“So she’s your favourite, huh?” Santana asks, bending down to collect her son’s backpack and coat, placing the coat on its hook and bag on the bench by the door of their apartment.
Mason grins, nodding enthusiastically. “She’s awesome. And she said I was a really good singer.”
“She’s not wrong there, buddy.” Santana ushers Mason into the kitchen, and he hops up onto one of the stools by the counter. It’s become something of a ritual, talking about his day while Santana makes a snack, and although she’s probably going to be working later hours when she starts her new job, she’s trying to keep things as normal as she can for as long as she can.
Mason pushes dark brown hair away from his eyes, reminding Santana that she really needs to look for somewhere to get it cut tomorrow, then settles his chin in the palm of his hand, watching as she slices an apple and adds a few grapes to a plate. Really, at eleven, he could probably sort his own snack out, but Santana enjoys the time it gives them to talk.
“So, except for meeting your awesome new music teacher, what else did you get up to on your first day?”
In between bites of fruit, Mason fills her in on his first day at Corlears. It seems like a great school and Santana knows she was incredibly lucky to get him a place there—especially because he’s only going to be there for a year as they only cater to students up to sixth grade. She’s pretty sure strings had been pulled by her new employers and rules possibly ignored, but the only way she was making the move from Pittsburgh was if she could find Mason a place at a decent school, so she’s glad someone was there to help.
When Mason’s finished his snack and is settled down in the living room with his homework, she grabs one of the many boxes still stacked in almost every available place—having only moved a week ago, she’s not even really dented the number so far—and starts sorting through the contents.
It’s amazing how much of the stuff is Mason’s. She adopted him four years again, and at the time, his belongings could fit into a normal sized backpack. So, she might have gone a little crazy at first, not exactly knowing what a seven-year-old boy needed, but still, until they moved, she never realised kids could accumulate quite so many things.
She manages to get through a couple of boxes before Mason comes wandering back from the living room.
“Finished my homework,” he says. “Can I watch TV now?” Santana laughs and nods her head, causing Mason to run back into the living room. Not too long after, she hears the faint sounds of some cartoon and turns back to unpacking.
She doesn’t really know anyone in New York, so most of her first two weeks there are spent on her own or with Mason. While he’s at school, she goes into the city to explore, scoping out where she’s going to be working—a relatively normal looking building on the corner of Madison and 50th—and more importantly, where, nearby, she can find decent cup of coffee.
It’s ridiculous just how fast those weeks go by, then she’s starting her new job as a senior associate at Nixon Peabody and she’s so quickly drowning in cases that she barely has time to breathe.
It’s November before she knows it, and Mason’s bringing home a letter about the first parent-teacher evening of the school year. She knows he generally does great in school, so it’s not something she’s too concerned about, but it’s always nice to hear straight from the teachers themselves.
She leaves Mason with Dawn, the girl from flat 4b, who’s proved to be a trustworthy sitter, and heads out to the school. It’s within walking distance, so she just pulls a jacket on over her suit and grabs an umbrella from the rack by the door, because the weather’s pretty unreliable this time of year.
The school’s only small, so she gets to spend a little longer with each teacher than she ever did in Pittsburgh. They all speak highly of Mason, and tell her he’s been settling in great, which Santana thought was probably the case, but it’s still nice to hear from them.
Next up is his music teacher, Ms. Berry, and Santana remembers how Mason wouldn’t stop talking about how great she was on his first day of school, and even now, if he’s talking about a teacher with enthusiasm, there’s a good chance he’s talking about Ms. Berry.
She heads over to the woman and holds her hand out, smiling when it’s taken in a firm grip. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Santana Lopez, Mason’s mom. You must be Ms. Berry.”
“Rachel, please. And please do take a seat.”
Santana smiles again and settles into the chair opposite Rachel. “My son’s had nothing but good things to say about you,” she says. “I think you’re his favourite teacher.”
Rachel blushes slightly and Santana can’t stop the way her mouth curves slightly at the sight of it, because the woman looks cute as hell, and she’s starting to see why Mason was so taken with her.
“He’s a wonderful boy,” Rachel replies. “And a really excellent singer.”
“He is,” Santana says, and she’s pretty sure the pride in her voice is noticeable. “When we lived in Pittsburgh, he took private music lessons, but your principal assured me that focus on the arts was of as high a priority as more traditional subjects, so we didn’t think there was any need.”
