Pairing: Rachel/Santana

Synopsis: (1 of 10) Santana really doesn't want to work with Rachel. However, since Lima is a small town, when Rachel has to get a job, she just so happens to end up where Santana already works.

Author's Note: Okay, so swearimnotthedevil from Tumblr suggested I use a new song from the Tegan and Sara album that just came out. I did some digging, found one I liked, and here is the resulting fic. I hope you enjoy! Lyrics from "I Couldn't Be Your Friend" by Tegan and Sara.

###

ONE: Trainee

Does your heart ache

When you get around me?

Does your heart break

When you think about me?

###

"Jason, are you fucking kidding me? This is the new trainee?" Hell fucking no. Santana Lopez was not going to have Rachel Berry following her around like a little puppy dog. There was a reason she didn't like people, and a reason she didn't like Rachel Berry. They were one and the same: people annoyed the shit out of her. Rachel Berry was a people.

Her boss, a pimple-faced 20-something, held a finger rigid to his lips, "First of all, don't swear at me or I'll write you up." Jason had very little patience for Santana. Just cause she was a little temperamental.

Santana rolled her eyes, folded her arms over her chest. "Second?"

Jason seemed to blank a little bit. "Uh."

Rachel cleared her throat behind him.

"Right. You're going to train Rachel. I don't care if you guys have classes together and you hate each other, but you're not here to be friends." He smacked his hands together in finality and stalked out of the room.

Santana stared down at Rachel as if she were a problem that needed to be solved. "So neither one of us wants to do this but let's get to it," the Latina knew when it was time to fume and when it was time to work. And right now, with Jason watching from behind the door like Santana couldn't see his pasty face through the glass, it was time to work. She tossed Rachel a uniform shirt, "You should probably take off that ugly sweater." She lead the girl to the back, where there were a few employee lockers to put purses or jackets or whatever. "This is where we put our shit," she was quite unceremonious. "Your locker will be here," Santana took a loose lock and tossed it at Rachel. "Combination's on the back."

Santana was a little surprised that Rachel was so quiet the whole time, pleasantly so. Maybe she wouldn't be Miss Perfect like she was at school. So obnoxiously good all the time. And so easily offended.

"Clock in here," she brought Rachel to an old computer. It was an ancient Macintosh, the kind that sat on top of the hard-drive and took floppy disks. Santana stepped aside, leaning against the lockers. "Type your name in here," she pointed to the screen. Beside her, Rachel bit her lip as she perplexedly tried to navigate the practically-fossilized keyboard. "And the time here."

"How old is this thing?"

"Old enough for you to ask." Santana smirked.

"I know we're not friends –" Rachel had begun as she closed the clock-in screen.

"Oooh, nobody told me you were smart, too." She tweaked Rachel's nose before turning on heel and heading back into the concession stand. Santana laughed under her breath as she heard a muffled grumble as Rachel pulled on the employee polo shirt. The Latina grabbed a spare employee ID tag, a marker, and wrote out Rachel's name. For a second she was tempted to write, "Frodo," but decided against it. She turned around, clipped the ID tag to Rachel's shirt.

"The machines are pretty simple," Santana continued their little tour. She pushed a couple buttons on the soda machine, flicked some lemonade at Rachel's face, satisfied with the sour look Rachel gave her. "Popcorn machine runs itself. If it ever fuc—screws up," she decided it wasn't the best to keep swearing when Jason would be scrutinizing them, since she really needed this job, "just tell me or Jason and we'll fix it."

"Where are the refill things? If the soda runs out?"

Santana motioned to Rachel, hips swaying a little as she lead the girl into the back room. There were several large cardboard containers with clear tubes coming out of them, others gummy from soda, and opposite them, unopened ones. "Try to pick one up. We need to change the Coke anyway," Santana pointed to the box, stepped back, and waited to be amused. Those boxes were actually pretty heavy, and she didn't expect Rachel would be able to pick one up alone.

She was right. The box almost came clattering to the ground, but Rachel managed to lean it against a shelf. "That wasn't nice," the diva glared back at Santana.

"Had to learn somehow," Santana smirked, looping an arm under the box and helping Rachel set it on the proper shelf. "Twist that," she motioned to the empty box's plastic nozzle, "then punch a hole in this one, pull the thing out," she was quick with what she did, but just out of practice. "Twist this part back on, make sure it's secure otherwise it gets all sticky like this one," she motioned to the empty container. She threw the empty box in a large bin in the corner. "Trash gets changed at the end of the night. After the end of each showing, we go in and clean up after people. That's pretty much the whole job. Mostly, we just end up standing behind this counter."

Rachel nodded, taking another look at things before shifting uncomfortably on her feet.

"You don't like me, I definitely don't like you, so let's just try to avoid pissing each other off," she patted Rachel's shoulder with a hint of patronizing tones.

