From Rivalry To Revelry (1/2)
By: mykindofparty
Summary: This weird tension between Brittany and Santana has existed ever since their one hookup sophomore year and now that they're the senior editors of the Muckraker and the Thunderclap the tension keeps mounting.
Fall Semester
"We were here first," Brittany Pierce, newly-appointed Senior Editor of the McKinley High Muckraker, insists.
A set of brown eyes stares back at her ferociously. "Doesn't matter. I booked the room ages ago," the girl says, refusing to back down.
"Really? Because today's the first day of school. Did you like, make a reservation after your finals last year or something?" Brittany asks.
"No! I talked to Principal Figgins this morning. He said we had until the online SAT prep class started at five."
"Santana," Brittany sighs, "why do we always do this?"
Santana's gaze turns from fierce to curious. "Do what?"
Brittany gestures around the computer lab. "This. Argue."
Brittany can't be serious. They had a fling two years ago and now all they do is get on each other's last nerves because Brittany is always the one who starts it. Santana doesn't look for arguments; she finishes them. "You tell me," she replies.
Brittany laughs, just a little. Just enough to make Santana's blood boil.
"For starters," Brittany says, "I have a deadline."
"The Thunderclap does too," Santana tells her.
"Yeah, but I have a deadline every week. The yearbook doesn't come out until the end of the year."
"The only reason you're even editor of the stupid paper is because your cheerleading coach is the faculty adviser!" Santana says to Brittany, ignoring the slightly hurt look on the girl's face.
It's not long before Brittany comes up with her own response to that, though. "And I suppose the only reason you're in charge of the yearbook is because Mr. Schue took over for Mrs. Hagberg when she retired."
"What are you talking about?" Santana asks.
Brittany smirks. "You'd know if you read the Muckraker."
Mrs. Hagberg is ancient, but Santana thought that stubborn old broad would die before she quit teaching.
"You liar," Santana seethes. Brittany Pierce is just that—a slanderous, fabricating, wannabe reporter. "I had her for home economics third period."
Brittany shrugs. "Doesn't mean she didn't give up yearbook. According to my sources, her doctor recommended she eliminate any unnecessary stress from her life. And I'd imagine dealing with you every day..." she trails off.
Mr. Schuester jogs by the door and stops when he sees the two girls in the computer lab just moments away from clawing their clothes or faces off each other.
"Ah, Santana. I was looking all over for you," he says, placing a calm and restraining hand on her shoulder. "I know you want to get an early start on the yearbook and everything, but I have a meeting with Ms. Pillsbury this afternoon."
"No," Santana says.
Mr. Schuester frowns. He looks like he aged about ten years over the summer with the way his wrinkles are etched into his forehead. "No what?"
"No—I just mean I can handle it on my own," Santana says, hoping he'll let her take charge the way she's envisioned. She spent her entire summer preparing for this, which sounds lame, but with so many ideas popping into her head she kept busy.
"Yeah," Brittany chimes in. "Santana has offered to let the newspaper staff share the computer lab so if she has any questions she can always ask Coach Sylvester."
Now it's Santana's turn to frown, but she wants nothing else than to prove she is capable of producing this yearbook without Schue's help so she agrees. "Totally," she says, looking at Brittany warily. "Britt here was just offering to let us use some of her best photos."
"Alright," Mr. Schuester nods. He releases his grip on Santana and backs towards the door. "Y'know, you two make a great team. If you work with each other instead of against each other, you could accomplish a lot."
Does getting each other off count as an accomplishment? Santana wonders.
"What do Upton Sinclair, Lincoln Steffens, and Ida M. Tarbell have in common?" Sue Sylvester asks her budding journalists as they gather around her on one end of the computer lab.
"They're all presidents," Azimio guesses.
Brittany rolls her eyes and tunes Sue's reply out in favor of watching Santana emphatically address the yearbook staff. Santana's hands are all over the place—kind of like that night at Puck's house party sophomore year. Those nimble fingers roamed over Brittany's breasts, down the curve of her ass, up her thighs—
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing, JBI," Brittany whispers, frustrated by being interrupted mid-memory.
