Title: Makin' Music
Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany
A/N: Terribly sorry for the wait. Thanks for the favourites and subscriptions, even after... well, over a whole month. Almost two. Good God. I'm not even going into the list of crap, but it all essentially translates into the mother of all writer's block and inability to get down whatever the fuck I could actually think of. So much to do, so little time.
I hope this sort of makes up for the hiatus, as it were.
Quinn sneered down at Finn, who was still lying on the ground in the foetal position, clenching his hands with the unyielding pain throbbing in his leg. It looked badly broken, and Quinn definitely knew what a broken leg looked like. She'd seen some of the best Cheerios topple from the pyramid and break their legs; that usually wasn't as painful as being degraded by Sue Sylvester for screwing up one of her epic formations, but still.
Finn had let go of the broken bottle neck, and it had rolled out of his reach along the slight slant of the parking lot. Quinn walked over to it and further kicked it away, in case he suddenly got up and dragged himself to it. She'd seen enough movies to be paranoid about it.
The bottle sailed across the rain-slicked ground and knocked against a stray fire extinguisher with a huge dent in the side of it. She had found Puck's weapon of choice, and was secretly impressed. That was besides the point – what the hell were they going to do now?
"Ow, it hurts," he groaned, "Oh..."
"Quiet," she growled. Angry couldn't begin t describe what she felt about Finn Hudson right now. He got what he damn well deserved, Quinn reckoned, but she didn't think that leaving him here would further help anybody out. If something happened to him out here, it would be on Quinn and Brittany's shoulders for the rest of their lives.
Quinn didn't even bother trying to get a hold of Puck or Rachel, as the car sped past them and flew out of the exit towards the hospital. Santana had to be seen by a doctor as quickly as possible, so it wasn't like Puck and Rachel could spare fifteen minutes trying to haul Finn into the back of Puck's truck.
Puck's truck wasn't so far away; maybe dragging Finn to it wouldn't be such a hard job to do, but it would take a hell of a lot of work. Quinn was pretty strong and Brittany was able to take more weight than she, with her sneakily muscular dancer's body, but Finn was massive and there was no way in hell he'd be able to support any of his own weight on his broken leg, much less the fully functional one, with the sheer amount of alcohol in his blood stream.
"Maybe we could just call the cops," Brittany muttered. Quinn snapped her eyes to Brittany's, and furrowed her brow.
"Puck's phone; how else do you think he called us?" Brittany pulled Quinn's phone out of her pocket and shook it at her. "Yours ran outta battery, though."
Puck called them? I guess it explained how he just randomly showed up and took Finn out like he was some kind of hero. "Aw, crap. What if Puck's taken his phone?"
"I'll go and look for it," Brittany offered, and ran off. With the bad luck the four of them had been subject to tonight, Quinn didn't hold her breath for Brittany to come back with Puck's phone in her hand. She had to think of a way to pull Finn up and get him in the back of that damn truck.
A clap of thunder boomed across the sky, followed by a bolt of lightning. Quinn jumped at the rumbling through the ground, and looked back to the truck, upon hearing a small squeal of fear.
Quinn looked down to Finn again and found that he was looking up at her, having rolled over onto his back. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was gasping for air, spluttering as the rain beat down onto his face.
"Quinn, I think –"
"Shut it," she snarled, as she backed away to the truck, "I don't want to hear it. I'm only helping you because I can't just leave you out here like you're some dead animal; like I'm sure you planned to do with us."
Finn leaned up and rested on his elbows uneasily, grimacing in pain, as he realised he probably shouldn't be moving with his leg like this. The agony was sobering, to say the least, never mind the layers of revulsion in Quinn's voice. "No, I think I-I'm gonna hurl..."
His face looked extraordinarily pale, and his mouth was hanging open, sucking in oxygen. He let out a few burps that must've been gross, considering he was scrunching his face up and spitting out the taste of them. Quinn knew those signs from her morning sickness days.
"Oh dear God," Quinn groaned. She turned and made her way back to the truck, dialling nine-one-one and wrapped an arm around Brittany's shoulders. She kept an eye on Finn, rather unsure of what she herself would be able to do for him, whether she wanted to or not.
Santana's eyes fluttered open, to reveal to her three very blurry Rachels in front of her the back of her dark car, raising her leg, "Sit still..." She reached out, as if trying to steady Rachel and felt her girlfriend's hands grab hers.
