I've Kind Of Always Had A Thing For You [2/4]
Title: I've Kind Of Always Had A Thing For You [2/4]
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Summary: She thinks that if she could have just one photo session with Rachel Berry, it might just kickstart her career. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe she just wants to spend time with Rachel.
Word Count: 34,000 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
It takes her a full week to drum up the courage to approach Rachel at all. Granted, she switches a shift for Joel because he's got a doctor's appointment to go to with his pregnant girlfriend and Santana's not a bitch. So she misses one morning and works the later shift instead and doesn't see Rachel. And it's busy, as usual. And one day they put her at the register because they're training someone else on bar, so she spends her whole day taking money and processing orders which is like, her least favourite thing to do. Rachel tries to order a raspberry mocha, which is disgusting, so Santana gives her the tip to make it half-sweet or she'll hate it, and Rachel's grateful and says thanks, but that's the extent of the conversation.
Anyway, she could get in shit for what she ends up doing, but she's a pretty awesome employee and she figures the worst that could happen would be she'd get a slap on the wrist or whatever. Basically when Rachel comes in, Santana makes her drink, then says she's going on break and runs out the door.
Okay, so she could seriously get in shit, but.
"Rachel!"
Rachel stops walking and turns around, and the only reason Santana even knew which direction to walk in is because Rachel turns right out the door every day, without fail.
She must look insane running down the street in her fucking apron.
"Hi," Rachel says, all confused. She basically forms it like a question.
Santana takes a deep breath and just goes for it.
"What would a person have to do to get a meeting with you?" she says, all in a rush.
The confusion doesn't ebb away and Rachel just stands there for a second. "A meeting? What would they have to do?"
"Yeah. I mean…" Suddenly, she feels like such a huge asshole, this nobody asking Rachel Berry to look at her friend's work and…It's just really lame and opportunistic, and she is opportunistic, but not like this. This feels almost sleazy and definitely unprofessional. "Never mind." She shakes her head and Rachel furrows her brow. "It's nothing. Really, don't worry about it."
"No, Santana." Then Rachel puts her hand on Santana's arm, and like, fuck. "What are you asking me?"
"I just…I'm sure you get this all the time, but I have this friend who's a dancer. Actually, I have two friends who are dancers. But one is like…He's so talented, and he's totally going to be on Broadway someday, he just doesn't know it, but I feel like if I could…" She stops talking because she sounds like the biggest idiot ever. "This is really inappropriate, isn't it?"
"No," Rachel sort of laughs, shaking her head. "No, it's not. I mean, I do get it all the time, but." Santana thinks, judging by the little grin on Rachel's face, that the woman's joking. "I don't really take meetings, but if you're serious about…"
"I am."
Rachel smiles, despite being interrupted. "I have rehearsal, but…I know it's rude of me to ask you to just wait around, but if you give me your number, I can just let you know when I'm finished and we can…"
"No, that's cool. That's…" Santana smiles and wants to laugh, because god, Rachel's about to take her fucking phone number and it's not even because Santana's working hard to…whatever. Do what she normally does with women.
"I'll text you. I promise!" Rachel calls out as she rushes down the street, and Santana's just completely floored.
Also trying to convince herself that Jake won't be supremely pissed at her for meddling. Or that Mike won't be supremely pissed at her for not doing something like this for him. Honestly, if he wanted to be on Broadway, she would probably have thought to talk to Rachel about him sooner. She just didn't know Jake was a serious actor, too. He's all about working on his craft, and he's going out for tiny little chorus parts or dance roles, and he could be doing more than that. Maybe he just needs a push. Santana's totally confident that he's good enough that talking to Rachel won't make any of them look bad. And really, if there's nothing Rachel can do, or is willing to do, Santana can just not tell Jake she ever did any of this at all.
She goes straight home after work, and she's got this quick shoot to do at a little deli on 15th. They're redoing their menus and got her business card off the bulletin board because she's gotten into the habit of tacking the things up anywhere she can. It's worked out, though, because she's booked a few things just from people cold-calling her, and she's not mad about that. It literally takes her an hour to take photos of the dishes they've prepped for her that they want to feature, and she gets a few of the shop itself, and the exterior. She feels a little like they're too artistic or something, and she wouldn't normally do this, but she shows the owner a few of the pictures on her camera's screen and asks him if he's okay with her taking that direction. He is, so that's great, because she doesn't particularly want to have to reshoot anything, and she really doesn't want him to be disappointed when she brings the photos back to him and he doesn't like them.
Anyway, it all works as a really good distraction from thinking about this meeting with Rachel. Or whatever they're calling it.
Christ, what's she even supposed to wear? Because, yeah, this is business or whatever, but it's also this woman Santana just…She's not in the habit of wanting to look like crap in front of people she's attracted to. And considering Rachel sees her pretty much exclusively in her work uniform, this is one of her only chances to actually come off as attractive in any way. Yeah, her ass looks great in her work pants, but Rachel doesn't see her from behind all that often, you know?
She has these skinny jeans she bought and spent way too much on, but they're her favourites, and a pair of red suede ankle boots that were seriously a steal at the price she paid for them. And she pulls on this black see-through button down over a tight black tank and gives herself a once-over in the full-length mirror she hung over the back of her bathroom door. She looks hot, but she wants to do something different with her hair other than just having it up. She's got good hair but Rachel might not know it.
She's making this way too much about Rachel's opinion of her, rather than her opinion of Jake. But she rationalizes that away by saying she just wants to make a good impression because it'll help his chances, too.
The problem is, the further it gets into the evening the more she starts thinking this thing's never going to happen. She knew it was bold to ask Rachel for a favour, but Rachel's reaction this morning wasn't even annoyed or anything. Maybe she just changed her mind, or maybe she felt bad saying no earlier, so she's just going to blow off the meeting and start going to a different Starbucks.
Fuck.
When it gets to 8:00, Santana finally caves and has dinner because she's not going to wait around and starve just because Rachel might call any second and Santana won't have a chance to finish her meal before she has to go. If Rachel was on her way to rehearsal this morning, she's got to be out by now, doesn't she?
She gets a text at 9:00, when she's eating a few chocolate truffles because they're here and she wants to.
'I'm SO sorry. Today has been insane, but I swear I didn't forget about you. Are you still available?'
Santana licks the chocolate from her fingers and taps out that she's got time if Rachel does.
Rachel gives her an address and tells Santana to give her name to the man at the door, says to just get there whenever she can. Santana knows the quickest subway routes by now and grabs her portfolio on the way out the door, shoves it into her bag. Well, it's not really a portfolio, it's just this nice leather folder her dad gave her for stuff like this, when she doesn't need samples of her entire body of work, but doesn't want the photos she does need to get crumpled, either. There's a copy of her CV in here, too, just in case, and a pen he got her as part of her graduation gift. (The diamond studs in her ears were the other part.)
It's stupid to be surprised, but the address Rachel gave her is for an apartment building, and Santana didn't even consider that would be an option when she looked it up on her phone. Yeah, she got the cross streets, and she didn't think anything of Rachel wanting to meet her in the West Village. But the guy at the door is the doorman, and she feels sort of fucking dumb for not just knowing this is what she was walking into.
The nicest fucking apartment building she's ever been in, is what she's walking into.
The concierge (or whatever he is?) lets her into the elevator and uses a key to turn some thing and then push the button for the floor she's apparently going to, and she thanks him before the doors can close.
Now she's nervous. She's walking into Rachel Berry's house.
Rachel's wearing denim shorts and a white v-neck tee shirt when she opens the door, and her hair's pulled all over one shoulder, and she's smiling and barefoot and her toes are polished bright yellow. Santana's never seen her like this before.
"Come in!"
Yeah, Rachel's stealing 90 per cent of Santana's attention, but still she notices that damn, this place is massive. The entry way itself is basically the size of Santana's entire apartment, and the place is mostly open concept, or something, because she can see the kitchen with its stainless steel appliances, and a black wrought iron staircase that leads to the second floor. The furniture is modern, but not tacky or pretentious, and Rachel has some awesome photos on her walls, too. All black and whites, which sort of makes sense in a place like this. There's a fireplace that's all red brick, and jesus, what a view. The apartment overlooks the High Line and the Hudson and Santana has serious real estate envy.
"I'm really sorry to take so long to get in touch. Rehearsal was a complete disaster and I only just got home about 20 minutes ago," Rachel explains, and pours two glasses of water from a pitcher in the fridge that has citrus wedges in the bottom of it. Then she sets the glasses down on this big wooden table she's got in the middle of the kitchen, and gives Santana this look. "Actually, would you like a glass of wine? I could really use one. We can go out onto the terrace and talk."
Santana is way out of her league, here.
She says, "Sure," because wine might help her relax, and because she's not in a position to like, say no to anything Rachel asks of her.
(Oh shit, there goes her entire mind, distracted as fuck when Rachel leans up on her toes to reach a bottle of red from the wine rack that's built into the edge of her cupboard. That woman has legs. Seriously.)
"You're okay with Malbec?" Santana nods her head and tries to, on the sly, get a better look at this place. It's like, her dream to be a big shot photographer making money hand over fist and living in a place like this. "Would you like the tour?"
"No," Santana says, a little too quickly. "I mean I'm imposing enough. You really didn't have to invite me here. I would have understood if you couldn't do this tonight. Or at all, actually."
"Don't be silly." Rachel's fingers brush hers when she hands over the glass. "I know you wouldn't have asked if you didn't really believe in your friend. Come on. The view's amazing at this time of night."
This feels better than any date she's ever been on, which is fucking with her, because this isn't a date.
"Okay, but your place is awesome," Santana comments as they walk through the apartment and Santana looks around.
"Thanks," Rachel laughs.
The door to the terrace is open already, and fuck, Santana's curious as to the rent on this place because there's no way you don't pay a massive premium for a deck like this. It's all wood planks beneath their feet, and plants and shrubs and flowers, and there's a barbecue there, a teak table and chairs, a hot tub, and some lounge chairs. Rachel leads her to this little area that has an outdoor sofa and four chairs, the cushions covered in red, white and navy striped fabric.
"I actually bought it a few years ago. It's sort of…extravagant, I know, but I love it and it was the only place I looked at that I really fell for."
"I can see why." Santana notices, just now, that all the flowers out here are red and white, and there are a few strings of blueish twinkle lights hanging around in specific spots.
"So," Rachel says, then pulls her legs up and sort of tucks them to the side. She looks so comfortable, and it's not that she ever looks uncomfortable, but this is just…She's always really put-together and in a rush to get somewhere. Now she's totally casual and relaxed, and it's sexy as hell. "Tell me about your friend."
Oh right. That.
"Jake." And then Rachel repeats the name in this pretty little voice, like she's trying to commit it to memory or something. "He's been dancing basically since birth. He's like, brilliant. And I'm not one of those people who thinks all my friends are awesome just because they're my friends. If he sucked, I wouldn't tell him like that, but I wouldn't go out on a limb like this for him, either."
Rachel laughs a bit at that. "Okay."
"And I guess like, three years ago someone convinced him to sing something, and he's got this incredible voice. He acts, too, and just…Of all the people I know he's the most likely to go somewhere."
It kills her to say it. It really does.
"Okay," Rachel repeats, then bites her lip like she's holding something back, right before looking at Santana again. "I don't want to sound like some entitled…whatever. But why isn't he just working for it?"
