those with power, maybe?” Dr. Hummel raises an eyebrow at Quinn’s gasped ‘Promotion?’ He then turns his focus to Santana, “And you, you trouble maker. I haven’t even sent your tests in yet. I have all the power right now. I can change your results any way I see fit.”
“I love ya Doc, but what’s the worst that you could do to me? Make me keep coming back to see my friends and get a work out in the process?” Santana chuckles.
“Well, I tried. I really should get going to more important patients anyway.” Dr. Hummel winks before exiting the room.
“I think he’s going to miss you.” Quinn comes over and plays with a strand of Santana’s hair that’d come loose during testing. “A lot of people, well, they take this too seriously or think he’s got too much power over their lives. You see him as a peer. It really makes the work easier.”
“Well, I’m surfing now. I’m bound to sprain something.”
“Speaking of, an early session? Are you still having nightmares, Santana?”
“Been having nightmares since I was sixteen, Q.” Santana shrugs, “I’ll take flashbacks to my accident over nightmares about my parents, any day.”
“You need to deal with these things, San.” Quinn moves her hand to Santana’s shoulder, “Move on so that you’re not carrying so much weight.”
“You need to mind your damn business.” Santana scowls.
Quinn sighs, “You are my business. You’ve become a sister to me. I’ve taken care of your body. Now listen to me about your mind.” Quinn squeezes her hand and Santana hangs her head.
“Sorry, Q. It’s one of those days.”
“Yeah, I know.” Quinn brings her other hand to Santana’s arm and starts massaging. “I’ll give you a quick massage while telling you of a proposition I have for you.”
“A proposition? Won’t Puck get Jealous?” Santana lifts her head and grins at Quinn.
“Shut up. It’s a possible work connection thing.”
“Work? You know LoCoRo could feed and house an army if I needed, right?”
“Yes, I do know, though the way you dress would imply otherwise.” Quinn rolls her eyes.
“Just because I like my holy jeans and well worn Dunks, doesn’t mean I’m a bum, Q.”
“How you ever get any action is beyond me.”
“You’ve seen my wicked sexy scar, right?” Santana grins. “Chicks dig scars.”
“Anyway,” Quinn laughs. “You aren’t the only patient I’ve befriended over the years.”
“You bitch!”
“Shut it, Quasimodo.” Quinn moves her hands to Santana’s other arm, “She’s a stunt woman slash stunt coordinator, who originally came to me because she broke her leg killing ninjas on some Tarantino film.”
“Kill Bill?”
“Whatever. She’s about to start work on this action film or something and was asking if I knew any surfers who’d be willing to teach her.”
“Teach her? Like, some tricks?”
“Teach her how to surf.” Quinn rolls her eyes. Santana breaks out in laughter. “Yeah, apparently that’s the reaction she’s been getting from all of the ‘pro-surfer sources’ that are usually used for this sort of thing? I don’t know.”
“She wants to plan a surf stunt having never surfed before?”
“Yes. It’s, like, an indie film and this director wants something he’s never seen before, which is why he went with her instead of someone with experience.” Quinn moves to stand in front of Santana, “Listen, she’s really sweet, Santana. I’d like to be able to tell her that you’ll help. She’s a really fast learner; she got the hang of the really difficult movements here, really easily. So, just…do it for me okay?”
“I don’t…Quinn I don’t know the first thing about teaching someone how to surf.”
“Well, how did you originally learn?”
“My dad.” Santana shrugs, “It’s why I stopped.”
“Oh, well.” Quinn pauses and runs a hand through her hair, “Maybe this will be good for you too, a way to help yourself by helping someone else?”
Santana goes silent for a moment. She picks at the threads at the hole on the knee of her jeans. Santana feels the weight of the moment and how her decision right now might decide her future potential for healing. With that in mind, and with a hope of getting over her life’s tragedies, she speaks, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”
“Great. I’ll let her know. Thanks Santana, I owe you for this.”
-x-
Santana walks her BMX into the garage. She takes off her helmet and shakes out her hair as she places it on a shelf. Santana catches her breath for a minute. The clinic is only fifteen miles away, but the afternoon had warmed to a temperature hotter than Southern California’s norm and it took a bit more effort than Santana was expecting. Especially considering that she hadn’t eaten anything all day except a Cliff Bar on the way to the Doc. By the time she walks through the back door into the kitchen, she needs a shower, but she’s no longer sweating. She checks in with Tina to see if there’s anything that needs immediate attention before heading up and taking a quick shower.
The shower feels wonderful after the long ride and she comes out feeling refreshed. She’s got this shampoo bar that smells like jasmine and the smell of it instantly shifts her mood into a happier territory. She’d found it accidentally.
Actually, Santana found it in the shower of one of her one-night stands, back when she used to do the random hook up thing. She no longer does that, or even wants a relationship right now. Quinn’s kind of gotten it into her thick skull that Santana needs to focus on taking care of herself. Santana knows she’s got a lot of baggage, that’s why she’s been avoiding it after all, but she really appreciates the shape her body is in now. She’s in the best shape of her life and it’s because she listened to Quinn. It’s becoming easier, knowing how to take care of herself the proper way, instead of losing herself in adrenaline rushes and hookups. It’s with that knowledge that she knows there’s much further to go. Santana doesn’t regret the way she did things in the past, it was keeping her alive, but she’s thankful to have survived it and to have come out of it with only a scar and a wickedly awesome shampoo. If Santana could remember the chick’s name, she’d probably send a thank you note.
Quinn would probably smack her for that one.
Santana dresses in a fresh pair of slightly baggy jeans and a green plaid button down shirt, she slips on her Rainbows and goes back downstairs to the shop.
Lopez Coffee Roasting is like every other coffee place in the way that they serve coffee and have tables, chairs, free wifi, and pastries galore. Except the seats are actually comfortable and the staff encourages customers to stay as long as they want, even when the place is packed, which is something that usually happens every two hours. Santana’s never figured out how that happens, but it’s like clockwork and it’s been happening ever since she was a little guppy riding around on her Papi’s shoulders. There are plenty of power outlets for the people with their laptops, which is something the college kids are constantly praising her for. There’s a huge purple couch in front of an enormous window at the front of the shop that looks out at the beach, it’s just about the most comfortable thing in all of existence and if it wasn’t such a staple of the shop Santana would’ve made Puck move it upstairs by now. Their bookshelves actually have books in them, and the most comfortable seats in the house have been set up to have the best lighting for a good long read.
It’s the little things about the shop that make Santana proud to be part of this legacy. She loves that LoCoRo has the typical things that every coffee house has, but the things that stand out the most are the reasons why people insist on coming back and bringing their friends. Things like constantly brewing fresh coffee. Fresh breaded goods being baked in a wood oven. Santana asked Schue about it once, how it’s possible that they’ve gotten things as right as they have and he simply told her, ‘we care and we actually listen, when you do that, it comes naturally.’
Santana knows her parents encouraged that, an open sharing environment for the shop. Like Tina Cohen-Chang, their resident tech genius slash barista. She came up with the brilliant idea to have free phone chargers set up around the shop ‘because I know I’m constantly forgetting mine’ and Santana’s seen how that’s brought in a new breed of customer. Tina also came up with this impressive app that allows people to order from their seat in the shop or to have it ready when they came in. Santana’s never taken business classes, she’s fairly sure she wouldn’t understand half of the terms in the books telling her how she should be running things, but it’s easy to understand when Schue’s talking about ‘productivity being improved by Tina’s app’. Santana would just call it ‘less of a clusterfuck at the register.’
