Chapter Text
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Thursday, November 10th, 1966
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“You can buy a dream or two...
To last you all through the years...
And the only price you pay...
Is a heart full of tears...”
Soft music loops in Santana's ears, hickory eyes gazing down at her youngest child. He's resting soundly, instinctively clinging to her. Melancholy threatens to show, guilt swelling internally. She hated herself, unable to appreciate things she should. But, that wasn't going to impact her children. Well, as much as she could prevent, anyway. A gentle kiss falls on top of his head, followed by soothing words. They were the lyrics to Frank Sinatra's rendition of Autumn In New York. Her voice swayed alongside the melody, traces of sadness inside. The female smiles weakly, trying to find solace in the current moment.
By the end of the song, the boy's being carried back to his crib, laid down carefully. Before leaving, Santana tiptoes over to her daughter's bed. She murmurs ' te quiero mucho ' before pecking her forehead softly, like every night. Quiet footsteps follow, feet lingering in the hallway for a moment. Mixed messages flood, split between going to the bathroom to cry or simply sleeping. Santana picks crying, using removing makeup to excuse her being late. The walls provide a layer of comfort, able to break down privately. Living a lie's causing the Latina unhindered misery. And it won't end until 'lesbianism' is deemed acceptable.
Pain gleams in her eyes, finally allowed to show. Drops of tears land close to the sink, falling in silence. Around a minute passes before the female gathers herself. She removes her makeup before leaving the bathroom, staying consistent. Santana then goes into her bedroom, changing into a crimson-shaded nightgown. Her gaze falls onto her husband, suppressing a frown. Unexpectedly, his eyes meet her own.
" ¿Qué te tomó tanto tiempo, Santana?"
"Oh, nada, I was taking my makeup off,” her lashes bat coyly, "What, did you miss me too much?"
"Mmm, tell me something, querida. Is it a crime for a man to miss his wife?"
She rolls her eyes at his slightly drawn-out delivery but smiles softly nonetheless.
"I don't know. Are you a criminal, Agustín?"
"I am in this case. Now, come to bed. Estoy cansado."
His 'command' gets done quickly, wary of unintentionally provoking Agustín. He’s a loving man but also a very demanding one. They share a kiss goodnight, Santana accustomed to faking interest. After a few seconds, their kiss ends, frames turning away. She swallows down a lump forming in her throat, the urge to cry rising again. Despite this being a daily occurrence, it does very little to numb the anguish. Receiving a whole new life would be enough, though. But, since that isn’t possible, Santana's forced to wear an ‘ideal housewife' costume.
Thankfully, the night's thoughts get successfully soothed by sleep. But, all too soon, Santana's already waking up to prepare breakfast. Time's important considering Agustìn needs to leave by 7:00. She puts on an apron, cautious about staining her nightgown. Two plates get set down, followed by a skillet. A series of ingredients get laid out, along with two mixing bowls. The female's sole focus then becomes making perfect Chorizo Con Huevos. Accidentally eating undercooked pork and raw egg isn't how she's aiming to start today.
Thirty minutes end up passing before everything's finally ready. A faint, relieved exhale then leaves Santana, satisfied with the meal. The sudden sound of her husband's feet negates the relief, having forgotten a glass. While setting it down, Agustín's figure appears, wordlessly signaling her to speak.
"Buenos días, sweetheart. And, yes , before you ask, I made sure to put extra pepper just how you like."
Before having the chance to continue, she's interrupted by her daughter's sudden appearance.
"¡Ay Valeria, cuidado!" Santana scolds sternly before gently picking her up, "You might hurt yourself."
"Is Abuela coming?"
" Sí, mi niña princesa. She's going to watch you and your brother. Ser buena, okay? Otherwise, I won't let her get you any helado."
The lighthearted warning's quickly met with an excited but receptive nod. Santana smiles warmly, giving Valeria a loving squeeze before setting her down. A gentle sigh falls afterward, attention shifting.