Jacob is persistent at best and stalkerish at worst. It's what makes him a good reporter, but that doesn't mean Brittany has to like him. He'd fought tooth and nail for her position, but perhaps Santana was right when she said Sue only picked Brittany for the job because of her Cheerio status.
"I know what you're doing," Jacob says. "You want the inside scoop on this year's Thuderclap theme."
Brittany shakes her head. "I have more important things to worry about than whatever theme Santana Lopez comes up with," she says.
Jacob giggles. "Well if you change your mind I'll go undercover and find out. I'd definitely go under the covers with her if you know what I mean."
The truth is she does know.
"Why does Brittany keep staring at you?"
Santana lifts her head up from her storyboard to look at Quinn, who's hardly recognizable with her pink hair and grungy 90s clothes.
"How do you know she's not staring at you?" Santana retorts. "It's not every day her best friend quits the Cheerios in favor of ditching class under the bleachers with those burnout Skanks."
If Quinn is offended by Santana's words, she doesn't show it. She merely arches an eyebrow. "We had a falling out," she says. "So what?"
"I thought you were like, soul sisters for life," Santana comments. It's none of her business—even though she really wants to know. Quinn and Brittany have been attached at the hip since kindergarten so why are they parting ways now? Senior year is supposed to be the best year and maybe Santana doesn't buy into the whole school spirit crap, but both blondes always have.
"We're not five anymore," Quinn says. "C'mon, put the magic marker down and let's go smoke."
"So you were talking about cigarettes," Santana says once they're down by the bleachers and she bums a smoke off Quinn.
"Why? You want to buy some pot?" Quinn asks.
Santana snorts."You're dealing? God, no wonder Brittany doesn't want to be friends with you."
"It's a means to an end, Santana," Quinn says, taking a long drag off her cigarette. "I have to pay for my college tuition somehow. Brittany... she doesn't like it, but she understands."
"If she's so understanding, then why isn't she still following you around like she always does?"
A car honks in the parking lot and Quinn stubs out her cigarette. She walks away, but not before snarling a fuck you in Santana's direction.
"Un-freaking-believable," Santana mutters to herself. She's chewing her lip, deep in thought when she hears a tiny meow that belongs to an enormous cat. She scratches behind his ears. "You probably have mange," she says, but continues to stroke him.
He purrs faintly and nudges his head against her. He then begins to paw at her other hand, which still holds her cigarette. She sighs.
Of course this flabby tabby wants a smoke.
"My supplier already left," she tells him.
...
August turns into September and before Brittany knows it, she has four editions of the Muckraker under her belt. Sure, the newspaper is often used as a substitute for toilet paper when the janitor forgets to restock the rolls in the bathrooms, but Brittany is proud of what she's created.
Last year as a staff writer she mostly covered the finance section, which bored her to death-although she did learn a lot about Ponzi schemes and how to avoid them. Now that she's been promoted to editor, she's starting to realize how difficult the job can be.
"Sorry, Azimio. There's no way I'm letting you advertise for a girlfriend in the paper. This isn't Craigslist," Brittany tells him.
He slumps his shoulders. "Then how am I supposed to fill this last half-page?" he asks.
Brittany skims over her clipboard. "The weather," she suggests.
"Becky already has it on page four," he says.
"How about that story on the socioeconomic status of that town after the tornado?"
"Uh, I'm working on that, dude," Stoner Brett says.
"Classifieds it is," says Azimio.
"Okay, I'll make you a deal," Brittany says. A compromise is the best approach in this situation. After all, he could just do nothing and leave her with half a blank page. "You only have to fill a quarter of the page, but you have to pick a student to profile. The other quarter will be a photo."
"A photo that you take?" Azimio bargains.
"Fine," Brittany relents. If that's all it takes to finish this week's paper, she's more than happy to do so.
"I know exactly who I'm going to choose," he says, looking across the computer lab where Santana is bent over at the waist. "She's my future girlfriend anyway!"
Brittany groans. "Let me at least warm her up to the idea first," she says. She walks over to where Santana is drumming her fingers along with her iPod. "Can I talk to you?"