The diva sighed a little, appeared to try and distract herself with straightening out a stack of cups beside the register, "I don't think I'm someone who intentionally tries to upset someone. We may not get along but that doesn't mean I don't like you."

"Ugh, spare me your goody-two-shoes bit, please."

"What? I just think you have some anger issues, and you're … not my biggest fan," Rachel's eyes darted in Santana's direction before darting away again.

"Don't test me, Frodo," she growled, reaching over and grabbing Rachel by the shoulders, tugging her into her side in a faux-display of camaraderie. "I need this job. I assume you need this job because you're here, but don't think I don't know how to get what I want just because we have a boss here. I am not only not a fan but I think you're brainwashed and full of yourself."

"Brainwashed?"

"Who says you have to be society's 'it-girl?' You spend so much time licking everyone's boots, I'm sure you get a taste of what people are really like. I don't have anger issues. I'm just honest." She let Rachel go with a kind of flourish.

"Honest with everyone but yourself," Rachel spoke quietly.

Santana narrowed her eyes and was about to fire off some brilliantly sarcastic remark when a notification light shone beside the register. A small panel notified them when a certain theater was empty. "Stay here. I'll go clean the theater out. Don't let anyone rob the place."

She stalked out of the room, grumbling to herself about short people and big egos, stopping to give a half-hearted smile to retreating customers. Santana grabbed the vacuu-broom and ran it over troublesome spots. She spotted Jason up in the projector room, and made quick work of what she was doing. It never failed to surprise her how sloppy people were.

"Anger issues," she grumbled as she dumped the filter, "like I really have anger issues. It's just that people are shitty and I don't have patience for them. It's not my fault. They're the idiots." Santana was fully ranting to herself by the time she got done. Out in the lobby area, Rachel was serving someone popcorn and ringing it up. The brunette glanced up and watched Santana move across the lobby. Santana pretended not to notice, and began cleaning up the small areas. More customers came in, tickets in hand, and Santana directed them to the appropriate place.

The thing was, Santana didn't like people because they couldn't be trusted. She'd been fucked over one too many times. By Brittany, by Sam, by anyone she'd previously trusted – excluding Puck because she'd never trusted him – and she didn't see any reason to change her ways. She could tell by the way Rachel watched her that the diva was trying to psychoanalyze her. That made her crankier. By the time the night ended, she didn't say so much as a goodbye before grabbing her bag and throwing it over her shoulder, stalking out of the place.

Of all people, she had to work with the dwarf.

###

They had officially been working together for a week when it started. The questions. Rachel was doing that thing she did to people she thought needed a friend. She asked them subtle shit that was supposed to let Rachel get who they were.

"You've not always been so angry with everyone," Rachel observed. It was a slow Wednesday night and they'd had a grand total of three customers. One couple that were probably making out anyway and not even watching the movie, and a creepy 30-something dude that wheezed when he spoke.

"Oh, 'cause you've known me so well." Santana rolled her eyes.

"I mean, sure you've aimed a few slushies and pulled hair but you've never been like this. I've seen you at school. You don't even talk to Brittany anymore."

"Woo, give the girl an award," Santana glowered at Rachel and went back to cleaning out the popcorn machine. "Please tell me where this is going because your voice is annoying as shit. Not that it isn't always."

"Thank you," Rachel sounded a little irritated. "I'm saying the only reason you don't talk to anyone and you treat everyone like dirt is because you're really just angry and you bottle every other emotion up."

"Freud, you're not telling me anything I don't already know," Santana got up, having cleaned out the machine. She deposited the popcorn seeds and shut the glass door before flipping the switch. She rubbed buttery fingers down the front of Rachel's shirt. "So what's the fucking point?"

"You need someone to talk to." Rachel held her shirt aloft, trying to rub the butter off of her shirt but only making the fabric darken. She sighed. "You can lash out at me all you want but I see you."

"You don't see mierda, and if I'm going to talk to someone it's sure as hell not going to be you. I'm here to get bills paid and get the hell out of Lima after I graduate. Not to make friends."

Rachel looked a little wounded, and stood with a gaping mouth for just a second. Santana almost felt bad. Almost.

###

Okay, so maybe she was being a little unfair. As she cleaned up after a particularly messy group of middle-schoolers, she realized that all her bile didn't need to be directed at Rachel. She didn't want to be friends with Rachel, but maybe she didn't have to treat her like shit.

"Oh, what," realizing that maybe she had a nice streak deep down, she stood up and looked around the empty theater, "the actual fuck. Since when do I have a good angel on my fucking shoulder." She stomped a foot in defiance before growling at herself and continuing to clean up wrappers and mess.