“Gracias, Santana. I wish I could stay longer and have nice day together, but we can't. So, until then, eat with me. You still have time to dress right."
Santana sits, waiting to gauge the male's reaction to their breakfast. Relief swells as he hums in approval after taking a couple bites. She's paranoid about being a disappointment, only getting amplified by having a job. They eat and make small talk, mutually eager for the upcoming weekend. And after what feels like two minutes, the Latina's left alone.
The rest of her routine's underway, moving swiftly. She must appear clean, professional, and attractive. Santana manages to shower, apply light makeup, and get dressed before 8:15. Eyes gaze into a mirror, meticulously assessing today's outfit. A slight frown forms at the sight of the black mini-skirt she's forced to wear. The office's manager had recently ' suggested ' the female should wear it more often. After that came a very off-putting comment, making the skirt's presence feel uncomfortable. But, in a way, his fondness towards ' ethnic girls ' was a blessing. It helped provide a ( vague ) sense of job security.
After the female makes sure her mama will be arriving soon, she leaves. As usual, Santana finds herself a seat on the bus, perfectly punctual. While stopped near the office, a dreamlike woman enters. Multiple men take a sudden interest, removing their hats politely while clearing space. One quality stuck out, however, thanks to being dressed like some fat cat's trophy wife. It seemed senseless for her to use the bus station. The raven-haired's even more perplexed, watching the other enter her workplace. Focusing further isn't permitted, needing to clock in on time.
Santana finds her way to her desk, offering quaint " hello's " and " good morning's " to everyone. Confusion strikes her again, wondering where her boss is currently. He hardly ever missed making an appearance first in the morning. But, the answer to this grows clear, a brief whisper registering in her ear. The Latina quickly enters the big man’s office, waiting to be addressed.
"Lopez, do me a favour and have a seat, will you?"
"Why, of course, Mr. Pierce,” she sits down with a smile, posture pristine, "May I ask what it is you need me to assist you with?"
"You might've seen my daughter Brittany a moment ago," he gestures to his head, "The blonde."
"Oh, yes! I had no idea that was your Brittany. She actually rode the bus with me."
The comment hits a nerve for Mr. Pierce, lips thinning in distaste.
"What's the damn point in getting her a car if she won't use the fucking thing?" a sigh, "I apologise. She loves getting a rise out of me, that's all."
She chuckles lightly, giving a ( fake ) nod of sympathy.
"It's alright, sir. Is she just visiting the office?”
"Oh, god, no. That's why I've requested you, Lopez. You're going to show my girl the ropes around here. I want her to gain work some experience," he leans forward, voice lowering, "And just between you and me, those other broads are lucky. Brittany can be quite a lot to handle."
Irritation pokes at Santana, akin to a stubborn pine needle. She loathes the way Mr. Pierce spoke and behaved. Plus, getting informed that he'd delegated her such an 'unlucky' task isn't appreciated. Was that meant to be taken positively? Regardless, a pleasant expression's maintained, docile words following.
"I appreciate the opportunity, sir. And I have children of my own, so I think I'll manage. Is there anything you'd want me to watch for?"
"Oh, yes, that's right. Personally, I think you look a little too foxy to be the motherly type. But, I'm entrusting you with this, Lopez. If Brittany reports a single complaint, you're back to being another wetback, understand?"
Fists clench ever so slightly, fighting the urge to strangle the man before her. Santana witnessed her papà getting beaten by men like Mr. Pierce. Pendejos like him don't deserve an ounce of respect.
“I understand."
"Good. All you have to do is keep my girl pleased and maintain your due diligence. So, don't screw it up."
With that, the female's dismissed, moving back to her desk. Brittany soon appears, looking even more dreamlike up-close. Luscious lips draped in a smooth shade of red, cheeks sprinkled with a soft glowing coral, elegant sunshiny curls that stop at the ears, and blue gemstones for eyes. Santana notes this in seconds, terrified of making a poor first impression. She extends a hand courteously, smiling gently.
