Title: The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows
Pairing: Brittana
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes Santana's not as strong as everyone thinks she is
Word Count: 900
Timing: Takes place somewhere between "Yes/No" and "Heart"
Notes: So I just had a lot of feelings about Santana's hope for the future and all this came out.
Sometimes you find her like this; curled up in the corner of her bedroom, mascara running down her face. You know that everyone thinks she's better now. Finn sang a few songs, and everything was magically better. But magic doesn't really work that way.
(Most people would say that magic doesn't work at all but you know better. It really just depends on what you define as magic.)
Most of the time she seems better. Most of the time she is better. But things still happen that set her off. Parents dragging their kids away when they see you holding hands at the park. Teens at the mall who obviously recognize her from the campaign ad whispering as she passes them. Catcalls when you kiss in the hallways at school. Sunday dinners at her abuela's at which she is no longer welcome.
It isn't even every time these things happen. More and more often now, you look into her eyes and see them soften, the way they only used to when the two of you were alone. You see her true smile more than ever before, and it's completely unguarded now.
(You're just so proud of how far she's come.)
But she's Santana, and she's always bottled up the bad stuff. And sometimes it all comes flooding out. Never at school. Never where anyone but you would see her.
(Sometimes you hate that no one else understands. No one sees that she accepted Finn's gesture so that people would stop making her into a project. No one realizes how much it frustrates her that no one seemed to think that what Finn did might have been wrong. Sometimes you think you kind of hate everyone.)
You drop your purse by the door, and sink to your knees in front of her, brushing back the hair hanging in her face. She sinks into your arms, and you hold her there, stroking the back of her head as she sobs silently into your chest.
Your knees are starting to ache by the time her body stops shaking quite so hard, and you shift your position to lean against the wall with her curled into your side. She takes the Kleenex you offer and blows her nose.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" you ask. She breathes quietly for a few more minutes and you don't push. You know she'll tell you when she's ready. When she finally speaks, it's so soft you can barely hear her.
"What if she can never love me again Britt? What if..." she muffles another sob in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around her a little more tightly and wait for her to continue.
(You're not really surprised that this is why she's upset. You know it was Abuela's birthday a couple days ago and you knew she was more upset about it than she had let on.)
"She was just, she was always around growing up you know? Remember when she taught me to sing? And I guess I just always assumed she would be around for my kids..." her breath hitches on the last word.
(You think it's adorable how she insists on saying "my kids" when you know she really means "our kids". It's been coming up a lot more often since Mr. Schue's marriage proposal.)
"Give her time San," you say, kissing the top of her head. "She knows how awesome you are. Remember how we used to put on those shows where I would dance and you would sing, and she would tell you that you were gonna be a star someday? Well you're still gonna do that. And you're gonna show her that you are still the same awesome person, and that you're happy, and eventually she'll understand that. She loves you Santana. And sometimes it's confusing with people and they have contracting feelings."
"Conflicting." She corrects with a tiny smile.
(You knew that. But she thinks it's cute, and it makes her smile.)
She shifts a little bit, and you realize how long the two of you have been sitting on the floor.
"C'mon, let's move somewhere more comfortable," you suggest, and then lift her to her feet when she nods agreement. You rearrange the pillows a bit to form a nest, and she immediately curls up in it, reaching for your hand and pulling you to join her.
"In a second." You duck into her bathroom pour a glass of cold water, and then grab her makeup remover. You return to sit cross legged beside her on the bed, and urge her to sit up and take a couple sips. Once she is sitting up, you start to carefully wash the smeared mascara off of her face, pausing every once in a while to let her take another sip from the water glass.
When her face is clean, and the glass is empty, you put both on the bedside table. Looking into her eyes, you can see that she looks calmer – more tired than upset now. You pull her into your arms, leaning back into the nest of pillows, and she curls into you, her head on your chest. You stroke her back and her breathing slowly evens out as her body relaxes into yours.