Santana was scowly by the time she got back to the concession stand. She certainly wasn't going to apologize but she would lay off the bitterness for a little bit. A little bit.

Rachel was especially quiet anyway.

When they went to school, neither acknowledged each other any more than they would have before. Santana hadn't said anything to anyone and she was pretty sure Rachel didn't want people to know she had a job. The Latina secretly wondered why Rachel was working anyway. She was pretty sure the diva's fathers were pretty loaded since she had those horribly distasteful expensive sweaters in a large variety.

In their obvious silence, Santana would sometimes sneak glances at Rachel just to try and see what she was thinking. Other times, she'd feel Rachel watching her and she'd find a reason to duck out and do something else. She knew Frodo had been dreaming up some great theories about why she was such a bitch to everyone but she really didn't want to hear them because that would give her a reason to lash out.

Last time she checked, she didn't hire Dr. Rachel as her therapist. So for the most part, she avoided any conversation and sometimes she'd even raise her finger, say, "Shhh," very pointedly before going back to what she was doing.

Stifling Rachel would only work for so long though. Eventually the dwarf would find a way to get something out of Santana and she was already cranky about it.

Later that week, when the last movie was running and literally nobody was there, Santana told Rachel she was going to clean one of the theaters but in reality she was just going to go catch the last bit of the movie that was running. It was some cheesy Nicholas Sparks' shit and not that Santana would readily admit it, but sometimes she was a sucker for that bullshit.

She rested her feet on the back of a chair, glad that Jason wasn't working that evening, and let the projector run through the movie. This chick flick was a little too cheesy, and she was in the middle of snorting about a clever joke she made when she saw a dark figure standing next to the row she sat on. Santana almost jumped out of her seat but instead ended up with her ass on the arm of one chair, her arm hung down the gap in the seat beside her.

"Fuck! Why would you sneak up on me like that?"

"Santana Lopez!"

"You're such a creep! What are you doing there just… standing there!"

"What are you doing watching a movie while you're working?"

"Nobody's even here, Rachel. Jesus." Santana untangled herself from the seats and sat down a seat further from the aisle. "It's not like Jason's working tonight and this is the last movie playing. God."

Rachel hesitated at the end of the aisle; Santana thought she was going to sit down but instead the shorter girl stalked out of the theater, grumbling all the way.

Santana smirked, settled down in her seat, and finished the movie. That is, until the movie stopped prematurely. When Santana turned around, she caught Rachel's retreating shape in the corner of the projector window.

"You are such a killjoy!" She fumed at the bottom of the stairs as Rachel came down. The diva squeaked in surprise. "Why did you turn it off?"

"Because we have work to do. Or did you forget about that part?"

"I'm calling you a surgeon to remove that stick from your twat."

Rachel's face contorted in disgust, "Real classy, Santana. Really." She tossed Santana a package of sanitizing wipes to be used on the concession counters.

"I'm just saying you should get it looked at because it's really keeping you from enjoying life."

To Santana's surprise, Rachel wheeled around, a fist clamped at Santana's collar, and the girl pulled her forward a little roughly. It was kinda hot.

"Listen, Santana, I don't appreciate you talking to me like that and I'm really getting tired of you constantly being a bitch. I'm not in the mood to deal with your shit tonight and I want to get out of here so either you help me clean this place up or I'm going to do more than grab you by your shirt collar. Just because I'm quiet and kind it doesn't mean that I don't know a thing or two about punishment," Rachel's expression was so intense that it was hard to laugh off what she was saying. Santana was determined to keep her cool but fuck it was a little sexy watching Rachel talk about punishment like that.

She peeled Rachel's hand from her shirt, smoothed out her collar, "You just gotta learn how to talk to a girl," Santana quipped under her breath, walking just a little faster by Rachel and getting back to work. She tread a little more carefully the rest of that week.

###

Santana decided she didn't totally hate Rachel. It took a month to come to that conclusion, but she came to it one night when Rachel asked her for help changing out one of the sodas. It was one of those sudden realizations. And she realized it because she hadn't even made a smartass remark when Rachel asked, she'd just said, "Sure, Rach." Rachel had blinked at her a few times, narrowed her eyes, and waited for a moment as if she was seeing if she had really heard Santana correctly.

"Oo-kay." Rachel had responded simply, the hint of a half-smile on her lips as she turned around.

Santana was just about to ask what Rachel was making a big deal about when she realized she'd just called Rachel 'Rach.' Not Frodo, or Gimli, or Gremlin, or imp, or midget princess, not even Rachel. She had called her a nickname. A nice nickname. After she deduced that she didn't have a fever of some sort, she followed the brunette into the back and helped her heft the soda onto the shelf, and watched as Rachel twisted the plastic nozzle on.

Not like they were friends or anything, but the smile on Rachel's face was there and Santana realized the brunette was smiling at the fact she hadn't been called something terrible.