"Hi, Brittany. I'm Santana, if you don't already know. I'm going to be showing you what a typical day's like in the office. Do you need anything by chance?"
The blonde's silence puts the Latina on edge, worried she's getting critiqued.
"I didn't know, actually. My father never refers to women like you by first name. But no, I don't think so. If I do, I'll tell 'ya."
Her wording leaves a sour taste in the other's mouth. She lets it slide, replying respectfully.
“Great. Well, let's begin, then."
Brittany nods with a smile, taking the seat nearest Santana's desk. Unintentionally, the smile's reciprocated, happening naturally. It forces the Latina to regather herself, throat quickly clearing as a cover-up. She pauses, debating on what to go over first. Office introductions seemed like the best option. The blonde then meets the staff she's most likely to interact with; Mr. Anderson, Mr. Hummel, Mr. Smythe, Mr. Hudson, Ms. Jones, and Mrs. Rose. In the spirit of being kind, Santana discreetly warns the other about Smythe's temper and him being overly handsy.
The shorter of the two then goes over a few the basics: Keeping an orderly workspace, the file cabinet's system, how to replace a typewriter's ribbon, alongside other things. Santana’s sure to observe Brittany closely, gauging a feel for where her motivations lie. So far, she's proving to be a subpar candidate, efforts generally half-assed. Although, this doesn't matter, thanks to the existence of nepotism. Not to mention, Brittany's personal opinion outweighs her own by default. The job was hers from the moment Mr. Pierce initially came up with the idea.
Nothing notable happens until the lunch hour's only minutes away. Santana’s unexpectedly interrupted while getting hers ready, brows furrowing in confusion. A question follows, asked unintentionally.
"What?"
"I said: you and I are gonna split," Brittany rolls her eyes before going on, "I'm not eating my lunch here, so neither are you."
" What makes you think I'm going to join you? "
The remark surprises them both but does more in Santana's case. Brittany grins a little at this, giving the other added anxiety.
" So, you do have a mind of your own. "
"What do you mean?"
"You actually sounded human, not like a pencil pusher."
Hickory eyes stare silently, debating how to reply. Tone then goes back to normal, wary of consequence.
"Does Mr. Pierce know I'll be accompanying you?"
"I'll tell him," a purposeful pause, " Once you agree to join me. "
"Then I agree."
Brittany nods and quickly makes her way to her father's office. After a ( tortuous ) moment, she returns, smiling contently.
"Follow me."
The whole thing feels bizarre to Santana, unused to the energy Brittany carried. It's like she'd suddenly morphed into a different being. And she can’t decide if it's adorable or insufferable. Mr. Pierce's considerate 'warning' made sense now, even though that's a terrible phrasing. Fresh air grounds her, mind refocused. She walks beside the blonde, admiring her in silence. It's quiet for another short series of moments, excluding footsteps and surrounding conversations. The taller female eventually breaks said silence, speaking up first.
"Now that you're away from ' Pierce & Pierce,' tell me about yourself."
There's a slight pause, the other thinking briefly before answering.
"There's a lot I can share with you. What do you want me to share?"
"Whatever's fair for me to know. But, the townsfolk are pretty boring, so if there's anything interesting, lay it on me."
"Well, my name's Santana Diabla Lopez. I'm married, and I have two kids. My daughter's five, and my son's to be turning one next month," a weak smile appears, pangs of regret and happiness rising, "Um, I'm not sure what else to say."
"Wait a minute. Your middle name's ' she-devil? ' That's something I've never heard before. But, that must be nice. My father's been trying to get me to settle down, but I haven't yet. All the ones he approves of aren't my kind of man."
The recognition of her middle name makes Santana laugh warmly, not expecting her to think anything of it. Though, it dies down quickly for ( not so ) obvious reasons.