Her leg was throbbing with pain that hadn't subsided since her eyes fell shut the first time. It was galling. She tried to stretch out her other leg, but she found it was pressed against the side of her car. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she felt a wet sweatshirt behind her head, like some kind of soggy pillow. "Ugh..."
"Noah, she's awake," Rachel informed him, still holding Santana's leg up to lessen the blood flow. She was holding the leg precariously, so as not to dislodge or dig the shard of glass that was in Santana's leg in further. "It's okay, San, we're going to the hospital."
"Keep her that way," he growled back. "How's her leg?"
"It's better," Rachel reluctantly answered, though she wasn't entirely sure. She knew that she was definitely minimising the flow of blood by elevating Santana's leg and applying pressure to the wound, but she couldn't just look. She'd wrapped Santana's blazer around the girl's leg pretty tight.
"Please don't pass out again," Rachel pleaded, before almost falling on top of her girlfriend's injured leg when Puck cut over the sidewalk and ran a red light simultaneously, "Noah!"
"Fuck the traffic, Rachel!"
"I nearly fell on her, is what I mean! You have got to be more careful!"
"Ah, shut up, the both o' you," Santana groaned. "Are you okay?"
"Don't worry about me," Rachel soothed, "You're the one who's hurt."
"Uh huh," Santana yawned, and settled her head back on her makeshift cushion. Exhaustion was overcoming her once again.
"Santana, no, baby, don't shut your eyes..."
"I was thinking you'd probably want to stay the night in this weather," Judy suggested, as she and David drove home from a rather upscale French restaurant that was smack bag in the middle of town.
She felt giddy. Her date with David Williamsburg had gone very, very well. She hadn't felt this great about a date since she'd first started dating Russell, way back in the nineteen-eighties. David was new. She felt ecstatic every time she'd been on a date with him and Quinn seemed to get along with him. Life was finally starting to turn itself around.
She had been thinking of a good enough guise under which she could ask David to stay a little while longer than she imagined he intended without success – the rain alone was a pretty lame excuse, but a full-scale thunderstorm was much more appropriate; if such a word could be used at a time like this, that was.
"Sure," David accepted, smiling to himself, "What about Quinn?"
"She told me she would be staying with Brittany tonight," Judy replied, fiddling nervously with her purse. "I still can't understand how you got reservations at that place."
"A month of patient waiting," he returned, leaning across the centre console and briefly kissing her cheek.
He was glad she'd asked him over, already. If the thunderstorm wasn't enough to get her to ask, he didn't know what would. They were both adults, sure, but they had both experienced their fair share of screwed up relationships.
David had dated a string of crazy women and married two of them, with no children produced from either union, whereas Judy had only been married once, for most of her life, to the same, merciless man who broke her – and her family – into pieces.
David was sure of Judy, though. Sure, she was a little conservative and old fashioned, but he would stick it out, because there was just something there with her. He admired that she was confident in herself after so long, but the defining moment?
When she made sure he accepted her daughter, no matter if she was dating the blonde cheerleader or the hulking footballer. It took him aback, at first that she believed he might have forsaken everything they could be because of a lifestyle choice that Quinn herself had no decision over.
He admired her for taking the chance of not having him if he had even one bone to pick with Quinn, but after she'd really explained to him that her family meant more to him than ever –and why – he had no words left to say.
"Oh my God!" Judy shrieked.
"What? Judy – Oh..." David's mouth hung open as he saw the state that Judy's house was in, and stopped the car abruptly as he saw Judy opening the door, stumbling out of the car and scrambling up the yard, calling out for Quinn and being returned with nothing.
The door was hanging off the hinges and inside, the house had been turned upside down. Judy had to make sure Quinn was okay; and Brittany too, if she was even here. She pulled out her mobile, and found that she hadn't received a text from her daughter at all. There were no new messages in the answering machine, either.
David sprinted after her, glancing around into rooms. The kitchen and bedrooms had been trashed the most; the living room had been badly ransacked, although nothing specific had been damaged.
After a mad search, he and Judy stood and faced each other in the hall, worried eyes staring back into each other, listening to the sound of the storm outside. The wind was blowing the door into the wall, and fragments of glass clinked on sandstone as it was blown astray.