All Santana said was, "Don't get used to it." Rachel laughed.

###

Santana was in the middle of counting the money in the register when Rachel spoke.

"I'm working here because NYADA has a large application fee and I realized if I want to get anywhere, I'd better get used to taking care of myself," Rachel was wiping the inside of the snack counter down.

Raising an eyebrow, Santana sighed, "Why are you telling me?"

"Because I know you've been wondering. Or have at least wondered, at some point."

"Oh now you're a mind-reader."

"A little bit," Rachel responded in that cocky tone she sometimes got. And then Santana groaned inwardly.

Fuck. I'm getting to know her quirks.

"That was a joke, Santana," Rachel said pointedly, her voice bouncing around inside the snack display and coming out muffled by the time it got to Santana.

"Hah," she humored the brunette, looking down at her through the top of the counter. Experimentally, she slapped the glass and chuckled when Rachel jumped inside the display case. She snorted a little then went back to what she was doing.

"I noticed something," Rachel was brushing herself off as she got up from the floor. "You don't call me terrible things anymore."

"Maybe I'm trying to think of something new to call you."

"Like 'Rach?'"

Santana flipped the brunette off, turning her back to Rachel as she started wiping down the display cups. "No, I was thinking something like Furby."

"Please."

Okay, so Santana didn't even believe that.

"You don't even insult me in school anymore. In fact, people are starting to notice. You should be careful. I might start to think you feel like I'm a human being."

"You're not. I'd get genetic testing done."

"You can cover all you want, Santana, but you're starting to be nice to me," Rachel flicked the back of Santana's neck. The Latina flinched and slapped Rachel's hand away.

"You wish."

"Dare I say you're even noticing some things about me, like the way I look or the way I say things, starting to notice habits I have."

Santana clamped her mouth shut, eyebrows knit together in irritation.

"I'm guessing you can even tell me how I wear my hair on what days. Because like it or not Santana, you're starting to see me as a person. And after that, you're going to see me as someone you trust," Rachel was circling around Santana, and had managed to wedge herself in between the counter and Santana, putting them in unusually close quarters. "I bet you even feel tempted to speak to me in public sometimes."

"You wish, and I don't know why you're cuddling up to me and I get that I'm totally attractive but please respect a two-foot minimum space requirement," Santana was trying to blow Rachel off but the brunette was really pushy tonight. When Santana moved away and started working on something else, Rachel had made her way around the counter and was leaning across it, directly in front of Santana. "Do you mind?"

"No, but you do. You know I'm right and it freaks you out that you might even find me slightly agreeable to be around."

"At best, but you're really pushing it, Berry."

"Oh, now it's Berry?"

Santana slammed her hands down on the counter, but Rachel didn't flinch away.

"You don't scare me anymore, Santana."

Santana narrowed her eyes, and decided to switch gears. So Rachel thought she couldn't be scared by Santana anymore? She'd prove otherwise.

The girl backed off, headed around to the other side of the concession stand. When she was sure there wasn't management around, or customers, she closed the distance between herself and Rachel, grabbing the shorter girl by her collar and backing her up against the counter. Santana turned on that predatory part of herself, and smoothed Rachel's collar out.

"Let me tell you something, Rachel," Santana purred. "Fear comes in different shapes and sizes." She let her fingers run down the front of Rachel's shirt, skirting over Rachel's breasts, fingers curving around Rachel's side. She made sure to draw every movement out, smirking at the way Rachel's breath was starting to heave out of her as Santana's hand moved to Rachel's lower back, the side of her thighs, and cupped her ass. She squeezed, noting how Rachel really was pretty physically fit despite being a geek. "Right now, you're a whole different kind of scared. Your cheeks are flushed," Santana's free hand ran along the side of Rachel's throat and her voice was a quiet purr. She intentionally let herself hover just close enough to Rachel's lips to hear her gasp. The brunette was breathing heavily and her eyes were dilated, just enough to let Santana know she was right. "You're not just afraid of me being this close, but you're afraid because you like it. And you kind of want me to kiss you because the little lezzie in you is just begging for me to close the distance."

Rachel's breathing was choppy at best because Santana's hand was absentmindedly grabbing her ass and tugging Rachel's hips into hers, "S-Santana," the diva's hand had moved between them and was weakly pressing at Santana's arm as if to push her away, but really all she was managing to do was grasp Santana's arm.

"So don't tell me I don't scare you, because I have ways to scare you. I have ways to make your toes curl in fear, and I have ways to make sure you never forget how good I am at scaring you," Santana's lips were right beside Rachel's ear. As if to make her point, she pressed her lips near Rachel's ear, kissing the soft skin there. She felt Rachel's hand fly to her waist in surprise. "I bet if I were to touch you right now, slip my hand just beneath those tight jeans of yours, not only would I find you aching but wet and eager."

