She entered the room slowly, rapping her knuckles on the door as she did. She poked her head past the door frame and locked her eyes on the figure on the bed. She wasn't much younger than her, the chart said she was nineteen. Her eyes were empty and cold, staring up at the ceiling of her room; her hair was stringy, hanging around her face in dirty strands; her fingers were clenched into fists, curled up in the pristine bed sheets. She didn't turn her head when Brittany entered the room, she didn't seem to want to acknowledge her, anyways.
"Hi."
She waited for a response, anything. A glance, a grunt, a word, a twitch. Anything would have been enough. But she didn't answer.
"Your name's Santana, right?'
There it was, a small glimmer in her eyes as she heard her name. Maybe she could work with her after all…
"So, how are you?"
"What does it fucking look like?"
Raising her hands defensively, Brittany grabbed the chair next to the bed and steered it closer to it, plonking herself down and crossing her legs. "I don't know what you're feeling or thinking, Santana. You have to talk to me."
"Who are you, anyways?" She was looking at her now, her lips turned down into a harsh frown, her eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized the young counselor before her.
"I'm Brittany Pierce. I'm a counselor in the ward and-"
"Yeah yeah, I know. You're here to fix me. Well, tough luck, lady. Plenty have tried before you."
Giving a small smile, Brittany looked down at her lap. "In a blunt way of putting it, yes, I'm here to try and fix you. But you know, the only person who can really fix you is yourself."
"Oh, quit with the sappy talk!" She moved her face away and closed her eyes, frowning at the ceiling. "I hate you people at your feel-good mantras. They never work. All you're interested in is making money off of sick people."
Placing a hand on her chest, Brittany gave a small pout, angling her head to one side. "That stung."
"You're probably used to it."
"Oh, I am. It just worries me that you seem so easy with the insults."
"I…kind of grew up on insults."
"Was that a factor in what you did to yourself a few nights ago?" She couldn't help her eyes wandering down to the red, angry indents on her arm, strikingly vivid against dark skin.
"Maybe." Santana moved her other hand consciously, covering up the scars and finally looking at her again. "What do you care?"
"Like I said, I'm here to help."
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. You're a person, every person deserves a chance to be heard. I'm here to listen to what you need to say. Anything at all."
"You'll take it down?"
Brittany saw the girl's eyes move to the clipboard in her lap and shrugged. "Strictly confidential. Doctor's promise."
"You're not a real doctor."
"Let's let that slide…just this once." She gave her a slow wink, and produced her pen from her pocket. "So, tell me about yourself."
"So you're a lesbian?"
"Yeah."
Brittany nodded and pulled the pen out from between her teeth and gave a small frown. "That kind of explains a bit though. Homosexual teenagers are more prone to suicide than others. It's almost always an issue of acceptance – from your peers, from your family, from yourself."
"I accept myself."
"Did your family? Your friends? Your classmates?"
Santana shrugged and bit into the small piece of bread that the nurse had brought her on a tray. "My parents are fine with it. My friends at school were OK with it, and I couldn't care less about my classmates…"
"Then what happened?"
She gave a shrug and looked at her with sad, brown eyes. They reminded Brittany of the dog she had when she was younger, the one they had to put down because he was so old.
"I got tired. Too tired. Everything started piling up, my girlfriend Quinn left me, and everything's just falling apart!"
"Like what?"
"Like my family. My abuela is still really angry at me, she won't accept me at all. It really affects the family and my parents just keep telling me I should never have said anything because now she won't even let them into the house. School's awful too, I can't keep up at college anymore! There's all this work that I can't do and I just keep feeling like an idiot! And then there was the business with Quinn!" She snorted and fell back onto her pillow, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"What about this Quinn?"
Santana's eyes clouded over, and Brittany reached out to her slowly, putting a hand on the bed and curling her hands into the bed sheets, her fingers very close to Santana's dark ones.
"She was my first…everything. First kiss, first time, first…first love. I did everything for her, I took her in when her parents refused to keep her after she came out. And we were so happy at first. And then…"
She brought her hand up quickly to her mouth, choking back a sob. Brittany's eyes widened as she realized how hard Santana was trying to contain her emotion, and gave a small tut of encouragement.
