Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Starbucks, Jevity or any other copyrighted products mentioned in this story.

BETWEEN US

CHAPTER ONE

As a child, you were the hyper one. Always bouncing off walls, regardless of how much sugar you had consumed. You were branded as the Talker, constantly having lots to say to everyone about everything. It annoyed some people, to say the least, but you didn't care. You were a happy kid.

And then you hit puberty.

Almost overnight, your whole persona changed. You were still nice, and still friendly to whoever talked to you. You were still Brittany. But, once you turned thirteen, there was a guarded part to you. You started being less of an open book and more of a locked diary. It didn't bother your parents, they realised your body was going through changes and it was confusing for you, but you didn't like it one bit. You hated the shyness that had consumed you. It wasn't the old you, the you that you loved and missed the most.

You waited for the day that you would walk out your front door, see someone crossing onto your street and feel the urge to go over and talk to them, like you used to, but your anxiety around people never really went away. On your twenty first birthday, your two friends dragged you to a club in the part of town that you like to avoid at all costs, and you ended up leaving after ten minutes, in a state of nerves and panic. You hated the close proximity with strangers, you hated the unwanted lingering looks from men that you were all too familiar of from your high school days, when your body started actually looking like a teenager's body. You remember being told that you had a lot going for you; you were tall, long, and conventionally attractive, and it was sure to attract male attention. You didn't want any of that. It was so confusing for you.

Fast forward three years and you were still the same. But at this point, you had given up hope. You lived in a tiny, box apartment on your own, barely able to pay rent. You had a job as a barista in the local Starbucks, and you thought having to deal with so many people in a day would be absolute torture for you, but you actually enjoyed it. The one thing that never changed about you since you were little was that you loved people-watching, and you did plenty of that from behind the counter, daydreaming of what each person you served lives could be like. Your own life wasn't exciting, so you may as well think about other people's ones.

You were in dire need of a new job, though. You were getting paid minimum wage at Starbucks, and you were determined not to be there for the rest of your life. As a teenager, you dreamed of walking down a busy street in New York City, dressed in a sophisticated pantsuit, a cup of coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Needless to say, it hadn't really worked out for you.

So when you were in the local supermarket up one morning, (you now think it must have been fate for an ad in the newspaper to catch your eye), at the time, a little light bulb appeared in your mind. You read each word carefully as your eyes moved along them:

Day-time carer needed for patient with mystery virus. Patient finds any sort of movement below the neck challenging, although manageable.

Very few details were given; the name of the person who needed the carer, or even their gender wasn't mentioned. Only a phone number and the name of the person who owned the phone was printed at the bottom, under a short description of what the job entailed and the amount these people were willing to pay, which you had to read over and over again, because you couldn't quite believe someone would pay that much an hour.

You had to admit, you knew very little about looking after anyone, let alone someone without the complete use of their body, but you felt like it was a sign.

You couldn't afford the newspaper because you came to the store knowing exactly what you wanted to buy and had the exact change for it, but you took a sneaky picture of the ad with your phone, and paid for your things.

As you walked home, thoughts wandered through your mind about how this job would not be such a good idea. It would be a great opportunity and great for your resume, but on the other hand you'd have no idea what to do, and you might even make this person's situation worse. You were a little torn on what to do.

When you entered your home, you placed your bag on the kitchen table, and moved quickly to the living room and collapsed on the couch, feeling utterly exhausted. Just as you were getting comfortable, you heard your phone beep, and you groaned, reaching into your pocket and seeing you got a text message from your friend Tina.

Starbucks near your place in 10? x

You sighed, typing a quick affirmative and sending it before getting up and walking out your front door. You exited your apartment building quickly enough as you're on the bottom floor and ventured out into the cold October air.

You thought you'd get there before Tina but when you entered the coffee shop, she was already sitting there, looking down at her phone and sipping her coffee. "Hey," you greeted, removing your jacket and draping it on the back of your chair, before taking a seat opposite her.

Tina looked up and smiled. "Hey, you. Long time no see."

"Yeah, sorry," you breathed, glancing up at the menu boards. "I've been busy. You know, with working here."

She nodded slowly in understanding, and there was a tense silence. "I didn't know what to order for you, we don't get coffee a lot so…"

You cringed internally when she once again implied that you don't see each other often, so you tried to ease the situation by smiling softly. "It's okay, I don't think I want one anyway."

Money didn't come easily to Tina either so she didn't insist on buying you one, she just nodded once again. "So, how are things?"

You shrugged, not really knowing what to tell her. "Well, you know. I'm surviving."