When she backed up, she intentionally let her fingers slip along Rachel's ass and around to the side of those well-toned thighs. She closed the distance briefly, hearing Rachel's breath catch, and touched her lips to Rachel's forehead. She tapped Rachel's cheek softly with a finger before turning around.

"Hopefully you'll be more careful about what you say," Santana warned Rachel as she walked away. Though she walked the walk of someone triumphant, she realized later that night when she got in her car, she'd been just as scared as Rachel looked.

###

Rachel seemed to find it easier to pretend that their little encounter hadn't happened. Even in school, she blustered and avoided any conversation with Santana. Well, well. At least her test had worked. Besides, there were lots of ways to keep people at arms' length. She didn't always have to be a bitch to keep people away from her. Sometimes she had to use a person's hormones against them.

What Santana didn't count on was that her hormones had reacted just as strongly as Rachel's did. In fact, she woke up a couple times later that week with the realization that she'd been having dreams about Rachel. That made it even harder to act aloof when she went to work. She and Rachel got by with the basics, and the brunette seemed to have lost the courage to challenge Santana and try to get into her head.

In fact, if Santana was honest with herself, she kind of missed the way things were just before she'd freaked Rachel out. She'd gotten what she thought she wanted.

For a while though, she'd kind of liked having someone trying to get in her head. When she'd been dating Britt, the blonde had been far too easy to get off course. It was easy to keep her at bay because she was pretty simple to trick. With Rachel, Santana had kind of had a challenge.

The mutual silence didn't last too long, though. When Rachel was helping her change out one of the sodas, she broke the ice between them, "I know what you were doing when you … did that."

"Changed the soda?" Santana played dumb, and left the room with Rachel not far behind her. She washed her hands in the little sink behind the concession counter, and having no place to dry them, she wiped them down the front of Rachel's shirt. Rachel was not pleased, but it didn't deter her from the path she was on.

"You know what I'm talking about. You think by freaking me out a little bit you're going to keep me from trying to get into my head but I'm – "

"Annoying? Overinvolved in everyone's life? Short?" Santana tried her best to keep on the move but Rachel wouldn't give up. Damn her.

"I'm unusually observant," Rachel gritted her teeth, the words coming out between them, "and I'm fully aware that you not only use your quick wit but you also use your sexuality as a tool against people. You feel like you have something to hide and that somebody's going to use what they can against you, so you might as well beat them to it."

"You're like Dr. Phil's annoying little stage hand," Santana was full-on frowning.

"My point exactly. Every time I say something that's true, you counter it in some way. I'm not stupid."

"Oh, my, god. What is your point?"

"My point is that you're lonely and you don't think people are going to notice but I watch you on your break."

"Creep."

"I've seen you checking your phone and frowning at it, like you're waiting for someone to contact you, to reach out to you. Nobody is."

"Thank you for reminding me," Santana felt a sting from that observation, slammed the garbage can back down, and headed into one of the empty theaters to clean up. She felt Rachel's hand on her arm a few moments later, and they were silhouetted in the dark as the credits rolled. Santana jerked her arm away. "If I wanted a therapist," she spat, wheeling around and facing Rachel, "I'd pay for one."

"You have a picture in your locker of you and your abuela, and a little boy. You threw one away two weeks ago of you and Britt and Quinn. They don't talk to you anymore and it kills you."

Folding her arms over her chest, she rolled her eyes and stared at the ceiling, "Do you have a point, Gimli, because I am about point two seconds from showing you how awesome my right hook is."

"You'd never hurt me." Rachel was so sincere that it surprised Santana. And it kind of pissed her off that she was right. "Because you know I'm the first person to pay enough attention to the way you look sad and hurt whenever Quinn or Brittany decide to sit beside someone besides you. I'm the first person to see the way you pretend to look at your fingernails when you look like you're about to cry."

Santana laughed without mirth. She was absolutely not enjoying this. "Do I need to get a restraining order, you imp? Or are you going to keep pointing out quaint observations about me?"

"You ball your fists up whenever you don't know whether to be sad or angry, and you're doing it right now because you're fighting every urge inside you to leave this theater and go home early because you can't stand the fact that somebody is paying attention to you."

Santana blew, enunciating every syllable, "Why do you care, Rachel? Or are you just helping me relive my more painful memories to bring me down a notch or two?" Her voice was a little louder than she intended. "You know what? Forget it. I don't care. You're wrong." She shoved Rachel back just enough to get by her, and left the theater door swinging harshly on its hinges.

"Oh, please, Santana," Rachel's voice followed her through the doors, just as loud and challenging as her own. She grabbed Santana by the arm and swung her around. "Why don't you admit that the only reason this bothers you is because –"

"Because WHAT Rachel, please, tell me! I am so fucking riveted."