"He is," Santana's quick to point out. "He just keeps going out for things he's too good for. Not that…I don't mean that any opportunity isn't a good one. I just mean he's auditioning for minor dance parts in Off-Off Broadway shows, and he's the real deal, and…I don't know how it works, or anything, but maybe he just blows them out of the water and they don't hire him because they know he won't like, blend in with the scenery or whatever."
Rachel seems to think about it for a second. "That's not an entirely terrible theory, actually."
"He's just…" Santana reaches for the folder sitting next to her, opens it to Jake's photo and passes it to Rachel. "He's really good."
"Oh my god," Rachel says, then pulls the folder closer and stares. "Who took this picture?"
Santana feels… "What?"
"This photograph is incredible. I…The lighting, and everything. I mean he's beautiful, and we'll get to that, but oh my god." Santana honestly can't believe Rachel right now. She's completely floored that the woman likes her work, even though that's not what she's here for.
"Um." Santana clears her throat, feels her face heating up, which is stupid.
"Santana?"
"I took it."
Why that feels like some kind of confession, like she's bragging, now that Rachel's gushed about her work. It's stupid because she's generally pretty quick to take credit for the work she does. It's just that it feels like a bigger compliment when Rachel's saying it, and that's stupid because it's not as though they know each other. Maybe it's just because Rachel's this seriously huge, famous artist, in her own genre. She has good taste and Santana thinks this somehow is the highest compliment she could receive.
"You…"
"Yeah, I mean. I'm not…Starbucks pays the rent, but."
Rachel angles herself closer to Santana, tilts her head a little bit and smiles. "Why didn't I know this?"
Santana shrugs. "It's not like we have regular conversations. And I dunno. I don't talk about it at work much anyway."
Rachel sort of chuckles and looks to the photograph again, then holds it up. "If I could take photos like this? I'd tell everyone who'd listen."
"Yeah, well. If I had a voice like yours, I'd…Oh, no wait. You've already won a couple Tonys." Rachel lets out this amazing laugh that makes her eyes sort of…Whatever. That must be the twinkle lights reflecting or something. "There's more in there, if you want…Okay."
Yeah, because Rachel's already practically ignoring her and flipping through the book. They're all dancers, because she actually took this book to the school to show the owner a few proofs from the recital. So there's like, a four year old ballerina dressed as a fairy with sparkly wings, looking up at one of the older ballerinas as she stretches on the barre before the recital. And another of Jake with his class of little boys, and then a few of the backstage shots, and a couple of groups performing.
It feels like Rachel looks at each photo too long. Like she's looking for flaws, or studying them too hard. Most people don't look at photos that way unless they're in a gallery or something and feel like they're supposed to. Even then, it's usually just them staring blankly and not actually appreciating what they're seeing.
"I mean," Rachel starts, then shakes her head and goes back to that first picture of Jake. "Why aren't you here to talk about your work?"
Santana could laugh at that. She honestly could. Because if you ask anyone she knows, they'd say her doing something like she's doing for Jake is totally out of character. It's not that she's a selfish bitch or anything, it's just that yeah, she does think people should work and make things happen for themselves. The thing is, New York is cutthroat and she's learning that if you have connections, you should use them. No one's owed anything in this town, but sometimes the hard work doesn't pay off on its own and it's about who you know, too.
"We can if you want," she says, slyly, and Rachel sort of blinks slowly at her, which is exactly as sexy as you'd think it'd be. "I have crappy video on my phone of Jake dancing. But he's doing this thing Friday night. It's just this street festival in his neighbourhood, but he's seriously worth seeing perform. And sometimes he dances to stuff he's recorded."
"You're confident he's good enough to make it." Santana honestly can't tell if Rachel's asking a question or making a statement, but she nods either way. "I think I have…" Rachel reaches for her phone off the table in front of them. When she leans forward, Santana can't help herself and looks to where the skin is revealed at the small of her back. There's a tattoo poking out the top of her shorts. Black panties, too. "Yes, I have an engagement that night, but I'll see if I can switch some things around."
"No," Santana says seriously, shaking her head. "No, you don't have to do that."
"Santana." Rachel smiles, then sets her hand on Santana's knee, and yeah, she's a lot closer now than she was when they first sat down. "I want to."
Well fuck. Santana allows herself like four seconds to think about that in a different context.
When she says, "You're amazing," it's sort of an accident, but it makes Rachel get a little bashful, so it's not all bad.
"Now," Rachel says, trading her phone for the glass of wine she set down a few moments ago. She leans her shoulder against the back of the sofa again and crosses her legs in this weird way that makes her toes almost brush Santana's calf. "Tell me more about your photography."
… … …
"Where were you last night? I texted you."
Mike meets her outside the apartment after he's finished with his classes for the day. She had to work - and was fucking exhausted, too - but she had time to go home and change before they head uptown to go shopping because he needs clothes and wants her help picking them out. She doesn't mind playing dress up for a while. It's a gorgeous day and walking along 5th and getting Mike to buy things she thinks he looks good in is a pretty good way to spend it.
"Yeah, I was out."
"With who?" He doesn't ask it like there's no one she could be out with if she wasn't out with him. Still, though.
"None of your business."
"A girl?"
The shit-eating grin could go, for real.
"Yeah. Sort of. Shut up."
He raises his brow and she checks her email on her phone while they walk so she doesn't have to look at him. "Sort of a girl?"
And she's having a hard time convincing herself last night even happened. She sat and drank wine on an amazing balcony and watched the sun set with a Tony Award-winning Broadway star. Insane. And they covered the basics; where Santana went to school, and where she's from, and when she knew she wanted to be a photographer. And Santana asked a few questions about Rachel's life, too, but was pretty worried about being nosy or whatever, so she was careful not to ask anything that could make Rachel feel as though she was being interviewed. She also felt like a dick having to admit she'd never seen Rachel in any of her shows.
Then this morning when Rachel came in for a latté, she acted the same as she always has in the shop, and Santana was pretty damn grateful for that, because no, she doesn't want anyone there to know she's ever seen Rachel outside of work. Why, she doesn't know. Doesn't matter.
"I ended up at Rachel Berry's place, drinking wine and talking about art."
Mike laughs. "Okay. You don't have to tell me."
"No, I'm serious."
Mike just shakes his head like she's jerking him around, but then he sees the look on her face and his brows go up like he's impressed. "How does that even happen?"
"Long story."
They're quiet for a few minutes, because Mike knows when to drop it and not pry, and then he goes, "Oh my god. You're into her."
He's not wrong, so she doesn't tell him he is.
"She might come to Jake's thing tomorrow."
"Seriously?" He sounds…Something. Nervous, or…
"Yeah. I actually went there to like, give her the hard sell on helping him get a job." Mike smiles like she's awesome for that. "I didn't invite her because…It's not a date, or something stupid like that. She's not even gay."
"Did she tell you that? Like, it came up in conversation?"
Santana hesitates a second. "No."
Mike chuckles next to her, as though she needed a reason to have any hope at all.
She just, as a rule, tries not to fall for straight girls. Like, when she was in high school it was different because she was practically the only one who was out, and it's just totally unrealistic to never be attracted to anyone. There's just no way that was about to happen. But then high school was different, too, in that she sort of had a girlfriend for a lot of it, so. And in college, after she and Brittany had broken up freshman year, Santana sort of just wanted to…She wasn't like, sleeping around or anything, but she didn't also particularly care what a girl's sexuality was. If a girl was into sex with her, that was basically enough. And really, if a girl was willing, Santana wasn't in a position to ask questions about the chick's label. Labels are stupid anyway, and if a women wanted to sleep with another woman and Santana happened to be there, well, it's just her good fortune and it doesn't really matter what that person identifies as.
But that is totally different from wanting someone who will never want you. As fluid as sexuality is and can be, there are obviously a ton of people who are solely interested in the opposite sex and Santana gets that. She obviously respects it, too. But by no means does she want to find herself ass over face for someone who draws a hard line at being attracted to or wanting a relationship with a woman. She already likes Rachel enough, but she doesn't know her, really, so most of that is just physical attraction.
Except the part where Santana likes the fact that Rachel seems surprisingly humble, and she doesn't have a whole team of people around her at all times, and she's actually really grateful for the opportunities she gets. She's a nice person with nice manners that Santana can tell aren't just there because someone somewhere along the way told her people would start writing or saying shit about her if she didn't mind her Ps and Qs. Rachel said she doesn't really have a best friend, and Santana has questions about that, and she also said that her favourite city in the world other than New York is Rome and Santana wants to know why.
There's just…More there than what it looks like on the surface, and you can't tell her to just brush that off.
… … …
She wavered back and forth on telling Jake about Rachel, because she honestly wasn't sure if he'd be pissed or get nervous to perform, or anything like that. She also hasn't gotten a confirmation from Rachel that she'll actually show up, so she didn't want to tell him the woman would be there and then have him be disappointed if Rachel never actually showed. Which, seriously, she doesn't have to do. She's under no obligation to come by and watch this guy who, to her, is a complete nobody.
It's just Santana thinks that if Rachel wasn't interested, they wouldn't have polished off a bottle and a half of wine talking about art and shit.
(No, she's decidedly not letting herself think that maybe it's her Rachel's interested in because of that. She just…Can't let herself do that.)
This thing isn't formal at all, but she's wearing a dress anyway, because it's hot out, and wearing jeans or even shorts seemed like the worst idea ever. And she got this blue and white striped dress from modcloth because…Okay, whatever. Last time she was at her parents' place she was drunk alone (well, drunk with her mom first, but then her mom bailed and went to bed, so) and bored and went online, which is always a bad idea for so many reasons. This isn't something she'd normally pick out for herself, and she sort of remembers thinking that one of the girls in the reviews for the dress was really hot, which is a totally embarrassing reason to buy a dress. But the package was waiting for her when she got back to New York and the dress fits her and shows off her body and her legs. It's not even…There's this little red belt, and the skirt of it isn't tight or anything, but it's cute and summery and the fabric is light enough that she feels like she might actually be able to avoid getting heat stroke today.
Add her Ray Ban aviators and she's basically good to go.
Mike's cargo shorts are good for carrying her Visa and her ID, and she holds her phone in her hand, and her camera's around her neck like usual. She doesn't want the burden of carrying a purse or camera bag around today. Not in this heat and not when she's going to be trying to get some decent shots of a New York block party.
So far all she's got is one of Puck leaning against a store window with an iced coffee in his hand, but whatever. It's still a good picture.
They basically park themselves in a spot in front of the stage that's set up and take turns going to get rounds of whatever. First it's french fries from this European-style chip place. and Puck's right, they're awesome fries. Then Mike gets them lemonade, and after that Santana figures it's time for some kind of alcoholic beverage, so she gets them each a plastic cup of this microbrew that isn't the best thing she's tasted, but whatever.
Her phone buzzes and her heart does this fucked up thing where it just knows it's Rachel, and Santana feels like a thirteen year old girl because of it. Rachel just wants to know where they are, and so Santana texts her back and then realizes for the first time that fuck, this girl's going to meet Puck and Mike, and like, she doesn't totally trust them not to be idiots because they're the only two people in the world who know Santana's got a thing for her.
"Don't be dicks," she says seriously, and they just look at her like she's nuts.
Mike clues in, though. "She's coming?" Santana doesn't answer.
"Who?" Puck asks.
"No one," she snaps. He's confused, and rightly so. "I pulled some strings with a connection I have and she's coming to watch Jake because she might be able to get him work."