Tina smiled sadly at you. "That's no way to look at things, Britt."

"Yeah, well, nothing is exactly keeping me here."

"You should get a hobby," she told you after short pause. "Maybe you should come to tango class with me and Mike."

You let out a laugh. "Doesn't that require a partner? I think going to a dance class with you guys would depress me further."

Tina looked crestfallen, slumping back in her seat. "You used to love dancing, Britt. What happened?"

You shrugged again. You found that you shrugged a lot when it came to talking about yourself. You sometimes felt like you didn't know who you were anymore.

Tina tried again. "It might cheer you up after a while. I'll let you tango with Mike, if you like."

"No." You put up a finger to stop her. "Thank you, but no." You felt like Tina was always trying to fix you, even though deep down you knew she was just concerned about your wellbeing.

She sighed in defeat, her fingers moving around her cup of coffee, but she didn't stop looking at your face. "Nothing else to report?"

You shook your head. "Nope. Everyday is repetitive."

"I think you just need a change of scenery," Tina suggested, taking a swig of her drink and placing it down on the table. "A new apartment, or a new job perhaps?"

Your mind suddenly went to the advert in the newspaper, and Tina must have seen the change in your expression because she looked at you expectantly.

You exhaled loudly, leaning back in your chair. "I saw an ad in the newspaper about a job, and it pays a hundred an hour, but I don't know…"

"Why not?" She sounded enthusiastic. She probably cared more about your life than you did. "It sounds perfect for you and that's a hell of a lot of money."

You let out a cruel laugh. "You don't even know what it is yet, and it's not perfect for me at all."

"Sorry," Tina said, crossing her arms, her face suddenly stoic. "Explain."

"It's for a carer for someone with some sort of illness." You almost felt self conscious as you told her.

Tina looked a little lost, and very surprised. "Oh, I see."

You let your shoulders slump as you sighed. "I know it's stupid that I'd even think about going for a job like this, I mean I have n-"

"Oh, you're going for this interview." She picked her coffee up and sipped it.

"What do you mean?" you frowned. "There would be no point."

Tina raised an eyebrow. "Of course there would be. Firstly, if you got this job, it could be the thing to bring you out of this slump you've been in. Secondly, you're a nice girl and you're freakin' hilarious when you're not too busy feeling sorry for yourself. I think someone like you is exactly what this person could need in their life."

"But I have no idea what I'll have to do," you whined, starting to feel panicked. "I'll probably have to bathe this person, and do everything for them."

Tina burst out laughing. "Okay, that is something you'll get used to, trust me. When I had to look after my mom before she died, I had to wash her every second day. It was gross at first, but after a while it just became a routine."

You turned your face away from her, trying not to smirk.

"Listen to me, Britt." You slowly turned back around to see Tina staring back at you, seriousness written all over her face. "I bet the main reason they're hiring someone is to cheer this person up. They probably have loads of carers, if the amount of money they're paying is something to judge on."

You said nothing, and just thought to yourself.

She continued. "Now go home and make this phone call." She grabbed her scarf and flicked it at you, and you laughed, standing up from your seat.

"Okay, okay." You started putting your coat back on. "I'll let you know how it goes."

Tina grinned at you. "You better." Her face then grew serious, like she was about to say something important. "Look after yourself, Britt. Okay?"

She looked at you like she wanted you to swear you would so you have her a thin lipped smile. "I promise."

The first thing you did once you reached home was dig out your phone from the pocket of your jeans and search for the number in your photo album. All you felt was determination at that point. Tina was right. You needed this.

They picked up after one ring. "Hello?" It was a gruff, tired voice, and definitely male. You wondered briefly if this was the person that required treatment, but you dismissed that thought almost immediately. Someone who was paying a hundred dollars an hour for a seven-day-a-week job must have people to answer the phone for them.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Hello, Mr Lopez?" You mentally patted yourself on the back for remembering to get the name in the ad. "I'm calling about the ad in the newspaper."

"Ah, yes." He sounded slightly more perky now, and his voice had lit up in recognition. He suddenly sounded like he thought this phone call may not be a total waste of his time. "May I get your name?"

"Brittany Pierce," you replied, proud that your voice hadn't wavered or broken at all yet.

You heard the man rustle, presumably getting some paper to write your name down. "And would you be free for an interview tomorrow afternoon, Ms Pierce?"

Your eyes widened, and you began to panic slightly. You didn't realise it would be so soon. "Oh, I think I would, yes."

Mr Lopez must have sensed the stress in your voice, because he retorted quickly. "I know it's short notice, but we require someone for this job as soon as possible, really."