“William, why are we watching Endless Summer II again?” Santana walks over to Schue who’s in the middle of making a fresh batch of tea for one of their customers.
“There are multiple films? All I see is some tiny person riding the same wave over and over and over and over.” Schue smiles and takes the tea out to the customer, Lauren, who’s sitting on the purple couch.
Santana goes over to the rack next to the entertainment system and picks out a DVD with a white case and Montaj written in grey and orange. She takes Endless Summer II out of the player and pops the new disc in. Santana’s placing the cases back on the rack when the beats of the background music come over the shop’s speakers. She turns around to check that all of the flat screen T.V.s are working properly and all showing the air bubbles that start the movie. This was one of the things she enjoyed most about her shop. As far as she knew, LoCoRo is the only coffee shop with the look of a surf shop. The T.V.s and soundtrack went perfectly with the surfboards as tables and benches, the bamboo wood floors and tiki hut styled interior. Stickers were allowed to be stuck on nearly any surface, which only helped the shop stand out as ‘not your typical coffee joint.’
“Aw, shit. Slopes must be here!” A voice called out from the opposite end of the shop.
“Quit your yelling, Rutherford.” Santana turned around and tipped her straw fedora at him, but didn’t smile. No, Matt Rutherford would never be on the receiving end of one of her smiles, not again.
“Want me to kick him out?” Tina whispers as she’s passing by with a fresh Cinful pizza.
“Nah s’cool.” Santana shakes her head, “Can’t fuck with me here.”
“Okay.” Tina smiles and walks away.
There was a distinct difference in the styles of films that Santana shows compared to Schue, who’s more traditional. Santana gets it, the documentaries and narrative films are more appealing to a wide variety of customers and don’t distract the readers with their soundtracks. However, it’s late afternoon and even though they’re a coffee shop, Santana needs a little bit more than coffee to get past that late afternoon yearning for a nap. Which calls for exciting aerials and thumping beats, if a couple of scantily clad (or topless) chicks show up in the films, then so be it. The clientele never complains and the ones that do wouldn’t have come back anyway. Besides, they’re right across from the beach, it’s not like people wouldn’t be seeing this stuff if they looked out the window.
“I look forward to Matt’s reaction when Stripper starts playing.” Schue shakes his head and grins.
“Always a classic. I wish I knew he was here when I put it in.”
“Santana Lopez, always up for embarrassing her friends.” Schue places his hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, he’s Puck’s friend, if you’d even call it that. I can’t help it that I’m hot and everyone wants me.” Santana shrugs.
“How was PT?” Schue asks as they move to the stools behind the cash registers.
“I kinda zoned out during the tests.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like, I don’t know, it caught up with me, how much I’ve been through?” Santana lifts her fedora and runs her other hand through her hair. “I wouldn’t even be able to do what I’m doing right now, if it weren’t for Puck and Quinn riding my ass all the time.” Santana turns to look at Schue, who is quietly listening. She bites her lip before continuing, “Or you being here, taking care of everything so that I didn’t have to.”
“You’ve had enough to deal with, Santana.”
“Yeah, no. I know that now. I think that…before, with my parents. I was in shock, right? I couldn’t think, but I felt all this pressure. Like, I knew that I suddenly had all this responsibility I wasn’t fucking ready for.” She picks up one of the tiny umbrellas they jokingly put into their lemonades and iced teas, “But now, I don’t know. I still feel that pressure, maybe even more so now, but I understand it and why it’s there and that it’s something I need to manage.”
“That’s good, Santana. I’m glad to hear it.” Schue smiles and squeezes her shoulder.
“I’d say that twenty three is a bit old to start realizing that I should be a responsible adult, but then I look at Puckerman…” Santana winks at Schue who laughs.
They sit there in silence, taking in the shop before them, Santana watching the video playing on the screens. This is one of the things she’s always liked about Schue, that she could sit next to him and not be expected to talk or pay attention. She could just sit and zone out if she needed.
“Your parents would be proud of the woman you’re becoming, Santana.” Schue says quietly, “They were always proud of their little firecracker, but this person you are now…the person you’re on your way to becoming? I think it’s more than they could’ve imagined.”
Santana’s eyebrow furrows, she licks her lips before letting out a shaky breath. She nods at Schue before standing up and heading over to the DVD rack to get the next movie ready. She’s looking, but not seeing anything. All she can concentrate on is the warmth that’s inside of her that she’s never felt before and how she knows that it’s a good thing. That everything will be okay, eventually. She’s so focused on her inner ramblings that she stops paying attention to her surroundings and gets surprised by arms wrapping around her waist and hugging her from behind. There’s only one person who would ever attempt that with her and after she gets over the momentary panic, she notices the smell of his aftershave.
“Hey, Puck.” Santana leans her head back against his shoulder and looks up at his face.
“Hey, babe. You up for some grub?” Puck squeezes her tighter, his way of letting her know that he noticed her zoning out. It’s one of the many things she loves about Puck, his ability to read her.
“Starving.” Santana turns and nods to Schue as she and Puck head upstairs.
Santana doesn’t know when the tradition started. She just knows that, come dinner time on a day where she’s had a particularly rough wakeup call, Puck will show up with her favorite fish tacos and a case of Coronas, and they’ll just sit on the roof and watch the sun set into the ocean.
Puck places his paper bag full of goodies onto the small wooden table between the two sun-bleached and weather-beaten Adirondack chairs that he and Santana settle onto. The sky is just starting to turn periwinkle and Santana is suddenly thirsty for the ice-cold beer that Puck is handing her. It’s like a placebo effect; she doesn’t even need to drink it to feel the comfort this tradition brings.
“Rutherford was here today.” Santana swallows the ice cold liquid that’s tinted with lime.
“Shit, I told him to stay away.”
“Nah, it’s cool. He didn’t even come up to me, just yelled across the shop.” Santana shrugs as she takes a bite of her taco, the various flavors mix together deliciously in her mouth and she practically purrs.
“Yeah, but he’s in my crew. He needs to listen to my orders.”
“I can handle myself. Stop trying to send my customers away.”
“Whatever.” Puck flicks at a piece of cabbage that dropped out of his taco.
“Everyone knows I’m off limits. I’m off the table, no longer a commodity, yadda yadda. Slopes is retired.”
“I know, ‘Tana.” Puck exhales a lung full of air, trying to fight his frustration, “They still talk about you all the time though.”
“Damn right they talk. I was fucking epic!” Santana rolls up the foil her tacos came in and throws the wadded up ball at Puck.
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
“Cunt.”
“Dick.”
“I’m glad we have such mature and intelligent conversations.” Santana grins.
The sun sets, causing the sky to appear as if it were on fire. Bursts of red and orange reflect off the sea before them. The temperature seems to drop about ten degrees in an instant, as if the sun had taken all warmth with it.
Santana puts on the big blue sweatshirt that she picked up from her apartment on her way to the roof. “So, you got another letter from Arana?” Santana asks as she opens up another beer.
“Yeah,” Puck smiles and nods. “Just checking in, really. He’s doing this rugby charity league thing.”
“Where he freely gives out black eyes?”
