Disclaimer: I do not own any characters.
Author's note: Takes place season fiveish. Canon up to end of season four.
It was now the Thanksgiving holidays, her second year post graduation, and Santana Lopez still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.
The problem was, the dreams she had had, over the course of her life, had been greatly varied depending upon her mood at the time. As a teenager, she had thought she wanted to go to school and get her education. Then she had thought that she simply wanted to be famous, with no thoughts of how this would happen. Now she was considering dancing, but how, exactly, especially just taking an adult class a few times a week where most of the people in there were old and out of shape? She had considered being a publicist, being an actress, modeling, and still none of it seemed right, or even really possible. The truth was that Santana not only was unsure of her dream, she was afraid she didn't have what it takes to follow through with it.
Not that she would ever voice this. Any time Kurt or Rachel tried to be "helpful" and prod her towards furthering herself, she would snap and put them off and insist that she knew exactly what she was doing and where she was going. But it was clear as time went by and she continued to stall that this wasn't the case. And now here she was, back in Lima with her mother, well-meaning and supportive as she was, asking her exactly what it was she was doing with all the money that she had given her for graduation, and what answer did she have to give her? Shopping? Paying for necessities for the moment and not for her future?
Santana hated to come home now, not because she didn't like to see her mother and her father, when he was actually around for a minute or two for that to be possible, but because it reminded her of everything she had lost and how little she had gained. Each holiday it was only her and her mother, as her father, a wealthy plastic surgeon, rarely bothered to join them, just as he had throughout her childhood. Her abuela still refused to acknowledge her, and it seemed to her that most of the Glee kids had moved on to bigger and better, as she herself had yet to fully accomplish. It was depressing, and already, not even at New Year's, she was counting the days that she would return to the city.
She knew that Brittany was home for the holidays too, and yet Santana had resisted seeing her up until this point. She wanted Brittany to come to her, to be the one to choose to reach out, to choose her, and she did not want to be hurt if Brittany did not make that choice. And yet how many times had her fingers itched to reach for the phone, how many times had she found herself getting in her car, key in ignition, then abruptly changing directions to get a latte instead of getting her girl?
But it was Thanksgiving. It was Thanksgiving, and every Thanksgiving previously, for the past five years, Santana had always gone to Brittany's house, or Brittany had gone to hers, after their family meals. When they were younger they had snuggled up together under a blanket on the couch, watching the Macy parade on repeat with Brittany's little sister playing on the floor in front of them or with the smell of Santana's abuela's cooking lingering in the background. It was Thanksgiving, and throughout the entire morning and most of the quiet, rather sad meal minus her father, who was working at the hospital, and her abuela, who presumably was eating with church members rather than the granddaughter she had designated a sinner, Santana had felt increasingly anxious and depressed, almost dreading the meal's end, when she and her mother would be alone together.
It wasn't that she minded being with her mother. Santana had always loved her, but since coming out to her, they had grown closer in a way she hadn't quite anticipated, and she missed her more fiercely than she would have guessed, living apart from her. But she knew that her mother was always sad and disappointed, on the holidays that her husband couldn't be with her, and Santana herself wasn't at all in a mindset to help cheer her up. She had poked and prodded at the meal that didn't taste quite as good as her abuela's cooking would have, until finally Maribel had stood up, gone to sit beside her at the table, and looked her daughter in the eye, covering her hand with her own.
"Santanita, you should call her," she said quietly but firmly, squeezing her daughter's hand. "You love her, you miss her, and she is single now, no?"
Santana's head had jerked up, and she had widened her eyes, trying to bluff against her mother's directness.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
In truth, what she didn't know was how her mother knew that Brittany had broken up with Sam, right before leaving for MIT, and whether or not she had gotten together with anyone since. Although Santana had felt, the last time she saw Brittany after her performance in Regionals, that she had finally come to peace with her relationship for her, that she forgave and loved her every bit as much as she always had, what she didn't have was a sense of certainty or closure on just what it was they had now, or what they might in the future. And Brittany certainly hadn't helped with that. She was always a sporadic communicator even in the best of times, and now, as busy as MIT kept her, her texts, Facebook posts, and Skype sessions seemed to grow so infrequent and short that Santana often drove herself crazy wondering if Brittany was eventually going to stop entirely.
"You know that Brittany's Facebook page is open to the public, Corazon, and Whitney Pierce and I talk," Maribel had reminded Santana, squeezing her hand and giving her an affectionate smile. "All Brittany talks about is colorful math equations, cats, and strange food combinations. I do not think that she is seeing anyone and I know that she would love to see you tonight. I would bet she is doing the exact same thing that you are, sitting at the table moping into her fajitas."
"Brittany doesn't have fajitas for Thanksgiving, Mami," Santana had told her, but she was furrowing her brow, considering her mother's statement. As much as she stalked Brittany's Facebook page, she too knew that her mother's assessment of its content was true. There had been no half naked photos, rants about drunken make outs, or musings about equations for hotness since before MIT…but did that really mean anything?
"She has fajitas when she comes here," Maribel said quietly, patting her daughter's hand. "And as she did not last year, I would think that she is overdue."
Santana was quiet, thinking about the implication of her mother's words. It was true; last year, having so recently broken up, it had been the first time that Brittany, as well as her abuela, had been absent from Thanksgiving. Santana had barely touched her food before going upstairs and sobbing into a stuffed cat Brittany had once given her until it was wet and sticky with her tears (and a fair share of snot). She knew that if her mami allowed her to have a glass of wine after the meal, as she usually did, then she would undoubtedly repeat the same incident this year.
