Title: I Wish You Nights of Stars
Warning: Fluff everywhere.
Summary: When they were 19, Rachel brought it up for the first time. "Do you want kids?" Santana'd lied and said she didn't know.
Word Count: 7,000
Disclaimer: Don't own.
When they were 19, Rachel brought it up for the first time. "Do you want kids?" Santana'd lied and said she didn't know.
Truthfully? She always kind of has. Not because they're snot factories or because it'd be fun to play dressup with them, but because she wants something, always has, that she could love that much and that'd love her back.
Rachel does, obviously, but it's different. Ever since Santana was 11, she could picture herself being a mom. There were a few years in the middle there where she thought she'd be an awful one, but that never stopped her from wanting a kid. And being with Rachel has, if anything, just made her feel closer to ready for it, honestly.
And Rachel would be an awesome mom. She's got all that imagination and love inside her, and yeah, being an actress in a committed relationship is a channel for both those things, but still. Santana can't help but picture Rachel like, reading Beatrix Potter stories on one of those big, plush rocking chairs, or running around in the snow in Central Park with a toddler at her feet.
They got married. Santana was really fucking skeptical of the whole thing, actually. She just didn't see the point, really. Gay, straight, or whatever, she didn't see the point of doing something just because it was legal. Then Rachel got hurt one night at work and Santana realized it's not just a thing, marriage. If something happens to Rachel, she wants to be the first to know, as her spouse. She wants the bank to acknowledge them as a couple, for insurance companies to do the same. God forbid something happens to one of them, she doesn't want the other to have to deal with all the bullshit - assets, wills, who gets what. Not to mention the fact that yeah, she does want people to know how much she loves Rachel, and vice versa. She likes the commitment - Rachel's cured her of all those old issues.
And she fucking loves calling Rachel her wife.
They're one anothers' emergency contacts. They wear matching slim gold bands on their fourth fingers. They had the ceremony at this beach house in the Hamptons with their families there, but no one else.
She's not thinking about the baby thing just because it's what comes next, typically. They've been married two years. They're 29. Santana's a practicing lawyer and Rachel's kicking Broadway's ass on a daily basis.
So when they're in bed one night and Rachel's reading some book and Santana's working, because she's, well, not done working, and Rachel says, "One of my costars is pregnant," Santana turns to her and puts down her pen. "Just three months. She's not even showing, but she told us all. It's absolutely career suicide. She's already got weight issues. She'll never get her figure back."
Santana doesn't know where this is heading, but she's almost positive she isn't going to like it.
Because see, even though she's always wanted a kid, she's never had the desire to actually carry one. One of the beautiful things about being a lesbian is that there are two options here, and she doesn't have to be one.
"Uh huh." She picks up her pen again, but Rachel puts down her book and sinks down into the bed with her wide brown eyes looking up at Santana. "Stop looking at me like that, baby. If there's more to your story, tell it. If not, I've got work to do."
"There's not more to my story." Rachel's hand, though, moves over Santana's thigh under the covers, her fingertips dipping below the hem of Santana's satin slip. Okay, so Rachel has her attention, and Santana looks down at her. "I want a baby."
And okay, this feeling in her chest, not normal.
They've talked about this. A lot, actually. A lot recently, too. One of Santana's coworker's wives just had a kid and Rachel happened to be stopping by the office for a lunch date the day Justin brought the baby in. Little thing was cute, too, and Rachel almost didn't want to give the tiny girl back to her parents.
So the kid thing has been a conversation. Kind of like 'if we have kids...' or 'our kid will be...' or 'I've always liked the name Isabelle'.
Neither of them has ever come right out and said they wanted one. Not like this. Not with an air of 'someday' or 'eventually' around it.
"Yeah?" Santana asks, setting her work aside, pulling off her reading glasses.
Rachel nods and pushes her hand up between Santana's legs, rubs her fingers a little bit and kind of forces Santana to part her legs. "Yeah," Rachel manages.
Santana lies down in bed, which makes Rachel's hand move away, so that sucks, but then it's right back and Rachel's straddling her thigh, and fuck, the woman should know by now that Santana is incapable of thinking when there's sex in the picture.
