Well, I've become a Gleek. Like, bad. And with that Gleekiness came the discovery of Brittana. Such wonderful, wonderfulness. Anyways, this is a little oneshot thing that was born of too much time spent waiting for the next episode of Glee, thereby allowing me to reflect on the Brittana relationship thus far, and not enough time doing normal things. Like sleep. Oh well, I think it was worth it. This turned out alright in my opinion. If only I could write like this all the time. Well.
I'll go ahead and throw out there that I don't own Glee. Or Santana. Or Brittany. I don't own anything but the keyboard I'm tapping away on.
So yeah. Read and review please. I like feedback. It makes me happy.
Santana drew in a deep breath. Her left-hand fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, the other clutching the hand of the girl beside her. She looked out the windshield at the looming house before them. It made her beat-up little Taurus look even tinier and miserably out of place. The garden was immaculate, shaped by an army of gardeners equipped with an arsenal of shears and clippers. A picture-perfect white picket fence enclosed the carefully trimmed yard. The house itself was a little on the grand side- as was every house in this neighborhood- with ornate shutters standing sentry by the windows, beautiful white-washed walls, and a heavy door made of fine red oak to top the image off. No, Santana certainly did not belong here in her worn leather jacket, torn jeans, McKinley High t-shirt, and her old rust-bucket of a car that threatened to stall every time it came to a stop sign or a red light. It would be completely different, of course, if Santana had grown up in this house, if she had chosen not to stay with her mother and go to Lima Heights Adjacent, with the gangsters and the druggees and the rent that was almost too high a price for her jobless mother, even in the worst part of town. If she had stayed here, she would have had nice neighbors, a comfortable life, a nice car. Sure, her mother had found a job, moved to a better apartment (even if it was still in the shadier areas of Lima Heights Adjacent), and provided well for her daughter. But if she had stayed here, a year of worrying without knowing why, a year of gunshots late at night, a year of fear and uncertainty for the future would never have been forced upon her young eight-year-old life. If she had stayed here, she would have had a nice stepmother, a little stepbrother, an older stepsister, and her father. She would have played behind the picket fence, invited friends over, shown off. She would have been truly confidant with something to back it instead of painfully terrified with fake confidence to hide it.
The girl next to her brought Santana back to reality with a squeeze of her hand, reminding her that all of that was past, and if she had gone down the other path they wouldn't be here, together. So Santana looked over at her, smiled anxiously. She inhaled again, one last attempt to dispel the nerves.
This was it.
"Do you want me to wait in the car?" Brittany asked quietly.
Santana thought it over before nodding slowly. "I haven't seen him in years. Just coming up out of nowhere and telling him is going to give him a shock. I don't think he'll be ready to meet my girlfriend right away." She smiled. "But he has always been understanding, so I'm sure it'll be fine. And if he's ready to meet you, I'll come right out for you."
Brittany understood completely. She leaned over to kiss Santana on the cheek. "You can do this."
"I have you if nothing else." Santana answered. She got out of the car, shut the door, locked it even though she knew that the chances of a piece of crap like that getting stolen in a manicured neighborhood like this were less than zero. She was just stalling.
Brittany smiled at her through the window, and Santana knew she'd have to make the journey up the meticulously paved walkway sooner or later. Might as well do it before she was retired and in an old folk's home.
She flashed one last smile at Brittany. Then she turned and made her way to the front door. It was an agonizing five seconds that seemed to stretch to a never-ending three hours. Each step that took her closer only seemed to lengthen the distance between her and her destination. Then again, she wasn't so sure what her destination was- the house where her father resided unaware of his daughter's arrival, or the car where Brittany sat waiting, warm and comfortable and loving?
She was about to turn around when she noticed that she was at the door. When had that happened? Well, nothing left but to ring the door bell.
Almost immediately there was explosive barking on the other side of the door. Santana wondered what she was going to say. Maybe she'd bark like the dog- oh god that was such a Brittany thought.
