a/n: originally posted to tumblr. wrote a few new chapters so i thought i'd get around to posting them after i clean and edit the originals. probably be posting one chapter a week. there'll be changes and things. huzzah. pls dontaskmeaboutthestatusofanyotherthinginreviewsofthisfic. kthxbyeeeeeeeeeeee
She's standing behind a chair when Brittany finally spots her, flicking through the photos on her digital camera and checking her watch casually with a tilt of her wrist. Brittany has no doubt that she was one of the first reporters to arrive, guaranteeing that the their well assigned seat in the gallery. Santana Lopez is a creature of steady habits and small assurances, always the first to arrive. Always dressed in a slightly oversized blazer and reliable flats. Brittany's never seen her without that cute satchel bag thing and is never disappointed with the snack her friend produces from it.
Santana is really the best field partner she could ask for.
Brittany grins as she sneaks up behind her coworker, "I'm late, I know, but luckily so are politicians. So we're all good, right?"
Santana startles, tucking her camera close to her chest like a shield, "Brittany! Oh, good you're here—"
"Finally, I know," Brittany rolls her eyes playfully, faking a scolded tone.
"No, I—you're right no one's shown up yet so it's not like you missed anything—"
"I'm teasing silly," Brittany places her hand on the small of Santana's back as she passes behind her in the row of chairs reserved for the press. She pauses curiously when Santana shifts awkwardly under her light touch.
"Sorry," the woman blushes, adjusting her half frame glasses and keeping her eyes on the camera in her hands. "I'm kind of ticklish."
Brittany quirks a smile, "Your secret is safe with me."
Santana's eyes dart up to hers for just a moment, deep and searching in a way that didn't quite fit the situation. Brittany feels her smile slip a little under the scrutiny. She wants to push the matter, hedge something that might give her a clue to the expression in her partner's eye, but then Santana looks towards the corner of the room. A second later the mayor walks through the large set of double doors.
Brittany pulls a rueful face, constantly confused about Santana's ability to predict people's whereabouts. It's like she can sense people coming or something. More than once she's lead Brittany down a side street to find a person of interest sneaking out a side door to escape the press.
"It was a lucky guess," Santana had mumbled once when Brittany asked. "I'm just glad that you're with me when we find them."
While they're both reporters at the Daily Planet, Santana is a facts kind of girl, preferring to gather documents and data rather than chase down an interview or quote. Word around the office was that she's apprehensive about talking to people, a shy woman. Santana worked solo mostly before the department decided her work was a little too many statistics and not enough soul. That's where Brittany comes in, she's all about the people. Interviews are her specialty and there a few things that will keep her from getting one once she sets her mind to it. Together they make a great team, Santana lays the foundation of a story with irrefutable evidence and Brittany wraps it all up with a few compelling quotes from the parties involved.
"Did they only give us one seat again?" Brittany frowns, looking at the one folding chair marked with the Daily Planet's logo.
"You go ahead and sit," Santana gestures to the chair then her camera. "I'm gonna need a shot anyway."
"You never take the chair."
"You never stay in it long anyway," Santana shrugs with a hint of a smile. "So we're even."
Brittany grins. It's true. She's usually the first to be on their feet when it's time for questions. She's always been a little… enthusiastic, when it comes to her journalism.
"Why thank you, Miss Lopez," she smiles sweetly at her partner, and sits, even if she knows it won't be for long.
Santana can tell this guy is lying.
Her super-hearing can pick up on the erratic heartbeat, and her vision—through phony glasses—can easily pick up the excessive sweat gathering at this brow line. Not that she doesn't actually needs any of that, Brittany thinks he's lying and Santana has learned to trust her. She has never met a better judge of character than Brittany S. Pierce. All she has to do is make that disbelieving little snort, narrow her brilliant blue eyes, and Santana would be willing to bet that this man is up to no good.
Everything else is just supporting evidence.