Rachel nods along while Santana’s speaking. “It really is,” she replies. “And I know from personal experience how vital early training can be if you ever want to pursue a career in the music industry.”
“Oh, I’m not sure Mason’s quite ready to know exactly what he wants to be when he grows up, but he really likes to sing, and I try to encourage him where I can.” Santana pauses then as the other part of Rachel’s statement settles in her mind. She immediately wants to know more about the woman, but isn’t quite sure whether she should pry. In the end, she just decides to go with it, after all, she can always pass it off as being curious about the qualifications of her son’s teacher if it comes out as being too intrusive. “If you don’t mind,” she says, “May I ask what kind of a singer you were?”
“I never quite made it, I’m afraid,” Rachel says, and there’s a tone to her voice that makes Santana believe there’s more to the story than Rachel just not being good enough. She makes a small gesture with her hand, wanting Rachel to continue, but not wanting to make it too obvious that she’s more than interested.
“I was studying Musical Theatre at Tisch, headed for Broadway,” Rachel says. “But I became ill in my second year. There were—complications that meant I wouldn’t be able to perform and I transferred out to a teaching degree.” Rachel’s eyes focus on some point behind Santana while she speaks, but then they snap back to meet Santana’s gaze. “I really do love my work,” she continues. “Teaching these kids, seeing the potential in them, it’s something I look forward to every day.”
“I’m sorry,” Santana says, suddenly feeling awkward and annoyed at herself for digging for information when she knew better. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, really,” Rachel interrupts, reaching out over the desk to touch fingers to Santana’s forearm. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with what happened.”
Santana’s feels goosebumps rise on her arm where Rachel’s fingers graze the skin and she gives a minute shake of her head, because that’s really not good. At all. She pushes the feeling away from the forefront of her mind and looks back at Rachel. “Still,” she says. “I should really know when to keep my mouth shut by now.”
Rachel just smiles at her again and pulls back her arm, quickly shuffling through the papers in front of her. “I don’t think there’s anything I need to talk to you about,” she says, and Santana’s glad one of them is able to bring back the professionalism. “Mason is fantastic and he’s had no problems whatsoever, so if there’s nothing you want to ask, I think we’re probably done.”
“No, that’s great,” Santana replies, standing from her chair and holding out her hand for Rachel to shake. Rachel’s hand is warm and smooth against her own, and Santana can’t help but hold onto it for perhaps a second longer than she should. “It was nice meeting you, Rachel.”
Santana loosens her grip and reaches to pick her coat and umbrella up. As she heads out of the classroom, she glances back to see Rachel watching her leave.
She’s late home—her morning meeting running over by nearly two hours has pushed her entire day out of plan—and she knows they don’t have anything for dinner in the house. She was supposed to go grocery shopping after work, but now all she can do is call into Westside Market, which is a little out of her way, but still not too far from Mason’s school, and hope they have the few bits and pieces she needs to make a decent meal.
She’s elbow-deep in a large container of onions when she feels the light touch on her shoulder. Spinning around, glare at the ready for the person who dared to invade her personal space, she’s unprepared for the smiling face that greets her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Rachel says, pulling her hand back quickly as her eyes flit across Santana’s face.
“No, I’m sorry,” Santana says, shaking her head slightly, then returning the smile that’s still not quite dropped from Rachel’s lips. “I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew—well, I don’t really know anyone yet, except the people I work with, of course, so...”
Rachel nods, then shifts awkwardly in place for a couple of seconds, like she doesn’t know what she wants to say next, but she was the one who started this conversation, so Santana’s not planning to help her out. “So, what are you doing here?” Rachel finally asks, when the silence has gone on just a little too long.
Santana laughs. “Um, buying food?”
Rachel’s eyes narrow a little as she takes in Santana’s response and Santana laughs a little harder. “You know very well that’s not what I meant,” Rachel says.
“Mason’s school’s a couple of blocks away,” Santana says. “But you know that, of course. It’s the first time I’ve been here, though. Do you come here often?”
Santana almost slaps herself when the words come out of her mouth, and she hopes Rachel doesn’t pick up on them, but no such luck, because the next thing Rachel says is, “Why does that sound like you’re trying to pick me up, Ms. Lopez?”