Still, she wasn't sure how she was going to start this conversation. She hadn't seen her father in eight years, at least. Maybe more. She was turning eighteen in a few weeks, and her mother had left him when she was eight… right? Right. And there was that time period where he had tried to stay involved, but eventually just lost interest. That had spanned maybe a year, and when it ended the only proof of his involvement in her life was a monthly child support check and health insurance. So nine years. It had been nine years since she had seen him, talked to him.
The barking stopped, and the door opened. A man opened the door and looked at Santana with an expectant, friendly smile.
He was almost exactly the way she remembered him. His hair was black with maybe more gray than it had had nine years prior, but it was still thick and full. He had more wrinkles, too, but not so many that he looked old. Just adult. That was where the differences stopped. He wore a white button-up shirt, black slacks, loafers to match. A pen stuck out of his shirt pocket. An old gold watch that didn't work gleamed on his wrist, the clock's face replaced by a picture of his brother, who had died serving the military of a country he hadn't even been born in. He had a relaxed appearance to him that belied his workaholic tendencies. He smiled with perfect teeth, eyes crinkling in the corners. Just like always.
Santana had recognized him as her father immediately. He, however, didn't realize that he was standing in front of his daughter until he had said hello, and she had returned the greeting, and he asked what brought her to his doorstep, and she went several moments without answering.
When it finally dawned on him, his reaction almost made up for his delayed recognition. "Santana! My baby girl!" He pulled her into a hug. "My, how you've grown!"
"Si, Papa." God, that was so weird, calling him that after all this time.
"Ay dios mio! I haven't seen you in years!" He said, holding her at arm's length and looking her over, absorbing the young woman she had become. "I can't carry you around on my back anymore, mija!"
Santana shrugged. "I've certainly changed a lot." Emphasis on a lot.
"Come in, we'll catch up!"
"Um, wait." There was a possibility this reunion would take a while. It wasn't fair to leave Brittany in the car in the sweltering midsummer heat. "I'll be right back."
Her father waited patiently while she went back to the car and rapped her knuckles on the window. Brittany looked up from the pattern she was tracing on the dashboard with her finger and smiled curiously at the Latina. When Santana motioned for her to come on, she obeyed without question.
Santana's father led them to the living room. His current wife, a woman with flowing dark hair and rich green eyes, leaned out of the kitchen. "Oh, you have company?" She had never met Santana. She knew of her existence, yes, but they had never been introduced to each other.
"Yes. This is my daughter, Santana. Santana, that's your stepmother, Janine. And this-," He paused and frowned at Brittany. "Well, I'm afraid we haven't met."
"Yes you have, Papa." Santana said. "We've known each other since kindergarten."
He just shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to remember."
"I'm Brittany." Brittany said. "Brittany S. Pierce. But not, like, Britney Spears, so don't get me confused with her."
"Nice to meet you Brittany, Santana." Janine smiled. "Would you like me to get you something to drink, Esteban?"
He shook his head. "No thank you. What about you girls?"
"Um…" Santana shook her head. "But Britt, why don't you go in the kitchen and… make some small talk with Janine? I need to talk to my dad real quick."
Brittany nodded. Absent-minded though she may be, she hadn't forgotten the purpose of coming to the house of Esteban Lopez.
"What is it, Sweetie?" Esteban asked, taking a seat in a high-backed armchair. He smiled warmly at his daughter, inviting her to take a seat without speaking.
She sat down on the couch across from him. She didn't know where to start. She opened her mouth several times in an attempt to start, but the words just wouldn't come.
How the hell was she supposed to tell her father she was gay when she hadn't even seen him for nine years? He was a kind man, gentle and loving and understanding, but it would be so unexpected and out of the blue. What if the shock gave him a heart attack?
Still, Brittany was waiting on her and she didn't know how well of a conversationalist Janine was. She had to say it. Now or never.
"Papa, I'm a lesbian."