Puck grins like she's the best, which, hi. "Seriously?" She shrugs her shoulder and ignores the stupid smirk on Mike's face as he sips his beer. "Who's the girl?"
She's not answering that.
And anyway, Rachel's walking through the crowd towards them in this blush-coloured one-shoulder dress that's lace on the top and something else on the bottom, and the whole thing is just too much for this kind of party, but Santana certainly doesn't give a fuck because damn. The girl's hair is curled perfectly and her eyes are so fucking pretty, and it's all just perfect, down to the strappy pumps on Rachel's feet.
(And she wasn't looking at Rachel's feet, she was checking out her legs and just like, ended up there.)
"Hi," Rachel says, and she seems nervous or something. "I'm vastly overdressed, but I had that other thing and I couldn't get out of going, but I left early and just came straight here." She looks at Mike and Puck, who're staring at her like idiots, and holds out her hand. "Hi. I'm Rachel Berry."
"Yeah, this is Mike and Puck," Santana says, and fuck, they're speechless or something, which is embarrassing for her, so she hopes it is for them, too. "Puck is Jake's brother, actually."
"Oh!" Rachel's whole face lights up. "I'm really looking forward to seeing him dance."
Santana blurts out, "Mike dances, too," and then he looks at her like she's just thrown him under the bus.
Rachel sort of laughs, this cute little giggle that Santana swears would make her give Rachel whatever she damn well asked for, and turns to Puck. "And what do you do?"
"I'm a social worker." Rachel looks like she's impressed, which is weird, considering who she is and what she does. "This is my neighbourhood. I actually work right around the corner from here."
"That's lovely," Rachel says, all sweet. Ugh. Santana crosses her arms because fuck, this is sort of an awkward thing, if only because she never actually mentioned to Rachel that anyone else would be around, and Mike and Puck aren't exactly star struck, but still. Then Rachel gets this fucking adorable little look on her face and goes, "Aren't you going to ask what I do?"
And it could be seen as incredibly arrogant, but the way she says it is almost self-deprecating, somehow. Like she knows she has to say or do something to break them all out of this weirdly tense place where the fact that she's famous is sort of weighing down everyone's ability to just be normal with her.
Finn ambles over to them in uniform, though, and like, what the fuck is this timing? Santana's barely gotten to say two words to Rachel and all her boys are monopolizing her or whatever, and…Look, it's hard enough being the only girl, but if Rachel's straight and Santana has to watch her ogle Finn in his FDNY cargos and tee shirt, she's going to be seriously pissed.
And she's not an idiot and Finn's a good-looking guy, and she's seen first hand how women react to this uniform. It's almost annoying.
He's also oblivious to everything, and so he just bumps fists with Mike and does that stupid handshake thing with Puck, and throws an arm around Santana and says, "Hey," to Rachel.
He has no clue who she is. Good.
"Did I miss him?" he asks, and then rubs his eyes. He works 24 hour shifts and he's obviously just gotten off. Puck says Jake hasn't gone on yet, and then Finn says something about getting a beer, and Puck is smart and also a good bro, so he says he and Mike'll go with him and bring back a round for everyone.
Santana could kiss him.
"Sorry," she says to Rachel as the guys walk away. "I should have told you they'd be here."
Rachel just shakes her head as she smiles. "I sort of figured you'd be with friends. Most people don't go to street parties alone."
"Right." Fuck. Now she feels dumb. "I just mean I would have warned you they'd act like that."
"It's okay," Rachel laughs. "I'm sort of used to people being…I don't know. Intimidated by me."
And Santana grins, because, "Oh, it's not that you're famous so much as it is that you're hot."
Rachel's cheeks flare red - Santana watches even as she kicks herself for blurting that shit out.
"Thanks," Rachel says quietly, then in the same breath, "I feel silly in this dress."
Santana's looking at the stage when she says, "You shouldn't," because as true as it is, she doesn't want Rachel to be uncomfortable with Santana talking about her like this.
And see, this is the part she always has trouble with. How do you tell someone you're gay when you're actually interested in them without it coming off like "I wanna fuck you"? She hasn't mastered that yet. It's easy when you're just talking to someone and it comes up. She had no problem telling any of the guys. There's no pressure and absolutely no room for confusion there. The last thing she wants is for Rachel to feel weird around her. It wouldn't be the gay thing that'd do it, it'd be the fact that Santana's pretty obviously…
Whatever. Maybe Rachel has no idea that Santana's basically an idiot for her at this point.
She sees this really cute scene playing out in front of her, where this dad lifts his son up onto his shoulders. The kid's in a tiny Nets jersey and a Yankees cap, eating cotton candy off one of those paper cones, and seriously, it's just a good shot, and the dad's got pretty impressive tats on his upper arms.
When she lowers her camera again, Rachel's just looking at her with this sort of soft expression on her face.
"What?"
"Nothing," Rachel answers. "I just can't believe you never mentioned you're a photographer. We talk every day, Santana."
She doesn't mean to roll her eyes, it just happens. "I hand you a cup when there's a lineup of pissy New Yorkers tapping their feet behind you." Rachel almost looks hurt, which is confusing as hell. "I just mean our conversations haven't exactly been super deep. Except the other night."
Rachel smiles a little, plays with her hair. "Yeah. I liked that."
Then the guys are back and Santana's totally thrown for a loop and doesn't know what the hell's happening.
They all seem to watch Rachel more than they watch Jake when he's on stage, but Rachel doesn't even notice. She's standing there holding cheap beer in an expensive dress and looking at Jake like he's every bit as amazing as Santana thinks he is. It's a relief, really, in part because now she won't look like an idiot for going out on a limb for someone who no one else thinks will make it. It's not all about her, or anything, but like, some of it is. Especially when she's trying to, you know, make Rachel want her.
Rachel laughs a bit when she realizes everyone's looking at her, after Jake's left the stage. "What?" she asks. She's obviously doing it just to be cute, which actually works. "He's amazing. I don't know what else you want me to say."
Santana sees Puck roll his eyes but Rachel doesn't. It's a good thing. And seriously, she sort of wants to punch him for that, because he could, for once in his life, be subtle.
It's Finn who says, "Well, he's got a shot, right?"
"Of course he does," Rachel says quietly, then sips her beer. "He's better than…He's just very talented, obviously. Can I talk to him?"
"Yeah, he's meeting us at this place on…"
Santana interrupts Puck, because no. "Rachel doesn't want to go to a place like that."
It's the first time since she's known Rachel that Santana really thinks she's fucked up and said the wrong thing. And Mike's standing behind Rachel making a face like 'oh shit Tana you messed up'.
Rachel legit puts her hand on her hip and stares at Santana. "How do you know?"
"It's a shitty bar with like, dollar draft and a bartender who'll stare at your…" She stops herself. Sometimes she has a hard time cleaning up her language when she's with the guys. They don't care, so she usually doesn't bother censoring herself. "It's just not a very nice place."
"Well," Rachel says, then grabs Santana's wrist, so. Okay. "Then it'll be a refreshing change from the type of place I usually go to."
Santana would argue, but Rachel's still holding onto her and walking through the crowd, following the guys. Santana wants to just laugh at this whole fucking series of events, but then Rachel looks at her over her shoulder, smiles and lets her wrist go. But not before sliding her fingers over as much of Santana's skin as possible.
… … …
Her manager gives her three days off in a row, which is amazing and has never happened before. Christ, she can't honestly remember the last time she had two days off in a row. She's just told she's been working really hard and they appreciate it, and she deserves the time off. Hell yes she does. But she thanks them politely, because no matter how much she busts her ass, they seriously aren't required to do things like this for her.
But it means she won't see Rachel forever.
After the night at the bar - where, seriously, Rachel charmed the fuck out of all the guys to the point that Santana's worried she's going to have to talk to them about not going after her - Rachel flew out to L.A. for some thing to do with her show. Now Santana's off, and it's been nearly a week or something since they saw each other, and it's fucking weird, and probably stupid, but other than Mike, Rachel's the only other person in the city Santana sees with such frequency.
She's got Rachel's number, but she honestly doesn't know if she's allowed to use it. Are they friends yet, really? Or are they just sort of acquaintances because Rachel's helping Jake?
(And she is. She's got a stack of his headshots and his demo on a flash drive, and she had him perform a monologue for him right there in the bar. It was kind of hilarious, but Rachel had just put her hands on his shoulders and said, "I'm going to get you a job," all serious. Maybe part of it was the beer, but Santana doesn't think Rachel goes back on promises.)
But that doesn't mean Santana's allowed to text Rachel and ask how her trip was, does it?
Her first day off, she sleeps until she wakes up. Seriously, she doesn't set an alarm or check her phone until her body's ready to get out of bed. It ends up being around 10:30, but that's a hell of a sleep in for her. She showers and then treats herself to the $3.99 breakfast at this place she knows, and no, she's not wearing anything more fancy than flip flops, red Nike shorts, and a black tank top.
If she has a nap in the afternoon after doing some tidying in her apartment, well. Whatever. Three days off? She can slack a bit on the first one. And anyway, she goes to Brooklyn to hang out with Sam and Quinn because it's been a while and she should. Even if sitting there talking to Quinn - or, rather, listening to Quinn talk - makes her want to punch herself in the face sometimes. It's fine, though. They feed her dinner and gin, so she's not mad. Then Mike comes up and they hang out a bit and he tells her about this audition sort of thing he has to hopefully get a job choreographing this pretty popular local guy's music video. The guy does shows all around New York. Santana's seen him and he's good, and she obviously hopes Mike gets the job.
But it seems like now her friends all have good things going on and she's still just working at fucking Starbucks and not getting very far with her work. It's stupid, because obviously Mike doesn't have the job yet, and Rachel hasn't pulled any strings for Jake so far, but fuck. They've actually got prospects. She's got a camera and an external hard drive full of images no one cares to see. It kind of stings, you know? Like, this is what she loves to do and no one cares.
That's depressing as hell, so she decides to spend the entire next day just walking around the city taking photos of whatever she sees that she wants to take photos of. It's weird, but it's been a while since she did this all on her own. Sometimes she'll take an hour or two, but it's been months since she went out totally alone and just let her lens guide her. Fuck, that sounds so lame.
But she gets some awesome shots around NYU, and then there's a kid playing with a yo-yo on the steps of the library and his dad's just the best, trying to help him. A guy in a suit spills coffee all over himself and Santana ends up getting a few really good pictures of the aftermath, but it's not like she's making fun of him or anything.
She's walked nearly the whole city and she's been ignoring her phone the whole time, but she stops for a mocha frap and checks her messages because it's not going to distract her from anything right now.
There's a message from Rachel that came through about an hour ago, and she gets brain freeze as she reads it because she forgets to stop drinking. Sufficiently distracted.
'I missed you this morning! They told me you're off. How are you spending the day?'
Shit. So not only did Rachel miss her, but she asked about her.
Okay, if that doesn't mean they're friends, she doesn't know what does.
So she replies that she's just out taking some photos, and Rachel says she's finished with rehearsal for the day, and Santana doesn't know if that is like, Rachel's way of fishing for an invitation to do something. Santana bites, though she's nervous doing it. It's stupid, because if this were just some girl, she wouldn't think twice about beginning to try a little harder to get her into bed. But Rachel is sure as hell not just some other girl. The fact that she's famous makes Santana tread a little more carefully. But she just says she's free in the evening, if Rachel found herself with nothing to do and wanted to get together.