She really wasn’t, and she’s pretty sure Rachel also knows that, but that doesn’t do anything to stop the slight colouring of her cheeks at Rachel’s question. It’s not like she wouldn’t be interested, it’s been awhile since there’s been anyone serious, well, if she’s honest, since there’s been anyone at all, and Rachel’s definitely attractive, but with all the other new things in her life at the moment, she’s not really sure there’s room for more.
Still, Rachel’s looking at her with an expectant expression, and Santana’s never been one to back down.
“And if I were?” She asks, arching her brow in challenge.
“Well, I’d have to ask if you were free on Saturday.”
“I am, but I don’t know if I’d want to agree to anything without knowing the plans beforehand.”
“Shouldn’t it be you making the plans?” Rachel asks. “You are the one picking me up, after all.”
“I think you’ve got that mixed up,” Santana replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It’s also been awhile since she’s had any real contact with someone her own age outside of work, and there’s a light feeling in her chest that only increases the more they talk. “You did the actual asking, therefore the specifics of the date are down to you.”
Santana’s ready to backpedal at a second’s notice when Rachel blushes slightly at the word ‘date’, but then she says, “Well, considering I believe first dates should always be something simple, to allow both people the opportunity to talk, I think a short stroll through Central Park and dinner at my favourite restaurant would be my pick.”
Santana almost asks Rachel if she’s crazy. It’s freezing this time of year, and she can’t think of anything worse than shivering through a ‘stroll’ in heels and a dress. In the end, though, she just says, “Isn’t it a little cold this time of year to actually enjoy walking around?”
Rachel shrugs. “We could go for something to eat first, if you wanted, and save anything else for afterwards. That way we can see what the weather’s like first.”
“You mean see if the chances of frostbite are around 95 percent or 100? Sounds good.” Rachel giggles a little, which is kind of stupidly cute, and Santana feels an answering smile emerge on her own face.
After swapping phone numbers and deciding Rachel will pick Santana up before they travel to the restaurant, as it seems silly to pay for two cabs when they apparently live so close to each other, Santana realises she only has fifteen minutes to pay for her things and make the ten minute walk to Mason’s school before his after school club is due to end.
She says a hasty goodbye to Rachel and races around the store, throwing some carrots and broccoli into her basket as she passes them. She’s probably going to have to jog to get to the school on time, which is going to be hell on her feet in the shoes she’s wearing, but it’s worth it.
She can’t stop a ridiculous grin from appearing and barely holds back from trying to high-five herself, because she has a date, and she’s pretty sure it’s going to be amazing.
She’s always worked on a principle of honesty when it comes to Mason, so while they’re eating dinner, she says, “Dawn’s gonna be looking after you on Saturday. I’ve got a date, so I’ll be out most of the evening.”
Mason nods, seemingly uninterested, and Santana’s thankful for that, but she knows she needs to mention it’s with Rachel, which could be received less than gracefully.
“I’m going out with Ms. Berry.”
At that, Mason stops eating, hastily swallowing his food and saying, “From school Ms. Berry?”
“Yeah. Are you okay with that?” She knows, when it comes down to it, if Mason’s not okay with her dating Rachel, nothing will ever come of it, and although she’s only spoken to the woman a couple of times, there’s definitely something there, and Santana wants at least the opportunity to see what could happen.
“Can she still be my music teacher if you’re dating her?”
“I don’t see why not,” Santana replies.
Mason’s only response is, “Okay, good,” before he goes back to eating, and Santana just about manages to suppress the sigh of relief that’s wanting to come out, because that went far better than she expected—even more so because it’s the first time since Mason’s been old enough to have a real opinion that she’s actually gone out on a date.
Dawn comes over a little earlier than expected, which is okay with Santana, because it gives her a little uninterrupted time to finish getting ready. She also needs to work on calming her nerves, which is kind of ridiculous, but she can't hide the way her hands are shaking, and it takes her three tries to put on her mascara without messing it up.
Finally, Santana decides she’s ready. Although she’s going to do everything she can to veto any possible re-emergence of Rachel’s plan to go for a walk after their meal—they can save that for when it’s warmer—she’s decided, just in case, to go for a simple red dress that’s tight enough to show off her body, but not too tight to restrict movement, and heels that she knows are comfortable enough to walk in for fairly decent lengths of time.