"You realize this isn't how it works," she says, just after Rachel's slipped two fingers into her. But then Rachel's kissing her, moving her hand slowly, and Santana tugs on Rachel's hair a bit. "Fuck, just like that."
She's almost, almost at the edge when Rachel says, "Have our baby, Santana."
Santana doesn't say any form of 'yes' when she comes, just because she is not agreeing to anything.
... ... ...
Rachel's pissed in the morning. Like, slamming shit around and not talking at all, pissed. Which, for Rachel, is like, torture. For Santana it just means she doesn't have to try and keep her morning bitch in check when she talks, because she doesn't have to talk.
But then Rachel takes the last bagel, and when that happens, whoever gets the last one always offers to share it. Rachel eats the entire fucking thing as she looks through the newspaper, so Santana knows she did something really wrong. The last thing she remembers before bed is having sex with her hot wife, so no, she's not sure...
Oh. Well, fuck.
Santana grits her teeth. "Put the paper down so I can talk to you," Santana says, a little more lawerly than she'd like to ever sound at home. "Look, you asked me to carry our baby when your fingers were inside me. Why would you ever..."
"Because I thought you'd say yes," Rachel says, and then her chin wobbles, and aw, hell. Santana knows Rachel's real cry from her fake cry. This is real. "I thought...Never mind. It's stupid. All of this is stupid, apparently."
Santana moves to the seat next to Rachel, sets her hand on her wife's face and forces her to look her in the eye. "Rachel."
"You don't want..."
"I do want that." She takes a deep breath and Rachel's tears spill down her cheeks. She still doesn't believe the words. "We're going to have a kid, somehow, but I can't...I mean, come on, Rach. I'm a mega bitch by general disposition. Imagine me with pregnancy hormones? It'd be worse than Quinn Fabray at 16 on a bad day."
Rachel laughs a little, but shakes her head still. "I can't carry a baby, Santana. I'd never work again."
"That's bullshit. Broadway actresses have babies all the time."
"I don't want to stop working," Rachel finally admits, and at least it's honest. "I'd get out of practice. It'd be probably two years off the stage, and I'd have to work so hard to come back, and I just can't. I can't give up that part of myself."
"So I'm supposed to give up my career?" Santana asks. She's going to be late to the office if they get too deep into this conversation right now, but if she walks out in the middle of it they'll be totally fucked.
"Please don't call me selfish for wanting what I want."
"What the hell should I call it? What you want is to have everything exactly your way! "
Rachel shrugs. "What's wrong with that?"
Santana scoffs. "So, fuck what I want as long as you're happy?"
Rachel starts crying again, more. "Me being happy should make you happy."
"Then by that logic, me being miserable should make you miserable." Rachel makes this pathetic noise, but Santana catches the time on the clock and she really, really has to get to work. "We're not done talking about this, but I have to go. I can't be late for work."
"I love you."
She states at Rachel until the woman says, "I know," and that really isn't good enough, so Santana waits for, "I love you, too," and then drops a kiss to Rachel's hair and grabs her bag so she can leave.
... ... ...
She has a fucking horrible day. The human rights case she's been working just hit a huge snag and she spends all morning trying to get back to some level of confidence that they're not going to lose horribly because of a stupid loophole in the system. She snaps at her assistant, accidentally, and has to apologize, which she hates doing. The girl has thick skin, but still. Santana can recognize when she's being a bitch and try not to keep doing it.
At 11:30, her boss comes into her office and asks her to come to dinner with him and a client, and she can't say no, so she has to text Rachel and let her know. It's not a big deal, since Rachel doesn't get home until late anyway, but they each like to know where the other is. It's a habit they got into when they were both students with weird schedules that didn't always go together.
She spends her measly 20 minute lunch break looking up her firm's maternity leave policies and coverage. Which she hates herself for, because fuck, she is not going to cave on this. At all. She's not giving even one inch just because Rachel wants to go about them having a kid in like, the most selfish way ever.