So yeah, how they end up agreeing that Rachel should go to Santana's place…
Fucking confusing.
Also she needs to make her way back over to her place, because yeah, her apartment is tidy, but she really wants to make sure there's no crap lying around. She picks up a bottle of wine, too, because, well, Rachel gave her wine last time, so she's just keeping things square. She also wants to change, because denim shorts and a tank from Old Navy…well, that's just not the impression she wants to make. So she changes into skinny jeans and this grey tee shirt that is pretty much the most boring thing ever, but it's comfortable and actually looks kind of hot with these jeans, so she's fine with that.
And as shitty as it sounds, if Mike comes up and knocks on her door at any point this evening, she might strangle him. Obviously she loves that he lives in her building, but still. She doesn't want to have to tell him Rachel's coming over, because he'll bust her chops about it, or act like it's a huge deal when she's not sure it actually is.
Rachel shows up right on time with a paper shopping bag hooked over her arm and another pair of shorts on, and Santana's wondering why the woman would even own pants at all, because damn, those legs.
"Hey. What's that?" Santana asks as she pulls the door open.
"I got called to a meeting last minute and didn't get a chance to eat. I hope it's not rude. It's just salad. I brought one for you, too, if you want it."
Santana hasn't eaten since lunch, either, so. "Thanks. That's…nice."
God. She should probably learn how not to be the lamest person ever in front of Rachel. It's a condition she has or something.
"Oh my god, your place is adorable!" Rachel says, and steps further inside. She slips her feet out of her little flats, which she didn't have to do, but whatever.
"It's tiny."
Rachel smiles at Santana over her shoulder and sets the bag down on the coffee table. "I love it. It reminds me of…Well, when I first moved out of my parents' place, they wanted to keep me humble, or something, so I just had this tiny one bedroom on the Upper West. It was great. The hot water didn't work half the time, and actually, the reason I moved was because there was a series of break-ins, and…Oh, I'm not scaring you, am I? I'm sure this place isn't like that."
Santana just laughs a little, because this thing Rachel does where she goes off on a tangent is actually adorable.
So's her off the shoulder white and grey striped top. Santana sees the black bandeau Rachel's wearing underneath it, and that's kind of a distraction, too.
"It's okay. You're good."
While Santana gets forks and opens wine, Rachel walks around and says, "Did you take this?" to just about every picture in the place, and Santana laughs almost every time she says "No".
When she sits down in the living room again, Rachel takes a sip of wine before putting the glass down and saying, "I want to see more of your work."
That makes Santana so fucking nervous. It's stupid, too, because she knows she's good, and she knows Rachel already thinks she's good, but like. Showing off her entire portfolio to this girl stresses her out.
"It's…It's not like I'm some famous photographer or something."
Rachel tilts her head like that was an annoying thing to say. But Santana gets that, too, because it's like when Mike downplays how good a dancer he is. "Santana, from what I know about you, you really aren't this shy."
Oh. Shit. "I just…"
"Show me," Rachel commands, quietly, and like. Fuck.
"Fine."
(But she rolls her eyes and sighs when she says it, just to be a brat, and Rachel's smiling too widely.)
Yeah, she's got about a billion images (not quite that many, but give her a few years) on external hard drives and whatever, but she also has her portfolio, which is what she uses to get work. It's tucked away in her closet so it doesn't get damaged. (And also so that her friends don't just help themselves to looking through it if they see it out…) Santana walks over and pulls it out, and Rachel's wiping her fingers on her napkin, which Santana appreciates. All the photos are under plastic anyway, but even so, she doesn't like smudges.
She's kind of obsessive about this thing, but it's a collection of all the best shots she's ever taken, and she's proud of it. She lays it out on the coffee table and ignores the way Rachel's smiling at her.
She shot this wedding in Ohio two summers ago. Just a friend she went to high school with, but Mercedes asked if Santana would do her photos, and obviously she was all for it. Mercedes and Matt have been together since they were like 16, and Santana's known them both practically her whole life. Anyway, she got this amazing photo of Mercedes and Matt where he's seeing her for the first time in her dress. Mercedes is walking towards him and he's got his fist held up to his mouth, but you can still tell he's smiling because his dimples are showing. It's just an awesome shot.
Rachel doesn't say anything about it, though, and just turns the page instead, and Santana's this close to biting her nails here. Rachel probably thinks Santana's more confident than she actually is. It wouldn't be surprising if that were the case, because Santana's good in her every day life. It's just her photos that make her feel insecure, even though she knows they're awesome. It's a thing.
"Oh. Wow."
"Yeah, sorry."
She shouldn't apologize, though, because yes, there's a nude. It's tasteful and black and white and you can't see anything, but there's a woman who's clearly not wearing any clothes and it was a lighting nightmare, but Santana's happy with how the photos turned out.
"No, it's beautiful," Rachel says, though she's still looking at the book and not at Santana.
Anyway, Rachel doesn't comment much on many of the photos, which is scary as hell right now. Santana's under the impression Rachel's a pretty vocal and honest person, and if she's not saying anything, maybe...
"You know you're an amazing photographer, right?"
Right, well. Santana was sort of off in her own little world in which Rachel thought she was terrible and was just too nice to say so. She didn't even notice when Rachel came to the end of the portfolio.
"I...thanks."
Rachel looks like she wants to roll her eyes. "For as cocky as you seem, you're annoyingly self-deprecating about your work."
Santana first thinks that self-deprecating isn't the right term, but then: "I seem cocky to you?"
She's not offended, per se, but it sort of sucks to hear that. Especially since she's been trying to dial it back around Rachel so she doesn't come off as obnoxious. In doing that, she managed to make herself look arrogant. What are the odds if that even happening? She can't win, here, or at least that's how she feels.
"That wasn't...I just mean you're confident and you seem mostly fearless, and yet..."
"I am confident," Santana says, because it feels important. "I know I'm good, okay, but it's not like I'm used to having famous women sit next to me and tell me I'm amazing."
Rachel blushes then. Weird. This isn't even about her. Is it?
"Sometimes I wish people would see me as something other than just a Broadway star."
Shit. That sounds like the kind of confession this woman's never made to anyone else.
"Oh."
"I don't mean to sound like I don't love it, because I do, and I wouldn't trade a second, but it gets really hard to meet people. It's like all they're even willing to see is this version of me my agent and manager came up with when I was six."
Santana's not sure why she's being lumped in with everyone else here, because she honestly can't think of how else she was supposed to act. Other than a few passing comments that were mostly jokes, she's never even seriously talked about the fact that Rachel's a fucking star. Hell, even her friends were cool about it.
"You don't think I'm like that, do you?" Santana asks, because it's important, even if they're 'supposed' to be talking about her photos and not Rachel's career or whatever. "Because I don't see you as just some...like, yeah it's weird to have a mega star sitting on my couch, but..." Rachel chuckles and shakes her head. "I don't even think of you that way. Most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Rachel asks dubiously.
"Well. Then I see your face on a billboard."
"Stop," Rachel laughs, and swats Santana's thigh, but then does this thing where she leaves her hand there. "I've never really felt that way with you."
"Good."
"Except," Rachel starts, and fuck, "when you spoke for me and assumed I wouldn't want to go to that bar."
Oh. Santana laughs at that. "Yeah, but you put me in my place pretty quickly, so."
She's not expecting the sexy as fuck look Rachel gives her, or for the girl to say, "Well, someone has to."
But that's what happens and Santana finds herself turned on. Which isn't surprising, because they're alone and Rachel's hot and Santana's wanted her for what feels like years.
It explains why she's distracted when Rachel says, "I want you to shoot me," and Santana's response is, "What?"
Rachel smiles and looks down, and it's like she wants to laugh at Santana, but won't. And Santana would really like to, you know, act like a normal person and talk about this, but it's also this thing she's been thinking about since the first time she even looked at Rachel. That she's not even the one begging to make it happen makes this sort of an out of body experience for her. But then this is probably the kind of thing that makes Rachel feel weird about her fame, or whatever she said.
And Rachel's hand is still on her leg, so there's that, too.
"I don't know," Rachel says, like she's trying to downplay what she just said, or something. "It wouldn't be for anything, because I don't have anything to…I just think you're really talented and apparently I'm narcissistic enough to want photos of myself you've taken." Santana must be quiet a little too long, because Rachel goes, "Santana?"
"Sorry," Santana kind of laughs. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around that sentence."
Rachel smiles, sort of moves her thumb a bit, like she fucking knows that'll sweeten the deal. Santana doesn't doubt Rachel's low-key flirted to get her way a time or two. "So will you do it?"
"Yeah." Her voice is all scratchy and weird, so she clears her throat and reaches for her wine. "I mean of course. I'd love to."
At first she thinks that's too much, but then Rachel gives her this incredible and genuine smile, so maybe not.
… … …
She's got it in her head that when she shoots Rachel, it should be this really natural, sort of organic thing. Completely the opposite of basically every other photo of Rachel that exists. It all goes back to Rachel saying that people only see her fame. Maybe they wouldn't if they saw her drinking wine on her deck, or doing dishes in her kitchen, or brushing her teeth, or something. And Santana's aware that these are just photos Rachel wants for herself, too, but that makes sense for the whole thing as well. Why would she want a photo of herself that just perpetuates this idea that all she is is some glamourous Broadway star who's in full makeup and always 'on'? Maybe she'd like some candid photos of herself. Why shouldn't she?
So yeah, she does wish she had her camera on her now, too, because Rachel's got her phone in one hand, wallet in the other, and she's slipping her change back inside and texting at the same time, but still manages to be polite to the cashier and smile at the little boy eating a cookie at the table nearby.
This is the kind of angle Santana wants to take. Basically photos of Rachel the woman doesn't know are being taken. But that makes it sound voyeuristic or something. She just wants the whole thing to be less posed and more candid.
And today's like any other day, only when Santana hands Rachel her latté, the girl says, "I'll call you later?" and Santana's too surprised to do anything but nod. No one else seemed to hear, other than the customer behind Rachel, but he doesn't seem to give a shit.
… … …
"Are you guys like, dating?" Jake asks, and fuck. He said he'd buy her dinner as thanks for helping him out, because Rachel's already set him up with a meeting with her agent, and it's a really big deal. So they're at this Italian place and she's wearing a dress and Jake's asking questions like this.
"What? No."
He sort of smirks and tears off another piece of bread to dip in oil. "You sure?"
She rolls her eyes at him. Okay, so maybe he's the only person she's told that she's going to photograph Rachel at some point, but he's Jake, and she trusts him not to blab or make a big deal about it. And so what if the other night she and Rachel went to see this play Ryan Gosling is in for a limited engagement or whatever. Rachel had an extra ticket, and she offered it to Santana, so obviously she was game to go.
"Jake, I'm not dating her."
"But you would, if she wanted to," he says, like it's a fact. Which is fine, because it is.
Santana shrugs her shoulder and avoids eye contact. "Her sexuality is confusing. I don't even think she knows what's going on there." Jake just sort of smirks, and shakes his head. "What?"
"She's in theatre, right? She's probably at least into it a little."
"That's a huge stereotype," she points out, and he just looks smug, like it's a given. "So you're in theatre. What about you, then?"
Jake leans his elbow on the table. "I'm special."
Santana laughs (honestly, she knows he's totally straight, but still; the point is, his logic is, you know, non-existent on this one) and sips her wine. "Wait til I tell Rachel you don't think she's special," she says, and so there.
But Jake just chuckles at her. "Yeah, have fun explaining how that came up in conversation."