Rachel's coming to pick her up, so Santana heads into the living room to wait. Dawn's sat on the sofa with Mason, watching something on TV, and she perches herself next to him and ruffles his hair slightly.
"Be good for Dawn," she says. He looks at her briefly and rolls his eyes. Santana barely suppresses the urge to smile, because that’s definitely something he’s picked up from her. “I mean it,” she says instead.
Any response he might have had is cut off by the sound of the buzzer. Santana jumps, then checks her watch—Rachel’s right on time—and heads over to the door, smoothing out her clothes as she goes.
After pressing the button by the door that allows her to speak to Rachel and assuring her she’ll be right down, she throws one more request for good behaviour to Mason and heads out.
Rachel looks... well, her first thought isn’t really a really word, but probably resembles most closely, holy fuck, wow, and she’s pretty sure her jaw drops a little. She’s wearing these little black shorts and knee length boots, with a white blazer and black top underneath.
When she finally seems able to stop staring stupidly, she smiles at Rachel and says, “You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” Rachel says, then gives her a very obvious once over. “So do you.”
Santana feels her cheeks tinge a little red. She knows she looks great, but being so blatantly appreciated by someone she wants to notice her is still kind of new.
She finds out on the cab ride to the restaurant that Rachel seemingly never stops talking, which is equal parts endearing and annoying. She doesn’t know if it’s through nerves, or if Rachel’s always like this, but by the time they’re getting out of the cab—outside of a rather classy looking restaurant—Santana feels like she knows half of Rachel’s life story.
She pays it back in kind, though, while they’re waiting to order, and Rachel starts asking questions. She’s easy to talk to, Santana thinks, while she’s taking a sip of her wine, and it’s been too long since she’s found any whose company she enjoys quite so much.
Dinner passes quickly, and before Santana’s really ready for it to end, they’re asking for the check.
Rachel swipes it up when it arrives and reaches into her purse for her credit card. Santana quirks an eyebrow up and is about to offer to pay herself, or at least split the cost, when Rachel says, “You can pay next time.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Santana asks.
Rachel laughs. “Well, it’d be quite rude of you now to not return the favour and take me out somewhere, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, so your ploy is to guilt trip people into going on second dates, huh?”
Rachel looks at her in a way that’s probably supposed to be mildly flirtatious or something, but it causes Santana’s breath to catch for a moment. Suddenly there’s no joking left in her, because there’s an unexpected burst of heat settling low in her stomach, and, fuck, Rachel’s hot and it’s like she doesn’t even realise what she’s doing.
When Rachel says, “Well, it’s working, isn’t it,” it’s all Santana can do to fumble out the word, “Yeah.”
She feels heat rise to her cheeks at her complete lack of articulation, and catches a glimpse of Rachel’s pleased smile, before she’s saved from further embarrassment by the sound of her cell ringing in her purse.
When it comes to hiring future babysitters, Santana decides, she will instruct them quite severely in the correct way to inform her of anything that’s gone wrong. Starting a sentence with Mason’s in the hospital is not good for her heart.
She gets the full story while they’re waiting for a cab to take them to the emergency room at the NYU medical center and it calms her down somewhat. Dawn took him to the park, where he fell over and cut his knee on some glass. It’s not too serious, but in Dawn’s non-medical opinion, will probably need stitches.
When she hangs up, after telling Dawn she’ll be there as soon as she can, Santana turns to Rachel, who’s looking at her with concern.
“Is he okay?” Rachel asks.
“Yeah. From what Dawn said, he’ll be fine. I’m just being a typical overly concerned parent, I think.”
Rachel reaches out, smoothing her hand up and down Santana’s arm, and Santana can’t help but lean into the reassuring touch a little. “It’s okay to go a little crazy,” Rachel says. “That’s what parents are for.”
Santana smiles slightly at Rachel’s words. “Thanks,” she says. “I mean for coming with me. You didn’t have to.”
“You looked like you needed someone.”
Rachel’s hand slips into her own and Santana lets out a small sigh, leaning her head back against the seat.
When they get to the hospital, they find Mason in a cubicle, waiting to be seen by a doctor. He’s stretched out on the hospital bed, playing a game on Dawn’s cell and seemingly unconcerned by the gash on his knee that’s bad enough to have soaked blood through the small dressing covering it.