You nodded slowly, refraining from smacking your palm to your forehead. Of course the interview process needed to start quickly, given the nature of the job. "Could you give me a time frame, please?"

"Two thirty. And I suppose you need to know where to go for the interview, as well."

"Of course," you said, grabbing a pen from the coffee table and scribbling the time and address down on your hand as he called it out to you. 4 Manor Avenue. You knew that place. You grew up near there.

As you finished writing, you got a sudden thought, something that had been eating away at you. "I must let you know, I don't really have much experience in th-"

Mr Lopez cut you off, his voice sounding colder than it did a minute ago. "Let's leave this sort of discussion for tomorrow, shall we?"

You nodded meekly to yourself, biting your bottom lip. It's a thing you did when you were nervous. "Okay."

"Wonderful." His tone let you know he thought it was anything but wonderful. "If you do well in the interview and get the job, you can start working with Santana the following day."

Santana. Your first thought was that the invalid was female. Your second thought was that she was probably his elderly wife, or possibly his sister. You felt slightly more relaxed, knowing it was a woman. You were more in your comfort zone with other girls. "Okay. Thank you, sir."

He didn't say anything else before he hung up.

You didn't get an ounce of sleep that night. All these thoughts whirled around in your head, latching themselves to your brain and remaining there. You wondered if the family would hate you; whether you'd disappoint the interviewer with your lack of knowledge on being a nurse, or whether you'd annoy the patient who probably wouldn't want to be part of your lame attempts to make conversation.

You rolled onto your side, exhaling and closing your eyes, beginning to count sheep in your mind.

You woke up feeling exhausted and drained, the insides of your eyes burning each time you blinked. Spreading your limbs out on your bed, you sighed loudly, throwing your legs over the side of your bed and forcing yourself to stand up.

Each morning was the same to you. You could almost do your morning routine in your sleep; wake up, get out of bed, trudge to your kitchen to get breakfast, put on the top half of your outfit, go brush your teeth and moisturise, put on the bottom half of your outfit, leave. It was weird, you knew that, but it was the way you had always been. You couldn't function for the day if your morning didn't start off like that. As you pulled your shirt over your head, you began to think that this OCD could be adding to your general unhappiness.

You glanced at the clock; 8:47. Rolling your eyes, you shrugged your cardigan onto your shoulders before stuffing your phone in your pocket, rushing to the kitchen, grabbing an apple and heading out the door, slamming it as you went.

You were surprised to see that the sun was shining rather brightly on the pavement in front of Starbucks. You entered, the bell by the door ringing to announce your presence as you smiled at your co-workers, hanging your cardigan up on the coatrack and proceeding to take your apron from out of your bag.

"Good morning, Brittany," Dave, your boss, greeted you warmly. Dave was a stocky, burly man in his mid-twenties. During your third month working in this coffee shop, you were shocked to find out that Dave was in fact gay, and in a six year relationship with his high school sweetheart, Ollie. Dave was pretty much the opposite to a gay stereotype, but it strangely made you respect him more than you already did.

"Morning, Dave," you smiled, tying the apron around your waist. You watched as Dave shot you a disapproving look, and you tilt your head down to stare at your white shirt. "Sorry, I woke up late."

Swiftly grabbing a coffee pot and placing it in the sink, Dave laughed fondly, but his tone was firm and serious. "I don't think I've ever had to talk to an employee about dress code so much before, Brittany. You must be wearing black."

You throw your hands up in the air in submission. "It won't happen again." You strode behind the counter, setting up your cups and marker in front of you. You glanced at the clock and sighed, preparing yourself for the hours of work ahead of you.

Six hours into your shift and you were exhausted. It was a regular day, none of the customers were too weird and you got no abuse for getting some of the orders wrong, which you did quite a lot. You honestly don't know how Dave hasn't let you go yet.

"You're done, Britt," Noah, your co-worker, told you, walking up beside you at the counter.

You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand. Working at Starbucks got pretty intense sometimes. "Is it one o' clock already?"

"Nah, Britt, it's two. You took up an extra hour today cos you had to leave work early last weekend, remember?" Noah began to straighten out his black shirt under his apron, but you weren't paying attention to that.

"It's two?" you repeated, ignoring his question. You felt panic rush through your body and cloud your vision as Noah nodded dumbly. "Shit!" Grabbing your bag from under the counter, you rushed around the till and leaped at the door, not before nabbing your cardigan from the coatrack and yelling a 'see you later' to Dave and Noah.

