This is inspired by my need to make peace with the fact that I don't know what Heather's voice sounds like anymore. I wasn't going to post it because I basically wrote it as therapy but it's done so I may as well.
Also I am updating the blue lagoon tomorrow, for the people who are interested.
'Does anyone have any song ideas for songs for regionals?' Will underlines the word on the whiteboard with an ugly green marker.
The room explodes with noise.
She lets their arguments rush over her skin and she holds onto Santana's hand to keep them grounded.
'I only want to give Mr. Schuester the best performance possible. The proposal is important to him,' Rachel says, and Brittany watches as Mercedes bristles and forces her muscles to relax. No one else sees it.
That's what she does, here, now. She watches, and lets the activity in the room slow to a painful crawl.
'Brittany? Do you have any song ideas? Or maybe you want to work on some choreography with Mike?' Mr Schuester does a weird little kick-step that makes her cringe.
They are waiting for her to speak, and she shrugs instead. That's good enough, and they go back to arguing who gets to stand where.
They don't need her to speak. She's a dancer, a performer, their pretty thing. She's a placeholder and a necessary addition to their dancing formation.
Santana catches her eye from the other side of Mike and raises one of her eyebrows just a tiny bit.
Can you believe this, it says, and she laughs. Sugar stares and she concentrates on her nails to get herself under control again.
When she is at home all her words spill out. They crowd in front of her in the kitchen and string behind her like party decorations when she walks. She finds her pockets full of vowels. There are whole dictionaries of words in the corners of rooms.
'My goodness, Brittany. One would think you'd only just discovered how to speak,' her mother says. She looks up from cutting the tomatoes and grins.
It is a little like that, though. Here. She doesn't feel like she's speaking into a vacuum. Here, her words are special and treasured and beautiful.
Her mother, who is a certified genius and a tenured professor of English Literature has never made her feel even a millionth as dumb as the of people that she sees every day at school.
(She tried to explain what it feels like to Santana once. All she could say was it feels like bugs scratching under your skin and heat under your eyes and the feeling when someone slips an ice cube into the back of your shirt).
She doesn't feel like she has to haul the words from down deep, like they are trapped down a well and she's a team of firemen with shovels and special equipment.
'I just love you, Momma,' she says, and her mom blinks in surprise.
She's a kickass school president, just like she knew she would be. She bangs a gavel and officiates meetings and everything goes as smooth as can be. She is not going to change anyone's lives or save the world as school president but she's helping.
Even if it's just getting an extra photocopier for the school paper or petitioning for longer study periods.
Santana waits for her just outside like usual and kisses her cheek when she walks out.
'Good meeting?' she asks. She slips Brittany's bag off her shoulder and holds it next to her own bag. She uses her free hand to brush up against Brittany's as they walk to her car.
'It was great.' Santana's hand is still brushing up against hers, out of time with their feet. Every touch makes her stomach clench and she concentrates hard to keep her feet moving properly.
'You're so good, Brittany,' Santana says, and she stops, then, leaning against the side of Santana's car. She knows that Santana sometimes sneaks into her meetings if she finishes her homework early to see her.
'Thanks,' she says, and she kisses her –in public! - before getting into the car. It's Breadstix night.
'Where do you want to put this?' The dress Santana is planning to wear is tiny and she can't see where she can hide the recorder. Santana grins and pulls her Cheerio top off.
'Come here,' she says, and Brittany moves forward quickly. When she is close enough Santana wraps her hand around the tiny recorder in Brittany's hand and holds it to the underside of her bra.
'Grab the tape?' Santana asks. She does.
'I don't want you to do this.' she says. She hates the idea of Santana walking into that school alone, to see that boy who makes her skin crawl because he looks at everyone like he owns them. Santana stops fiddling with the tape recorder
'Wait for me outside,' Santana suggests. 'Then you can hear everything that's going on.' She does, and her heart swells so big it hurts when she hears Santana belting out the lyrics to smooth criminal. Santana makes herself heard, loud and clear, no matter what she's doing.
As soon as she gets her breath back she pulls Santana close so she can kiss her cheek. A free hand wanders up her body and pinches a nipple gently, and she yelps.
'Shhh,' Santana says. Her parents are asleep and if they find them like this there is no way they're going to be allowed to have more sleepovers.
'Stop teasing me, then,' she says, and Santana obediently removes her hand before wrapping it around Brittany's waist. They kiss softly and slowly, and she can feel her body melting into the bed. She feels soft, and safe, everything she always imagined she would if she ever got to be with Santana.
The feeling is almost immediately replaced with a spike of anger. She pulls back.
'What is it?' Santana hovers over her, and her hair tickles her face.
She came so close to missing all of this, because of Finn Hudson and his stupid mouth. He very nearly destroyed all of the careful work they had been doing together to make Santana okay and she still can't believe how brave Santana has been, not pulling away and hiding because she knows that that's what she had wanted to do more than anything else.
She knows it so much that she backed off in school and let Santana have her space, and let Finn Hudson think that his warbling was what helped her be happy again. It makes her angry. Or it did. It doesn't matter anymore.
'I'm so happy I have you,' she says, and she tangles one hand in Santana's hair so she can kiss her again.
Santana has an almost uncanny sense of what people are like and Brittany has spent a good portion of their friendship watching her use this skill to hurt people. She sees them, and likes to let them know that she has.
Brittany feels lucky that whatever Santana saw in her was enough to make her fall in love with her.
She sees her.
That's why, when they are walking out of Mr Schuester's sharing circle – a little like Holly Holliday's but a lot less helpful- Santana pulls her aside and drags her into the girls' bathroom. It's empty, and she wedges the door shut with the wastebasket to stop anyone getting in.
'I thought you were going to tell them about Tisch?'
'Why?'
'It's big news, Britt. It's amazing.'
'It's our news,' she says. 'It doesn't have anything to do with them.'
'But-'
'We have this amazing future coming for us and... I don't know. Can we just keep it for us, for a while?'
Santana looks at her, her eyes sweeping over her face over and over.
'Yeah,' she says finally. 'We can.'
She smiles. Santana doesn't need her words to understand her, she never has. Maybe that's why she saves them for her.