Little Ghouls | Glee

36 | Like Daddy, Like Daughter

36 | Like Daddy, Like Daughter

The Alvarez Hotel, Manhattan

✩───✩───✩

When the lights flashed through her bedroom, Lucy looked up from her drawing.

She sighed when she noticed Brittany slipping inside with a freshly opened bottle of Topo Chico. She thought it would be easy to escape talking about the incident in the square this morning, but she hadn't been so lucky.

Santana shook out a bottle into her palm and placed two pills beside the drink Brittany placed down. She nodded to her girlfriend, kissing her cheek, and handing her the pill bottle once it was twisted up tight.

"What are these?" Lucy asked, clicking her receivers back into place. "I don't have night mediation anymore. Didn't Mommy tell you? I stopped last year."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have. Besides...These are anxiety meds." Santana sank into the bean bag beside her daughter's desk and rubbed her cast. She crossed her legs and raised a brow at Lucy's frown. "I've made you an appointment with Dr. Wright. You're going and don't even give me your puppy pout."

Lucy groaned, closing her eyes. She shook her head quickly and rubbed her face.

"Daddy." She mumbled. "I'm fine. It was just a lot of people today. Lilly's gone and—"

"And I understand that." Santana sighed. "Lo, you know I would never, ever, put you on medication without reason."

"I'm fine." Lucy pleaded quietly. She glanced at the closed door and shook her head. "Mommy's appointment went—"

"It was okay." Santana bobbed her head. "Mommy's pretty worn out, though. She's sleeping right now, but they're going to show us some options to help with her heart."

"No cancer?"

Santana's eyes softened at the obvious worry in her child's eyes.

"No cancer. Only aftermath concerns. Same stuff as last time."

"Okay, good." Lucy returned to her drawing. She picked up her pencil and continued sketching across her pad of paper.

Santana watched her draw for a few minutes in silence. She didn't want to push, but knew there was no leaving this room without coming to an agreement.

"Dr. Wright is going to discuss your anxiety and help you with your PTSD." Santana explained. She noted her daughter's tense posture. "Starting with your nightmares. Do you want to tell me about them now, or would you rather just talk to the doctor?"

"I don't want either." Lucy murmured.

"Well, you don't have a choice of neither. You need to pick one, and honestly, I think it should be Dr. Wri—"

"Daddy, you don't even like doctors! How is this fair?" She asked, not looking up from her drawing. "I don't want to keep bringing this up. It's like...all we ever talk about when you're home. I get it! Okay? I get it. I was touched by an older guy. I was molested. One's dead and...and he's out...out of jail, but that doesn't change anything. Can't we just talk about something else for once besides who sucked my penis?"

Santana winced at the wording. She looked around Lucy's room and fiddled with her cast, rubbing the soreness through the wrap.

"What are you drawing?" She asked. "Mommy says you're pretty good."

"Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"What's that mean?" Santana frowned when Lucy clenched her jaw and tried to hide how irritated she was. She was Quinn Fabray's child. There was no hiding anything that involved clenching teeth. "Lucy Colette."