"My middle name isn't technically official, but my mamá gave it to me as a nickname. My papà didn't really like it, though," she then looks over to the other ruminatively, "Marriage is like a house; if you don't have a strong foundation, you'll fall apart. It also has walls, and depending on you as a person, it can feel like shelter or like prison."
The blonde's eyes lock with the other as she takes in the other female's words. She offers a sympathetic smile, voice softer than before.
"Yeah, I'd hate to get stuck like that."
Santana nods quietly, changing the subject soon after.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"
"It's impolite to beat someone to the punch like that, yknow?" she jests smoothly before pointing ahead of them, "We're stopping at the Ho-Jo's a couple blocks from here."
The shorter female feels embarrassment well up, lost on the blonde's reference. It's played off quickly, sending a playful quip back in response.
"Well, I might be mistaken, but isn't it also impolite to point?"
Her reply's meet with a warm laugh, easing any worries about coming off as clueless. And the following compliment helps as well.
"That's a pretty outta sight comeback."
As the two continue walking, Santana notices multiple people glaring. It doesn't come as a surprise, knowing they most likely disapprove. A respectful woman like Brittany shouldn't be behaving so casually around her. However, how unashamed the other appears to be is a slight surprise. It's foreign, used to people complaining over simply being around her. Despite it ( arguably ) being a good sign, it does little to stifle the Latina's mistrust. She expects Brittany's attitude to fluctuate, yet it doesn't. It doesn't budge, not even when they enter a populated Howard Johnson's together.
While waiting to be seated, a curse abruptly leaves Santana. She'd just realized the time and how they might return late.
" ¡Mierda! " she mutters hotly, shaking her head, "We should have left earlier. It's already 12:18."
Brittany evidently catches the last half, chuckling shortly after. She then leans over to Santana, replying with a supercilious undertone.
"Wow, I can't believe you'd go and underestimate me like that... Before we left, I explicitly told my father to blame me if we're late."
The words catch the raven-haired off guard, triggering multiple emotions. Part of her is irritated, not appreciating the other's attitude. Yet another part's flattered by the unnecessary gesture. But she's also suspicious, wondering why the blonde did so. And on top of all this, it nearly makes her breath hitch. It was like static electricity, creating a sudden spark of interest. That was terrifying on its own, but feeling this way in public? That reaches an entirely different level of terrifying. Santana can't afford to make a scene, and it's nowhere near debatable.
Her lips part, prepared to challenge the other. Except this doesn't happen, the hostess now striking a conversation. She watches the blonde's behaviour shift, going from informal to formal seamlessly. The widespread respect for the Pierce family gets put into perspective for Santana, also. Brittany manages to surprise her again, addressing her with respect.
"Don't be ridiculous," a dismissive wave, "I'm not having lunch by myself," she then gestures to the other, "This is Santana, and we're enjoying our lunch break together. Oh, and we'll be sitting in a booth today."
The brunette in front of them glares at Brittany judgmentally, forcing a smile. She grabs their menus and leads them over to a booth wordlessly. Now sitting across from each other, the two women lock eyes momentarily. It's strange for the shorter female, not the type to eat out with ' friends .' Dining out's saved for special occasions and whenever money's left over after paying bills. And yet here she is, enjoying ' the finer things ' all because of another's privilege.
Hands move to pick up the restaurant's menu, reviewing it quietly. She swallows hard after reading the prices in the middle section. Needing to pay for something hadn't been anticipated, awkwardly leaving her without her wallet. Unintentionally, Santana had made it seem like she'd looked at the menu long enough for the blonde to inquire.
"Do you see anything you like?"
"There's so many choices," a weak laugh, "But I think I'll try the grilled steak hamburger. What do you have in mind?"
"I'm getting their chopped beefsteak, but without any onion rings. It's my order for whenever I don't feel like making dinner myself."
Santana smiles softly, not imagining Brittany as the ' cooking type. ' It's a pleasant surprise, especially considering her meal costs over a dollar more in price.
“How often do you cook?" she sets her menu down, attention focusing on the blonde, "And if you're fine to share, what do you enjoy making?"