She's listening with one ear to the words, jotting down notes for fun. The story is already written in her head and when she gets back to the office it will take only a moment on her computer to write it out at super-speed. That's one of the biggest perks of being partnered with Brittany, they share an office so she has more privacy to cut a few corners with her superpowers.
The biggest perk of working with Brittany is working with Brittany.
After leaving Ohio, and the loving support of the adoptive family that found a crashed UFO and the small space baby inside, Santana was sure that she would never meet another person as caring as the Lopez's. She was wrong. Brittany Pierce, apart from her near reckless reporting style, is the loveliest woman she knows. She's the first to volunteer her help to another person and the last to double cross them.
She was the first to go out of her way to try to get to know Santana, stopping at her desk for a moment each morning just to say high and ask about her work. Santana didn't need her super hearing to tell her that Brittany was genuinely interested, the smile on her face told her that.
Santana has never been particularly people friendly, she's learned to keep at a distance to protect not only them, but herself. She needs her secret identity, her mysteries, to be at arm's length. So she's cast herself as the awkwardly shy, sort of standoffish, girl who'd rather avoid confrontation then make a fuss.
She's ordinary, forgettable, and bland.
Everything Superwoman is not, and Superwoman is the only woman Brittany has eyes for.
It's happened four times now, getting called to an emergency, begging Brittany to stay in the sidelines and behind the police barriers, watching her slip by with a mischievous smirk thrown over her shoulder. Santana always waits long enough to see that smirk, the fire in her eyes and the passion flowing through her posture. Then she dashes off to the nearest bit of cover so she can change.
Superwoman always saves the day—saves Brittany—just in the nick of time.
The first time the reporter was too frazzled from her nearly falling off a collapsing balcony, to say much. Superwoman set her down gently on an adjacent rooftop and told her that she should really stay behind the police barriers. Brittany nodded quietly and couldn't find the wits to argue.
Her initial shock aside, Brittany has recently become much friendlier after being saved from whatever fiasco she's found herself in. She's been asking questions, joking about how Superwoman must really like her articles to be saving her so much, and finally, on the last experience together, Santana was convinced that her friend was flirting with her alter-ego. Using a smile she's never shown Santana, sewing together sentences that stuffed with suggestion. The things she says would make Santana blush to the tips of her ears but Superwoman only smiles, letting that speak for her.
Later on, when she's alone at home, without her glasses or her cape, Santana tries to not take it personally. Superwoman was great—flashy, strong, and sexy as hell in that outfit. Santana Lopez is a scrawny woman scurrying around in a blazer her shoulders are too small for.
Someone would have to be crazy to be interested in Santana Lopez when Superwoman was saving the world every other day.
She sighs, refocusing on the matter at hand.
The mayor of Metropolis is denying the accusation that he's involved with the notorious crime lord, and Superwoman's arch nemesis, Sue Sylvester. Santana doesn't believe him for a second, not only because Brittany doesn't believe him, but because he's the definition of a slime ball. Mayor Dustin Goolsby is probably the worst thing to happen to this city in years.
Santana really kind of hates him, which is fine, he's never been a fan of Superwoman either so their contact is minimal beyond press events.
She can't watch him talk anymore so she focuses on other things, blinking into her x-ray vision so she can peer through the back wall. Behind the podium and in the adjacent room, Santana sees everyone you would expect to see in an executive posse. Assistants running about, PR personnel, a few guys trying to intimidate a coffee maker into functioning for them, Azimio Adams—
Santana stops.
He's a criminal, metahuman, and a known associate of Sue Sylvester. He looks sharp in that suit, and seemingly normal, but Santana knows that underneath the stylish silk shirt is the power to rival the strength of twenty men his size. He can do a lot of damage.
What is he doing here? The mayor's bodyguard perhaps? Hired help? Why would he need extra security? Criminal metahuman security. It looks like he's waiting for something, getting antsy standing there in his suit as the aids start rushing, some of them are disappearing down hallways and towards exits. This isn't looking well for the mayor's association denial. Santana shifts her weight, uneasy with the discovery, with the people moving like scared cockroaches. Something's about to happen, she just doesn't know what.