“Funny. Nah, like, he’s got some of his former All Black teammates and others from various teams and leagues, to have all-star games? Like, people pay to watch these dudes play and all the money goes to various charities. Winning team decides, but they’re all good causes.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“Yeah,” Puck nods and looks down.
“Look at you, all proud of your dad.”
“I might not have his name, but at least I’ve got him.” Puck shrugs and turns to Santana with a serious expression, “’Tana, he asked me if there was a certain cause that I’d like him to have a charity game for.”
“Yeah?” Santana inhales in anticipation, “What are you going to say?”
“I was thinking something with orphans?” Puck lowers his voice. It was a sensitive subject even though it’d been almost eight years.
“Oh.” Santana releases a shaky breath.
“I just remember…when what happened, happened. There was this time where I didn’t know if you’d be suddenly taken away from me to live with some fucking strangers.” Puck gets out of his chair and kneels in front of Santana. “I did research and stuff, went on the internet and everything.”
Santana laughs out and shakes her head.
“It was some scary shit, San. The stuff I saw about orphaned teenagers, you know?” Puck picks up Santana’s hand and turns it over to look at the inside of her wrist, and the scarred flesh that he knew was there. “You burned yourself rescuing me when I was first learning to ride. Didn’t even think about not doing anything, not even the heat of the muffler stopped you, all you were focused on was getting that bike off of me.”
“Ohana means family.” Santana sniffles with a smile and winks.
“Dude, I’m totally not Stitch.”
“You totally are, Puckasaurus.” Santana run her fingers through Puck’s tightly cropped hair.
“Wrong fucking island, anyway. Dad’s from New Zealand, completely different language.”
“I know that.” Santana smacks Puck on the side of his head, “It’s fun to tease you though.
“I was trying to be all serious an’ shit.”
“I’m sorry. I know. Okay, go on.”
“No. You’ve ruined it. I’m done.” Puck leans back and sits on the ground.
“No, really, come on Puck.” She pulls at his arm, “I’m sorry. You know I’m working on my defense mechanism.”
“Okay.” Puck sighs, “Whānau means family, family means no one gets left behind,” he winks. “So, I wasn’t about to let you get taken away from me.”
“What were you going to do?” Santana moves down from the chair and sits on Puck’s lap.
“I got all the information printed, forms and shit, filled out as much as I could and I was going to get Ma to adopt you.”
“You weren’t.” Santana leans back to look him in the eye.
“Totally was.” Puck wraps his arms around her, “I marked a date I was going to talk to my mom about it. Literally the day before I was going to ask Ma, the word came through about Schue being your Godfather.”
Santana having a Godfather had never come up while her parents were alive. She knew that Schue and her parents were close, but she never knew how close until Schue came to talk to her that day. The ink barely had time to dry on the legal forms signing her into his guardianship, before he was at the Puckerman’s house to tell her. Santana had been staying with Puck and his mom; it hurt less than going home and having to face reality.
“I remember tripping the fuck out.” Santana rests her head on Puck’s shoulder.
“Yeah, mostly ‘cause he didn’t tell us anything until it happened.”
“Yeah, but I get it now.”
“So, I’m going to tell Arana to play a match for orphans or whatever.”
“Look at you, being all sweet n shit.”
“Figured the Puckerman Bachelor Fund wouldn’t go over as well,” Puck shrugs.
“You’re an idiot.” Santana rests her head against his shoulder and looks at the skyline as the purple fades into black.
“I’ve got a race comin’ up.” Puck squeezes Santana closer in anticipation of her trying to move away.
“Puck.”
“I want you there.”
“Yeah? Well, I want you to quit that shit.” Santana crosses her arms around her chest.
“You know it’s not that easy, San.”
“Learn from my fucking mistakes before life makes you learn, asshole.”
“Hey, someone needs to live enough for the both of us.”
“It’s the ‘you no longer living’ thing I’m thinking about, tungane.” Santana scowls.
“Shit, look at you bringing out the big guns.” Puck hugs Santana closer, “Damn, you’re better than my mother when it comes to the guilt.”
“Well, I learned from the master.”
“Remind me to stop letting you hang out with my mom.” Puck laughs.
Arana had flown Puck out to New Zealand for his sixteenth birthday to spend the summer with him and learn all about his Whakapapa, or genealogy (essentially, if broken down into crudest definitions). From the minute Santana and Sheila picked Puck up at the airport, Puck wouldn’t shut up about all these new words he learned (amongst other things) and insisted on teaching Santana. They spent a good portion of the following year only talking to each other in that language, which quite successfully frustrated their friends, family and teachers. They don’t use it much anymore, but Santana always pulls out ‘tungane’ when she wants to emphasize her and Puck’s bond, when she feels he needs to be reminded that he’s her brother. It might not be by blood, but they’re family just the same.
“I’ll try, it’s all I can promise”
“Do or do not. There is no try.”
“Okay Yoda, this mean my lucky charm will be at my race?”
“Fine, but I can’t promise how long I’ll last.”
Puck lets out a whoop of joy and squeezes Santana closer in his arms.
“Today has been too fucking long.” Santana sighs as she leans against Puck.
“Nah. Today was just right for the amount of things you needed to accomplish.”
“Look at you being all zen-like.” Santana chuckles and yawns at the same time.
“I’ve been known to have my moments of brilliance.”
“Any brilliance you might have, came from me.”
“Maybe, but it goes both ways.”
“M’sleepy,” Santana curls her body into Puck’s and rests her head against his chest.
“Want me to sing it?”
“Mmm,” Santana nods.
Puck starts to sing, his voice soft and heartfelt. It’s a song he’s sung to Santana so many times he’s lost count, the original intention behind singing it has changed, but the lines still ring true to him. Especially his favorite verse, “n’ if I had a million founds of chances, I would spend ‘em all on us. N’ if I had a million dollars and cents to spend it wildly, I would spend it all on something I could trust.”
He softly sings the song until he’s sure that Santana is fully asleep in his arms. With her dreams regularly featuring nightmares and flashbacks, Santana was prone to falling asleep in random places, especially when in his arms. Puck finishes the song in a whisper while he stands up, cradling her in his arms. He carries her downstairs, lying her down in her bed, before crawling in behind her. The only way they had found that she’d sleep through a whole night.
“Night sis,” Puck whispers before kissing her on the crown of her head and going to sleep.
next
Pairing(s): Brittana with a side of Puck/Quinn and a heavy dose of the broship of Pucktana
Rating: Mature
Words: 51353
Summary: Life in Huntington Beach has been a rollercoaster for Santana Lopez, but she's finally finding her balance and learning how to move on and forward. Agreeing to give a free surf lesson might just be the best decision of her life. (Alternate Universe fic)
AN: First off, I need to thank Rockinrye. This fic would never have been written if it weren't for her and it certainly wouldn't have been finished if it weren't for her constantly whipp...er cheering me on. Extra thanks to Slush and Nash for their beta help. Any errors are purely mine, feel free to tell me about them. Extra extra thanks to those of you on here who cheered me on along the way with the posts I made. I love y'all. (as per usual, if you think it sucks, let me know...the same for if you like it. lol) ♥ Crossposted to AO3
I made a playlist for this along the way, you can check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL082317392E942F98
But whilst writing I was mostly listening/watching Sipping Jetstreams / Montaj / Intersection / insert surf film here, so any of those soundtracks work too. ;)
Whatever it is you’re looking for - beauty, enlightenment, salvation, danger, or just to disappear - this will only be a fraction of what you find. - Taylor Steele, Sipping Jetstreams
Tires squealing, heart racing, she feels the rush of adrenaline shoot through her veins as wind and rain collide against her. The rain pelts harder the faster she goes. She looks back to see where her competitor is and finds them way behind. She’s got this in the bag. She’ll pull five grand easily tonight for this cakewalk. She brings her head forward to finish the quarter mile, but it’s too late to react. Skidding tires, wet asphalt tearing through her jeans and leather, she’s tumbling over and over. No longer knowing which way is up; she collides with something hard and feels a sharp pain before everything fades to black.