Rachel went from gripping Santana's arm to holding her hand, "Because you don't want to tell anyone that maybe you're sick of pushing people away. The only reason you do it is because your friends abandoned you and things at home are tough. You have this job because you're helping your abuela pay medical bills. She's been in the hospital for three weeks and she's all you have in the world."

Santana's eyes went wide. Her vision blurred, and it felt like someone was clenching her throat. It was true. Abuela had been in the hospital and the only way she could help was by working this damn job. It was the only reason she'd gotten this job in the first place. She was gaping, eyes distant as they looked past Rachel. She couldn't bare to face her accuser because Rachel was right.

"You dropped this last shift," Rachel whispered, pressing an envelope addressed to her abuela. It was the hospital bill she had torn up the house looking for. "I ran out to the lot to get you but you'd driven away by then. I knew if I gave it back to you at school, you'd laugh in my face and go back to ignoring me." The diva's voice was too soft for Santana to handle

Warm tears dripped from her cheeks, landing on her palm. She shoved the bill in her pocket and wiped her face. She couldn't look at Rachel, not now. She wiped her face and turned around. "Thanks." It was all she could say.

"Santana, aren't you going to talk to someone about this?"

"No." She slammed her locker door shut and made sure she was in her car and out of the lot by the time Rachel made it out there.

###

Santana didn't know if she was furious or if she was relieved. Rachel had gotten to the core of her issues, at least the ones she was dealing with lately, and she'd uncovered the vulnerable part of the Latina without even breaking a sweat.

Even when she was at home, she felt herself fuming.

"Cuzzo," her little cousin, Marcus, was swinging his legs back and forth while shoveling a mouthful of Lucky Charms down his throat. Milk dribbled down his chin, and Santana reached over with a rag, wiping the milk from his chin and throat. He was eight, but he'd yet to master the art of eating. "Why are you so quiet tonight? Is it abuela?"

"No, buddy, she's okay," Santana offered a smile. "I just had a hard couple days at work, that's all."

"Okay," true to the nature of a child, he shrugged and went back to scarfing down his food.

Santana went back to the stack of bills on the table. Utilities had been paid, phone bill, and as she was calculating the cost of Nana's most recent medical bill beside how much she was making, she realized she might have to pick up more hours.

"You know we made these really neat masks today. They were like lions and stuff, and graffs," Marcus' legs swung back and forth. "And I made one for myself and cut the eyes out of it," the boy spoke fast, and his enthusiasm made Santana smile. She stopped what she was doing, focused on the little boy. His face would one day fill out and he'd be a player with all the girls after him. His mother, Santana's biological aunt, was half African and half Cuban. She'd been deported four years ago when the boy was only 2. Santana's mother, who was three quarters Cuban and a quarter Haitian, had moved with her boyfriend to San Francisco when she was about Marcus's age. She and Marcus had both been raised by their now ailing grandmother.

"Did you bring it home?"

Marcus nodded, and Santana rubbed his fuzzy little head as she got up and got the mask out of his backpack. "Is this it?"

"It's a zebra! 'Member that time when we were at the zoo and the zebra was running around all fast? That's when I realized I liked zebras. They're my favorite because they're pretty and I think I want one for Christmas. Do you think abuela will buy me one?"

"We'll see," Santana laughed, setting the mask down beside him. "Finish your cereal. You're such a messy eater," she reached over with the damp rag, wiping his face again.

"You're always working and filling out those papers," he continued to talk through mouthfuls of lucky charms.

"Someone's gotta fill out these papers, little man, and you can't read yet."

"I can too! I read to one of the girls in my class because we were playing house and I pretended I had glasses and was readin' the paper to her, like Nana used to do for us you know. When is she coming home?"

Santana tried her best not to frown. She took a breath, rested her chin on her palm and narrowed her eyes, "Well, as soon as the doctors say she can."

"Can we see her this weekend if she's not home yet?"

Santana nodded. "Of course. I promise. How about I take you Friday?"

"After school?"

Santana held out her pinkie, to which her cousin responded by twisting his own around it and pulling their hands forward. He kissed the cup of his hand, and Santana pulled their hands her way and kissed the cup of her own hand. "Pinkie swear."

She filled out the last check for the evening, sealing it in an envelope and setting the stack on the counter to be mailed tomorrow on the way to school. Marcus finished eating and bounced himself into the living room. He turned on Spongebob, and Santana watched the boy from the kitchen for a little bit.

What would she do if something happened? Could she really take care of her cousin? Her mother was good for nothing and his mother sent what she could from Cuba, but getting anything from Cuba to the U.S. took a long damn time. Customs always flagged any money she sent to help support her son, and she couldn't legally immigrate back.