David took Judy into his arms as she began to cry, and took her into the living room to take a seat on the couch. He pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Quinn's number, hoping she'd pick up, for everyone's sake.
"Have you gotten hold of her?"
"No," David replied gruffly, as he tried the number again. All he got was the dial tone. He was hoping that it was either switched off or out of battery.
"What if something happened?" She asked him, her voice but a whisper over the wind and rain.
"Don't think like that; look, we need to get you to the station, and report this."
Puck lifted Santana out of the back of the car, carefully. She felt so fragile in his arms, limp and dazed. Her chest was rising and falling ever so faintly, Puck wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not.
He had to tell himself what tiny movements his eyes showed him was really there, otherwise he'd lose all hope. He couldn't even bring himself to look Rachel directly in the eye; the events of tonight had really hit him, and Puck wasn't sure if he could take it.
He carried Santana into the foyer of the hospital. Thankfully, one of the emergency services knew what they were doing – Santana was taken from his arms and into a little place to have her seen to in seconds.
It was a blur; Puck had strode into the Emergency Room and yelled that she'd been cut bad by a drunken nut job and that someone had better give him a phone to call the cops, in case Quinn and Brittany hadn't found his phone.
If Puck was going to do one thing right tonight, he would make damn sure that someone would be down there with Quinn and Britt. He looked to Rachel, seeing that he probably wouldn't be able to leave her alone as Santana was wheeled away on a gurney.
Rachel could see the look of anguish in Puck's eyes. She walked over to him, to make sure he was okay. This had been a tough night on him, too. "Noah, I think you should sit down. Who were you going to call?"
Puck looked to her, and hung the receiver back on the hook. He looked around, from side to side, finally coming to a decision. "I was gonna call the cops, but... Quinn and Britt... We just left them..."
"Noah, we need to have the authorities involved," Rachel countered, sighing heavily. This was just so fucked up. Utterly, utterly fucked up. She had no idea where the hell Santana was, and it scared her. Part of her comfort, if any, was that she wasn't allowed to see her girlfriend right now. She was pretty sure she'd break if she had to see Santana's face, still and content from anaesthesia, or exhaustion. Anaesthesia.
She near collapsed into a chair by a vending machine, holding her head in her hands, trying to make sense of the flurry of thoughts rushing through her head at a million miles an hour. She knew he'd always try his best to do what he could, but she didn't think she had the energy to sit back and let him do it.
"But what if they need me?" Puck hissed, taking the seat next to Rachel's and coaxing her head out of her hands, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She looked up at him and smiled weakly, through her exhaustion.
"Noah! Unless you left the cell phone you called me on in your truck, you are not leaving me alone to wait for Santana," Rachel quirked an eyebrow and waited for his reply. Noah looked taken aback; he hadn't expected such a sharp response, considering she looked on the brink of collapse.
"My phone's in my glove compartment," he informed her, sighing, after a moment of thought. It was reassuring to know that he'd actually kept it somewhere useful this time. One time, he left it on the kitchen table and he'd gotten a real dirty text from some cheerleader and his sister saw it; damn, he did not think he'd ever seen his mom so pissed with him. Well, apart from the time she found out he'd knocked up Quinn.
"Well, then," Rachel sighed. She shot up from the chair and began pacing up and down the small stretch of corridor she and Noah currently occupied, muttering incoherently to herself and running her hands through her drenched hair. She couldn't just sit there. The worry was beginning to translate into adrenaline.
"I'm going for a walk," Puck suddenly announced, running a hand through his 'hawk, "Be back in a minute." He rounded the corner, before she had a chance to ask him just where he was going. Because in all honesty, neither did he.
Rachel was totally freaking him out, muttering to herself like that. Puck tried to think of something to say, but he just couldn't. He wasn't the most emotional of dudes, especially with an overload of his own threatening to kick his ass right now.
Relief that Santana was in the safe hands of Lima General was the only thing keeping him from speeding back to that damn parking lot and tearing Finn limb from limb. He knew Rachel would be able to take care of herself if he was gone for a little while, without a doubt; she was strong, and Santana's dad would find her soon enough.