"Santana," a voice whispers next to her and Santana glances over too quickly—without the presence of mind to shut off her x-ray vision—pink polka dots, a hint of lace with matching briefs and Santana goes into a coughing fit, squeezing her eyes shut to rid the image from her mind.
Like that's ever going to happen.
She would sooner eat kryptonite then forget that image.
"Are you alight?" Brittany's voice is quiet and concerned, a hand falls onto Santana's shoulder, rubbing small circles to ease her breath.
"Yeah," Santana nods, her eyes watering behind her glasses, "startled me, gum—caught in my throat. I'm just gonna—"
Santana throws her thumb over her shoulder and takes off towards the hall. Immediately after pushing through the door of the conference room, Santana drops all signs of a cough. Her jaw sets , x-ray vision is already up and trying to pinpoint Adams.
Something's going down, something big. Adams is barking orders and a few men in suits are bringing in large black cases. Could they be carrying weapons? Explosives? She's not sure, each one is lined with lead and impervious to her super-sight. It all makes this so much more troubling. Why would they need lead lined cases unless they're hiding something?
Santana knows it's show time and sneaks off to change into the necessary outfit. The closest thing she finds is an empty janitor's closet, with a lock and a high window for ventilation—perfect. Undressing at super speed only takes seconds, tucking her office wear and glasses into her satchel, Santana hides it carefully away.
When she stands, she's an entirely different person.
Her shoulders are square, her chin held high, the last thing to go is the hair tie keeping back her dark hair.
Once that's free, so is Santana—so is Superwoman.
She's through the window in a breeze of displaced air. She flies high and quickly, feeling the wind around her and the weight of her disguise off her shoulders. The sun hits her blue and red uniform and she feels invincible. The city is beautiful in the late afternoon light. Metropolis is simply gleaming and on the horizon she can see the proud globe of the Daily Planet.
Her heart flutters along with her cape in the wind.
Brittany.
Santana's jaw tightens; Brittany is in danger.
Brittany isn't sure where the hell Santana went, or why she's walking out of the interview to go find her.
Brittany Pierce just ditched a press conference, right as they opened the floor to questions, to find Santana and make sure she wasn't choking on her gum, again, or whatever else might have happened. She's sure that could be deemed newsworthy, above the fold even. Brittany Pierce never gives up an interview. Never. And logically, she knows Santana is in no real danger, but Brittany wants to make sure. She needs to make sure. If only she could find her.
The woman has a knack for disappearing every once in a while.
"Santana," Brittany hisses along the hallway, she's already passed a drinking fountain, an empty women's restroom, and hasn't caught sight of her partner.
Why is she so worried anyway? Santana was a grown woman, she could take care of herself. In fact, Brittany is nearly certain that Santana will be upset that she didn't get a quote. She should go back and get a quote. Quote the crap out of that slimy mayor.
But she doesn't want to, not without Santana.
And it sort of agitates her, the way she's more curious about her partner than the real story here. She should be more professional, stay focused, and stick to the plan. But her intuition is telling her to find her partner and Brittany always follows that voice in her head. Frustrated, she barges through a door, expecting another empty conference room, but discovers two dozen men with a decorative variety of assault weapons. They look as surprised to see Brittany as she is to see her.
Brittany licks her lips, realizing that there's no way she can turn around and walk out like this never happened. Might as well spin it.
She forces a smile and clicks her pen over her notepad, "Care to make a statement?"
They don't.
Santana counts seventeen firearms, twenty men, one metahuman, and one hostage sitting in a chair in the far side of the room.
If her super hearing was as accurate as she knew it to be Sylvester sent Adams and his crew down here to double cross the mayor and and hold the reporters as hostages until he ensures repayment for the large sums of money that guaranteed him election in the first place. Apparently Sylvester wasn't happy with the way her puppet of a mayor had been handling business. It was time for new management, Adams had said.