Only, when she has a little time to think in the evening, she considers how much attention she'd get. Not only from other people, coworkers and strangers, but from Rachel. She'd fucking dote on Santana. Rachel's mellowed out a whole hell of a lot since they went to high school together, but honestly? Sometimes Santana's a little bummed she didn't get to date crazy, obsessive Rachel, like Finn did. Sure, she was fit for a straight jacket, but she was kind of fucking cute about it, too. She made calendars. The closest thing she's ever gotten to that was Rachel synching up their schedules on their iPhones. Which is cute, but come on. Finn got clingy, psycho little Rachel for like, three years. Santana feels like she got robbed.
She's just picturing herself at like, five months pregnant with Rachel waiting on her hand and foot, and talk about selfish, but she kind of likes the idea of it.
She's in bed watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy and the hot blonde lesbian doctor saves some kid's life, obviously, and the kid's all happy and cute and whatever, and fuck.
Rachel walks into the room and smiles as she unbuttons her cardigan. Santana watches her push her jeans down off her hips, then tug off her shirt and pull her hair into a ponytail. Rachel rubs body butter onto her elbows and her legs, pulls on a nightgown over her panties and notices Santana staring.
"How was your day?" she asks.
Santana realizes she hasn't said a word. "Fine. Long. Dinner was good, though. We went to that place you hate. The one with the..."
"The thing with the quail egg?"
Rachel wrinkles her nose up. "I hate that place."
Santana smiles and rolls onto her side. She loves that they can finish each other's sentences. It freaks people out, but she thinks it's hilarious. Probably, actually, just because it freaks people out.
"How about you?" she asks as Rachel sets her alarm, then pulls out her earrings and sets them on her bedside table.
"Good. Shows went well. Geoffrey managed to piss off his girlfriend, so she showed up between performances and caused a scene."
Rachel shakes her head and climbs into bed, fluffs her pillows and pulls the covers up to her waist. "He honestly knows nothing about women. You know what he told her? That he couldn't see himself married to her. And he expects her to want to stay with him!"
Santana laughs. "Idiot."
Geoffrey is one of those straight theater dudes that you kind of squint at and go, 'really?', 'cause A, he's a dumbass with women (obviously) and B, he wears shit like Kurt used to. Santana knows being in the theater does not automatically make you gay or anything, but seriously, wearing a pink cashmere scarf in August? That shit makes her ask questions, no matter what you do for a living.
Rachel turns the volume down a notch on the television. "Sorry about this morning."
"No, you don't have to apologize," Santana says, and she means it.
"I was thinking. We could adopt. There are so many underprivileged children, and..."
"But that process can take like, years, right? Especially for us. They'd pry into our lives, Rachel, and..." Rachel sighs, but Santana knows she's right. It's not like there are a whole lot of secrets someone could uncover, but even so, it doesn't sound like fun. "And I'd want a baby to be part of us. At least one of us."
"Santana, I'm not..."
"I'll do it." Rachel's eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open so far it's almost funny, only this is like, the most serious conversation they've ever had, the biggest decision they've ever made, and it's really not the time to laugh. "I want to. I do."
"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Rachel asks, with that stupid (fucking hot) smirk she breaks out when she's being a smartass. "Are you...really?"
"Really. I...It'll be hard, and I'll be a huge fucking bitch, but...I know why you can't, and my firm actually has a really good mat leave policy or whatever, and..."
"You checked?" Rachel interrupts, her eyes all soft, and yeah, Santana knows she's getting whatever she wants until after this kid is born.
Rachel pushes Santana onto her back and lies on top of her, kisses her sweetly, and Santana doesn't realize Rachel's crying until she feels the tears drip onto her own face. "I love you so much."
"You too," Santana says, and maybe shifts a little so Rachel's pressing against her a little more, where it counts.
They kiss a while, get naked and Santana's about 10 seconds from begging for it, and then Rachel pushes herself up on her hands and asks, "You're really going to do this for us?" and Santana's response to nod her head and drag Rachel down for a kiss, and yeah, she's really fucking sure about it now.
... ... ...