Ugh. Fuck him.
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Summary: She thinks that if she could have just one photo session with Rachel Berry, it might just kickstart her career. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe she just wants to spend time with Rachel.
Word Count: 34,000 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
It takes her a full week to drum up the courage to approach Rachel at all. Granted, she switches a shift for Joel because he's got a doctor's appointment to go to with his pregnant girlfriend and Santana's not a bitch. So she misses one morning and works the later shift instead and doesn't see Rachel. And it's busy, as usual. And one day they put her at the register because they're training someone else on bar, so she spends her whole day taking money and processing orders which is like, her least favourite thing to do. Rachel tries to order a raspberry mocha, which is disgusting, so Santana gives her the tip to make it half-sweet or she'll hate it, and Rachel's grateful and says thanks, but that's the extent of the conversation.
Anyway, she could get in shit for what she ends up doing, but she's a pretty awesome employee and she figures the worst that could happen would be she'd get a slap on the wrist or whatever. Basically when Rachel comes in, Santana makes her drink, then says she's going on break and runs out the door.
Okay, so she could seriously get in shit, but.
"Rachel!"
Rachel stops walking and turns around, and the only reason Santana even knew which direction to walk in is because Rachel turns right out the door every day, without fail.
She must look insane running down the street in her fucking apron.
"Hi," Rachel says, all confused. She basically forms it like a question.
Santana takes a deep breath and just goes for it.
"What would a person have to do to get a meeting with you?" she says, all in a rush.
The confusion doesn't ebb away and Rachel just stands there for a second. "A meeting? What would they have to do?"
"Yeah. I mean…" Suddenly, she feels like such a huge asshole, this nobody asking Rachel Berry to look at her friend's work and…It's just really lame and opportunistic, and she is opportunistic, but not like this. This feels almost sleazy and definitely unprofessional. "Never mind." She shakes her head and Rachel furrows her brow. "It's nothing. Really, don't worry about it."
"No, Santana." Then Rachel puts her hand on Santana's arm, and like, fuck. "What are you asking me?"
"I just…I'm sure you get this all the time, but I have this friend who's a dancer. Actually, I have two friends who are dancers. But one is like…He's so talented, and he's totally going to be on Broadway someday, he just doesn't know it, but I feel like if I could…" She stops talking because she sounds like the biggest idiot ever. "This is really inappropriate, isn't it?"
"No," Rachel sort of laughs, shaking her head. "No, it's not. I mean, I do get it all the time, but." Santana thinks, judging by the little grin on Rachel's face, that the woman's joking. "I don't really take meetings, but if you're serious about…"
"I am."
Rachel smiles, despite being interrupted. "I have rehearsal, but…I know it's rude of me to ask you to just wait around, but if you give me your number, I can just let you know when I'm finished and we can…"
"No, that's cool. That's…" Santana smiles and wants to laugh, because god, Rachel's about to take her fucking phone number and it's not even because Santana's working hard to…whatever. Do what she normally does with women.
"I'll text you. I promise!" Rachel calls out as she rushes down the street, and Santana's just completely floored.
Also trying to convince herself that Jake won't be supremely pissed at her for meddling. Or that Mike won't be supremely pissed at her for not doing something like this for him. Honestly, if he wanted to be on Broadway, she would probably have thought to talk to Rachel about him sooner. She just didn't know Jake was a serious actor, too. He's all about working on his craft, and he's going out for tiny little chorus parts or dance roles, and he could be doing more than that. Maybe he just needs a push. Santana's totally confident that he's good enough that talking to Rachel won't make any of them look bad. And really, if there's nothing Rachel can do, or is willing to do, Santana can just not tell Jake she ever did any of this at all.
She goes straight home after work, and she's got this quick shoot to do at a little deli on 15th. They're redoing their menus and got her business card off the bulletin board because she's gotten into the habit of tacking the things up anywhere she can. It's worked out, though, because she's booked a few things just from people cold-calling her, and she's not mad about that. It literally takes her an hour to take photos of the dishes they've prepped for her that they want to feature, and she gets a few of the shop itself, and the exterior. She feels a little like they're too artistic or something, and she wouldn't normally do this, but she shows the owner a few of the pictures on her camera's screen and asks him if he's okay with her taking that direction. He is, so that's great, because she doesn't particularly want to have to reshoot anything, and she really doesn't want him to be disappointed when she brings the photos back to him and he doesn't like them.
Anyway, it all works as a really good distraction from thinking about this meeting with Rachel. Or whatever they're calling it.
Christ, what's she even supposed to wear? Because, yeah, this is business or whatever, but it's also this woman Santana just…She's not in the habit of wanting to look like crap in front of people she's attracted to. And considering Rachel sees her pretty much exclusively in her work uniform, this is one of her only chances to actually come off as attractive in any way. Yeah, her ass looks great in her work pants, but Rachel doesn't see her from behind all that often, you know?
She has these skinny jeans she bought and spent way too much on, but they're her favourites, and a pair of red suede ankle boots that were seriously a steal at the price she paid for them. And she pulls on this black see-through button down over a tight black tank and gives herself a once-over in the full-length mirror she hung over the back of her bathroom door. She looks hot, but she wants to do something different with her hair other than just having it up. She's got good hair but Rachel might not know it.
She's making this way too much about Rachel's opinion of her, rather than her opinion of Jake. But she rationalizes that away by saying she just wants to make a good impression because it'll help his chances, too.
The problem is, the further it gets into the evening the more she starts thinking this thing's never going to happen. She knew it was bold to ask Rachel for a favour, but Rachel's reaction this morning wasn't even annoyed or anything. Maybe she just changed her mind, or maybe she felt bad saying no earlier, so she's just going to blow off the meeting and start going to a different Starbucks.
Fuck.
When it gets to 8:00, Santana finally caves and has dinner because she's not going to wait around and starve just because Rachel might call any second and Santana won't have a chance to finish her meal before she has to go. If Rachel was on her way to rehearsal this morning, she's got to be out by now, doesn't she?
She gets a text at 9:00, when she's eating a few chocolate truffles because they're here and she wants to.
'I'm SO sorry. Today has been insane, but I swear I didn't forget about you. Are you still available?'
Santana licks the chocolate from her fingers and taps out that she's got time if Rachel does.
Rachel gives her an address and tells Santana to give her name to the man at the door, says to just get there whenever she can. Santana knows the quickest subway routes by now and grabs her portfolio on the way out the door, shoves it into her bag. Well, it's not really a portfolio, it's just this nice leather folder her dad gave her for stuff like this, when she doesn't need samples of her entire body of work, but doesn't want the photos she does need to get crumpled, either. There's a copy of her CV in here, too, just in case, and a pen he got her as part of her graduation gift. (The diamond studs in her ears were the other part.)
It's stupid to be surprised, but the address Rachel gave her is for an apartment building, and Santana didn't even consider that would be an option when she looked it up on her phone. Yeah, she got the cross streets, and she didn't think anything of Rachel wanting to meet her in the West Village. But the guy at the door is the doorman, and she feels sort of fucking dumb for not just knowing this is what she was walking into.
The nicest fucking apartment building she's ever been in, is what she's walking into.
The concierge (or whatever he is?) lets her into the elevator and uses a key to turn some thing and then push the button for the floor she's apparently going to, and she thanks him before the doors can close.
Now she's nervous. She's walking into Rachel Berry's house.
Rachel's wearing denim shorts and a white v-neck tee shirt when she opens the door, and her hair's pulled all over one shoulder, and she's smiling and barefoot and her toes are polished bright yellow. Santana's never seen her like this before.
"Come in!"
Yeah, Rachel's stealing 90 per cent of Santana's attention, but still she notices that damn, this place is massive. The entry way itself is basically the size of Santana's entire apartment, and the place is mostly open concept, or something, because she can see the kitchen with its stainless steel appliances, and a black wrought iron staircase that leads to the second floor. The furniture is modern, but not tacky or pretentious, and Rachel has some awesome photos on her walls, too. All black and whites, which sort of makes sense in a place like this. There's a fireplace that's all red brick, and jesus, what a view. The apartment overlooks the High Line and the Hudson and Santana has serious real estate envy.
"I'm really sorry to take so long to get in touch. Rehearsal was a complete disaster and I only just got home about 20 minutes ago," Rachel explains, and pours two glasses of water from a pitcher in the fridge that has citrus wedges in the bottom of it. Then she sets the glasses down on this big wooden table she's got in the middle of the kitchen, and gives Santana this look. "Actually, would you like a glass of wine? I could really use one. We can go out onto the terrace and talk."
Santana is way out of her league, here.
She says, "Sure," because wine might help her relax, and because she's not in a position to like, say no to anything Rachel asks of her.
(Oh shit, there goes her entire mind, distracted as fuck when Rachel leans up on her toes to reach a bottle of red from the wine rack that's built into the edge of her cupboard. That woman has legs. Seriously.)
"You're okay with Malbec?" Santana nods her head and tries to, on the sly, get a better look at this place. It's like, her dream to be a big shot photographer making money hand over fist and living in a place like this. "Would you like the tour?"
"No," Santana says, a little too quickly. "I mean I'm imposing enough. You really didn't have to invite me here. I would have understood if you couldn't do this tonight. Or at all, actually."
"Don't be silly." Rachel's fingers brush hers when she hands over the glass. "I know you wouldn't have asked if you didn't really believe in your friend. Come on. The view's amazing at this time of night."
This feels better than any date she's ever been on, which is fucking with her, because this isn't a date.
"Okay, but your place is awesome," Santana comments as they walk through the apartment and Santana looks around.
"Thanks," Rachel laughs.
The door to the terrace is open already, and fuck, Santana's curious as to the rent on this place because there's no way you don't pay a massive premium for a deck like this. It's all wood planks beneath their feet, and plants and shrubs and flowers, and there's a barbecue there, a teak table and chairs, a hot tub, and some lounge chairs. Rachel leads her to this little area that has an outdoor sofa and four chairs, the cushions covered in red, white and navy striped fabric.
"I actually bought it a few years ago. It's sort of…extravagant, I know, but I love it and it was the only place I looked at that I really fell for."
"I can see why." Santana notices, just now, that all the flowers out here are red and white, and there are a few strings of blueish twinkle lights hanging around in specific spots.
"So," Rachel says, then pulls her legs up and sort of tucks them to the side. She looks so comfortable, and it's not that she ever looks uncomfortable, but this is just…She's always really put-together and in a rush to get somewhere. Now she's totally casual and relaxed, and it's sexy as hell. "Tell me about your friend."
Oh right. That.
"Jake." And then Rachel repeats the name in this pretty little voice, like she's trying to commit it to memory or something. "He's been dancing basically since birth. He's like, brilliant. And I'm not one of those people who thinks all my friends are awesome just because they're my friends. If he sucked, I wouldn't tell him like that, but I wouldn't go out on a limb like this for him, either."
Rachel laughs a bit at that. "Okay."
"And I guess like, three years ago someone convinced him to sing something, and he's got this incredible voice. He acts, too, and just…Of all the people I know he's the most likely to go somewhere."
It kills her to say it. It really does.
"Okay," Rachel repeats, then bites her lip like she's holding something back, right before looking at Santana again. "I don't want to sound like some entitled…whatever. But why isn't he just working for it?"