Her shoulders shrug as an insouciant remark follows, menu getting set down as well.
"I cook most days since my father's incapable of making anything edible. But, I like cooking things that my mom did," her eyes drift down, smiling pensively, "I've had them all memorized for seven years.”
The look on Brittany's face is one she knew personally. It's the same expression she makes when discussing her papá. His death hadn't been natural, making it incredibly sensitive. But, she doesn't intrude, opting to nod understandingly instead.
"Even though I cook all the time, my favourite things are from my childhood, too."
Before the other gets a chance to reply, a waitress comes over. She doesn't acknowledge Santana, simply looking to Brittany for answers. The taller of the two saves time, ordering everything herself while still making sure to double-check beforehand. They both make small talk until the food arrives, sharing basic details. It's surprisingly not awkward, and Santana's grateful, slowly growing comfortable. The same could be said in Brittany's case, disregarding her obvious extroversion.
Since their food's taking longer than expected, the blonde suggests gossiping. The other laughs shyly, hesitant to reveal anything. Brittany smiles mischievously at this, replying in a teasing tone.
“ Aw, come on, Santana. You're telling me you don't gossip every once and a while? "
“Well, I try to avoid making it a habit," she sighs, "But I do like to gossip."
"Right on. Fill me in on the people at work. Your introductions earlier left a lot to be desired. Detail-wise, obviously."
Santana looks at the taller woman, speaking cautiously.
"Before I say anything, you have to swear you're not going to use this against me later."
" Puedes relajarte , if I wanted to give you hell, I would’ve already.”
Brittany speaking Spanish suddenly is more than enough to leave the Latina bewildered. She raises a brow, answering in her native tongue this time.
"¿Sabes Español?"
"Un poco, but I'm no expert," a soft smirk, " Te juro, by the way ."
The raven-haired female hums gently, debating what to do next. Hickory coloured eyes squint lightly before a coquettish reply's said. If Brittany understands, then she's worthy of her ' gossip .'
" Preferiría hablar de ti, hermosa ."
"¿Oh? Bueno, preferiría escucharte."
That sense of electricity resurfaces as soon as the words register in Santana's ears. It's a miracle that her skin doesn't visibly flush, feeling much warmer than before. She exhales deeply, but appears put together nonetheless.
"You seem to remember Spanish better than you say. There's much I can tell you as ' gossip ,' and I'd hate to leave anything out accidentally. So, I'll be sure to tell you some time else. Our lunch’s almost here, anyway."
And sure enough, their plates and drinks get placed down a few seconds later. The new layer of tension gets ignored by both women, still aware of the current setting. Santana struggles to pay attention, lost in thought and eye contact. It remains this way until they're finished, only fading when Brittany's paying. Her gaze moves to the floor, ashamed for seeming penniless. She says a glum ' thank you ,' stepping outside with the blonde quietly. Of course, that doesn't get left unaddressed.
“You can pay me back later,” she reminds with a comforting croon, “I don't need it, but I won't stop you, either.”
Santana smiles appreciatively, acknowledging the other's respect towards how serious this is to her.
"Thank you, Brittany. Just remember that I will be paying you back. Hopefully, it won’t take very long time."
"Well, it looks like I've got some waiting in store for me, don't I?”
The rest of the day feels incredibly mundane, office work lacking zeal. Thankfully, Santana's able to leave the building worry-free. She does due to being commended by Mr. Pierce, despite not enjoying how he goes about it. Brittany lauding her so sincerely had done wonders evidently. Unfortunately, her relief's soon swept away by dread and guilt. The female's home had come into view, signaling for her façade to return. A drawn-out exhale's released, feet beginning to move toward the front porch. Lips then form a believable smile, perfectly mixing repose and fatigue.
“¡Mamá, Valeria, ya llegué!"
Santana announces after closing the front door, volume moderately loud. A sullen whisper escapes, knowing there's only seconds before the two come over.
" I'm home... "