Santana Lopez wakes up on the floor of her bedroom. The arm she landed on is throbbing, she feels like shit and wants to throw a shoe at her alarm. She pushes herself up, favoring her left side, and walks across the room to turn off the incessant drum and bass beats of Current Value’s Peace coming from her speakers. Santana undocks her phone and checks the surf report -- on days like these it doesn’t matter, she’ll be out on those waves no matter what, but she likes knowing what she’ll be in for. The report suggests decent waves, about three to four feet that are nothing spectacular, but better than sitting on a lake with a stormy mind.
She makes her bed, listening to the waves that are calling her through her window, and does some arm stretches. Raising and lowering, curling and extending, simple things that her doctor told her to do on the days her arm acts up. Santana puts on the bottom half of her wetsuit, it fitting like it’s brand suggests, before stepping into a pair of magenta board shorts and pulling on a heather grey sweatshirt over her head. She grabs a hair tie and loosely ties her long black hair into a ponytail as she heads down the stairs.
Santana passes through the kitchen, turning on lights and appliances as she heads to the back door. She opens it to find a tall man with wavy blonde hair and green eyes waiting for her.
“Five by, S?” The man asks, though he already knows the answer based on what Santana’s wearing. He follows her into the kitchen while putting on a brown apron with LoCoRo written in white on the front.
“Not today, Schue.” Santana lets out a lopsided smile before continuing, “Gonna get a session in before my appointment with Doc.”
“Sounds good.” Schue starts the brewing process of the typical morning coffees that keep the regulars of Lopez Coffee Roasting coming back for more and the new people falling in love at first taste. “What’s the LoCo taste of the day S?”
“I’m feelin’ the Costa Rican, let’s give ‘em a jolt.” Santana places some bread dough into the brick oven at the back of the kitchen. “You hooking up with Emma yet?”
“Santana!” Schue barks out a laugh, “No, not yet. You know she’s got some old fashioned ideals about these things.”
“Yeah, yeah, Schue.” Santana places some pastries into the regular oven before turning and looking at Schue with a serious expression, “You know, William, if you were gay, it’d be okay.”
“Why must I be the first person to see you in the mornings?”
“Lots of people are gay, I’m half gay and everyone still loves me. I’m just saying…”
“Go! Just go surf already, you clearly need to.” Schue throws his towel at Santana, hitting her in the face.
“Oh, how convenient, you tell me to leave when everything is ready. Couldn’t have done this earlier?” Santana throws the towel back at Schue, who is shaking his head. “Okay, okay, I’m out. Call me if you need me?”
“Yeah, like I didn’t run this place for a couple of years without your supervision or anything.”
“Shut it, old man.” Santana waves as she walks out the back door of the kitchen. She grabs her surfboard from the garage, before heading across the highway that prevented her from having beachfront property.
Santana will never understand how her parents lucked out on such prime real estate, a mixed use building right across the Pacific Coast Highway from the beach. There were some drawbacks to living in Huntington Beach, especially during tourist season, but the perks definitely outweighed the cons. Perks like being less than five minutes, walking, to the stairs that led down to the soft sand that somehow travels with her wherever she goes.
Another perk was that her best friend lived next door and was usually waiting for her at the top of those stairs.
“That iP4 dock is amazing.”
“I fucking hate that song.” Santana nods in greeting to the tall and muscular boy with a tightly cropped mohawk.
“It wakes your ass up though.” He takes Santana’s surfboard from her and proceeds to carry it with his down the stairs. “I swear you’d sleep through a plane landing on your house.”
“Didn’t expect to see you, Puck.”
“Yeah, well, when you don’t wake up until halfway through that song, and those fucking drums kick in, I think you wake up the entire neighborhood.” Puck playfully nudges Santana with his shoulder, “’sides, when you get that deep into it, I know it’s an emergency session day.”
“I’m that predictable, huh?” Santana quickly removes her sweatshirt, throwing it down onto the sand.
“Just to me, babe.
“You just like the free show.” Santana begins zipping up the top of her wetsuit, slowly encasing her naked torso.
“That never hurts.” Puck winks and hands Santana her surfboard. “If you’d rather be solo, I’ll go down the beach some.”
“No. You can distract me with your horrible life choices that I’ll never make.”
“Again. I think you forgot to add, again, to the end of that sentence, ‘Tana.” Puck laughs.
It’s easy enough to paddle out into the water; they were getting in at the tail end of low tide, which made wading out effortless compared to competing with 4ft and higher waves. Not that Santana, or Puck for that matter, ever let size get in their way. They’d both prefer to save their energy for riding the waves, not fighting them.
“If we’re lucky we should see some shoulder-high sets.”
“I saw that too, but that’s hours from now. Gotta give mama some time to wake up first, you know?” Santana strokes the top of the ocean water with her hand.
“I don’t know, ‘Tana, I kinda like my women fired up.” Puck smirks and Santana laughs before slapping some water in his direction.
“Careful Puckerman, wouldn’t want the lady to think you don’t respect her.”
“Oh, no way, man. There’s only three ladies I respect with the proper amount of fear and two of them are here right now, easily within killing distance of me.”
“Yeah, that’s right and your mom is just across the street.” Santana laughs again and Puck shakes his head.
They lapse into a silence, just letting the waves lull them into a peaceful trance. It’s easy for Santana to forget all of her worries when sitting on that vast ocean; she seems so small in comparison. Sometimes it’s the only place where Santana can properly sort out her mind, where all her distractions slip away and she can focus. She doesn’t have to think about being on a wave, in fact that’s the last thing she’d want to do. No, she likes that her body just knows what to do as she drops in and guides that board down an open face. It’s refreshing to be able to forget everything and be fully in a moment, where everything seems so clear, no decisions, only actions.
It’s in the lull between sets where Santana gets left alone with her thoughts. Sometimes it’s helpful to just sit and think, work out any issues that need resolving. Days like today, when she’s woken up from a particularly vivid flashback, are when Santana’s especially thankful for Puck’s presence. He’s always able to provide a distraction.
“Tell me a story?”
“Got another letter from my Dad.” Puck looks at Santana with a sardonic smile.
“Really? How are things in New Zealand?”
“Mom still hasn’t forgiven me for the tattoo, by the way. It’s been eight years and she still curses his ‘archaic Maori traditions’ every time I bring a letter over.” Puck lets out a chuckle.
“Maybe you should stop bringing them over?” Santana smirks; she knows that’ll never happen. Felicia Puckerman likes to pretend that she can’t stand Puck’s father, but it’s easy to tell how the woman hangs on every word of his letters to their son.
“Right.” Puck shakes his head and brings a hand to his right shoulder, “Still can’t believe she didn’t appreciate it when I told her that it was the shoulder or the face.”