The doctor's office is a bunch of bullshit. She misses a half day of work to hear about healthy eating habits and taking care of herself to provide the best possible 'home' for the child they haven't even created yet. There are all these exams and questions, and all Santana wants to know is how much this shit is going to cost her. Them. Whatever.
She thinks that's bullshit, too. Like, just because they're lesbians they have to pay to have a kid? She brought this up with Rachel and said she'd have no problem having sex with a dude for the sake of making a baby. She'd been half joking. She also floated the idea of using a turkey baster, but Rachel freaked the fuck out, mostly because she doesn't like it when people remind her of how fucking gullible she was until the age of like, 20 for believing her dads when they told her that's how she was conceived. Funny shit, though.
So yeah, they're sitting here in a doctor's office hearing about how this could cost them like, at least 15 grand for this whole process, depending on what technique they're going with or whatever. And like, thank fucking god money isn't really an issue for them, but still. Just because she happens to be married to someone who makes a fuckton of money doesn't make it okay for these people to charge so goddamn much for this kind of thing. And that's all if it takes on the first time, which the doctor is telling them is never a guarantee.
Sex is free and she's got Puck on speed dial. 'S'all she's saying.
They leave the office and go straight home. Rachel's understudy is filling in for both shows. It's kind of nice to have the day together, actually. They haven't since Rachel's latest show opened two months ago. They fix tomato soup and grilled cheese for lunch and sit at their kitchen table next to one another, and neither of them is really saying anything about what they really need to be talking about.
"Do you want to choose a donor?" Santana finally asks. "Because you didn't seem to keen on the idea of me like..."
"No," Rachel snaps. "Sorry, but I'm most certainly not okay with my wife having sex with a man!"
"Hey, I'm just saying. We could pay for Puck's flight in and still come out on top compared to this in vitro stuff."
Rachel's spoon drops into her bowl. "I'm sorry, Puck?" Her eyes are wide and she's pissed. "No. No way in hell."
"What? He's got the whole Jewish thing working for him, and we know his stuff's good. He's already made one of these things. And without even trying."
"And he's hot. We know what he's like."
"He's a womanizing massage therapist and, for all intents and purposes, a non-practicing Jew," Rachel says, brow raised. "He's not going to father our child. God, Santana, I can't even believe you'd..."
"Okay, okay," Santana says, reaching over to rub her wife's shoulder. "Sorry. I'm just trying to think of options."
"I have one." Santana looks at Rachel expectantly. "Blaine."
Santana scoffs before realizing that yeah, Rachel's completely fucking serious, which means that she's also fucking delusional. "Hell no, baby."
"Why not? He's intelligent, attractive, successful. He's got talent in spades, and..."
"And he's as short as you are, not to mention gay." Rachel looks at her blankly. "Rach, we gotta give this kid a fighting chance, okay? Lesbian moms and a gay biological dad is just..."
Rachel sighs like she's annoyed, but then says, "We really don't have to decide this today. And we should at least look through the donor bank before resorting to asking someone we know. That could seriously alter friendships here."
Santana figures that makes sense, so she nudges Rachel's foot under the table with hers, says, "Eat your soup," and they lounge around the house for the rest of the day, curling up together on the sofa and watching stupid daytime television. Rachel watches soaps in her dressing room, even if she wants to pretend she doesn't, so she fills Santana in on some of the plot points.
Santana doesn't miss the way Rachel's hand sits low on her stomach, right about where their baby will sit when he's in there.
Kind of fucking scary, actually.
... ... ...
Looking through the donor bank is like, the one thing in the whole process that they don't have to pay for, which is really fucking stupid, actually. Like, Santana thinks they should have to pay for this. Here are all these dudes who donate their stuff to get paid, and the doctor's offices are totally missing a huge money making opportunity by just posting this crap online for anyone to take a look through.
And like, fuck. Some of these dudes have multiple children. It says so on their info pages, that they've been used before, and what the 'results' were like. Even so far as it being outlined what the kids looked like. It's creepy as hell. It feels a little too sci-fi for her, actually. And also, does she really want a kid who has random siblings scattered across the fucking Tri State area? No thank you.