Santana pulls out her earbuds. "Huh?" she says to Brittany. She was so caught up in her storyboarding that she didn't notice Brittany walk up to her. "I told you I booked the computer lab for the entire year. It's not my fault Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester insist on sharing so that they can trade off shirking their responsibilities."
"It's not about that," Brittany says, shaking her head. "Although I wish they'd at least pretend like they aren't dipping out every day at 3:45."
"Then I didn't buy anything from Quinn. Not even her homemade brownies at the yearbook fundraiser," Santana says quickly.
"This is about Azimio, actually. He wants to interview you for the paper, but I think it's only fair that I warn you about his huge crush on you," Brittany says.
Santana let go of her earbuds. That wasn't what she expected at all. Usually when Brittany comes over to Santana's side of the computer lab it's to nitpick about how much toner the yearbook staff is using.
Brittany cleared her throat and stood up straighter. "I'm also warning you that if you say anything negative about the Muckraker, I'll..."
"You'll what?" Santana prompts. Santana Lopez is intimidated by no one. Except maybe gorgeous blonde reporters, especially since this one insists on being a thorn in her side.
"I'll let Azimio put an ad in the paper asking you out on a date," Brittany says, bluffing to the best of her ability.
"You wouldn't," says Santana, suddenly flustered. She's never really enjoyed attention from boys at all, but she certainly pretends to. It's just that Azimio is so... not her type.
"You single?"
Santana glances at Brittany, then back at Azimio, who asked her the question. "I plead the fifth," she says.
"Relevant questions only," Brittany reminds him. It's hard enough watching Santana squirm in her seat, but it's even more difficult not to interject every time Azimio asks Santana something personal like that.
"You're the yearbook editor. So tell me, does it hurt seeing students deface Thunderclaps? Do you need a shoulder to cry on?" He puts his hand on her knee and both she and Brittany protest.
"Hands off," Santana growls, whereas Brittany just slaps him on the back.
He withdraws his hand, albeit reluctantly.
"Santana, why don't you tell us what changes you're making to the Thunderclap this year?" says Brittany, hoping this interview will be over soon.
"For one thing, I want to proofread more carefully," Santana says. "Last year it was full of mistakes. We spelled McKinley wrong and you were listed as Brittany Purse."
Brittany blushes. "I figured that was intentional on your part."
"Never," Santana says, "although I did let a few fucks slip past me."
Azimio laughs and jots that down.
"Don't quote her on that... but Fuck Hudson was kind of funny," Brittany admits.
In the long run she knows that people will keep their yearbooks after high school just as they toss away her paper the same day it's published, but she figures she should at least make a splash while she can. "I changed my mind," Brittany says. "Quote her on that after all."
Principal Figgins isn't impressed with Santana's interview when it comes out that Friday. In fact, he's livid which is why both Santana and Brittany along with Azimio and Coach Sylvester are called into his office the following Monday morning.
"Anyone care to explain why there is profanity in the Student Spotlight section?"
Sue is the first to answer Principal Figgins' question. "What constitutes profanity?"
Sue has some brass balls, Santana thinks. If she makes it out of the office without an out of school suspension she'll have to thank her somehow. Hell, she'd dedicate an entire page just to Sue's ugly mug if she can get her out of this mess.
And with any luck she'll get Brittany out of trouble, too.
"Sue, I think we both know that the 'F' word is clearly profanity," Principal Figgins says.
It seems like he's overreacting as far as Brittany's concerned, but she supposes he probably doesn't want the school board to find out.
Sue doesn't budge. "And what 'F' word are you referring to?" she asks him. "Because as far as I'm concerned, there are a total of forty-two 'F' words in this paper, not to mention this is the highest selling edition of the Muckraker in McKinley history."
Principal Figgins pauses. Sue has his undivided attention now. "How much money did it make?" he asks.
"Three hundred," Sue says. "And I'd be willing to have my Cheerios sponsors match that if you let this incident slide."
Santana grins, just a little, enough to make Brittany pinch her thigh. Santana can't help it though; her contribution to the paper only made it a thousand times more popular.
Brittany doesn't know why Santana's so smug. It was her idea to leave the quote in, after all.