When the cops would get involved, though, Puck was worried about how he'd break it to the Fabrays about the fact Finn had been with him earlier on. In fact, Finn was mad before he'd started drinking. Puck just threw beers at him, thinking the dude would get a buzz and threw him out when he didn't.
If he'd been as responsible as he'd promised himself he would be none of this mess would ever have happened. Santana wouldn't be surrounded by a flurry of overtired doctors trying to see to an unnecessary wound, and Quinn's place wouldn't look like someone dropped a bomb on it.
Quinn's house being trashed wasn't exactly the biggest priority here, although thinking about Judy Fabray getting pissed at him sounded a hell of a lot better than whatever the hell was going on here.
Rafael looked out of the room Santana was in and noticed Rachel meekly making her way along the bustling corridor, unsure of whether she was supposed to be there or not. She wasn't, and Rafael wondered who she'd bribed to get up there. Either that, or she was sneaky.
He stepped out of the room and stood face to face with her with a few loping strides. "Rachel... Are you okay?"
"Physically, yes; emotionally not so much."
Apparently there were to be no visitors this evening, as yet. Rachel promised herself she would stick around just as soon as she would be able to see her girlfriend, though. It was a given, really. Noah hadn't returned from his 'walk' in half an hour, so Rachel decided she would go on one of her own. She had shocked herself with waiting that amount of time to try and see Santana in the first place, but she was trying to respect the orders of the doctors who had told her nobody would be seeing Santana for a little while.
"Yeah..." Rafael rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say to her. Both of them had no idea what to say to the other, as their eyes were fixated down the hall to Santana's room. He pulled off his sweater, and handed it to the shivering girl. "Take this, you're soaking. And uh," he fished around in his back pocket, produced his wallet and thrust ten dollars into her hand. "Get yourself to the cafeteria and have a hot drink. And, um, I guess you can call your parents with the spare change."
She offered Rafael a small smile in exchange for the oversized blue garment and shrugged on his sweater; it was three times too big for her, at least, and drowned her diminutive frame, draped loosely over her shoulders and almost reaching the hem of her skirt as it hung down her body.
"Thanks," she mumbled. She curled her hands into fists, tightly wrapped her arms around her body, shivering a little, with warmth overcoming her. Her legs were still freezing, but she was grateful of at least her torso enveloped in fuzzy heat and spicy aftershave.
"Don't worry about it," he returned, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Now get out of here." He nudged her a little, sending her on her way. He watched as she left reluctantly. "She'll be fine," he assured her. "Just take care of yourself. I'll let you know when you can see her."
She nodded, offered him a weak smile, and hurriedly left before she had a chance to second-guess him again. She would see Santana soon, hopefully, and for now she just had to worry about getting a warm drink to iron out her chills. Oh, and she had to find Puck.
Rafael fisted his hands in his pockets and quickly re-entered Santana's room, giving a curt nod to the doctor who'd just left, and handed Rafael her chart before leaving the two in peace.
Santana was still dazed from the morphine and the local anaesthetic she'd been given for her leg. She was quite comfortable propped up in the bed, her head sunken into the pillow as her eyelids fluttered rapidly. He turned on a side lamp and switched off the main lights glaring down at her from the ceiling and sat on the edge of her bed.
She fell into slumber quickly, her brow furrowed, as he lightly stroked her cheek. He couldn't bring himself to look at the fresh dressing on her leg for too long, if even at all, for fear he'd break his hand punching the wall, wishing he could substitute the drywall for the face of who'd done this to his daughter.
"Crap," Puck hissed. He didn't want Rachel to find him. He'd been stewing over what he'd be telling the cops in terms of where Finn had been and who he'd been with before he decided to go loco at the mall.
Rachel took the chair opposite him and tried to meet his eyes with her own, putting one of her sweater-covered hands over his own. He looked up, scowling, though he refused to meet her eyes.
"Are you alright? You look awfully pale." She ran her thumb along his knuckles, coaxing his eyes to meet hers. She flashed him a brief smile, and took a sip of her coffee.
"Look, Rach, I gotta tell you something." She merely nodded, allowing him to go on. He sent up one last silent prayer for Rachel not to castrate him if she got pissed. "Finn was with me before he found you guys."
"Finn and I, we were with Sam, Mike and Tina, drinking, playing video games. We played more video games than anything, because Finn drank everything. He was mad when he came by, so I just made him drink 'cause I thought he'd get a buzz and calm down, but he got worse, so I threw him out."