Santana resists her first instinct to gather him up in a hug, because she knows he’ll probably make a face and push her off—he’s kind of at that age now—instead, she ruffles his hair and smiles down at him. “You good?” She asks.
Mason barely glances up as he says, “Yeah,” and Santana laughs, because yeah, he’s fine.
“Are you going to say hello to Ms. Berry,” she tries again, and this time, he does look up, smiling widely when he spots Rachel hovering by the curtains around the cubicle. “She came all this way to make sure you were okay.”
“You did?” Mason asks.
“Yeah,” Rachel says, coming further inside and letting the curtains fall shut behind her. “And don’t tell your Mom, but I had to make sure she was okay, too. She was worried about you.”
Rachel grins at Santana as she speaks and Santana rolls her eyes, then ruffles Mason’s hair again before saying she’s going to go find a doctor and see what’s happening.
They send Dawn home in a cab after another fifteen minutes of waiting to be seen, because it’s late and she really doesn’t need to be there now Santana’s arrived.
Mason gets a little restless when his only source of entertainment has been taken away from him, so they’re playing a game of I spy when the doctor finally comes in.
“Hi Mason,” she says. “I’m Dr. Ford, but you can call me Lucy, if you want. I’m gonna get you all patched up, okay?”
Mason nods, but he’s looking at her a little warily, and his eyes widen with a little bit of panic when she unlocks one of the drawers to the side and pulls out a needle and a bottle of something clear.
“Mom,” he says, and Santana reaches down to grasp his hand.
“It’s okay,” she says, tightening her grip briefly. “You’ve had injections before, it’s going to be just like that.”
“But they hurt,” Mason says, his bottom lip starting to tremble.
“I know, but it’ll be over soon, and you can squeeze my hand as hard as you need to, okay?”
Mason nods, looking up at her with eyes that are shining a little from as yet unshed tears. Santana wants nothing more than to pull him into her arms and hug his pain away, but she can’t. She’s just about to say something else in the hopes of reassuring him further when Rachel speaks.
“Hey,” she says, moving to the other side of the bed and picking up Mason’s free hand. “Do you remember the song we were singing yesterday in class?” Mason nods. “Do you think you can sing it with me now?”
Mason shakes his head, his eyes flicking between Rachel’s encouraging smile and the doctor, who’s stood watching them from the end of the bed.
“C’mon, I’ll start and you just join in when you can,” Rachel says.
Santana sees the doctor getting ready to inject Mason with the numbing agent and squeezes his hand again, stroking back hair from his eyes with her other hand. “I want to hear you, too,” she says. “For me?”
“Okay,” Mason says, somewhat reluctantly.
Rachel’s voice starts humming quietly. Santana doesn’t recognise the tune, but the melody is soft and pleasing, and she finds herself smiling slightly as she watches the two of them. Mason’s eyes are focused on Rachel now, and he’s nodding his head along with the sound of her humming.
After a couple of bars, Rachel starts to sing, and Mason joins in a second later, his voice shaking a little as the doctor starts to work, but otherwise holding strong.
It just kind of hits Santana then that Rachel’s really quite amazing. Not just her voice—which, well, Santana expected her to be good, and she is—but the way she encourages Mason with a smile and the slight nod of her head. Santana can’t tear her eyes away.
By the time they’ve stopped singing, the doctor’s done with the needle and Mason looks up in surprise.
“That didn’t hurt much at all,” he says.
“That’s because singing makes everything feel better,” Rachel replies, and Santana nods along with her and says, “It’s true.”
Once Mason can’t feel anything around his knee, he becomes fascinated with the process of being sewn up, and watches the doctor eagerly. Santana shakes her head and shares a bemused smile with Rachel, before mouthing a ‘thank you’, which Rachel accepts with a nod of her head.
They’re out of the hospital quickly after that, with instructions to see their regular doctor in a week’s time to get the stitches removed.
The cab ride home is spent mostly in silence, with Mason drifting in and out of sleep between them.
Santana’s not really ready for the evening to end just yet, it’s not late and their date was interrupted, so when they arrive outside her apartment, she asks Rachel if she wants to come up.
“I’ll put this one to bed and we can have a drink or watch a movie or something,” she says.
Rachel’s quick to agree and, after Santana pays the driver, they head inside.
“This has to be one of the more interesting first dates I’ve ever been on,” Rachel says later, when Mason’s tucked in bed and it’s just the two of them on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.
