D/C: Glee is not mine
A/N: Procrastinating "The Forest for the Trees" and this popped into my head. This is a short and useless drabble.
Santana slid into the hospital room and closed the door behind her. She only bothered with straightening her clothes to keep from flinging herself onto the bed's occupant. Piled in one corner are the dirt-stained pieces of Brittany's motocross uniform. The docs weren't exactly delicate when they cut off her best friend's clothing to get to her chest. Santana's fingers brushed them gently, fingering the edges.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and walked towards the bed. Her hands clenched around her purse as she steeled herself for what was to come.
She could never prepare herself for this. Brittany's right foot, encased in a neon pink cast, poked out from under the crisp sheets. Her right arm was swathed in bandages. Thanks to the helmet, the only damage to Brittany's face was bruising along the tracks of the pads. Delicate fingers of purple blue marred the angles of Brittany's jaw.
Santana felt her breath catch as her eyes traveled lower. The corner of a distinctly rectangular burn peeked over the collar of the hospital gown. The former Cheerio choked down an involuntary sob that left her throat feeling raw. Her father was a doctor and she wasn't an idiot.
"Oh, B," she moaned, sinking onto the edge of the bed. Hesitantly, she reached for Brittany's face, letting her hand hover over the burn.
Brittany woke all at once as soon as Santana's palm touched her face. Pain flashed in her eyes.
"Brittany?" Santana whispered in surprise. "Oh no! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."
With visible effort, Brittany focused her gaze and relaxed. Smoothing her hand over Brittany's cheek, Santana leaned forward and touched her forehead to Brittany's shoulder.
"Hey San," Brittany said, somehow managing to sound cheerful. She reached out and dropped her bandaged hand onto Santana's hair. Santana cried silently into Brittany's gown until she felt gentle pressure on her shoulders.
"What's wrong?" Brittany asked, pushing herself upright with her uninjured arm. Santana sat up and turned away, scrubbing her face with the back of her hand.
"Nothing, B, I'm good."
"Santana..."
"I'm fine, B," Santana insisted gently, cupping Brittany's hand in her palms and pressing a kiss to the stark white bandages. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Brittany slid over, tugging on Santana's shirt. Santana obliged, wrapping her arms around Brittany's shoulders as she took her place on the bed. Carefully, Brittany adjusted so she could snuggled against Santana's chest.
"My whole body hurts," Brittany complained softly.
"I know, B," Santana sighed, pushing the hair out of Brittany's face. They lay in silence for a long while. Santana's hands traced lacey patterns against the back of Brittany's neck.
"You scared me, Britt," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Hmmm?" was the reply, thick with exhaustion.
"You scared me," Santana repeated. "Your heart stopped for twenty whole seconds and I thought the world was ending."
"Am I a zombie?" Brittany mumbled against Santana's collarbone. Santana smiled and peppered the top of Brittany's head with feathery kisses.
"No, you're magic."
Santana felt Brittany grin against her skin, and once again fought off tears of relief. She felt Brittany's breathing deepen, and squeezed as tightly as she dared.
"I love you, you reckless fool," she whispered fiercely.