What Sylvester had planned for the mayor's office was something Santana had to figure out later. Right now, Brittany was in danger, sitting there with a scowl on her face and her arms tied behind her back while the men try to figure out what to do with the first witness to their crime.
Santana bites back a growl.
Seventeen weapons.
The element of surprise is on her side, and so is her standing.
She is Superwoman.
She can bust through walls and have all the guns in pieces on the floor before they could even cough away the dust. And that was exactly what she does. Superspeed has never felt as good as when she's using it to save Brittany Pierce. The barrels of the guns bend like clay in her hands, cracked over men's heads, and clattering to the ground as she moves on to the next thug.
When the smoke clears there's only three people left conscious.
Superwoman, Brittany, and Adams.
She promises it won't stay like that for long.
Brittany coughs, the air is thick and full of debris, the loud crash still ringing in her ears. She squints through the smoke and her breath catches in her throat.
"Superwoman," she says it before she could stop herself.
She had been hoping—praying—that she would be rescued.
Rescued by her.
The Woman of Steel.
The Savior of Metropolis.
The woman who saved her life, swept her off her feet, and has never left her mind since.
She's squaring off against the large man in the suit, his face a nasty grin with arrogant eyes.
"You wanna stay out of Sylvester's way, little lady," he shrugs out of his jacket.
Superwoman is not impressed, nor intimidated. Her smile almost cocky when she says, "We'll see who the little lady is when the dust settles."
He chuckles at her, low and menacingly. It makes Brittany's skin crawl and the hair on her neck stand. His muscles ripple under his dress shirt, the fabric pulled taunt and taxed.
Brittany watches, awed into silence as the heroine raises from the ground, her short cape billowing casually around her shoulders, arms crossed over the trademark 'S' on her chest. She is a sight, dark hair dancing around her strong features in a chaotic show of perfection, her eyes focused and burning with the challenge.
She is so beautiful.
Brittany is so smitten.
She can feel her cheeks warm, the racing of her heart beat in just a slightly different fashion than was justified for the situation. She should be scared but she can only squirm in her seat. She is being held hostage but all she wants to do is tell Superwoman how pretty she looks today.
Her leering is cut short by the ripping of fabric. The man's shirt finally giving way to his unnatural swell of muscles. Brittany hoped he wouldn't come any closer to her. Surely, Superwoman will make sure that didn't happen.
Surely.
"Welcome to the gun show."
His line makes the superhero crinkle her nose distastefully. Brittany thinks she's adorable.
Superwoman gestures to the discarded firearms on the floor, "You can see what happens when I play with guns."
"I'm not here to play," he rushes forward, drawing back his fist to hit her.
Superwoman only smiles.
Like she thought, Adams had nothing on Superwoman. He's in a heap on the floor, unconscious and bound by a support beam she had pulled out of the wall. Santana claps her hands together to clear them from dust and listens.
Her super hearing picks up the police gathering outside the building, most of the occupants have already fled after the sounds of the fight and the word had traveled about Sylvester's thugs. There's only one person she's really interested in right now. She glances over to the woman, still trapped in the chair.
Brittany appears much less intimidating when she's tied to a chair and covered in a light coating of soot, Santana notices, though, she's still just as beautiful.
Santana wishes she could tell her that, my alter ego, Santana Lopez thinks you're the most stunning woman in the galaxy, oh and by the way, we're the same person.
Of course, she can't say that, can never say that.
So she keeps Brittany's eyes as she floats over to her. It's a luxury that Santana Lopez can't afford, just to look into her eyes. Eye contact is dangerous, as one of the most memorable things about a person can be their eyes, and a pair of glasses mixed with bad posture only hide so much.
Brittany's eyes are worth memorizing. They're blue in a way that reminds Santana of the Ohio sky in summer, speckled with the faintest wisps of clouds to make the color ever so lighter.
