Eleven… What comes after the eleven? Brittany thought desperately to herself.
All of her books were safely locked in her locker, waiting for her to enter the right numbers to reach them. Brittany knew she needed to figure out how to get to them because she had class in five minutes and she hates the look that teachers always give her when she says she doesn't have her textbook, but she just couldn't remember her locker combination.
She could never remember her locker combination. It's really complicated. She could never remember which way to turn the dial or which number comes first. Brittany was almost positive about there being an eleven somewhere in the combination. She had been standing in front of her locker for almost ten minutes trying to remember the numbers to no avail.
There was one person who always, always remembered Brittany's locker combination when she forgot, but Brittany hadn't talked to Santana since she went home after Cheerios practice the day before. Santana always at the very least texted Brittany, but today Santana wasn't in school and Brittany hadn't heard from her.
Aggravated, Brittany spun the dial to her lock one more time before reaching into her backpack and pulling out her cellphone. No text messages, unfortunately. Brittany huffed out a breath and leaned against her locker, looking down at her shoes. Where was Santana? She needed her.
A voice brought Brittany out of her thoughts. "Hey, Britt?" Brittany looked up.
"Oh, hey Kurt," she replied. Kurt and Blaine, bags slung over their shoulders, approached Brittany.
"You don't seem like your usual peppy self. What's wrong?" Kurt asked.
"I can't remember my locker combination and Santana isn't in school today," Brittany said. Kurt and Blaine exchanged a quick look.
"Did you write it down somewhere?" Blaine asked.
"No," Brittany sighed. "Santana knows it by heart and she never misses school. I don't know where she is."
Brittany flinched as the bell rang loudly from right above her head.
"You should text Santana and ask her," Kurt offered. "We should probably get to class. See you Britt."
Blaine gave Brittany a little wave before following Kurt down the hallway. Brittany sighed deeply again before picking up her backpack and heading to class.
The day passed in a confusing blur without Santana. At the end of the day, Brittany still hadn't heard from her. She was starting to get a little nervous. Santana never missed a day of school. Ever. Partially because Sue would destroy her for missing Cheerios practice, but mostly because Brittany needs her there. It's not that she doesn't have other people to talk to her or something. She just needs Santana there to remind her if the blue binder is Math or English, to tell her which period comes first, or to whisper an answer in her ear during Spanish.
As Brittany was walking to her car, her phone began to buzz inside her backpack. Hastily, she dropped the bag on the ground and started to dig through it. The incoming call was from Santana. She jabbed at the green button on her phone to answer.
"Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Britt," a voice croaked on the other end.
"Santana?"
"Yeah. Babe, I'm really sick. I'm sorry—" Santana descended into a coughing fit. "I'm sorry I didn't text or anything."
"I was worried," Brittany replied. "Are you okay? Do you need me to bring you soup or tissues or root beer?"
"Root beer? No, Britt, you can't come here. I'm super contagious," Santana said. Her voice was painfully hoarse.
"You're always contagious," Brittany replied. "You sound awful. I'm coming over."
"What? Brittany, no—"
Brittany hung up the phone and climbed into her car. Brittany drove to the grocery store and filled a basket with cold medicines, boxes of tissues, cans of Campbell's chicken noodle soup, and packets of beef ramen.
Driving to Santana's house, her phone rang twice, but she ignored it. It was probably Santana telling her not to come and Brittany barely had the attention span to drive let alone drive and talk on the phone. She pulled into the Lopez's driveway, grabbed her bags from the backseat, and bounded up the front steps to ring the doorbell. Brittany never used to ring, but now that she and Santana were officially dating she thought it was polite to use the doorbell. Mrs. Lopez came to the door.
"Brittany, come in. I told you, you don't need to ring the doorbell. You can just come in," Mrs. Lopez said, ushering Brittany into the house. "Corazón, Santana is sick. Did she not tell you?"