"He is," Santana's quick to point out. "He just keeps going out for things he's too good for. Not that…I don't mean that any opportunity isn't a good one. I just mean he's auditioning for minor dance parts in Off-Off Broadway shows, and he's the real deal, and…I don't know how it works, or anything, but maybe he just blows them out of the water and they don't hire him because they know he won't like, blend in with the scenery or whatever."
Rachel seems to think about it for a second. "That's not an entirely terrible theory, actually."
"He's just…" Santana reaches for the folder sitting next to her, opens it to Jake's photo and passes it to Rachel. "He's really good."
"Oh my god," Rachel says, then pulls the folder closer and stares. "Who took this picture?"
Santana feels… "What?"
"This photograph is incredible. I…The lighting, and everything. I mean he's beautiful, and we'll get to that, but oh my god." Santana honestly can't believe Rachel right now. She's completely floored that the woman likes her work, even though that's not what she's here for.
"Um." Santana clears her throat, feels her face heating up, which is stupid.
"Santana?"
"I took it."
Why that feels like some kind of confession, like she's bragging, now that Rachel's gushed about her work. It's stupid because she's generally pretty quick to take credit for the work she does. It's just that it feels like a bigger compliment when Rachel's saying it, and that's stupid because it's not as though they know each other. Maybe it's just because Rachel's this seriously huge, famous artist, in her own genre. She has good taste and Santana thinks this somehow is the highest compliment she could receive.
"You…"
"Yeah, I mean. I'm not…Starbucks pays the rent, but."
Rachel angles herself closer to Santana, tilts her head a little bit and smiles. "Why didn't I know this?"
Santana shrugs. "It's not like we have regular conversations. And I dunno. I don't talk about it at work much anyway."
Rachel sort of chuckles and looks to the photograph again, then holds it up. "If I could take photos like this? I'd tell everyone who'd listen."
"Yeah, well. If I had a voice like yours, I'd…Oh, no wait. You've already won a couple Tonys." Rachel lets out this amazing laugh that makes her eyes sort of…Whatever. That must be the twinkle lights reflecting or something. "There's more in there, if you want…Okay."
Yeah, because Rachel's already practically ignoring her and flipping through the book. They're all dancers, because she actually took this book to the school to show the owner a few proofs from the recital. So there's like, a four year old ballerina dressed as a fairy with sparkly wings, looking up at one of the older ballerinas as she stretches on the barre before the recital. And another of Jake with his class of little boys, and then a few of the backstage shots, and a couple of groups performing.
It feels like Rachel looks at each photo too long. Like she's looking for flaws, or studying them too hard. Most people don't look at photos that way unless they're in a gallery or something and feel like they're supposed to. Even then, it's usually just them staring blankly and not actually appreciating what they're seeing.
"I mean," Rachel starts, then shakes her head and goes back to that first picture of Jake. "Why aren't you here to talk about your work?"
Santana could laugh at that. She honestly could. Because if you ask anyone she knows, they'd say her doing something like she's doing for Jake is totally out of character. It's not that she's a selfish bitch or anything, it's just that yeah, she does think people should work and make things happen for themselves. The thing is, New York is cutthroat and she's learning that if you have connections, you should use them. No one's owed anything in this town, but sometimes the hard work doesn't pay off on its own and it's about who you know, too.
"We can if you want," she says, slyly, and Rachel sort of blinks slowly at her, which is exactly as sexy as you'd think it'd be. "I have crappy video on my phone of Jake dancing. But he's doing this thing Friday night. It's just this street festival in his neighbourhood, but he's seriously worth seeing perform. And sometimes he dances to stuff he's recorded."
"You're confident he's good enough to make it." Santana honestly can't tell if Rachel's asking a question or making a statement, but she nods either way. "I think I have…" Rachel reaches for her phone off the table in front of them. When she leans forward, Santana can't help herself and looks to where the skin is revealed at the small of her back. There's a tattoo poking out the top of her shorts. Black panties, too. "Yes, I have an engagement that night, but I'll see if I can switch some things around."
"No," Santana says seriously, shaking her head. "No, you don't have to do that."
"Santana." Rachel smiles, then sets her hand on Santana's knee, and yeah, she's a lot closer now than she was when they first sat down. "I want to."
Well fuck. Santana allows herself like four seconds to think about that in a different context.
When she says, "You're amazing," it's sort of an accident, but it makes Rachel get a little bashful, so it's not all bad.
"Now," Rachel says, trading her phone for the glass of wine she set down a few moments ago. She leans her shoulder against the back of the sofa again and crosses her legs in this weird way that makes her toes almost brush Santana's calf. "Tell me more about your photography."
… … …
"Where were you last night? I texted you."
Mike meets her outside the apartment after he's finished with his classes for the day. She had to work - and was fucking exhausted, too - but she had time to go home and change before they head uptown to go shopping because he needs clothes and wants her help picking them out. She doesn't mind playing dress up for a while. It's a gorgeous day and walking along 5th and getting Mike to buy things she thinks he looks good in is a pretty good way to spend it.
"Yeah, I was out."
"With who?" He doesn't ask it like there's no one she could be out with if she wasn't out with him. Still, though.
"None of your business."
"A girl?"
The shit-eating grin could go, for real.
"Yeah. Sort of. Shut up."
He raises his brow and she checks her email on her phone while they walk so she doesn't have to look at him. "Sort of a girl?"
And she's having a hard time convincing herself last night even happened. She sat and drank wine on an amazing balcony and watched the sun set with a Tony Award-winning Broadway star. Insane. And they covered the basics; where Santana went to school, and where she's from, and when she knew she wanted to be a photographer. And Santana asked a few questions about Rachel's life, too, but was pretty worried about being nosy or whatever, so she was careful not to ask anything that could make Rachel feel as though she was being interviewed. She also felt like a dick having to admit she'd never seen Rachel in any of her shows.
Then this morning when Rachel came in for a latté, she acted the same as she always has in the shop, and Santana was pretty damn grateful for that, because no, she doesn't want anyone there to know she's ever seen Rachel outside of work. Why, she doesn't know. Doesn't matter.
"I ended up at Rachel Berry's place, drinking wine and talking about art."
Mike laughs. "Okay. You don't have to tell me."
"No, I'm serious."
Mike just shakes his head like she's jerking him around, but then he sees the look on her face and his brows go up like he's impressed. "How does that even happen?"
"Long story."
They're quiet for a few minutes, because Mike knows when to drop it and not pry, and then he goes, "Oh my god. You're into her."
He's not wrong, so she doesn't tell him he is.
"She might come to Jake's thing tomorrow."
"Seriously?" He sounds…Something. Nervous, or…
"Yeah. I actually went there to like, give her the hard sell on helping him get a job." Mike smiles like she's awesome for that. "I didn't invite her because…It's not a date, or something stupid like that. She's not even gay."
"Did she tell you that? Like, it came up in conversation?"
Santana hesitates a second. "No."
Mike chuckles next to her, as though she needed a reason to have any hope at all.
She just, as a rule, tries not to fall for straight girls. Like, when she was in high school it was different because she was practically the only one who was out, and it's just totally unrealistic to never be attracted to anyone. There's just no way that was about to happen. But then high school was different, too, in that she sort of had a girlfriend for a lot of it, so. And in college, after she and Brittany had broken up freshman year, Santana sort of just wanted to…She wasn't like, sleeping around or anything, but she didn't also particularly care what a girl's sexuality was. If a girl was into sex with her, that was basically enough. And really, if a girl was willing, Santana wasn't in a position to ask questions about the chick's label. Labels are stupid anyway, and if a women wanted to sleep with another woman and Santana happened to be there, well, it's just her good fortune and it doesn't really matter what that person identifies as.
But that is totally different from wanting someone who will never want you. As fluid as sexuality is and can be, there are obviously a ton of people who are solely interested in the opposite sex and Santana gets that. She obviously respects it, too. But by no means does she want to find herself ass over face for someone who draws a hard line at being attracted to or wanting a relationship with a woman. She already likes Rachel enough, but she doesn't know her, really, so most of that is just physical attraction.
Except the part where Santana likes the fact that Rachel seems surprisingly humble, and she doesn't have a whole team of people around her at all times, and she's actually really grateful for the opportunities she gets. She's a nice person with nice manners that Santana can tell aren't just there because someone somewhere along the way told her people would start writing or saying shit about her if she didn't mind her Ps and Qs. Rachel said she doesn't really have a best friend, and Santana has questions about that, and she also said that her favourite city in the world other than New York is Rome and Santana wants to know why.
There's just…More there than what it looks like on the surface, and you can't tell her to just brush that off.
… … …
She wavered back and forth on telling Jake about Rachel, because she honestly wasn't sure if he'd be pissed or get nervous to perform, or anything like that. She also hasn't gotten a confirmation from Rachel that she'll actually show up, so she didn't want to tell him the woman would be there and then have him be disappointed if Rachel never actually showed. Which, seriously, she doesn't have to do. She's under no obligation to come by and watch this guy who, to her, is a complete nobody.
It's just Santana thinks that if Rachel wasn't interested, they wouldn't have polished off a bottle and a half of wine talking about art and shit.
(No, she's decidedly not letting herself think that maybe it's her Rachel's interested in because of that. She just…Can't let herself do that.)
This thing isn't formal at all, but she's wearing a dress anyway, because it's hot out, and wearing jeans or even shorts seemed like the worst idea ever. And she got this blue and white striped dress from modcloth because…Okay, whatever. Last time she was at her parents' place she was drunk alone (well, drunk with her mom first, but then her mom bailed and went to bed, so) and bored and went online, which is always a bad idea for so many reasons. This isn't something she'd normally pick out for herself, and she sort of remembers thinking that one of the girls in the reviews for the dress was really hot, which is a totally embarrassing reason to buy a dress. But the package was waiting for her when she got back to New York and the dress fits her and shows off her body and her legs. It's not even…There's this little red belt, and the skirt of it isn't tight or anything, but it's cute and summery and the fabric is light enough that she feels like she might actually be able to avoid getting heat stroke today.
Add her Ray Ban aviators and she's basically good to go.
Mike's cargo shorts are good for carrying her Visa and her ID, and she holds her phone in her hand, and her camera's around her neck like usual. She doesn't want the burden of carrying a purse or camera bag around today. Not in this heat and not when she's going to be trying to get some decent shots of a New York block party.
So far all she's got is one of Puck leaning against a store window with an iced coffee in his hand, but whatever. It's still a good picture.
They basically park themselves in a spot in front of the stage that's set up and take turns going to get rounds of whatever. First it's french fries from this European-style chip place. and Puck's right, they're awesome fries. Then Mike gets them lemonade, and after that Santana figures it's time for some kind of alcoholic beverage, so she gets them each a plastic cup of this microbrew that isn't the best thing she's tasted, but whatever.
Her phone buzzes and her heart does this fucked up thing where it just knows it's Rachel, and Santana feels like a thirteen year old girl because of it. Rachel just wants to know where they are, and so Santana texts her back and then realizes for the first time that fuck, this girl's going to meet Puck and Mike, and like, she doesn't totally trust them not to be idiots because they're the only two people in the world who know Santana's got a thing for her.
"Don't be dicks," she says seriously, and they just look at her like she's nuts.
Mike clues in, though. "She's coming?" Santana doesn't answer.
"Who?" Puck asks.
"No one," she snaps. He's confused, and rightly so. "I pulled some strings with a connection I have and she's coming to watch Jake because she might be able to get him work."
Puck grins like she's the best, which, hi. "Seriously?" She shrugs her shoulder and ignores the stupid smirk on Mike's face as he sips his beer. "Who's the girl?"