Rachel furrowed her brow. "And then he just happened to find us at the mall?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Puck hissed, "I didn't know what the fuck he was going to do! He trashed Quinn's place and went fucking nuts!"
Rachel took a deep breath. She still had her hand firmly over Noah's, although she was beginning to squeeze, willing herself not to explode in the middle of the cafeteria; there were several sleep deprived doctors milling around, relatives stricken with worry and the odd insomniac patient sipping on a warm drink. "Why was he mad?"
"Something about Quinn being a total bitch to him in the mall, and he was pissed at Santana, mainly, 'cause you're all gay and stuff."
"And you think letting him out of your sight in that state was the sensible thing to do?"
"I didn't think he'd do what he did!"
"You shouldn't have let him out of your sight!"
"I know. Look, I'm real sorry." Puck placed his other hand atop Rachel's, "I'll take whatever I have to when I tell the cops, okay? I'll take more. I'll do whatever I can to make it better, but I don't know what the hell that is, Rach."
"Oh, thank God you're both all right!" Judy Fabray jumped out of her chair as soon as she saw a drenched Quinn and Brittany pass into Lima Police Station. She had to wind knocked out of her as her mother enveloped the two girls in a bone-crushing hug.
Brittany's parents emerged next, rushing to the girls. Brittany's mother handed them each a towel to dry themselves off, relief flooding her senses as they were out of the terrible weather.
"There'll be time for the family catch-ups later," a stout police officer ordered, following Quinn and Brittany through the door. He pulled off his leather gloves and slapped them atop the front desk, "Right now, I gotta get statements from these two ladies."
"Do you have any idea what time it is? Let them go home," Brittany's father, Arnold, objected, "They need rest, Liddell."
"We need statements," Liddell shot back, as his colleague ushered the girls and their mother into a quiet side room. Arnold quietly shut the door behind him and returned to his colleague, leaning against the front desk.
"Pete, I won't argue with you. Neither of them are in the right frame of mind to give statements right now."
"If they're not making a statement, they're staying overnight in a cell."
"I'm taking them home, and I'll bring them here in the morning for their statement," Arnold ground out.
"It won't take long if they co-operate," Liddell snapped, more than frustrated with the tall blonde after the night he'd already had; shouting, screaming, something about fire extinguishers and bleeding and hospitals. He was glad he'd written all of what he'd gotten down, because there was no way he'd remember it later on.
"Nobody else is giving statements now. It can wait until morning," Arnold hissed, crossing the foyer to the side room, "It will wait until morning."
The door of the station burst open, a tall, dishevelled boy allowing himself in, followed by a shorter, older woman with a stern look on her face and arms folded tightly across her chest.
"Can I help you, son?" Arnold offered, pulling away from the side room. He'd seen the boy before, although he wasn't entirely sure where.
"Noah Puckerman," he introduced himself, running his hand through the soaked strip of hair atop his head. He glanced to the woman, and she nudged him forward. "I'm here to give a statement about the bust-up at the mall."
Pete smirked over at Arnold, before straightening his tie and turned to face their guest. He gestured down the hall, "Right this way, kid."
Rachel's fathers hadn't taken long to get to Lima General once she'd called in. She would have called sooner, but after seeing Finn being wheeled into the hospital with a flustered Carole and a rather flabbergasted Burt not far behind, she had to take a walk to calm herself down before she attacked the boy in a fit of rage.
Her fathers had driven Sarah Puckerman over, too, with the mention of Noah also at the hospital. She was worried, though also relieved that he wasn't hurt, and proceeded to fuss over him embarrassingly, something which he wouldn't stand for, even in these circumstances. But most of all, Noah was pissed they'd gotten there before he coulf high tail it to the station. Rachel had told him he had to wait to tell his mother – because if she found out that her son was involved in a police investigation, she'd lose her shit pretty damn fast, and nobody would want to see that.
"Look, ma, I have to go to the cops. No point in me hangin' around here if I'm okay," he insisted.
"Cops?" Sarah was shocked, although when she thought about it, it was going to be sooner rather than later that Noah was involved in something besides terrorising some high school mathletes. She didn't look to Noah for an answer and instead turned to Rachel, "What exactly happened here?"