"Oh, she told me, but I brought her sick stuff," Brittany said, holding up the bags from the store.
"You're a sweetheart, but if you go up there you're going to catch her cold," Mrs. Lopez warned.
"I know. That's why I brought a jacket," Brittany replied, pointing to her Cheerios jacket draped over her arm.
Mrs. Lopez shook her head. "You know the way," she said.
"Thanks Mrs. Lopez," Brittany said. She took the steps two at a time up to Santana's room. Gently, she pushed the door to her bedroom open. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark. A motionless lump was in Santana's bed, surrounded by used tissues. Brittany crossed the room, set the bags down on the ground, and sat on the bed. The lump moaned.
"Brittany," Santana groaned, rolling over to face her. "I told you not to come."
"Well, it's too late because I'm here now," Brittany replied. "I brought more tissues and soup and lots of medicine."
Santana just grunted in response. Brittany reached out and stroked Santana's hair off her face and rested her hand on her forehead.
"Sweetie, I think you have a fever," Brittany said. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Santana's forehead. "You're burning up."
"I'm burnin' up for you, baby," Santana mumbled.
"You definitely have a fever," Brittany said. She reached into her bags and pulled out boxes and bottles, tossing medicine around. She pulled out a bottle that said nasal decongestant. "Is your nasal decongested?"
"Probably," Santana replied.
"Okay, take this," Brittany said, shaking two pills into Santana's hand and handing her the glass of water on the nightstand.
"Are you sure about this?" Santana said. "I don' wanna take anything weird."
"When have I ever steered you wrong?" Brittany said.
"It's true," Santana rasped. She reached out to stroke Brittany's cheek, but missed and brushed her lips. "I trust you Britt-Britt."
"I should probably take your temperature," Brittany said, standing up.
"Baby, don't go," Santana croaked out.
"I know San, but you're like out of your mind with fever," Brittany replied.
"I'd rather be out of my pants with fever," Santana replied, half-heartedly waggling her eyebrows at Brittany.
"Okay sweetie, I know," Brittany said, brushing Santana's hair back and kissing her cheek. "I'll be right back."
Brittany got the thermometer from the medicine cabinet above the sink and hurried back to Santana who was sing-whispering to herself in her raspy voice. Brittany sat back down on the bed.
"Okay, open up," Brittany said, holding out the thermometer. She stuck it under Santana's tongue. "Close." Brittany took Santana's hand and softly rubbed circles on the back of her hand with her thumb. The thermometer beeped. 102.3°.
"What'd it say?" Santana asked.
"One-oh-two-point-three," Brittany replied. "You have a fever."
"Ugh," Santana said. "Doesn't feel good."
"I know," Brittany said. "My mom always gives me these little red pills when I have a fever. I think they're called Red Hots."
"You should be a nurse. Nurse Brittany. You know so much about diseases and stuff," Santana mumbled. Brittany smiled and kicked off her shoes. Lifting up the covers, she scooted down next to Santana until they were pressed together.
"It's really hot under here," Brittany said.
"That's because me and you are really hot," Santana whispered. Brittany leaned forward and kissed Santana just below the ear.
"You should try to go to sleep. I can't last another day of school without you. I couldn't get my textbooks all day," Brittany said softly.
"Sorry babe. I got in bed right after Cheerios practice and my phone was downstairs," Santana mumbled quietly.
"It's okay," Brittany said. "But you're not going to have perfect attendance now."
Santana groaned. "Fuck Britt. Every year of high school and then I ruin it April of our senior year."
"It's probably for the best. Perfect attendance doesn't do much for your badass image," Brittany said.
"Yeah, well neither does singing love songs to your girlfriend, but I seem to be doing that all the time now," Santana grumbled.
"That's because you're whipped," Brittany whispered, snuggling closer to Santana's back.
"All right. Quiet time," Santana mumbled. "I need my rest if I'm going to be well again tomorrow."