“Yeah, that was one of your finer moments.” Santana leans over and smacks the back of Puck’s head.
“She cursed the hell out of Arana for that one.” Puck smiles then continues, “I don’t think he’d really let them tattoo my face, it’s too good looking as it is.”
“Yeah, cheekbones that could cut glass my friend.”
“This face had you calling out my name at one time.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t your face.”
“Fuck you.” Puck barks out a laugh.
Their conversation gets interrupted by a new set of waves coming in, a nice clean set that comes to Santana’s chest. She loses herself in the rhythm of the waves and the sounds of them breaking. Time seems endless and Santana loses track of it until she notices that the sun is visible in the sky and no longer skirting the horizon. She’s spent enough time out on those waves to tell time by the angle of the sun in the sky, but she checks her clunky white waterproof watch and it verifies that she’ll be running late for her appointment by the time she gets back to shore.
“Shit, I’m late for Doc. See ya later loser.”
“Send my love to the Doc.” Puck winks.
“Whatever. Enjoy the rest of the session. See ya tonight?” Santana begins to paddle to shore and picks up a guppy wave to help her in as she hears Pucks response in the positive. She always appreciates things to look forward to on days like these.
-x-
Santana enters the clinic with a light sheen of sweat adorning her skin. She’d taken a moment to use the bottom of her white tank top to wipe off some of the sweat from the bike ride over, but it’s always the stationary stuff after a ride that brings on the most sweat.
“You’re late.” A woman with long blonde hair and hazel eyes, who is wearing a light blue polo with a dark blue HBPT embroidered in the upper left corner, the name Quinn in white underneath, and khaki shorts, greets Santana with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, sorry, Q.” Santana gives a lopsided smile and a shrug.
“Caught out on the waves again?” Quinn asks and, at Santana’s impish grin and nod, continues speaking, “Let’s get that arm stretched before your tests.”
“Thanks, Q.”
“Leave it to you to exhaust yourself before the tests that indicate if you need to keep coming back or not.” Quinn shakes her head as she leads Santana to the therapy room, or gym as Santana refers to it. There are weight machines strewn throughout the room, not that she got to use them all those years ago when she first got here. It seemed to take Santana ages before she was even allowed to use a resistance band. She remembers how hard it was to train her arm how to work again, it was frustrating as hell, but at least she still had her arm.
“Flashback again, huh?” Quinn gestures to a chair for Santana to sit in.
“When did I get so fucking predictable?”
“Probably the day your femur tried to escape from your body.” Quinn grabs Santana’s arm and starts guiding it through some stretches.
“Yeah,” Santana grimaces, but doesn’t make any other sign of pain. “It’s a wicked sexy scar though.”
Quinn looks down at the scar that practically wraps around the entirety of Santana’s tanned bicep. She’s grown accustomed to seeing it after all these years of helping Santana heal, but she never fully knew how Santana would handle the mental aspect of healing. Most females tend to treat their scars like something to be ashamed of, something to hide, but not to Santana. Apparently it’s a war wound, a visible achievement for surviving something horrendous.
“Definitely more badass than a shoulder tattoo.” Quinn winks and helps a laughing Santana stand up.
“I’m totally telling him you said that.”
“Like Puck needs his ego stroked any.” Quinn leads Santana to a room with monitors with wires and various other testing instruments.
“He needs something stroked all right.” Santana winks and receives a slap to her arm, “Ouch, bitch! I’ve got to test that arm for perfection in a minute here. It’s not my fault you two are pretending like you’re not dating.”
“What?” Quinn squeaks out.
“He told me to say ‘hi’ and we both know it wasn’t a message for Dr. Hummel.” Santana rolls her eyes.
“You sure? I’m a fine specimen of man.” A tall man with brunette hair and bright blue eyes says as he enters the room.
“Sometimes I wish Puck were gay, Doc, but I think you’d be too much man for him as it is.”
“You ready to pass some exams, Santana?”
Santana looks to Quinn who gives a smile and a slight nod.
“Sure thing, Doc. Let me make this test my bitch.”
Santana wasn’t really nervous about this final round of tests; she knew that she was as healed as physical therapy was supposed to get her. It’d been four years. Four slow years full of ups and downs, mostly ups. Even if the downs consisted of explosions of emotions and tears. Looking back at how she acted, Santana’s especially appreciative of having Puck and Quinn in her life.
Puck had provided the stability, focus and determination to make sure that Santana healed, physically at least, from her injury. He insisted that she’d get full functionality of her left arm again and made sure to be there for the daily exercises she needed to perform. Their relationship, prior to the accident, had been extremely unusual but solid. Friends with benefits didn’t come close to the connection they shared after having grown up together. The process of regaining movement in her arm, after making sure that the tendons and muscles healed as solidly as the bone, had changed Santana and Puck’s relationship permanently. Their relationship had grown even stronger, but the romantic aspect ended. They realized that Santana needed Puck more than a no strings attached situation would afford. Santana is grateful for Puck, who pulled her through the toughest and most frustrating moments of her rehabilitation. The moments where it seemed like she’d never heal, that she’d never be able to use her arm again, not the way it was meant to be used at least, Puck dragged her kicking and screaming past the obstacle. He never let her give up.
Quinn was the inspiration, constantly telling Santana that her arm would heal so well that she’d be swinging baseball bats at Puck’s head in no time. Four years ago, Quinn had just been an intern at the clinic getting the final units she needed for her degree. It could’ve gotten off to a rocky start; Santana’s not the easiest to get along with on the best of days. Being injured and depressed only proved to make her more stubborn and irritable, but Quinn seemed to know exactly how to manage Santana. It was in Santana’s first truly horrible therapy session, where she just wanted to give up and not even try to do what Quinn was asking, when Quinn simply said with her soft and gentle voice, “God damn it, Santana, if you fuck up my internship, I’ll break your other arm.” By the time the shock (and the laughter) wore off, Santana realized that she’d successfully completed her tasks and gained a friend.
Quinn provided a quiet and constant belief that Santana would heal completely. She also became a confidant once Santana no longer needed Puck at her sessions. Which is why, when Santana had seemingly reached a plateau way before her body should have, Quinn suggested that Santana begin to surf again. The idea came with its own bundle of issues, but Quinn talked Santana through most of them and eventually got Puck on board to help convince Santana.
It certainly wasn’t easy at first. Santana had started with just going out in the ocean, when that stopped wearing her out, she started a slow swim in the shallow waters, she took things one step at a time (moving at a tortoise’s pace) until it got her to where she is today. Surfing’s her salvation, Puck’s her constant and Quinn knew exactly what buttons to push to get Santana there. She’s not completely healed yet, but this test should prove that she doesn’t need to keep coming in regularly for treatments. Santana doesn’t kid herself about how far she’s come and she knows she wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for her two best friends.
“That should be it, Miss Lopez.” Dr. Hummel unhooks some wires and pushes some buttons on his tablet.
“So quick?” Santana looks at Quinn, who is leaning against the massage table against the wall.
“It’s been at least an hour San, you totally zoned out there.” Quinn laughs, “Should we have tested your head for a concussion or something?”
“Ladies, at least try to keep it professional.” Dr. Hummel makes a valid attempt to look at the women sternly, but his lip quivers at trying to repress a grin.
“Pssh, whatever Doc. I saw you at Quinn’s graduation party.”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion as to what you’re implying Santana.”