"The badminton team needs new shuttlecocks," Principal Figgins says, mulling Sue's proposition over. "Ms. Brenda Castle has been pestering me about it nonstop."
Brittany knows all too well after years of watching Sue operate that Principal Figgins has already made up his mind.
"I accept your offer on one condition. No more profanity from the newspaper or the yearbook," he says to the three students. "If I see it again none of you will walk at graduation."
"Alright, I want a hundred from each of you. Cough it up," Sue says once they've left the principal's office.
"You said you had it covered," Azimio complains.
Sue takes a menacing step towards him. "There's no way in hell Figgins is getting any of my Cheerios money. So guess what? You're going to be my sponsors this time," Sue tells them. She turns to Brittany. "And your tanning privileges are revoked. From now on, you'll have to lay out in the sun."
Brittany pulls her wallet out of her backpack. "Here's mine and Santana's share," she says, counting out enough twenties, with a few to spare.
Sue inspects the twenty on top of the bill, looking for any signs of counterfeiting. "For an extra forty you can use the Cheerios tanning bed twice a week," she says. "Last, of course."
...
By October Santana has a layout for the yearbook although it's not exactly as detailed as the Pinterest boards she spent all summer making. Still, it's better than McKinley's usual cut-and-dry red and black Remember the Titans theme.
No one else on the yearbook staff is nearly as thrilled as she is at this point in the semester. Quinn is too busy talking to her customers on her phone while Mike and Tina make out in the corner and the rest of them try to find a way around the school's firewall.
Azimio finally got the hint that she isn't interested in him, but Brittany makes moon eyes at her from across the computer lab for some bizarre reason.
It's not that she's opposed to hooking up with Brittany again—God, she can still feel her kisses on her neck two years later—it's just that high school relationships get messy come graduation when it's time to go separate ways.
Wait, she was only thinking about a fling.
A fleeting thing.
Whatever. Brittany's still a pain in the ass when she wants to be, especially when she insisted that Santana didn't have to give her that hundred dollars after the whole profanity fiasco.
And who the hell carries around that much cash in high school anyway? Brittany whipped it out like the football players pull out their dicks when taking a piss in the student parking lot.
"Don't worry about it. You're a cheap date," Brittany had said when Santana offered to pay her back.
Quinn's no help because she's Brittany's best friend even though they don't sit together in the cafeteria anymore. Santana sometimes turns a corner in the school hallway and there they are, whispering. They shut up when they see it's her and she brushes past them without so much as a glance at Brittany's ass.
Picture Day is next week and even though they've hired a professional photographer Quinn is looking to make a profit.
"Listen, nobody likes that traditional shit," Quinn says to Santana privately just outside the computer lab. "Which is why I propose you and I set up our own backdrop under the bleachers behind the school and charge fifteen bucks per person."
"You're kidding, right? The lighting under there is terrible."
"Not during first through third period," Quinn grins like she's so smart for coming up with this. "Natural light is so much better than the fluorescent bulbs in the gym."
"How are we going to take 1,000 pictures the same day as Dennis Halberstadt?" Santana asks.
"Who?"
"The photographer."
"That's the beauty of it, Santana. We don't have to take the photos all in one day. We can stagger them out over the course of the year. Then when it's time to send the yearbook off to print, we can switch the originals with the alternates."
"Fine," Santana says, "but the second Figgins finds out about this I'm going to lose the right to walk across the stage at graduation."
"You look terrible in red anyway," Quinn says.
"Bitch! Do not."
Okay, maybe Quinn's plan is as brilliant as she made it out to be.
The Skanks get their alternate pictures taken first with Ronnie flexing her biceps, Sheila showing off her new tattoo, the Mack making kissy faces, and Quinn flipping off the camera.
Santana laughs when Puck shows up with his crooked Mohawk gelled straight up and a leather jacket thrown over his football jersey.
"I don't want to be remembered as the dude who sneezed midway through his senior photo and those fake tuxedo things are so not me," he admits, which only makes Santana laugh even harder.