“You mean you don’t get a trip to the emergency room on all your dates?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“Well, thank you, again,” Santana says, shifting on the sofa until she’s facing Rachel more directly. “You were great.”
Rachel blushes, which is kind of ridiculously cute, and Santana can’t help herself when she leans forward a little. Their eyes meet briefly, before Rachel’s drift closed and she moves the remaining distance needed for their lips to meet.
Santana’s awareness narrows to the sensation of Rachel’s lips, soft against her own, Rachel’s palm, warm against her thigh, and the bump of their knees as they move closer together. She groans quietly and completely involuntarily when Rachel sucks lightly on her bottom lip, and feels Rachel’s fingers flex against her thigh in response.
She groans again and parts her lips willingly to the pressure of Rachel’s tongue gliding over them. The hand on her thigh slides upwards, hot against her, even though the material of her dress, and Santana’s own hands find purchase on Rachel’s back, pulling them closer, until Rachel’s pressing against her, the weight of her body pushing Santana backwards until they’re half lying down.
Rachel feels amazing and Santana’s pretty sure she doesn’t ever want to stop kissing her.
Rachel’s the one to finally stop, pulling back after an indeterminate length of time, her eyes opening slowly as she murmurs, “God, you should have kissed me sooner.”
Santana lets out a shaky breath, then chuckles lowly. “Yeah,” she says. “I should have. And you should kiss me again right now.”
“That’s probably not a good idea,” Rachel says, even as she dips her head, pressing kisses along Santana’s jaw.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I’m not sure I could stop again and I’m fairly certain having sex with you on your couch isn’t appropriate for a first date.”
Well, fuck appropriate, Santana thinks, they’re grown women and can make their own minds up about what’s appropriate for a first date. But Rachel’s right, at least a little—with Mason just down the hall, the couch is really not ideal.
“Is a bed more appropriate?” She asks and Rachel’s enthusiastic, “God, yes,” makes her laugh for approximately half a second, before Rachel’s lips are on hers again and all she can do is groan.
As soon as the bedroom door closes behind them, she starts tugging at Rachel’s clothes, undressing her quickly between kisses and blind, fumbling steps towards the bed. When Rachel’s top is discarded somewhere behind them and her shorts are pooled at her feet, she allows Rachel to tug at the hem of her dress and help it over her head.
Their underwear goes almost as quickly, then Rachel’s pulling her down onto the bed, fitting their bodies together, and it’s just heated skin against heated skin, everywhere they’re touching.
“God, you’re so hot,” Rachel murmurs in between kisses that skirt along her jaw and down to her neck.
Santana has a reply on the tip of her tongue, but then Rachel’s teeth scrape down against her neck, nip at her collarbone, and Santana loses the ability to think. She whimpers instead, threads her fingers through Rachel’s hair, then down, scratching nails lightly over Rachel’s back.
Rachel shivers against her. “Do that again,” she says, and Santana does, harder this time, until Rachel swears softly, the sound pressed hot and wet into Santana’s skin.
Santana finds a spot at the base of Rachel’s spine that makes Rachel’s body tremble and her hips buck, and she runs her fingers over it teasingly, again and again.
Rachel groans reaching behind her to grasp at Santana’s hands, stilling their motion. “Too much,” she says, breathlessly, dragging one of Santana’s hands back with her. “God. Just please—”
Rachel’s so wet that Santana’s fingers just slide helplessly against her, and when Santana presses against her clit, she sighs in relief.
“Jesus,” Santana murmurs. “You’re—”
“Yeah. Oh, God, Santana.”
It doesn’t take much after that, Santana’s fingers press and swirl, and Rachel’s thighs start shaking, her breath hitching with each pass of Santana’s fingers over her clit. She comes a few seconds later, trembling and gasping out Santana’s name.
After more orgasms than she can properly handle, Santana’s far too exhausted to argue when, despite being a tiny person, Rachel insists she gets to be the big spoon, so she allows Rachel to curl up behind her and drifts off with Rachel’s arm securely around her waist.
The next morning, when Rachel volunteers to leave before Mason wakes up, only to reappear an hour later with coffee and bagels for breakfast, Santana’s pretty sure she could very easily fall in love.
And from the look on Mason’s face when Rachel hands him his own bagel and an orange juice, she’s not the only one.