“You’re right, Doc. You certainly weren’t a bit tipsy…”
“…and handsy.” Quinn adds, nodding to Santana to continue.
“Asking that one surfer with the trouty lips if his hair was made from sunbeams.” Santana smirks.
“Or asking my police officer friend, Karofsky, if the gun in his pants was loaded.” Quinn nods.
“I’d say something about that really cute boy in the blazer and tie, but I still don’t understand why you kept calling him Lion and clicking your heels together.” Santana scrunches her eyebrows and looks to Quinn who shrugs.
“You’ve been holding all this in for this precise moment, haven’t you?” Dr. Hummel sighs.
“Yup. I haven’t even started about that musically inclined one, the boy with the long hair who dressed like he was the long lost member of Aerosmith? And how you kept offering him a completely different kind of microphone.” Santana grins as she stands up and wraps her right arm around Dr. Hummel.
“Need I remind you ladies of two things? Quinn, you still have to work here when Santana is finished with her treatments. You’re about to be promoted. So, you should be careful around those with power, maybe?” Dr. Hummel raises an eyebrow at Quinn’s gasped ‘Promotion?’ He then turns his focus to Santana, “And you, you trouble maker. I haven’t even sent your tests in yet. I have all the power right now. I can change your results any way I see fit.”
“I love ya Doc, but what’s the worst that you could do to me? Make me keep coming back to see my friends and get a work out in the process?” Santana chuckles.
“Well, I tried. I really should get going to more important patients anyway.” Dr. Hummel winks before exiting the room.
“I think he’s going to miss you.” Quinn comes over and plays with a strand of Santana’s hair that’d come loose during testing. “A lot of people, well, they take this too seriously or think he’s got too much power over their lives. You see him as a peer. It really makes the work easier.”
“Well, I’m surfing now. I’m bound to sprain something.”
“Speaking of, an early session? Are you still having nightmares, Santana?”
“Been having nightmares since I was sixteen, Q.” Santana shrugs, “I’ll take flashbacks to my accident over nightmares about my parents, any day.”
“You need to deal with these things, San.” Quinn moves her hand to Santana’s shoulder, “Move on so that you’re not carrying so much weight.”
“You need to mind your damn business.” Santana scowls.
Quinn sighs, “You are my business. You’ve become a sister to me. I’ve taken care of your body. Now listen to me about your mind.” Quinn squeezes her hand and Santana hangs her head.
“Sorry, Q. It’s one of those days.”
“Yeah, I know.” Quinn brings her other hand to Santana’s arm and starts massaging. “I’ll give you a quick massage while telling you of a proposition I have for you.”
“A proposition? Won’t Puck get Jealous?” Santana lifts her head and grins at Quinn.
“Shut up. It’s a possible work connection thing.”
“Work? You know LoCoRo could feed and house an army if I needed, right?”
“Yes, I do know, though the way you dress would imply otherwise.” Quinn rolls her eyes.
“Just because I like my holy jeans and well worn Dunks, doesn’t mean I’m a bum, Q.”
“How you ever get any action is beyond me.”
“You’ve seen my wicked sexy scar, right?” Santana grins. “Chicks dig scars.”
“Anyway,” Quinn laughs. “You aren’t the only patient I’ve befriended over the years.”
“You bitch!”
“Shut it, Quasimodo.” Quinn moves her hands to Santana’s other arm, “She’s a stunt woman slash stunt coordinator, who originally came to me because she broke her leg killing ninjas on some Tarantino film.”
“Kill Bill?”
“Whatever. She’s about to start work on this action film or something and was asking if I knew any surfers who’d be willing to teach her.”
“Teach her? Like, some tricks?”
“Teach her how to surf.” Quinn rolls her eyes. Santana breaks out in laughter. “Yeah, apparently that’s the reaction she’s been getting from all of the ‘pro-surfer sources’ that are usually used for this sort of thing? I don’t know.”
“She wants to plan a surf stunt having never surfed before?”
“Yes. It’s, like, an indie film and this director wants something he’s never seen before, which is why he went with her instead of someone with experience.” Quinn moves to stand in front of Santana, “Listen, she’s really sweet, Santana. I’d like to be able to tell her that you’ll help. She’s a really fast learner; she got the hang of the really difficult movements here, really easily. So, just…do it for me okay?”
“I don’t…Quinn I don’t know the first thing about teaching someone how to surf.”
“Well, how did you originally learn?”
“My dad.” Santana shrugs, “It’s why I stopped.”
“Oh, well.” Quinn pauses and runs a hand through her hair, “Maybe this will be good for you too, a way to help yourself by helping someone else?”
Santana goes silent for a moment. She picks at the threads at the hole on the knee of her jeans. Santana feels the weight of the moment and how her decision right now might decide her future potential for healing. With that in mind, and with a hope of getting over her life’s tragedies, she speaks, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”
“Great. I’ll let her know. Thanks Santana, I owe you for this.”
-x-
Santana walks her BMX into the garage. She takes off her helmet and shakes out her hair as she places it on a shelf. Santana catches her breath for a minute. The clinic is only fifteen miles away, but the afternoon had warmed to a temperature hotter than Southern California’s norm and it took a bit more effort than Santana was expecting. Especially considering that she hadn’t eaten anything all day except a Cliff Bar on the way to the Doc. By the time she walks through the back door into the kitchen, she needs a shower, but she’s no longer sweating. She checks in with Tina to see if there’s anything that needs immediate attention before heading up and taking a quick shower.
The shower feels wonderful after the long ride and she comes out feeling refreshed. She’s got this shampoo bar that smells like jasmine and the smell of it instantly shifts her mood into a happier territory. She’d found it accidentally.
Actually, Santana found it in the shower of one of her one-night stands, back when she used to do the random hook up thing. She no longer does that, or even wants a relationship right now. Quinn’s kind of gotten it into her thick skull that Santana needs to focus on taking care of herself. Santana knows she’s got a lot of baggage, that’s why she’s been avoiding it after all, but she really appreciates the shape her body is in now. She’s in the best shape of her life and it’s because she listened to Quinn. It’s becoming easier, knowing how to take care of herself the proper way, instead of losing herself in adrenaline rushes and hookups. It’s with that knowledge that she knows there’s much further to go. Santana doesn’t regret the way she did things in the past, it was keeping her alive, but she’s thankful to have survived it and to have come out of it with only a scar and a wickedly awesome shampoo. If Santana could remember the chick’s name, she’d probably send a thank you note.
Quinn would probably smack her for that one.
Santana dresses in a fresh pair of slightly baggy jeans and a green plaid button down shirt, she slips on her Rainbows and goes back downstairs to the shop.
Lopez Coffee Roasting is like every other coffee place in the way that they serve coffee and have tables, chairs, free wifi, and pastries galore. Except the seats are actually comfortable and the staff encourages customers to stay as long as they want, even when the place is packed, which is something that usually happens every two hours. Santana’s never figured out how that happens, but it’s like clockwork and it’s been happening ever since she was a little guppy riding around on her Papi’s shoulders. There are plenty of power outlets for the people with their laptops, which is something the college kids are constantly praising her for. There’s a huge purple couch in front of an enormous window at the front of the shop that looks out at the beach, it’s just about the most comfortable thing in all of existence and if it wasn’t such a staple of the shop Santana would’ve made Puck move it upstairs by now. Their bookshelves actually have books in them, and the most comfortable seats in the house have been set up to have the best lighting for a good long read.