He's their last customer of the day, but he doesn't leave without getting Santana's number even as Quinn tries to drill a hole in his skull with her mind. He says he wants to know how these photos turn out to which Santana replies that she's using a digital camera.
"What? He has good taste," Santana says when Quinn gives her the same dirty look.
...
This November is especially cold in Ohio and Brittany has to work even harder to keep warm since Coach Sylvester won't let the Cheerios wear their track pants yet.
Sue claims it never hurts to show a little skin, but that's easy for her to say when she's the one bundled up in a parka.
The Cheerios breeze through their first few invitationals and Brittany writes a really great article on the squad that earns her high praise from Sue.
"I didn't hate it," were her exact words, which is equivalent to a compliment in Brittany's book.
Quinn texts her about some party Puck's having over Thanksgiving break and it's the perfect opportunity for Brittany to get her mind off the Muckraker and Santana.
Both have been driving her crazy lately.
For one thing nobody on the newspaper staff gives a damn about journalism except for her. When Brett copied a recent Lima Times article word for word, they gave her flack for calling him out on it.
The other thing is that Brittany's almost positive Santana has a boyfriend.
Her body is amped up on energy drinks and liquor by midnight. It flows through her veins, making her jittery and drunk at the same time.
Normally she sticks with beer, but this isn't any normal night.
Tonight's the night she's pretty sure her heart's going to break.
She finds Sam Evans sulking by the front porch and takes a seat beside him on the steps. "What's wrong?" she asks with a frown. He moved back to Lima last week—there's no way he's sick of living with Finn yet. Or maybe he is. "Do you miss your family?"
"It's Mercedes," he replies, lip quivering. He looks just as exhausted and lovesick as Brittany feels. "She won't break up with Shane to be with me."
"That's stupid," Brittany says—because that's all she can think of to say. Her words sloshing around in her mouth like the Jäger bombs in her stomach. Sam is a great guy. Why wouldn't Mercedes want to be with him? "Who's Mercedes?"
Sam blinks. "Oh. I forgot the Cheerios weren't allowed to join Glee. That's how I know her."
"Isn't—" she pauses, "isn't Santana Lopez in Glee Club too?"
She doesn't know why she asks. She already knows the answer is yes, but maybe Sam will tell her something that she doesn't already know—like who she's dating.
"She's got this cool, raspy voice," he confirms. "I think she smokes a lot of cigars."
"So... everybody fucks, right?"
"What?"
"Everybody in Glee Club fucks?" Brittany repeats. She frowns. Maybe in her current state she isn't wording this correctly. "Each other," she adds. "You all have sex. Together."
"Not like at the same time," he says. "But yeah. There's Finn and Rachel, Mike and Tina, Kurt and Blaine, Puck and all the other girls..."
That's when Brittany knows she's got to find Santana. She leaves Sam on the porch wallowing in his own misery in favor of searching for the girl who drives her absolutely crazy.
"...And that is why we need to start a petition to amend the Ohio Show Choir Rule Book," Rachel says.
Santana blinks once, then downs the rest of her spiked fruit punch. She's too sober to be talking to Rachel Berry of all people, who somehow cornered her in Puck's sister's room.
It's not that Santana hates parties, per se, it's just that Puck starts to get handsy after a few drinks and it makes her hot—except it feels way more like sun poisoning than arousal.
The heat doesn't go away until after she's kneed him in the balls or whatever she has to do to get him off of her. He looks flustered, but he always backs off.
She's not sure why she ever agreed to date him in the first place.
"Santana? Can we talk?"
Both Santana and Rachel look to the door, where Brittany's using the door frame for support. Rachel makes some excuse about wanting to check on Finn, so she slides past Brittany leaving the two of them alone.
"Sure," Santana says, "do you need a ride home or something? You look plastered."
Brittany sits in the computer chair near the door. She looks at the clock on the wall and tries to tell the time, but can't read it. Damn, Santana's right. She really is plastered.
She knows how smug Santana gets when she's right, though, so she doesn't say anything that might incriminate herself.
"What do you want to talk about?" Santana asks, setting her empty cup on a nightstand.
"You have a boyfriend." It's not an accusation, but Santana takes it that way.
"So?"
"So dump him."