She'd never, ever cheat on Rachel with anyone, but this is just about making a baby, and damn, Santana honestly would rather go through this whole process that way than having a stranger fertilize her eggs and whatnot.
But yeah, Rachel? She's treating this like the fucking L.L. Bean catalogue.
"This guy's a musician!"
Santana leans over a little more so she can see the rest of this guy's rap sheet (or like, details or whatever; rap sheet sounds better). Oh fuck. Any of these dudes could have been in prison and donated their stuff to make a quick buck after. Do sperm donors have to go through a background check? She needs to Google that on her own computer. She's got it open. Rachel's looking at the list and Santana's paying attention, she is, she's just also playing online poker at the same time.
"He's fucking 5'5", Rachel. If we wanted that, we would just ask Blaine. Oh, fuck. Is it him?"
She's hearing that a lot, her name in that tone of voice.
"All I'm saying is I'm not cursing this baby by like, making it inevitable that he's a hobbit. If I didn't care, I'd have pushed harder for you to be the incubator." She draws a pair of tens and calls.
"Honey, could you please...I mean, are you ever going to get serious about this?" Rachel asks.
It's been over a month since they decided to do this, and there's still no baby growing in her stomach, so Santana's just frustrated, to be honest, that they can't just do this.
Also, it's her body and she'll use whatever terms she wants, thank you very much.
But Rachel's doing that thing where she rubs her temples and has her eyes closed, so Santana leans over, presses a kiss to Rachel's cheek, and says, "Sorry, baby."
But yeah, see, she never said she was going to stop. And she is serious about it, she just thinks it's really stupid that they have to go through all these fucking hoops. They even switched doctors when the one they were going to made a potentially shitty comment about 'their lifestyle'. Like, the chick obviously thought that just because she was a fertility specialist she got to play god. Bullshit. The dude they're going to now is way better anyway. In like, the way he performs his exams and everything, too.
Shit, Santana wonders if he's ever donated sperm.
"What about this guy?" Santana asks, pointing to one listing. "6 foot, British background, hobbies include music and football. He's got a bachelor's in economics."
"He's too perfect."
"You don't want our baby to be perfect?" Santana laughs when Rachel glares at her. "I'm just saying, Rach. This is as good as it gets, okay, without knowing what we're really dealing with. It says he's got blond hair and green eyes, but that doesn't mean he's attractive."
"What are you saying?" Rachel asks, this cute little worried look on her face.
"I'm saying we don't know anything about these guys. Like, they're good on paper, but how strict are these sperm banks with who they allow to donate?" she asks. Rachel lets out a sigh. It's the kind she uses when she knows Santana's right. "I think we should keep looking through them, but like, maybe we should think about asking someone we know." Rachel's face lights up and she opens her mouth, but fuck no. "Not Blaine."
Santana laughs and sets her laptop on the coffee table. Rachel does the same, and they kind of lean against one another on the couch. Rachel's fingers tangle in Santana's hair a bit and she lets out a sigh.
"We'll figure it out, baby," Santana promises, means it, too, and Rachel nods. "It'll happen."
Santana laughs, presses her lips against Rachel's shoulder. "You might actually have to be patient about something for once."
Rachel clicks her tongue as though she's offended, and they sit there in silence for a few moments, until she says, "I don't want to," and Santana kind of has to kiss her.
... ... ...
They go out with Blaine and his new boyfriend, and as much as Rachel wants to say she hasn't told Blaine about their plans, Santana knows she's a fucking liar, just from the way Blaine's looking at her all night. She digs her fingers into Rachel's thigh when Blaine slips up and says something about him wanting kids someday, himself, and he gives her this like, apologetic look that's totally unnecessary.
Rachel totally talked to him and he told her that even if they asked, he wouldn't do it. Sneaky, her wife. That's fucking sneaky.
When they get home, she can't help herself. She's not drinking much at all lately, because it's best for fertility or whatever if she doesn't, and she is taking this whole thing seriously, despite her jokes. But Rachel helped polish off two bottles of wine with Blaine and Trent, and she's currently lying back on the bed wearing nothing but her wedding ring.