The weight of it was heavy on her shoulders, and in that moment she wished she had someone to talk to.

The doorbell rang. When Santana went to open the door, she realized no one should be ringing the doorbell this late. It was 9 p.m. Santana frowned, felt for the knife in her pocket and kept her hand over it as she unlocked the door.

Rachel was standing there, a coat wrapped around her. A car was idling in her driveway. A large black man waved at her. Leroy, she guessed. "Hey," Rachel spoke first, since she must have realized Santana was too shocked to say anything. "I wanted to apologize."

"At 9 in the evening?" Santana was more than a little confused.

"Yeah," the brunette tucked her hands in her pockets. "I was wondering if you wanted company for a few hours. I have a midnight curfew and Daddy said I could come over."

Santana was going to say something sarcastic and send her away when she felt a warm arm wrap around her leg. Marcus was leaning against her. "Who's this?"

Rachel didn't wait for Santana to answer. She crouched in front of the boy and offered her hand, "Hi, I'm Rachel. I'm Santana's … friend from school."

"Oh," he reached out and shook her hand animatedly, "My name is Troy Marcus Lopez and it's nice to meet you," he recited his name. "My friends call me Marcus. I guess you can call me Marcus, too."

Rachel glowed, laughing a little bit as the boy bounced away and laid flat on the couch. He was too enamored with the television to say anything further. When Rachel stood again, she met Santana's eyes and held her gaze there. "Would you like some company? If you don't, I'll turn around and we can forget I was here." Her voice was soft, so as not to travel in Marcus's direction.

It took Santana some thought before she nodded cautiously. "Sure," she cleared her throat. She watched Rachel trot over to the car idling in the driveway, kiss her father on the cheek, and wave as he left. Letting Rachel in, she locked the door behind her and felt a little perplexed. How had Rachel even known where she lived? She didn't know whether to be flattered or creeped out.

Then again, she had been wishing for someone to talk to. "I have to put him to bed in 15 minutes, and then we can talk. I guess."

Rachel nodded. She sat down on one of the slightly broken-down chairs. Santana felt a little awkward and as she sat down on the couch, she pulled Marcus into her lap. The boy barely noticed. He was picking at his sleeve and laid his head on Santana's shoulder. The three of them watched Spongebob together, and Santana rocked her cousin until he started to yawn.

9:30 came and went. Santana carried the sleepy boy up the stairs, his arms and legs swinging a little loose on either side of her. Rachel followed them up the stairs. The house was small, so Santana didn't think she needed to give Rachel a tour of the place. Upstairs were three very small bedrooms – one for Santana, one for Marcus, and one for Nana.

Santana flicked on the dim light in Marcus's room. It was a mess in there, but she hadn't had time to help him clean his room. She knew the things they had were mostly hand-me-downs and definitely looked like it, but she didn't feel the same kind of shame she had the first time she'd had Quinn in her house. Somehow she knew Rachel wouldn't judge her for it.

The Latina covered Marcus up, kissed him gently on his cheek. "Night, handsome," she murmured quietly. Marcus reached up, seemingly unaware of Rachel in his doorway, and wrapped his arms around Santana's neck.

"I love you, Cuzzo," his voice was drowsy and his syllables heavy.

"Love you, too." Santana whispered and brushed her fingers through his thick hair. She'd have to take him to the barber in a week or so. Either that or she'd have to pick it out, and sometimes it hurt Marcus's head when she did that. She turned the light off and closed the door behind her. She motioned to the stairs as Rachel backed up to allow her room to get out.

Rachel nodded, and Santana could hear her footsteps padding lightly behind her as they went into the living room. Santana turned the television to another channel and let the volume stay where it was, since it would cover any conversation they might have. She filled a glass with cold water, and set it in front of Rachel. She sat beside the brunette, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

"Why did you come?"

"I had a feeling you wanted to talk to someone."

"Oh, you're psychic," Santana sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. Beside her, Rachel scooted closer.

"No. Usually when people almost cry, they have something to talk about."

"Well, you already know my big secret. So, what now?"

Rachel sighed, and Santana felt fingers moving stray black hairs behind her ear. The skin tingled where Rachel touched. Santana ignored it. "Your cousin is really sweet."

"Thanks," the taller girl glanced beside her, not directly at Rachel but at the space she occupied.

"Is it just the three of you?"

Santana nodded, sucking on her bottom lip and avoiding eye contact.

"You're really good with him, you know. I knew you were .. human, but I didn't think you were a nurturer, too."

Santana arched an eyebrow and was about to say something vicious but she realized Rachel was smiling at her. "Hah," she responded quietly. More seriously, she added, "He needs somebody now. Our only 'parent' is in the hospital."