She's not answering that.
And anyway, Rachel's walking through the crowd towards them in this blush-coloured one-shoulder dress that's lace on the top and something else on the bottom, and the whole thing is just too much for this kind of party, but Santana certainly doesn't give a fuck because damn. The girl's hair is curled perfectly and her eyes are so fucking pretty, and it's all just perfect, down to the strappy pumps on Rachel's feet.
(And she wasn't looking at Rachel's feet, she was checking out her legs and just like, ended up there.)
"Hi," Rachel says, and she seems nervous or something. "I'm vastly overdressed, but I had that other thing and I couldn't get out of going, but I left early and just came straight here." She looks at Mike and Puck, who're staring at her like idiots, and holds out her hand. "Hi. I'm Rachel Berry."
"Yeah, this is Mike and Puck," Santana says, and fuck, they're speechless or something, which is embarrassing for her, so she hopes it is for them, too. "Puck is Jake's brother, actually."
"Oh!" Rachel's whole face lights up. "I'm really looking forward to seeing him dance."
Santana blurts out, "Mike dances, too," and then he looks at her like she's just thrown him under the bus.
Rachel sort of laughs, this cute little giggle that Santana swears would make her give Rachel whatever she damn well asked for, and turns to Puck. "And what do you do?"
"I'm a social worker." Rachel looks like she's impressed, which is weird, considering who she is and what she does. "This is my neighbourhood. I actually work right around the corner from here."
"That's lovely," Rachel says, all sweet. Ugh. Santana crosses her arms because fuck, this is sort of an awkward thing, if only because she never actually mentioned to Rachel that anyone else would be around, and Mike and Puck aren't exactly star struck, but still. Then Rachel gets this fucking adorable little look on her face and goes, "Aren't you going to ask what I do?"
And it could be seen as incredibly arrogant, but the way she says it is almost self-deprecating, somehow. Like she knows she has to say or do something to break them all out of this weirdly tense place where the fact that she's famous is sort of weighing down everyone's ability to just be normal with her.
Finn ambles over to them in uniform, though, and like, what the fuck is this timing? Santana's barely gotten to say two words to Rachel and all her boys are monopolizing her or whatever, and…Look, it's hard enough being the only girl, but if Rachel's straight and Santana has to watch her ogle Finn in his FDNY cargos and tee shirt, she's going to be seriously pissed.
And she's not an idiot and Finn's a good-looking guy, and she's seen first hand how women react to this uniform. It's almost annoying.
He's also oblivious to everything, and so he just bumps fists with Mike and does that stupid handshake thing with Puck, and throws an arm around Santana and says, "Hey," to Rachel.
He has no clue who she is. Good.
"Did I miss him?" he asks, and then rubs his eyes. He works 24 hour shifts and he's obviously just gotten off. Puck says Jake hasn't gone on yet, and then Finn says something about getting a beer, and Puck is smart and also a good bro, so he says he and Mike'll go with him and bring back a round for everyone.
Santana could kiss him.
"Sorry," she says to Rachel as the guys walk away. "I should have told you they'd be here."
Rachel just shakes her head as she smiles. "I sort of figured you'd be with friends. Most people don't go to street parties alone."
"Right." Fuck. Now she feels dumb. "I just mean I would have warned you they'd act like that."
"It's okay," Rachel laughs. "I'm sort of used to people being…I don't know. Intimidated by me."
And Santana grins, because, "Oh, it's not that you're famous so much as it is that you're hot."
Rachel's cheeks flare red - Santana watches even as she kicks herself for blurting that shit out.
"Thanks," Rachel says quietly, then in the same breath, "I feel silly in this dress."
Santana's looking at the stage when she says, "You shouldn't," because as true as it is, she doesn't want Rachel to be uncomfortable with Santana talking about her like this.
And see, this is the part she always has trouble with. How do you tell someone you're gay when you're actually interested in them without it coming off like "I wanna fuck you"? She hasn't mastered that yet. It's easy when you're just talking to someone and it comes up. She had no problem telling any of the guys. There's no pressure and absolutely no room for confusion there. The last thing she wants is for Rachel to feel weird around her. It wouldn't be the gay thing that'd do it, it'd be the fact that Santana's pretty obviously…
Whatever. Maybe Rachel has no idea that Santana's basically an idiot for her at this point.
She sees this really cute scene playing out in front of her, where this dad lifts his son up onto his shoulders. The kid's in a tiny Nets jersey and a Yankees cap, eating cotton candy off one of those paper cones, and seriously, it's just a good shot, and the dad's got pretty impressive tats on his upper arms.
When she lowers her camera again, Rachel's just looking at her with this sort of soft expression on her face.
"What?"
"Nothing," Rachel answers. "I just can't believe you never mentioned you're a photographer. We talk every day, Santana."
She doesn't mean to roll her eyes, it just happens. "I hand you a cup when there's a lineup of pissy New Yorkers tapping their feet behind you." Rachel almost looks hurt, which is confusing as hell. "I just mean our conversations haven't exactly been super deep. Except the other night."
Rachel smiles a little, plays with her hair. "Yeah. I liked that."
Then the guys are back and Santana's totally thrown for a loop and doesn't know what the hell's happening.
They all seem to watch Rachel more than they watch Jake when he's on stage, but Rachel doesn't even notice. She's standing there holding cheap beer in an expensive dress and looking at Jake like he's every bit as amazing as Santana thinks he is. It's a relief, really, in part because now she won't look like an idiot for going out on a limb for someone who no one else thinks will make it. It's not all about her, or anything, but like, some of it is. Especially when she's trying to, you know, make Rachel want her.
Rachel laughs a bit when she realizes everyone's looking at her, after Jake's left the stage. "What?" she asks. She's obviously doing it just to be cute, which actually works. "He's amazing. I don't know what else you want me to say."
Santana sees Puck roll his eyes but Rachel doesn't. It's a good thing. And seriously, she sort of wants to punch him for that, because he could, for once in his life, be subtle.
It's Finn who says, "Well, he's got a shot, right?"
"Of course he does," Rachel says quietly, then sips her beer. "He's better than…He's just very talented, obviously. Can I talk to him?"
"Yeah, he's meeting us at this place on…"
Santana interrupts Puck, because no. "Rachel doesn't want to go to a place like that."
It's the first time since she's known Rachel that Santana really thinks she's fucked up and said the wrong thing. And Mike's standing behind Rachel making a face like 'oh shit Tana you messed up'.
Rachel legit puts her hand on her hip and stares at Santana. "How do you know?"
"It's a shitty bar with like, dollar draft and a bartender who'll stare at your…" She stops herself. Sometimes she has a hard time cleaning up her language when she's with the guys. They don't care, so she usually doesn't bother censoring herself. "It's just not a very nice place."
"Well," Rachel says, then grabs Santana's wrist, so. Okay. "Then it'll be a refreshing change from the type of place I usually go to."
Santana would argue, but Rachel's still holding onto her and walking through the crowd, following the guys. Santana wants to just laugh at this whole fucking series of events, but then Rachel looks at her over her shoulder, smiles and lets her wrist go. But not before sliding her fingers over as much of Santana's skin as possible.
… … …
Her manager gives her three days off in a row, which is amazing and has never happened before. Christ, she can't honestly remember the last time she had two days off in a row. She's just told she's been working really hard and they appreciate it, and she deserves the time off. Hell yes she does. But she thanks them politely, because no matter how much she busts her ass, they seriously aren't required to do things like this for her.
But it means she won't see Rachel forever.
After the night at the bar - where, seriously, Rachel charmed the fuck out of all the guys to the point that Santana's worried she's going to have to talk to them about not going after her - Rachel flew out to L.A. for some thing to do with her show. Now Santana's off, and it's been nearly a week or something since they saw each other, and it's fucking weird, and probably stupid, but other than Mike, Rachel's the only other person in the city Santana sees with such frequency.
She's got Rachel's number, but she honestly doesn't know if she's allowed to use it. Are they friends yet, really? Or are they just sort of acquaintances because Rachel's helping Jake?
(And she is. She's got a stack of his headshots and his demo on a flash drive, and she had him perform a monologue for him right there in the bar. It was kind of hilarious, but Rachel had just put her hands on his shoulders and said, "I'm going to get you a job," all serious. Maybe part of it was the beer, but Santana doesn't think Rachel goes back on promises.)
But that doesn't mean Santana's allowed to text Rachel and ask how her trip was, does it?
Her first day off, she sleeps until she wakes up. Seriously, she doesn't set an alarm or check her phone until her body's ready to get out of bed. It ends up being around 10:30, but that's a hell of a sleep in for her. She showers and then treats herself to the $3.99 breakfast at this place she knows, and no, she's not wearing anything more fancy than flip flops, red Nike shorts, and a black tank top.
If she has a nap in the afternoon after doing some tidying in her apartment, well. Whatever. Three days off? She can slack a bit on the first one. And anyway, she goes to Brooklyn to hang out with Sam and Quinn because it's been a while and she should. Even if sitting there talking to Quinn - or, rather, listening to Quinn talk - makes her want to punch herself in the face sometimes. It's fine, though. They feed her dinner and gin, so she's not mad. Then Mike comes up and they hang out a bit and he tells her about this audition sort of thing he has to hopefully get a job choreographing this pretty popular local guy's music video. The guy does shows all around New York. Santana's seen him and he's good, and she obviously hopes Mike gets the job.
But it seems like now her friends all have good things going on and she's still just working at fucking Starbucks and not getting very far with her work. It's stupid, because obviously Mike doesn't have the job yet, and Rachel hasn't pulled any strings for Jake so far, but fuck. They've actually got prospects. She's got a camera and an external hard drive full of images no one cares to see. It kind of stings, you know? Like, this is what she loves to do and no one cares.
That's depressing as hell, so she decides to spend the entire next day just walking around the city taking photos of whatever she sees that she wants to take photos of. It's weird, but it's been a while since she did this all on her own. Sometimes she'll take an hour or two, but it's been months since she went out totally alone and just let her lens guide her. Fuck, that sounds so lame.
But she gets some awesome shots around NYU, and then there's a kid playing with a yo-yo on the steps of the library and his dad's just the best, trying to help him. A guy in a suit spills coffee all over himself and Santana ends up getting a few really good pictures of the aftermath, but it's not like she's making fun of him or anything.
She's walked nearly the whole city and she's been ignoring her phone the whole time, but she stops for a mocha frap and checks her messages because it's not going to distract her from anything right now.
There's a message from Rachel that came through about an hour ago, and she gets brain freeze as she reads it because she forgets to stop drinking. Sufficiently distracted.
'I missed you this morning! They told me you're off. How are you spending the day?'
Shit. So not only did Rachel miss her, but she asked about her.
Okay, if that doesn't mean they're friends, she doesn't know what does.
So she replies that she's just out taking some photos, and Rachel says she's finished with rehearsal for the day, and Santana doesn't know if that is like, Rachel's way of fishing for an invitation to do something. Santana bites, though she's nervous doing it. It's stupid, because if this were just some girl, she wouldn't think twice about beginning to try a little harder to get her into bed. But Rachel is sure as hell not just some other girl. The fact that she's famous makes Santana tread a little more carefully. But she just says she's free in the evening, if Rachel found herself with nothing to do and wanted to get together.
So yeah, how they end up agreeing that Rachel should go to Santana's place…
Fucking confusing.