You realised you haven't run this fast or this far since PE in high school. It was a stupid thing to think about while dodging pedestrians on your way to a really important interview that started in about twenty five minutes, but it was the only thought running through your head. You didn't know how many look where you're going'sor watch it, lady's you got, but you honestly didn't care.

You remembered the address Mr Lopez gave you, and you were familiar with the area they were in. You supposed 'Santana' was going to be at some sort of private hospital in the area, or something, but as you neared Manor Avenue, you searched for building number four. You spotted it straight away, and stared at it in awe.

4 Manor Avenue was no hospital.

A giant building was in front of you, half made out of bricks, and the other half was glass. Ivy creeped up the wall of the old part of the house while the half made of glass was completely spotless. A pure white couch could be seen from one of the windows, but you weren't interested in the inside of the building, yet. The front steps were made out of grey marble, which led to an even nicer front door, which was dusty blue, large and elegant.

You could certainly get used to working here.

The gravel crunched beneath your feet as you slowly made your way up the drive, noticing the giant plants which were placed in shiny, blue pots. These people must be utterly loaded.

You placed a shaking finger on the doorbell, trying to will yourself to add a little bit of pressure to it. You rolled your eyes at your stupidity, because you had to do it at some point. You rang the bell quickly and snapped your arm down to your side.

The door was opened within seconds, and a very tired looking man stood before you. Wearing grey slacks and blue sweater vest, he looked older than his years, and his face made him look even more ancient than that. Wrinkled from stress and lack of sleep, he looked to be in his seventies. Giving you a thin-lipped smile, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. "You must be Ms Pierce," he said, peeling your cardigan from off your shoulders, not even asking first.

"Yes, sir," you replied, putting your arms behind your back.

After placing your cardigan over the banister of some very grand looking stairs, he took a first, good look at you. You felt uncomfortable and weary under his stare. "Nice attire," he deadpanned, and you glanced down to see that you had, of course, forgotten to take your Starbucks apron off. You looked up with a nervous smile, figuring it was too late to do something about it now, and you just prayed it added some character to you as you followed him down the foyer, and into one very fancily decorated office.

Too nervous to even look around the room in fear of your curiosity being commented on, you sat in front of him at the desk, finding a sudden interest in the nails on your left hand. Mr Lopez followed your eye line to your hand, and let out a breath. "Are you very forgetful, Ms Pierce?"

"I-What?" Your heart stopped dead in your chest. You felt lightheaded and sick.

He pointed towards the hand you were just studying, and you nearly died when you saw that faintly written on the back of it was his address. "Oh, I, uh," you began, but Mr Lopez put a hand up to stop you.

"Unimportant as of now." He glanced down at his desk briefly, before making eye contact with you. "Okay, Brittany Pierce," he stated loudly, taking a pen in his hand and jotting your name down on the first page of an unused notepad. "Age?"

"Twenty-four."

"Date of birth?"

You briefly wondered if this was really important as you replied. You had never felt so intimidated in your whole life. "April twenty-fifth."

Mr Lopez hasn't looked up at you since he started writing. "Wonderful." He dropped the pen and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach and looking you dead in the eye. "I have only one question for you, now. Tell me, Ms Pierce, in no more than one hundred words, why you should get this job." You didn't even get to open your mouth before he added, "and please, do be honest with me. This is important."

Oh.

You gulped visibly, and began to fiddle with the strings of tassel drooping down from the chair you were sitting on. The nerves you felt were starting to dissipate as you made the decision that you weren't going to give him some fancy bullshit as an answer. If he wanted honesty, that's what he'll get. "In short?" Mr Lopez gave you a nod. "I don't know." You shrugged one shoulder, doing your best to avoid eye contact. "I'm not doing so well at that moment, financially. Times are tough, and I'm lucky to pick up an extra shift at Starbucks. I know nothing about how to look after an invalid of any kind, let alone one with some kind of mystery virus. I don't have excellent people skills, so if you want someone there to cheer your wife up when she's feeling particularly sick, then I am not right for this job. But, I am a very hard worker. I would stay over nights if you want, I'll work sixteen hour days, more. I'm just trying to survive, put food on the table." You started to sound like you were pleading, so you stopped for a second to compose yourself. "I will honestly do anything for a little extra money. And I'll keep to myself. I'm very much used to that."