So yeah, Santana's thinking this night is awesome, all things considered.
The thing she loves about sex with Rachel (other than the fact that it's sex with Rachel) is how fucking responsive the woman is. Even after 11 damn years together she still acts like no one's ever touched her before. She rocks her hips in desperation when Santana teases her, makes the best fucking sounds ever when she gets what she wants. And god, when she comes, it's only the most gorgeous thing Santana's ever witnessed in her life.
She's currently up to her knuckles in her wife, and it's fucking sweltering outside in August in New York, so they're both sweating and Santana's currently licking it off Rachel's chest.
And then this happens:
"Oh, my god, Mike Chang."
Santana's hand is pulled away so quickly Rachel doesn't even seem to register it. "What the fuck?"
Hell yes, she's fucking pissed! Rachel has never pulled this particular brand of shit before and Santana does not fucking approve.
"For...No, baby," Rachel babbles, all sex-drunk. And still a little actual drunk. "No, for a donor. Can you please...I wasn't..."
She's kind of watching Rachel's hips move around. Rachel's super fucking desperate when she's this close to coming. Why she won't just touch herself, Santana doesn't know. Maybe because she's fully aware that Santana'd knock her hands away and pin them to the bed. Actually, there's an Hermes scarf sitting on that chair that would...
"You're thinking of how I'm gonna get knocked up while we have sex?"
Rachel actually looks at her like she's an idiot. "Um. Yes. That's normal, Santana. Baby, please. I'm...I'm so wet."
Santana sets her knee on the bed again. The fact that she's naked really doesn't bother her, except the part where no one's having an orgasm right now. "You can't fucking say Mike's name while I'm fucking you."
"Okay. Just come over here. We'll talk about this later." Santana leans closer, slides her knee between Rachel's thighs and pushes it up against her. Rachel's so wet and so restless, but now that the conversation's started, she seems to stop and think about it. "He's smart, and talented. He's gorgeous, for a man." Santana laughs at that. 'S'funny. "He's hilarious, and he's just genuinely a good person. He's a viable option."
But fuck, now it's all up in her head. She needs it not to be. It's 1:00 on a Saturday evening, morning, whatever, and she really just wants Rachel's mouth on her, instead of talking about their future baby and whose sperm might create it.
"Okay. That's great. Can I resume getting you the fuck off now? God, I put up with some shit from you, you know that?"
Rachel nods a little frantically and pulls Santana down onto the bed, hard, by the arm. Santana presses her fingers back into Rachel, fucking loves the low, relieved moan Rachel lets out.
They fall asleep naked on top of the sheets, still sweating in the heat. Rachel's hand sticks to Santana's stomach where it rests, but neither of them seems to care.
... ... ...
They've been talking about Mike all week. And not just like, "Yeah, Mike could be an option," but like, reminiscing about high school and college and talking about what an awesome friend he is now that he's living in New York full time.
The stories range from the hilarious to the ridiculous. They talk about how fucked up he was when he and Tina broke up sophomore year of college, and the one night stand he had with a chick who ended up being one of Rachel's coworkers at the time. Rachel, of course, talks about how talented he is, and Santana talks about the first time they got high together, right after they'd both joined glee club and were both seriously reconsidering the whole thing. They'd been listening to Janet Jackson and he started dancing and she started singing, and fuck, yeah, they decided to stay with it after all. Rachel's never heard that story, so of course she makes a big deal of it. Santana figured she would. That's exactly the kind of shit Rachel loves.
And so what if Santana kind of dances at Rachel in the kitchen while they're making dinner, singing, "Ms. Lopez if you're nasty"?
Rachel has this like, super adorable laugh and Santana wants to hear it.
But then she gets to thinking. They see Mike a lot. He lives 20 minutes away. He's worked with Rachel before. He stops by Santana's office and brings her donuts sometimes when he's in the area. He was probably the one who was most pissed that they weren't having a wedding reception he could be a part of.