Maribel sighed, squeezing her daughter's hand one last time before standing up, taking her plate in her hands to clear the table.
"Corazon, sometimes you must push past fear to receive what you want or need," she told her. "Give her a call. You know she is waiting for it. And besides, you know you should take your mami's advice. How often have you done so and it turned out I was wrong?"
She nudged her arm, waiting for Santana to stand and help her, and after a few moments she did, trying to keep her face blank, lest her mother see something in her expression that she didn't want her to. The damned part of it all was that Maribel was right. She usually was right about things, annoying as that might be.
She helped her mother in silence, but as soon as the last dish was in the dishwasher and the last bit of leftovers was stored away, Santana slipped off into her bedroom, fumbling for her phone with shaking hands. She had barely breathed out Brittany's name and heard her answer in turn, her voice heavy with relief Santana was overwhelmed to hear, than all her anxiety seemed to dissipate into nothing. Her tensed limbs relaxed, and she sighed, knowing that yet again, her mother was right.
She didn't know what she was doing in her life or even who she was, at times. But she knew one thing, and that was that she wanted Brittany by her side as she figured it out.
88
It hadn't taken more than a few exchanges back and forth for Brittany to announce, rather than wait to be invited, that she was coming over. Santana had paced the living room, ignoring her mother's knowing smirk, and almost ran to get the door when she heard Brittany's car pull into the driveway. The moment Brittany's arms were around her in an embrace so forceful she lifted her off her feet, Santana felt as if the piece of herself that had been missing, that she had been so aimlessly searching for, for so long, had finally clicked into place. This was who she was. This was where she belonged.
She didn't kiss her, not in front of Maribel's watchful gaze, but when Brittany nuzzled her neck and then gave her a sweet Eskimo kiss, Santana knew that she had melted into a dimpled smile. She loved the way Brittany's hand stayed on the small of her back, almost protective as she walked with her into the living room.
"I'm sure the parade is on repeat again. Watch it with me?"
And what answer could she possibly give her other than yes?
88
The only way that the evening could have seemed more perfect to Santana was if she and Brittany were alone together in her bedroom, and the idea was already firmly fixed in her mind that within the next hour or so, as soon as she could reasonably excuse herself from her mother's presence for the night, it was definitely going to happen.
Santana could not remember the last time she had felt so relaxed, so completely comfortable in her own skin, in the presence of another person. Although Kurt and Rachel had become her family- as weird and slightly disturbing as that was- she never quite let her guard down all the way with them, never quite let them see her as less than at least partly guarded. Although she was comfortable with them, she was still not quite safe to be all of who Santana Lopez was, not as she was with Brittany. With Brittany she could let herself soften, let herself sink into her body and her presence and let herself be small and protected. She could let herself feel safe, and admit to herself without words that she needed that feeling to be able to lower her heavy defenses at last.
Head against Brittany's shoulder, one land curled lightly around her arm, Santana's eyes half closed, paying little attention to the images on the television screen before them. She was thoroughly enjoying Brittany's fingernails, lightly scraping over the skin of her arm, her fingers stroking gently through her hair and scratching at her scalp, the warmth of her slightly larger body against her own. She appreciated too the way her mother, sitting slightly apart from them on Santana's other side, was allowing her feet to rest against her thigh, how every so often she looked up over her wine glass and smiled tenderly, giving Santana's foot a pat or rubbing her thumb over the bone of her ankle. It was as though she were giving her a silent blessing, assuring her that her choice, her current positioning, was a good thing, something that she personally approved of. And although normally Santana would roll her eyes at this, tonight, she was just too comfortable and content to do anything but smile.
She was in danger of drifting to sleep under Brittany's tender touch when the sound of heavy, strangely thudding footsteps approaching stirred her back into full consciousness. Lifting her head, Santana blinked, squinting through the room's dim lighting as she took in the sight of her father, Dr. Lopez, standing in the entranceway to the living room. Beside her, her mother straightened up, removing her hand from Santana's foot as she smiled brightly, starting to stand up.
"Home at last! We are glad to see you, Carlos. Brittany is here as well, isn't that lovely?"
But then she paused, her smile dropping, and her brow furrowed into a concerned frown as she looked at her husband more closely, reaching out a hand towards him as though wanting to draw him closer.
"Carlos? Carlos, you look ill. You should have gone home if you weren't feeling well, you know how I always tell you that. Do you have a fever?"
As her mother took another step towards him, Santana too sat up straight, her eyes narrowing as she observed what her mother was noticing. She was right, her father definitely didn't look his usual self. Normally a fairly serious, very put together man, neatly groomed and composed in demeanor, he was now swaying slightly, almost swaggering in his stance, and his hair was mussed all over his head, his eyes strangely glazed, mouth slightly open. He looked drunk to Santana, or maybe drugged. But she knew her father better than that. He was much too serious about his work to be messing around with something like that on the job- after all, this was a man who had missed Thanksgiving with his family to work. Her mother was right, something was definitely very wrong.
Santana felt Brittany tense up beside her, her suddenly cool hand coming to rest on Santana's arm, as though instinctively wanting to keep her pressed down beside her. Santana watched as her mother continued to walk forward towards him, and sudden, sharp dread clinching itself around her heart, and she started to stand up, despite Brittany's hand, her mouth opening to call out a warning. Something she couldn't have explained was telling her that her mother should not move any closer, that she should, in fact, be backing away.
But even as she opened her mouth, her mother was already jerking back with a shriek, because Dr. Lopez was suddenly lunging forward towards her, hands curled into claw-like shapes, his mouth open wide as though he had every intention to bite.