Woah. She had meant to sugar-coat it so much more than that. Then again, she'd never been very good at beating around the bush. She had always been very blunt, so maybe that had been the best way to say it after all.
Her father sat motionless in his armchair, his smile frozen and not quite reaching his eyes anymore. For a moment, she thought he hadn't heard her.
Then his smile melted, and he slumped forward in his chair, shoulders sagging. His fingertips pressed together and he looked at her, a look of guilt, disappointment, and sadness set in his features.
"It's my fault, isn't it?" He asked quietly. "Because I wasn't there to raise you right."
Well. If that wasn't a slap to the face.
"I'm sorry… what?"
"I apologize, Santana." He said, reaching across the coffee table for her hand. "I failed you somewhere along the line, but I'll make it up to you know. Whatever counseling you need, whatever therapy, whoever you need to talk to. I'm here for you. I'll help you pay for it. Christ, I'll pay for all of it. I'll fix this."
This was not going how she had thought it would. Yeah, she had figured he would be a little shocked, but this…?
"I'll help you through this." He repeated. "I'll fix this."
"I don't need fixing!" Santana snapped, jerking her hand out of his. He looked at her, dumbstruck.
"Sanny-bear, I-,"
"Don't you Sanny-bear me! Where were you nine years ago? You could have Sanny-beared me all you wanted then! You'll fix this? That's bullshit! I come here to tell you I like girls and your response is that you'll fix this?"
Esteban reached out to put a steadying hand on her arm, but she slapped it away.
"I didn't come here to get help for anything!" Santana continued. "I thought, maybe, it'd be nice to have you in my life again! I thought, maybe, it'd be nice to show you that I'm happy, that I came out alright even though you weren't there for me! I thought, maybe, I could have a daddy and my kids could have a grandpa-,"
"Santana, you won't have kids if you're a lesbian. It's not-,"
"There you go again! The wonders of modern medicine, Dad. You should know, you're a freaking doctor!"
"Having a child out of wedlock is-,"
"I'll be married!"
"To whom?"
"To my wife."
He sighed tiredly. "You can't marry a girl, Santana."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!" Santana yelled. "You lost any right to do that when you cheated on my mother! You lost any right to do that when you walked out on me! Ay dios mio! This was a bad idea." She turned sharply away from her father and marched to the kitchen, where Brittany and Janine were standing frozen. "Brittany, we're leaving."
Brittany gave a little half-wave to a pale-faced Janine, who only nodded slightly. She went to Santana's side, grabbed her hand.
"Santana," Esteban had left the sanctity of his armchair to confront his daughter. "I realize you're angry with me for not being there for you, but I feel that a lot of this anger is coming from confusion about your sexuality-,"
"I went through that." Santana said, voice level and calm- a fact that only served to alert Brittany to the tempest broiling beneath the Latina's skin. "I was confused. But I figured it out. Without you. I didn't need you then and I don't need you now. I will never need you."
Brittany put a hand on Santana's arm, and for a moment Santana thought that maybe she had gone too far. But the guilt was gone almost instantly. She didn't need to feel bad, because she was only telling the truth. It wasn't her fault that people sucked. She squeezed Brittany's hand and led the blonde out the front door.
She stopped before closing it behind her, turning to face her shell-shocked father.
"Oh, and Esteban? This is my girlfriend. Brittany. I'm going to marry her someday."
The door slammed behind her. With Brittany by her side, she walked to the car with her chin held high, jaw set with defiance. She slid into the passenger seat of the car, and Brittany walked around to get in the driver's side.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Neither moved.
"Drive." Santana finally said, and then- as if that word had broken some sort of spell along with the silence- she broke down into heaving sobs, clutching her sides, curling in on herself.
Brittany reached over and pulled Santana into her lap. She stroked her girlfriend's hair, shushing her and cooing to her. She rocked back and forth, swaying Santana with her. She kissed away her tears and murmured reassurances. And when Santana finally calmed down, she whispered quietly, as if afraid that breaking the silence would break Santana, "You have me if nothing else."