"I—" Santana falters. "I'm not gonna do that. But I like you, Brittany. A lot."
Brittany shakes her head. This is all wrong. Words are like a puzzle; they get jumbled around and it's up to her to put them in the correct order and right now the world is spinning too fast for her to do that.
There's a sourness in her stomach that is making its way up her throat and she swallows it down once, twice, three times before she pukes.
It takes Santana by surprise, but she's quick on her feet, rubbing Brittany's back with one hand and holding her hair out of her face with the other.
Whatever happens after that is a mystery to Brittany—the next thing she knows she's waking up in her own bed the next morning.
...
December blows. Santana knew it would with final exams and Puck starting to pressure her into taking things further, but there's something else about December that's stressing her out: college admissions.
She's applied all up and down the eastern seaboard, bullshitting her way through the same "Who am I?" essays and scouring the internet for lesb—make that Hispanic scholarships.
Cigarettes become her vice, her five minute distraction from all the chaos in her life. In a way she almost feels cleansed afterward, like the smoke takes her problems with it once it disperses.
Then once she's killed half a pack she finally realizes they're not actually a solution.
Quinn joins her from time to time. There's an edge to Quinn's voice whenever Santana starts to pick on her, though, so they mostly just smoke in silence.
The only one Santana talks to while she's smoking is that fat, stupid cat. It's showed up almost every day since August and Santana has kind of grown fond of him. His leather studded collar indicates that he has an owner somewhere, but she can't be bothered to call the number on the tag.
The cat mostly stares at her when she starts going on about how she needs to break up with Puck or how her mom snooped around her room and found her lighter, but the strangest thing happens when she brings Brittany up in passing.
He begins to purr.
"What did I say?" she asks him. "When I drove Brittany home from the party?"
He purrs again, this time laying on his back and shamelessly begging for a belly rub.
"I know what you mean, buddy," she says before heading back inside the school.
Coach Sylvester and Mr. Schuester are throwing a holiday party for the newspaper and the yearbook committees which starts with Jacob Ben Israel gathering everyone together for a group picture.
"Problem, Princess?" Santana asks when she chooses rather impulsively to stand next to Brittany.
"Nope," Brittany says, grinning.
"A little to the left, Chrissy Snow," Coach Sylvester says, focusing the camera.
Brittany scoots over to Santana and when their elbows graze, they both laugh nervously.
"Whoops," Brittany mumbles.
Coach Sylvester looks at the camera again. "Everyone get closer. C'mon, sorority squat if you have to! Jacob, stay right where you are."
Their elbows touch again—then the rest of their arms. Brittany takes care not to spook Santana too much when she moves her hand around Santana's, lacing them together.
It's such a natural fit that Santana doesn't even notice—not until after the picture is taken and the rest of the group begins to break away to the snack table.
"Sorry, I'll let go now," Brittany says, wiping her sweaty hand against her skirt. "I, uh, I got you something."
Santana's heart hammers against her ribcage. "You did?"
"Yeah, just as a thank you for driving me home from that party last month," Brittany says. Santana gives her a skeptical look. "Okay, I know it was you. Quinn told me."
"Fine," Santana relents. She's curious what kind of present she's getting from her former…whatever Brittany was to her at the time.
Brittany reaches for Santana's hand again, but thinks better of it. "Follow me," she says, and makes her way out of the computer lab.
Santana follows—her feet can't quite remember how to walk so they take after Brittany's light, melodic example and before she knows it they're both skipping down the hallway. Santana grabs hold of Brittany's pinkie finger and twirls her around until Brittany lets go and they're both dizzy.
Brittany stumbles back a step, then forward into the second floor bathroom, motioning for Santana to join her.
"So where's my present?" Santana asks, breathless.
Brittany points above the doorway.
"Mistletoe?"
Brittany nods. "You said at the party that you like me. I remember."
"I do like you," Santana says.
"So then how do you feel about history repeating itself?" Brittany asks. "Puck never has to find out."
And before Santana knows it Brittany is kissing her in the dank bathroom of McKinley, on the last day of finals, and it's the best present she's ever received because even if Christmas never comes Santana will.