"You need someone, too," Rachel spoke even softer. She was resting her head on the back of the couch, eyes trained on Santana.

Santana didn't answer. She wasn't ready to admit that.

"I wanted to say sorry if I came off too aggressive before. I wasn't trying to upset you. I just … I wanted you to talk. I wanted you to admit that something was wrong in your life, something that really bothered you. I guess that was … wrong of me," Rachel was picking at her shirt, and sighed to herself. "It was the wrong way to do it. And I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," Santana fidgeted, looking a little grim.

Rachel shook her head. She must have realized that Santana wasn't going to look at her unless she was forced to, because she sat on the coffee table in front of Santana, shoulders crouched so the Latina had no choice but to look at her. "You try really hard to isolate yourself because you figure if you're a bitch, no one can hurt you. If you're behind a wall, nobody can touch you. I see you every day, fighting down emotional reactions and coming up with horrible things to say, just so nobody sees past all the … bullshit," the brunette's hands covered Santana's.

She was making Santana nervous in a different way. There was no way to channel her emotions, her anxiousness, if she couldn't fidget or shoot sarcastic barbs at Rachel. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting from Rachel's face to her hands, where the brunette's thumbs were drawing circles over Santana's skin. Rachel was making her face her feelings and fuck if it wasn't a serious pain in the ass thing to do. Santana bounced her legs up and down a little. Rachel freed a hand and pressed Santana's knee down so she couldn't bounce her legs anymore.

"Tell me how you're feeling," Rachel's voice lowered and carried only in the space between them. "Talk to me."

"Annoyed."

"Good, what else?"

"Like I wanna call your father and tell him what an annoying little brat he raised."

Rachel laughed. "And?"

"Glad that you came," this part came softer. She lowered her eyes. "Scared that my nana isn't going to make it out of the hospital. Scared I'm going to have to raise a little boy all on my own. Scared that after all this I'm not going to have my nana to tell me everything's going to be okay because this is the third time in a year she's been in the hospital with a lung infection. Pissed off that I have a stack of bills in the kitchen that I can't pay. Even more pissed off that I have to even consider quitting school so I can work full time to make ends meet." Her mouth was running away with her and suddenly she couldn't stop the outflow of emotion, bottled up for far too damn long. "Kinda pissed that you're making me talk about this because the more I talk about it the more I feel like fucking .. crying."

Rachel was running her hands over Santana's arms now, her legs on either side of Santana's as she closed the gap between her and Santana, still seated on the coffee table. She was just listening. It wasn't like talking to Quinn or Brittany. They didn't just listen to her. They tried to offer advice or asked clarifying questions.

"I'm really mad that my mother won't answer my phone calls even though I leave messages telling her what's going on. She's living God knows where with a dick of a boyfriend. She left me when I was Marcus's age. I get pissed when I realize all my abuela had to go through just to raise me and how ungrateful I was until the last few years. And then I just get really fucking sad because I realize I never thanked her and if she dies in that place," her eyes started to get a little blurry, burning with salt tears. Suddenly she was covering her mouth to stifle the sobbing sound coming from her throat.

And Rachel was there, gathering Santana's quietly crying frame into her arms and hushing her gently. For the first time in a long time, Santana Lopez was crying in front of another human being. She was crying hard enough to feel her chest aching. Her abuela could very well die and then she'd be left with the huge responsibility of raising a child and she realized, as her hands gripped Rachel's shirt, that she was a little angry about it. When she realized that, she found herself wrapping her arms fully around Rachel and gripping her shoulders.

"Santana Lopez, I'm sorry you've had to carry this weight by yourself," Rachel pulled back, cupping Santana's jaw with her hands and forcing the Latina to look her in the eyes. Her thumb wiped stray tears from Santana's cheek. "I'm sorry, and I'm sorry this is happening."

Santana wanted to cry more at this, but she settled for sucking in air and trying to maneuver her hands around Rachel's so she could wipe her tears first. During all of this, Rachel didn't budge. Her thumb still darted to catch stray tears.

She'd never seen such a kind gaze directed at her, one that was so full of sincerity that it made her hurt all the more. Santana was sure the girl was going to give some platitude about the fact that she wasn't alone and that she had a best friend forever or whatever, but instead she had to catch her breath when Rachel leaned forward and pressed her lips to Santana's forehead. It was gentle and it lingered, a comforting and platonic kiss and it wasn't what Santana had expected.

Silently, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Rachel. Without asking, and without needing to be asked, the brunette held Santana to her. Even so, she felt a kind of shock running through her core. She had needed someone to be there for her, and now that she had it, Santana felt like it was okay to let her emotions out.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly later that evening as Rachel was leaving. She reached out and grasped Rachel's hand, held it for a moment. It was enough for now to know that someone would be there when she broke down.