Mr Lopez put a hand up to stop you once again, and you bit your lip. "I am not looking for someone talkative and optimistic. Someone trying to cheer Santana up just gets on her nerves, and I can't blame her. You have no idea how many nurses we've had who tried to tell her 'it'll get better' or 'you can live happily like this'. There's a complicated answer to why she can't live happily like she is, but the short version is that she's house ridden and can barely move her arms and legs." He smiled sadly. "We just need a hard worker. That seems to be you, kid." He paused, and gave you something that looked like a sly smile. "And, Santana is my daughter, not my wife. She's your age."

Stunned, you just sat there in your seat, not daring to move except to speak. "I see."

A strong looking hand was stretched across the desk. "You start at eight tomorrow morning. Don't be late. I trust that you're punctual, Ms Pierce." You nodded dumbly, weakly shaking Mr Lopez's hand and standing up abruptly, your chair squeaking against the marble floor.

The next thing you knew, Mr Lopez was shutting the front door gently behind you, and you found yourself walking down that drive in a complete daze.

You guessed being honest really does work.

It was overcast the day you met Santana Lopez.

You remembered the sound of your alarm, letting you know it was seven in the morning. You stretched, got up, and peaked out the curtains to see the gloomy clouds towering over the buildings, before you started your regular morning routine.

It wasn't until you were half way into your cereal that you realised that you were nervous to meet Santana. Judging by what her father said yesterday, she doesn't like talking all that much, so you and her should get along fine. There was still that little pinch of uncertainty, that unsettlement resting at the bottom of your stomach.

It wasn't long before you found yourself in front of 4 Manor Avenue again, but this time the giant gates, that were open the previous day, were now closed. You hesitantly walked up to the speaker and pressed the buzzer.

The familiar tone of Mr Lopez boomed through the speaker. "I'll open them now, Ms Pierce."

Before you could reply, the gates opened slowly and swiftly. They were so elegant and big, you felt like you were walking up to Willy Wonka's factory as you made your way up that familiar drive. The front door opened before you reached the steps, and Mr Lopez moved aside to let you in. He smiled, immediately taking your jacket from you like he did before. He leaned in close to you after placing it over the banister. "Today's not a good day, but she doesn't bite at new people," he whispered. "I'll take you to her now."

Nerves began to multiply in your body and you felt like they were trying to crawl up and out of you as you followed Mr Lopez down a different route to the one he took you on yesterday. "She has two other nurses who look after her," he told you. "One of them does physical and mouth exercises with her and the other one sorts out her Jevity pump. All you have to do is bring her things she asks for or might want or need."

You looked at him quizzically. "What's a Jevity pump?"

"Santana can't eat," he explained, still walking. "She has to get her nourishment from a tube that's inserted into her stomach which is attached to a bottle of fluid called Jevity."

You scrunch your face up in worry and sympathy as you kept up with Mr Lopez's quick pace. He stopped outside a door, and tapped it lightly with his knuckles. "Mija? You decent?"

There was silence before you heard a response, breathy and tired sounding. "Yeah, come in, Dad."

The door opened with a creak and Mr Lopez stepped inside, before subtly beckoning you in after him. You took a nervous step, standing behind the man, who you were almost taller than. "Your new nurse starts today," Mr Lopez said softly, moving aside so you were visible to Santana. "This is Ms Pierce."

You gave a little, shy wave. "Call me Brittany," you croaked, quickly stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

Santana stared back at you with a blank expression on her face. Her hair was thin, limp and lifeless on her shoulders, her skin looked sickly and almost yellow, and although her body was securely trapped under the blankets of her bed, it was obvious that she was a bit shorter than you. Her lips were full but almost blue in colour, and her eyes looked tired and sad. You could tell that she had been very beautiful once, but this virus seemed to have knocked her completely, and taken away her interest in her appearance. If you had to describe what she looked like in one sentence, you'd say she looked exhausted from life. Your heart clenched, really feeling for a woman that you'd only been in the presence of for all of ten seconds.

There was an awful smell in the room, like a hospital ward, and it was then when you noticed the bottles of Jevity on the desk beside Santana, the liquid a dull beige colour.

Mr Lopez cleared his throat, getting rid of the silence. "Well, I'll leave you two girls to get acquainted." He moved behind the door, and mouthed talk to her at you. You smiled a little to yourself. It seemed like this man had your back.

You walked over timidly and stood beside the bed, which held the girl who was now looking straight ahead of her, refusing to look in your direction. You awkwardly shrugged one of your shoulders. "Um, could I get anything for you?"

Santana briefly glanced at you before looking back at the wall in front of her. "Tea would be nice. Camomile."

You smiled at her but she didn't return it, and you strode towards the door, wanting to get out of there. Once the door was shut, you pressed your back up against it, closed your eyes and let out a long sigh.

It was going to be a long day.