It’s the little things about the shop that make Santana proud to be part of this legacy. She loves that LoCoRo has the typical things that every coffee house has, but the things that stand out the most are the reasons why people insist on coming back and bringing their friends. Things like constantly brewing fresh coffee. Fresh breaded goods being baked in a wood oven. Santana asked Schue about it once, how it’s possible that they’ve gotten things as right as they have and he simply told her, ‘we care and we actually listen, when you do that, it comes naturally.’
Santana knows her parents encouraged that, an open sharing environment for the shop. Like Tina Cohen-Chang, their resident tech genius slash barista. She came up with the brilliant idea to have free phone chargers set up around the shop ‘because I know I’m constantly forgetting mine’ and Santana’s seen how that’s brought in a new breed of customer. Tina also came up with this impressive app that allows people to order from their seat in the shop or to have it ready when they came in. Santana’s never taken business classes, she’s fairly sure she wouldn’t understand half of the terms in the books telling her how she should be running things, but it’s easy to understand when Schue’s talking about ‘productivity being improved by Tina’s app’. Santana would just call it ‘less of a clusterfuck at the register.’
“William, why are we watching Endless Summer II again?” Santana walks over to Schue who’s in the middle of making a fresh batch of tea for one of their customers.
“There are multiple films? All I see is some tiny person riding the same wave over and over and over and over.” Schue smiles and takes the tea out to the customer, Lauren, who’s sitting on the purple couch.
Santana goes over to the rack next to the entertainment system and picks out a DVD with a white case and Montaj written in grey and orange. She takes Endless Summer II out of the player and pops the new disc in. Santana’s placing the cases back on the rack when the beats of the background music come over the shop’s speakers. She turns around to check that all of the flat screen T.V.s are working properly and all showing the air bubbles that start the movie. This was one of the things she enjoyed most about her shop. As far as she knew, LoCoRo is the only coffee shop with the look of a surf shop. The T.V.s and soundtrack went perfectly with the surfboards as tables and benches, the bamboo wood floors and tiki hut styled interior. Stickers were allowed to be stuck on nearly any surface, which only helped the shop stand out as ‘not your typical coffee joint.’
“Aw, shit. Slopes must be here!” A voice called out from the opposite end of the shop.
“Quit your yelling, Rutherford.” Santana turned around and tipped her straw fedora at him, but didn’t smile. No, Matt Rutherford would never be on the receiving end of one of her smiles, not again.
“Want me to kick him out?” Tina whispers as she’s passing by with a fresh Cinful pizza.
“Nah s’cool.” Santana shakes her head, “Can’t fuck with me here.”
“Okay.” Tina smiles and walks away.
There was a distinct difference in the styles of films that Santana shows compared to Schue, who’s more traditional. Santana gets it, the documentaries and narrative films are more appealing to a wide variety of customers and don’t distract the readers with their soundtracks. However, it’s late afternoon and even though they’re a coffee shop, Santana needs a little bit more than coffee to get past that late afternoon yearning for a nap. Which calls for exciting aerials and thumping beats, if a couple of scantily clad (or topless) chicks show up in the films, then so be it. The clientele never complains and the ones that do wouldn’t have come back anyway. Besides, they’re right across from the beach, it’s not like people wouldn’t be seeing this stuff if they looked out the window.
“I look forward to Matt’s reaction when Stripper starts playing.” Schue shakes his head and grins.
“Always a classic. I wish I knew he was here when I put it in.”
“Santana Lopez, always up for embarrassing her friends.” Schue places his hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, he’s Puck’s friend, if you’d even call it that. I can’t help it that I’m hot and everyone wants me.” Santana shrugs.
“How was PT?” Schue asks as they move to the stools behind the cash registers.
“I kinda zoned out during the tests.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like, I don’t know, it caught up with me, how much I’ve been through?” Santana lifts her fedora and runs her other hand through her hair. “I wouldn’t even be able to do what I’m doing right now, if it weren’t for Puck and Quinn riding my ass all the time.” Santana turns to look at Schue, who is quietly listening. She bites her lip before continuing, “Or you being here, taking care of everything so that I didn’t have to.”
“You’ve had enough to deal with, Santana.”
“Yeah, no. I know that now. I think that…before, with my parents. I was in shock, right? I couldn’t think, but I felt all this pressure. Like, I knew that I suddenly had all this responsibility I wasn’t fucking ready for.” She picks up one of the tiny umbrellas they jokingly put into their lemonades and iced teas, “But now, I don’t know. I still feel that pressure, maybe even more so now, but I understand it and why it’s there and that it’s something I need to manage.”
“That’s good, Santana. I’m glad to hear it.” Schue smiles and squeezes her shoulder.
“I’d say that twenty three is a bit old to start realizing that I should be a responsible adult, but then I look at Puckerman…” Santana winks at Schue who laughs.
They sit there in silence, taking in the shop before them, Santana watching the video playing on the screens. This is one of the things she’s always liked about Schue, that she could sit next to him and not be expected to talk or pay attention. She could just sit and zone out if she needed.
“Your parents would be proud of the woman you’re becoming, Santana.” Schue says quietly, “They were always proud of their little firecracker, but this person you are now…the person you’re on your way to becoming? I think it’s more than they could’ve imagined.”
Santana’s eyebrow furrows, she licks her lips before letting out a shaky breath. She nods at Schue before standing up and heading over to the DVD rack to get the next movie ready. She’s looking, but not seeing anything. All she can concentrate on is the warmth that’s inside of her that she’s never felt before and how she knows that it’s a good thing. That everything will be okay, eventually. She’s so focused on her inner ramblings that she stops paying attention to her surroundings and gets surprised by arms wrapping around her waist and hugging her from behind. There’s only one person who would ever attempt that with her and after she gets over the momentary panic, she notices the smell of his aftershave.
“Hey, Puck.” Santana leans her head back against his shoulder and looks up at his face.
“Hey, babe. You up for some grub?” Puck squeezes her tighter, his way of letting her know that he noticed her zoning out. It’s one of the many things she loves about Puck, his ability to read her.
“Starving.” Santana turns and nods to Schue as she and Puck head upstairs.
Santana doesn’t know when the tradition started. She just knows that, come dinner time on a day where she’s had a particularly rough wakeup call, Puck will show up with her favorite fish tacos and a case of Coronas, and they’ll just sit on the roof and watch the sun set into the ocean.
Puck places his paper bag full of goodies onto the small wooden table between the two sun-bleached and weather-beaten Adirondack chairs that he and Santana settle onto. The sky is just starting to turn periwinkle and Santana is suddenly thirsty for the ice-cold beer that Puck is handing her. It’s like a placebo effect; she doesn’t even need to drink it to feel the comfort this tradition brings.
“Rutherford was here today.” Santana swallows the ice cold liquid that’s tinted with lime.
“Shit, I told him to stay away.”
“Nah, it’s cool. He didn’t even come up to me, just yelled across the shop.” Santana shrugs as she takes a bite of her taco, the various flavors mix together deliciously in her mouth and she practically purrs.
“Yeah, but he’s in my crew. He needs to listen to my orders.”
“I can handle myself. Stop trying to send my customers away.”
“Whatever.” Puck flicks at a piece of cabbage that dropped out of his taco.