Also she needs to make her way back over to her place, because yeah, her apartment is tidy, but she really wants to make sure there's no crap lying around. She picks up a bottle of wine, too, because, well, Rachel gave her wine last time, so she's just keeping things square. She also wants to change, because denim shorts and a tank from Old Navy…well, that's just not the impression she wants to make. So she changes into skinny jeans and this grey tee shirt that is pretty much the most boring thing ever, but it's comfortable and actually looks kind of hot with these jeans, so she's fine with that.
And as shitty as it sounds, if Mike comes up and knocks on her door at any point this evening, she might strangle him. Obviously she loves that he lives in her building, but still. She doesn't want to have to tell him Rachel's coming over, because he'll bust her chops about it, or act like it's a huge deal when she's not sure it actually is.
Rachel shows up right on time with a paper shopping bag hooked over her arm and another pair of shorts on, and Santana's wondering why the woman would even own pants at all, because damn, those legs.
"Hey. What's that?" Santana asks as she pulls the door open.
"I got called to a meeting last minute and didn't get a chance to eat. I hope it's not rude. It's just salad. I brought one for you, too, if you want it."
Santana hasn't eaten since lunch, either, so. "Thanks. That's…nice."
God. She should probably learn how not to be the lamest person ever in front of Rachel. It's a condition she has or something.
"Oh my god, your place is adorable!" Rachel says, and steps further inside. She slips her feet out of her little flats, which she didn't have to do, but whatever.
"It's tiny."
Rachel smiles at Santana over her shoulder and sets the bag down on the coffee table. "I love it. It reminds me of…Well, when I first moved out of my parents' place, they wanted to keep me humble, or something, so I just had this tiny one bedroom on the Upper West. It was great. The hot water didn't work half the time, and actually, the reason I moved was because there was a series of break-ins, and…Oh, I'm not scaring you, am I? I'm sure this place isn't like that."
Santana just laughs a little, because this thing Rachel does where she goes off on a tangent is actually adorable.
So's her off the shoulder white and grey striped top. Santana sees the black bandeau Rachel's wearing underneath it, and that's kind of a distraction, too.
"It's okay. You're good."
While Santana gets forks and opens wine, Rachel walks around and says, "Did you take this?" to just about every picture in the place, and Santana laughs almost every time she says "No".
When she sits down in the living room again, Rachel takes a sip of wine before putting the glass down and saying, "I want to see more of your work."
That makes Santana so fucking nervous. It's stupid, too, because she knows she's good, and she knows Rachel already thinks she's good, but like. Showing off her entire portfolio to this girl stresses her out.
"It's…It's not like I'm some famous photographer or something."
Rachel tilts her head like that was an annoying thing to say. But Santana gets that, too, because it's like when Mike downplays how good a dancer he is. "Santana, from what I know about you, you really aren't this shy."
Oh. Shit. "I just…"
"Show me," Rachel commands, quietly, and like. Fuck.
"Fine."
(But she rolls her eyes and sighs when she says it, just to be a brat, and Rachel's smiling too widely.)
Yeah, she's got about a billion images (not quite that many, but give her a few years) on external hard drives and whatever, but she also has her portfolio, which is what she uses to get work. It's tucked away in her closet so it doesn't get damaged. (And also so that her friends don't just help themselves to looking through it if they see it out…) Santana walks over and pulls it out, and Rachel's wiping her fingers on her napkin, which Santana appreciates. All the photos are under plastic anyway, but even so, she doesn't like smudges.
She's kind of obsessive about this thing, but it's a collection of all the best shots she's ever taken, and she's proud of it. She lays it out on the coffee table and ignores the way Rachel's smiling at her.
She shot this wedding in Ohio two summers ago. Just a friend she went to high school with, but Mercedes asked if Santana would do her photos, and obviously she was all for it. Mercedes and Matt have been together since they were like 16, and Santana's known them both practically her whole life. Anyway, she got this amazing photo of Mercedes and Matt where he's seeing her for the first time in her dress. Mercedes is walking towards him and he's got his fist held up to his mouth, but you can still tell he's smiling because his dimples are showing. It's just an awesome shot.
Rachel doesn't say anything about it, though, and just turns the page instead, and Santana's this close to biting her nails here. Rachel probably thinks Santana's more confident than she actually is. It wouldn't be surprising if that were the case, because Santana's good in her every day life. It's just her photos that make her feel insecure, even though she knows they're awesome. It's a thing.
"Oh. Wow."
"Yeah, sorry."
She shouldn't apologize, though, because yes, there's a nude. It's tasteful and black and white and you can't see anything, but there's a woman who's clearly not wearing any clothes and it was a lighting nightmare, but Santana's happy with how the photos turned out.
"No, it's beautiful," Rachel says, though she's still looking at the book and not at Santana.
Anyway, Rachel doesn't comment much on many of the photos, which is scary as hell right now. Santana's under the impression Rachel's a pretty vocal and honest person, and if she's not saying anything, maybe...
"You know you're an amazing photographer, right?"
Right, well. Santana was sort of off in her own little world in which Rachel thought she was terrible and was just too nice to say so. She didn't even notice when Rachel came to the end of the portfolio.
"I...thanks."
Rachel looks like she wants to roll her eyes. "For as cocky as you seem, you're annoyingly self-deprecating about your work."
Santana first thinks that self-deprecating isn't the right term, but then: "I seem cocky to you?"
She's not offended, per se, but it sort of sucks to hear that. Especially since she's been trying to dial it back around Rachel so she doesn't come off as obnoxious. In doing that, she managed to make herself look arrogant. What are the odds if that even happening? She can't win, here, or at least that's how she feels.
"That wasn't...I just mean you're confident and you seem mostly fearless, and yet..."
"I am confident," Santana says, because it feels important. "I know I'm good, okay, but it's not like I'm used to having famous women sit next to me and tell me I'm amazing."
Rachel blushes then. Weird. This isn't even about her. Is it?
"Sometimes I wish people would see me as something other than just a Broadway star."
Shit. That sounds like the kind of confession this woman's never made to anyone else.
"Oh."
"I don't mean to sound like I don't love it, because I do, and I wouldn't trade a second, but it gets really hard to meet people. It's like all they're even willing to see is this version of me my agent and manager came up with when I was six."
Santana's not sure why she's being lumped in with everyone else here, because she honestly can't think of how else she was supposed to act. Other than a few passing comments that were mostly jokes, she's never even seriously talked about the fact that Rachel's a fucking star. Hell, even her friends were cool about it.
"You don't think I'm like that, do you?" Santana asks, because it's important, even if they're 'supposed' to be talking about her photos and not Rachel's career or whatever. "Because I don't see you as just some...like, yeah it's weird to have a mega star sitting on my couch, but..." Rachel chuckles and shakes her head. "I don't even think of you that way. Most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Rachel asks dubiously.
"Well. Then I see your face on a billboard."
"Stop," Rachel laughs, and swats Santana's thigh, but then does this thing where she leaves her hand there. "I've never really felt that way with you."
"Good."
"Except," Rachel starts, and fuck, "when you spoke for me and assumed I wouldn't want to go to that bar."
Oh. Santana laughs at that. "Yeah, but you put me in my place pretty quickly, so."
She's not expecting the sexy as fuck look Rachel gives her, or for the girl to say, "Well, someone has to."
But that's what happens and Santana finds herself turned on. Which isn't surprising, because they're alone and Rachel's hot and Santana's wanted her for what feels like years.
It explains why she's distracted when Rachel says, "I want you to shoot me," and Santana's response is, "What?"
Rachel smiles and looks down, and it's like she wants to laugh at Santana, but won't. And Santana would really like to, you know, act like a normal person and talk about this, but it's also this thing she's been thinking about since the first time she even looked at Rachel. That she's not even the one begging to make it happen makes this sort of an out of body experience for her. But then this is probably the kind of thing that makes Rachel feel weird about her fame, or whatever she said.
And Rachel's hand is still on her leg, so there's that, too.
"I don't know," Rachel says, like she's trying to downplay what she just said, or something. "It wouldn't be for anything, because I don't have anything to…I just think you're really talented and apparently I'm narcissistic enough to want photos of myself you've taken." Santana must be quiet a little too long, because Rachel goes, "Santana?"
"Sorry," Santana kind of laughs. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around that sentence."
Rachel smiles, sort of moves her thumb a bit, like she fucking knows that'll sweeten the deal. Santana doesn't doubt Rachel's low-key flirted to get her way a time or two. "So will you do it?"
"Yeah." Her voice is all scratchy and weird, so she clears her throat and reaches for her wine. "I mean of course. I'd love to."
At first she thinks that's too much, but then Rachel gives her this incredible and genuine smile, so maybe not.
… … …
She's got it in her head that when she shoots Rachel, it should be this really natural, sort of organic thing. Completely the opposite of basically every other photo of Rachel that exists. It all goes back to Rachel saying that people only see her fame. Maybe they wouldn't if they saw her drinking wine on her deck, or doing dishes in her kitchen, or brushing her teeth, or something. And Santana's aware that these are just photos Rachel wants for herself, too, but that makes sense for the whole thing as well. Why would she want a photo of herself that just perpetuates this idea that all she is is some glamourous Broadway star who's in full makeup and always 'on'? Maybe she'd like some candid photos of herself. Why shouldn't she?
So yeah, she does wish she had her camera on her now, too, because Rachel's got her phone in one hand, wallet in the other, and she's slipping her change back inside and texting at the same time, but still manages to be polite to the cashier and smile at the little boy eating a cookie at the table nearby.
This is the kind of angle Santana wants to take. Basically photos of Rachel the woman doesn't know are being taken. But that makes it sound voyeuristic or something. She just wants the whole thing to be less posed and more candid.
And today's like any other day, only when Santana hands Rachel her latté, the girl says, "I'll call you later?" and Santana's too surprised to do anything but nod. No one else seemed to hear, other than the customer behind Rachel, but he doesn't seem to give a shit.
… … …
"Are you guys like, dating?" Jake asks, and fuck. He said he'd buy her dinner as thanks for helping him out, because Rachel's already set him up with a meeting with her agent, and it's a really big deal. So they're at this Italian place and she's wearing a dress and Jake's asking questions like this.
"What? No."
He sort of smirks and tears off another piece of bread to dip in oil. "You sure?"
She rolls her eyes at him. Okay, so maybe he's the only person she's told that she's going to photograph Rachel at some point, but he's Jake, and she trusts him not to blab or make a big deal about it. And so what if the other night she and Rachel went to see this play Ryan Gosling is in for a limited engagement or whatever. Rachel had an extra ticket, and she offered it to Santana, so obviously she was game to go.
"Jake, I'm not dating her."
"But you would, if she wanted to," he says, like it's a fact. Which is fine, because it is.
Santana shrugs her shoulder and avoids eye contact. "Her sexuality is confusing. I don't even think she knows what's going on there." Jake just sort of smirks, and shakes his head. "What?"
"She's in theatre, right? She's probably at least into it a little."
"That's a huge stereotype," she points out, and he just looks smug, like it's a given. "So you're in theatre. What about you, then?"
Jake leans his elbow on the table. "I'm special."
Santana laughs (honestly, she knows he's totally straight, but still; the point is, his logic is, you know, non-existent on this one) and sips her wine. "Wait til I tell Rachel you don't think she's special," she says, and so there.
But Jake just chuckles at her. "Yeah, have fun explaining how that came up in conversation."
Ugh. Fuck him.