"Then she cheated on me."
"With who?"
"A guy."
"Oh…"
Brittany's lips curled down in disdain. "That's very stupid of her."
Santana gave a small, shaky laugh and shrugged. "She left me for blonde Sam Evans. Because she apparently prefers dick to pussy, and I was just an…I was just an experiment. I was just a phase until she figured it all out."
Giving a sigh, the blonde removed her hand from the bed and got off her chair, holding out her hand to the younger girl instead.
"Come on, let's go for a walk."
"But the doctors won't let me get out of-"
"Come on. I'll help you walk along."
One Week Later…
"You seem to be making incredibly progress…"
"Why are you here, Quinn?"
Quinn shrugged and entered a little bit more into the room, a bowl of strawberries in her hand. "I got you some strawberries. You really like them…"
"What are you doing here, Quinn?"
"I can't see my ex?"
"Not when you were so…involved…in what happened to me."
Quinn set the strawberries down on the table, making to sit on the chair, when she noticed the clip board set down on the seat.
"Is this seat taken?"
"Yes. By my counselor."
"Is she nice?"
"Very."
"Pretty?"
"See for yourself."
The two turned their eyes to the door, and Santana gave Brittany a large smile as she approached. Brittany was giving Quinn a very openly dirty look, and Quinn was staring quizzically at her back.
"You should leave, Quinn. Your presence won't help Santana heal in any way. Please, go."
As they watched Quinn leave the room, Brittany turned back to Santana and shrugged, reaching out for a strawberry from the table. "No use in letting the strawberries go to waste…" As she popped the fruit into her mouth, Santana found herself watching her mouth as she closed around the tapering end of the strawberry and bit slowly…
"Reminds me of my ex girlfriend."
One Month Later…
Santana was sitting in the waiting room, her hands folded neatly over her chest, her legs crossed beneath her comfortably. Or as comfortably as she could be on the plastic hospital chairs. She was looking around her, staring at the doctors and nurses as they walked around her, not really paying attention to her. And why would they? She was just a figure in a black t shirt and jeans. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Hey."
She looked up, smiling at Brittany as she walked towards her, sans clipboard.
"Where's the doctor's equipment?"
"I'm off duty today."
Swinging her legs from underneath her, Santana got up and stood to her full height, smiling at Brittany. She was shorter than her, but comfortably so. Not enough to make it awkward, but enough to make it seem like their might at least be an age difference between the two. "So why are you here?"
"Seeing my favourite patient off back to her apartment. You'll be fine?"
"Of course!" Santana nodded, grabbing the bag at her feet. It was light and empty, only containing two books and two spare t shirts. She swung it over one shoulder, looking up at Brittany and giving her a smile, the first genuine one in weeks. "I'm nineteen, I can take care of myself."
Brittany laughed and placed a hand awkwardly on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I'm sure you can."
As Santana's smile grew wider, she stepped away, walking towards the door and towards the outside, where her taxi was idly waiting. She turned her head once, absent-mindedly, glancing at the blonde standing a few feet away, but not really noticing the expression on Brittany's face.
When she reached the sliding doors, the final barrier between her and the outside, she felt a hand on her shoulder turn her around. She swung, gracefully so, to look at Brittany, who was blushing slightly.
"Last week-"
"We said we'd forget about that."
"I'm not that easily. Dinner on Friday, at 7. I'll pick you up."
"You don't have my address-"
"I'll get it from your hospital records."
"And patients aren't supposed to date their doctors-"
Brittany quickly silenced her with a kiss, digging her hands into her hair, dragging their bodies close to each other's, melting into each other familiarly like the last time they had kissed, seven days before, in Santana's hospital room as she spilled the last of her secrets to Brittany. Santana didn't protest, she merely brought her hands up to the older woman's face and placed one on each cheek, pressing lightly, smiling into the kiss.
As they pulled away, their foreheads pressing together, their bodies still intertwined together, Santana thought she heard Brittany give a small chuckle.
"I thought I wasn't a real doctor…"