"There's too much to explain right now," Noah pressed, pulling her attention back to him. "I'm going to the station right now, alright? Come with me or stay, whatever; but I'm not wasting any more of my time."
"I'm coming with you," Sarah demanded, following after him.
"Fine. Come with me to the car," he pulled Santana's keys out of his pockets and strode to the door, his mother having to make two steps for every one he took.
"Don't you think you should be going, too?" Hiram gestured after Noah and Sarah. Rachel looked indifferently back at him, merely offering a shrug in return.
"Hiram, she obviously hasn't gone for a damn good reason," Leroy admonished. "But do you think you should?"
"I'll have to at some point. Tomorrow. But I haven't seen Santana yet." Rachel wiped her eyes with the sleeve of Rafael's sweater, before she could burst into tears; it was beginning to feel long overdue that she did.
"Oh, honey," Leroy wrapped Rachel in his arms, "What happened?"
"I told you that boy was bad news," Leroy grumbled.
"Rachel, sweetheart. He didn't hurt her, did she?"
"Why else would I be here?" Rachel ground out.
"She's alright, isn't she?" Leroy asked, hoping to calm Rachel down.
"I saw her father and he assured me that was going to be okay," Rachel informed them, taking a deep breath, "But I refuse to leave until I've seen her."
"I don't think you'll be able to do that until morning, sweetie." Hiram interjected. "You should get some rest, too, if you need to go to the station as well." He looked Rachel dead in the eye, making sure she didn't break eye contact.
"Fine. But I'm coming straight back here afterwards."
"Of course you are," Hiram returned. He stifled a yawn, and placed a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder. She could explain the sweater to him later.
"You did what?"
"Quinn, I swear! I didn't think he'd trash your place, okay?"
"Noah Puckerman, I swear-"
"Quinn, please, it's all right," Judy soothed, "The damage wasn't substantial. It'll just need sorting out and it won't take long. And David's already offered to have us stay with him for a few days while it's refurbished."
Quinn's glower lingered on Puck, almost cowering in his chair in the corner of the room. "Fine." She'd only been round to David's house one time. It was tiny – well, crapmed, compared to what she was used to – but she'd stick it out. It was further away from Brittany's place, which annoyed her more about the whole arrangement, though. She ignored Sarah Puckerman's look of incredulity on her face – she'd seen enough of those when she was pregnant and ranting at Puck about his insane Mario Brothers theories. Even Sarah knew they were crazy, although Quinn did get fairly vocal about it.
She took a seat by the door, staring at the frosted glass – as if it would melt away and she could see how Brittany was faring. She'd been in there for a while, now. "What the hell are they doing, interrogating her?"
"She won't be much longer, Quinn," Judy reassured her, though Quinn didn't take much notice of her mother's words. She was just waiting for the door to open so she could see Britt, and then maybe they'd be able to see how Santana was before she crashed ungracefully into bed.
"Wait; Fabray... I recognise that name," Pete mused. His eyes flitted back and forth between Judy and Quinn, rapping his knuckles on the top of the front desk he was leaning over.
"Could you stop staring at us like that? You're freaking me out," Quinn snapped. Judy threw Quinn a stern look, though her daughter continued to glower at the portly man, with his furrowed brow.
"I got it; you're that drunken guy's kid, and you're his ex-wife, obviously; Russell, isn't it?" he grinned, tapping his balding head, "I know what's going on, see."
"Must you be so insensitive?" David admonished.
"How the hell are you still in this job?" Quinn growled.
"Quinn, just leave it," David warned, "And you can keep your mouth firmly shut unless it's anything relevant to the case at hand, got it?"
"Just makin' conversation," he shrugged. He looked across the room, taking note of the mix of anger and incredulity of those in the room with him. "Coffee, anyone?" Each of them refused him with a sharp shake of their heads, leaving him to waddle off to the coffee dispenser in some back room a way down the hall. "Ah, suit yourselves."
Quinn scowled as he left, beginning to plot endless way to make the man's life a misery. So maybe I'm overreacting... I'm tired. But he's still a total jackass. She was snapped out of her reverie, however, when the door opened and Brittany entered the hallway, faint purple rings beginning to take residence around her eyes, exhaustion beginning to take its' toll on her.
"Come on," Judy said, "Sleep. For the both of you."