Like, how's he going to feel knowing their kid is his kid and having to see it all the time? What if it's this cute...No, it's going to be this cute little thing and Santana and Rachel are going to raise it. Can they just expect him to stand by idly and not be involved at all? Santana thinks that's really, really unfair, and the last thing - the absolute last thing - they need is their donor coming back to them ever and saying he deserves to be in their kid's life. Santana knows how to draw up contracts against that kind of thing, but people get through those things every day.
Rachel's upset when Santana brings all this up, and she feels like shit for that, but Rachel admits that it's true. It wouldn't be fair to Mike to be 'mommies' friend Mike' to a kid who'll have his features.
"We're going to end up with Puck!" Rachel cries dramatically, and even if Santana knows the woman is only half joking, all this is getting really frustrating for the both of them, actually.
"God, where's Matt Rutherford when you need him, you know?" Santana kind of chuckles once Rachel's stopped bawling. "He and Mike were practically always the same person."
And like, then she takes two seconds to actually think about what she's saying, and fuck, it's totally perfect. Rachel seems to realize it at the same moment, because her eyes are all wide, then she lets out this tearful little laugh that's really sweet, actually.
"Do you think he's on Facebook?"
Neither of them has a Facebook anymore, but they're realizing just how easy it is to creep on people no matter what. Also the reason neither of them has a Facebook.
Google tells them he's the marketing director for a stadium football team in Dallas. On the website, there's a bio of practically everything he's done since high school. Scholarship to Vanderbilt for football, and he was in the draft but was never chosen. He worked for the school for a while after, until this team in Dallas took him on to work in ticket sales, and he's worked his way up to this position. There's a picture, and yeah, he looks really good. Same as always, basically, but just a touch older.
There's an email address right there on the page.
They bookmark it and agree to keep talking about it.
... ... ...
Santana writes the email. Rachel's at work, so Santana sits up in their bed with her laptop open on her knees and the television playing in the background. This morning in the shower, she and Rachel had decided for good that they would at least ask Matt. And yes, they share showers sometimes, and sometimes they're not even used just for sex. Of course, when they managed to get themselves closer to starting a family, things got a little carried away and the water got cold before Santana could shave her legs.
She wore pants today.
Anyway, the email is long, but that's because it's kind of a whole story, and she can see how someone might wonder how in the fuck she ended up married to Rachel Berry, who, last he knew, was straight and in love with Finn Hudson. So she tells him the whole thing, how they became friends first, then started dating quietly and Santana rocked Rachel's world on a spring break trip to Myrtle Beach and there was no turning back. (Rachel will say there's more to it than that, but really, it's the gist.) Santana writes that they've been living together for 10 years and married for two. It's really weird, actually, seeing her entire relationship laid out in front of her this way. She doesn't dislike it.
She must write five drafts of the part where she asks him for his sperm. Well, that's not even true. That's the thing, though. She doesn't know how to do this part. She isn't just going to ask him, flat out. That would be really fucking awkward. What she wants to do is tell him what they're doing and what they need. If he offers, great. If he doesn't, then they go back to the drawing board.
She is so fucking sick of the drawing board. She's actually kind of anxious to be pregnant.
Santana's still just staring at what she's written and wondering if it's too much or too little. She's not scared to send this email, she's just scared of what she might get back.
When Rachel gets home, she brings two bottles of beer in to the bedroom with her and starts talking about her amazing day, how she met a five year old little girl who loves her and the show and Broadway and Rachel wanted to steal her. Santana sits and watches as Rachel talks and changes and tries to wind down after her show. She kind of loves this part of her day. She sips her beer and gets to be lazy and Rachel gets to be lazy, and yeah, it's late, but if they didn't have this time together, they'd really hardly ever get to have a conversation.
"You're not working, are you?" Rachel asks, and she changes out of the nightgown she just put on and crawls into bed in just a pair of cotton panties instead. It is super hot in here.
"No. I'm...I was actually just drafting an email to Matt."
Rachel looks surprised, which is dumb; Santana said she'd do this. "Well, can I read it?"
Santana rolls her eyes. This is stupid. "Uh, yeah. Of course."
Rachel kisses her cheek, then practically snags the laptop from Santana's hands. She channel surfs while Rachel reads, because whatever. She knows what it says. They both know how they ended up together. She stops on ESPN for a second because the Yankees highlights are playing and she hasn't seen them yet.