“Everyone knows I’m off limits. I’m off the table, no longer a commodity, yadda yadda. Slopes is retired.”
“I know, ‘Tana.” Puck exhales a lung full of air, trying to fight his frustration, “They still talk about you all the time though.”
“Damn right they talk. I was fucking epic!” Santana rolls up the foil her tacos came in and throws the wadded up ball at Puck.
“Bitch.”
“Slut.”
“Cunt.”
“Dick.”
“I’m glad we have such mature and intelligent conversations.” Santana grins.
The sun sets, causing the sky to appear as if it were on fire. Bursts of red and orange reflect off the sea before them. The temperature seems to drop about ten degrees in an instant, as if the sun had taken all warmth with it.
Santana puts on the big blue sweatshirt that she picked up from her apartment on her way to the roof. “So, you got another letter from Arana?” Santana asks as she opens up another beer.
“Yeah,” Puck smiles and nods. “Just checking in, really. He’s doing this rugby charity league thing.”
“Where he freely gives out black eyes?”
“Funny. Nah, like, he’s got some of his former All Black teammates and others from various teams and leagues, to have all-star games? Like, people pay to watch these dudes play and all the money goes to various charities. Winning team decides, but they’re all good causes.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“Yeah,” Puck nods and looks down.
“Look at you, all proud of your dad.”
“I might not have his name, but at least I’ve got him.” Puck shrugs and turns to Santana with a serious expression, “’Tana, he asked me if there was a certain cause that I’d like him to have a charity game for.”
“Yeah?” Santana inhales in anticipation, “What are you going to say?”
“I was thinking something with orphans?” Puck lowers his voice. It was a sensitive subject even though it’d been almost eight years.
“Oh.” Santana releases a shaky breath.
“I just remember…when what happened, happened. There was this time where I didn’t know if you’d be suddenly taken away from me to live with some fucking strangers.” Puck gets out of his chair and kneels in front of Santana. “I did research and stuff, went on the internet and everything.”
Santana laughs out and shakes her head.
“It was some scary shit, San. The stuff I saw about orphaned teenagers, you know?” Puck picks up Santana’s hand and turns it over to look at the inside of her wrist, and the scarred flesh that he knew was there. “You burned yourself rescuing me when I was first learning to ride. Didn’t even think about not doing anything, not even the heat of the muffler stopped you, all you were focused on was getting that bike off of me.”
“Ohana means family.” Santana sniffles with a smile and winks.
“Dude, I’m totally not Stitch.”
“You totally are, Puckasaurus.” Santana run her fingers through Puck’s tightly cropped hair.
“Wrong fucking island, anyway. Dad’s from New Zealand, completely different language.”
“I know that.” Santana smacks Puck on the side of his head, “It’s fun to tease you though.
“I was trying to be all serious an’ shit.”
“I’m sorry. I know. Okay, go on.”
“No. You’ve ruined it. I’m done.” Puck leans back and sits on the ground.
“No, really, come on Puck.” She pulls at his arm, “I’m sorry. You know I’m working on my defense mechanism.”
“Okay.” Puck sighs, “Whānau means family, family means no one gets left behind,” he winks. “So, I wasn’t about to let you get taken away from me.”
“What were you going to do?” Santana moves down from the chair and sits on Puck’s lap.
“I got all the information printed, forms and shit, filled out as much as I could and I was going to get Ma to adopt you.”
“You weren’t.” Santana leans back to look him in the eye.
“Totally was.” Puck wraps his arms around her, “I marked a date I was going to talk to my mom about it. Literally the day before I was going to ask Ma, the word came through about Schue being your Godfather.”
Santana having a Godfather had never come up while her parents were alive. She knew that Schue and her parents were close, but she never knew how close until Schue came to talk to her that day. The ink barely had time to dry on the legal forms signing her into his guardianship, before he was at the Puckerman’s house to tell her. Santana had been staying with Puck and his mom; it hurt less than going home and having to face reality.
“I remember tripping the fuck out.” Santana rests her head on Puck’s shoulder.
“Yeah, mostly ‘cause he didn’t tell us anything until it happened.”
“Yeah, but I get it now.”
“So, I’m going to tell Arana to play a match for orphans or whatever.”
“Look at you, being all sweet n shit.”
“Figured the Puckerman Bachelor Fund wouldn’t go over as well,” Puck shrugs.
“You’re an idiot.” Santana rests her head against his shoulder and looks at the skyline as the purple fades into black.
“I’ve got a race comin’ up.” Puck squeezes Santana closer in anticipation of her trying to move away.
“Puck.”
“I want you there.”
“Yeah? Well, I want you to quit that shit.” Santana crosses her arms around her chest.
“You know it’s not that easy, San.”
“Learn from my fucking mistakes before life makes you learn, asshole.”
“Hey, someone needs to live enough for the both of us.”
“It’s the ‘you no longer living’ thing I’m thinking about, tungane.” Santana scowls.
“Shit, look at you bringing out the big guns.” Puck hugs Santana closer, “Damn, you’re better than my mother when it comes to the guilt.”
“Well, I learned from the master.”
“Remind me to stop letting you hang out with my mom.” Puck laughs.
Arana had flown Puck out to New Zealand for his sixteenth birthday to spend the summer with him and learn all about his Whakapapa, or genealogy (essentially, if broken down into crudest definitions). From the minute Santana and Sheila picked Puck up at the airport, Puck wouldn’t shut up about all these new words he learned (amongst other things) and insisted on teaching Santana. They spent a good portion of the following year only talking to each other in that language, which quite successfully frustrated their friends, family and teachers. They don’t use it much anymore, but Santana always pulls out ‘tungane’ when she wants to emphasize her and Puck’s bond, when she feels he needs to be reminded that he’s her brother. It might not be by blood, but they’re family just the same.
“I’ll try, it’s all I can promise”
“Do or do not. There is no try.”
“Okay Yoda, this mean my lucky charm will be at my race?”
“Fine, but I can’t promise how long I’ll last.”
Puck lets out a whoop of joy and squeezes Santana closer in his arms.
“Today has been too fucking long.” Santana sighs as she leans against Puck.
“Nah. Today was just right for the amount of things you needed to accomplish.”
“Look at you being all zen-like.” Santana chuckles and yawns at the same time.
“I’ve been known to have my moments of brilliance.”
“Any brilliance you might have, came from me.”
“Maybe, but it goes both ways.”
“M’sleepy,” Santana curls her body into Puck’s and rests her head against his chest.
“Want me to sing it?”
“Mmm,” Santana nods.
Puck starts to sing, his voice soft and heartfelt. It’s a song he’s sung to Santana so many times he’s lost count, the original intention behind singing it has changed, but the lines still ring true to him. Especially his favorite verse, “n’ if I had a million founds of chances, I would spend ‘em all on us. N’ if I had a million dollars and cents to spend it wildly, I would spend it all on something I could trust.”
He softly sings the song until he’s sure that Santana is fully asleep in his arms. With her dreams regularly featuring nightmares and flashbacks, Santana was prone to falling asleep in random places, especially when in his arms. Puck finishes the song in a whisper while he stands up, cradling her in his arms. He carries her downstairs, lying her down in her bed, before crawling in behind her. The only way they had found that she’d sleep through a whole night.
“Night sis,” Puck whispers before kissing her on the crown of her head and going to sleep.
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