"But we have to see Santana," Quinn protested. She slipped an arm around Brittany's waist and leant into her girlfriend's taller frame, "We have to."
"Tomorrow, darling," Judy assured her. "She'll be getting her rest, so I suggest the both of you do, too."
"Yeah, like I'm eating this crap for breakfast," Santana snapped. She folded her arms across her chest and refused to acknowledge the plate of food on the tray before her, curling her lip in disgust. "You aren't made to eat this, are you?"
"I bring my own for that exact reason," Rafael told her, "but you're a patient here, so you're going to eat it."
"I'm also the daughter of one of the most senior doctors in this hell-hole. Just bring me something up from the cafeteria."
"I can't do that, whether you're my daughter or not," Rafael replied firmly. He picked up the fork and handed it to a reluctant Santana "Just quit whining so much; nobody asked you to get up so damn early. And don't get so stressed over a plate of food."
"I wouldn't call that food."
"I wouldn't be so ungrateful, if I were you," he shot back. "I'll be back in a second to see to that dressing of yours and then I'll drive you to the station so you can give your statement."
"Then I can go home?"
"Naturally. Just take it easy for the rest of the day, and we'll see how you go, alright?" Rafael smirked down at Santana, who was still thoroughly unimpressed with her meal. He watched as she took a reluctant mouthful, stifling a laugh at her ludicrous facial expressions.
"Okay, that was gross; even I could do better than that," she growled, and threw her fork back onto the tray.
"Hardly," Rafael scoffed. "I think you're still delirious from the medication."
By lunchtime, Santana had been reacquainted with the plush couch in front of the monstrous widescreen television in the living room, Rachel curled up next to her. They'd already been there for about an hour after the girls had given their statements, and Santana had managed to persuade Rachel to make her a bacon sandwich – the girl made them better than Santana could and she was vegan, for crying out loud – it might have cost her several minutes of cuddle time and Rachel made her promise to read her grandmother's damn recipe book sometime soon, but she figured it was worth it. Sort of.
"I'll have nightmares for a week after that," Rachel announced, plopping down onto the couch next to her girlfriend, who was reclining on the couch in the living room with her feet on the coffee table. "And you're going to school tomorrow, whether you like it or not."
"Rach, everyone will see the dressing."
"Wear your sweat pants, then," Rachel retorted, reaching for the remote perched on Santana's lap, "And change this over; Jersey Shore is just atrocious."
"Okay, okay. I'll suck it up tomorrow." Santana didn't reckon Rachel would take much of milking the whole 'finding it difficult to walk' thing, but it was worth shot. "But this is staying on until the end of the episode," Santana snatched the remote away, holding it out of the diva's reach.
"You have dire tastes in television," Rachel jibed, giving up on trying reaching the remote, and suddenly peeled herself off of the couch. "I'm leaving."
"I'll change the channel if it means that much to you," Santana threw the remote at the girl's hands. Rachel caught it, but placed it on the coffee table and continued on her way to the door.
"The look on your face there was priceless," Rachel giggled, "But seriously; I'm going home to select some more musicals from my room in an attempt to increase the quality of your viewing material. That," she pointed an accusatory finger at the television, "Is nothing short of an actual disgrace."
"Or you could pick something out the mountain of DVDs in the rack?"
"I think not," Rachel scoffed, perusing the rack; violent action films were not to her taste, no matter how Santana tried to persuade her. She had enough of being coaxed into watching those sorts of films by her own fathers, let alone her girlfriend.
"If that's the case, I'm pretty sure we could find some form of entertainment not involving the TV," she suggestively waggled her eyebrows, beckoning Rachel to come back to the couch.
"You're supposed to be resting," Rachel sighed. It didn't sound like much of a resistance, especially as Rachel was already slowly stepping back to the couch, "I promised your father I'd take care of you." Rachel climbed back onto the couch and pressed her lips to Santana's softly. The Latina took advantage of that and deepened the kiss, although Rachel broke the kiss before it got too heated – so her girlfriend's hands wandering up her shirt already wasn't too bad – for them, anyway. "You're on pain medication; wouldn't I be taking advantage of you?"
Santana laughed drily, and observed Rachel's flushed cheeks, before she pulled her back into another passionate kiss; rhetorical questions were her favourite kind.