Then she hears Rachel sniffling.
"Tell me you are not fucking crying."
"You wrote such beautiful things." Rachel uses the edge of the sheets to wipe her eyes. Santana kind of reads over Rachel's shoulder, for like, the hundredth time. "I just love her, Matt. So much. And I know we'll be amazing moms; Rachel will be incredible. We want this, both of us, and we're obviously just missing one little piece. It's a lot to ask - too much - but we want a family, and we've decided you're the best person to turn to."
Rachel wipes her eyes again.
Santana smirks. "Keep reading."
"You should be fucking flattered," Rachel reads. "Santana!"
"What?" she laughs. "It's true."
They send the email off then and there. That last part stays, too.
... ... ...
Matt calls her at her office, and she's a little surprised at how confident he sounds when he tells her he tried her at home first.
It only took him 12 hours to call. That's the most shocking part.
She thinks she's more nervous than he is. He's always been a disgustingly decent guy, so maybe he's just calling so he doesn't have to let them down via email.
"You know how weird it is to get an email saying the woman I lost my virginity to is married to another woman?" he asks. She laughs. God, she totally forgot she was his first. How could she forget that? "And Rachel?"
"No, I'm not...It's just uh...I mean, you had that whole Brittany thing, which I just realized I shouldn't have brought up." She laughs again and leans back in her chair, a little more at ease. Her other line's lighting up but it's not as important as this. "But Rachel was always, well, Finn's."
"I know," she says, quietly, and really, that's a touchier subject than Brittany by like, a mile. "Funny how things work out."
Obviously his bio on the website they looked at said nothing about his personal life. She and Rachel have discussed this so much, and they know he could have a wife and kids of his own. They're totally going out on a limb and possibly making fools of themselves by just dumping this on him, but fuck. They have to try.
"What about you?" she asks. "Married? Kids?"
He chuckles a bit. "No. Nothing like that," he says, and he doesn't sound bothered. "I travel a lot for work. A lot of women won't put up with my schedule. And I was in this thing for a while, after college." She doesn't know what to say, really. "She ran off with one of my friends, so."
"You'd know," he laughs.
Fuck, he's perfect.
They catch up a little more and he laughs when she tells him they were going to ask Puck this favour. Yes, she mentions it because she feels like she's going to puke if he doesn't just tell her his answer to this insane thing they're asking him.
"The thing is, Santana," he starts, and her throat gets tight because he's totally saying no, "I don't want to know anything about it. The baby, I mean."
"I want to do this for you guys." Holy fuck. She might stop breathing. "As soon as I read...I mean, yeah, I want to. But my life here, it's good, and it's all I need, you know?"
"So, fuck, this sounds bad, but after...I mean, once you get what you need, I wouldn't want to hear from you again. Ever," he says, and it's like he feels awful about it, this warning.
The thing is - and this sounds bad - she wants a baby more than anything else in the universe right now. She and Rachel are willing to sacrifice a lot - a lot - and never having contact again with a guy they haven't had contact with since they were 16? That's really, really not a problem. She doesn't even care if that makes her a bitch.
"Matt, if you want to think about it more, or...This is like, a huge thing we're asking, and..."
"Oh, Jesus, I made you cry."
"Good tears," she snaps, wiping at her eyes.
"Just um...Tell me what I have to do, and I'll do it."
She can't blow off the rest of the day and go to the theater to share this news with Rachel, and she'll be on stage by now anyway, but god, this is just too much.
Her assistant catches her crying in her office and asks what she can do. Santana tells her to get the OB on the phone and keep her mouth closed. Cassie's the only person at the firm who knows about Santana and Rachel's plans for a baby. She looks really fucking happy, which makes Santana laugh.
She goes to Rachel after work, when she's between shows, and they basically just stand there in Rachel's dressing room, holding on to each other, and Santana doesn't give a fuck what it might look like to anyone else.
Neither of them even cries about it any more. They're finally getting what they want.
- I Wish You Nights of Stars [1/5]