"It's you again," Santana says with a friendly smile, because Brittany can't seem to find her words. Speechlessness is rare for Brittany Pierce and something only Superwoman can induce. "Always getting into trouble."
Her cheeks color with a bashful flush, one that Santana Lopez could never inspire, "I wasn't looking for a story this time."
Santana quirks an eyebrow, landing softly next to the chair and falling to one knee. Her hands start working the ties from around Brittany's body. She's careful, so very careful about her strength around her.
"I was looking for my friend," Brittany continues quietly, "she ran off in the middle of the mayor's press conference, I—I was worried."
There's a hesitation, Santana hears it in her body more than she hears it in Brittany's words.
She hears the smallest change in Brittany's heartbeat when she mentions her other half. The smallest waver in the rhythm, but it's there. She removes the ties holding Brittany prisoner and tosses them to the side, standing confidently, proudly, maybe even with a little sass thrown in. Her hands on her hips and her head tilted.
"Your friend, huh?" Santana needles.
"Yeah," Brittany fidgets before she stands, swiping at some dust that had fallen on her pants, and looking up at Superwoman shyly.
It's strange for Santana, as Brittany is usually taller than her, but when Santana is Superwoman, she keeps herself at least five inches off the ground. She does it to hide her true size, to seem intimidating, to look powerful.
"Some friend always letting you run off into harm's way," Santana challenges, floating a few inches closer, and keeping herself only a hair taller than Brittany. She's not trying to be intimidating right now, she's not trying to impress or impose, she's only trying to be everything Santana Lopez is not.
Her selfish side wants to know if Brittany will defend her, if she'll assure the great Superwoman of feeble Santana Lopez's worth.
Brittany lets out a small laugh, "Trust me, if there was a way she could hold me back, she would do it. If I had a dollar for every time she told me to be careful, well..."
Santana hears it again, that flutter.
"Maybe you should listen to her," she says quietly, keeping Brittany's eyes until the reporter has to look away, flushing again, embarrassed.
"But then," Brittany glances up, a pretty smile on her face, the prettiest Santana has ever seen, a smile not meant for her, "I never would have met you."
Santana wants that smile to be for her; just her, not the suit or the cape. She wishes she could get that with the glasses and the dorky satchel. But this is the way it has to be.
Superwoman is the charmer, so maybe, just for the moment, she could charm Brittany like she's always wanted to as Santana.
"I'll have to thank her," Santana's lips quirk into her best smile, the smile that's on the magazine covers and all over the press functions. The one that makes the men and women of Metropolis swoon. "The police have cordoned off the city block. Did you need a lift out of here?"
She holds out her hand and waits, watching Brittany's eyes widen, her face pink with excitement. Her hand moves towards Santana's fingers, reaching out for the strong palm of a superhero, but she stops short, and Santana hears it again, she sees it in a flash across Brittany's face. The sky in her eyes turning a shade darker.
"I would," she takes back her hand and gives Santana, Superwoman, a gentle smile, "but I really need to find my friend."
Superwoman blinks, "You're sure."
"I am," Brittany laughs a little, as if she's surprised even herself. "Thank you, though, for the offer."
Superwoman was just turned down by Brittany S. Pierce and she couldn't feel better about.
Brittany was turning down Superwoman to go find Santana Lopez.
The friend that made her heart flutter.
Santana's smile wasn't the picture perfect one this time, it was a genuine grin. She was so happy.
"Must be some friend," she pushes her luck.
"She is," Brittany takes a step back, towards the door as a few police officers walk in. The look in her eyes, the sound of her heart, is sure,
"Have a good night," Santana nods, watching her go.
Brittany is sure she's gone crazy, turning down Superwoman after she had just saved her, again. She doesn't have time to start to regret it before she spots the woman that had inadvertently gotten her into that mess.
"Santana!" Brittany calls down the hall. "Hey!"
The woman turns from where she had been coming around the corner of the hallway. Clutching the strap of her satchel across her chest with both hands and looking wearily at the cops rushing around.
"Brittany what happened?" she asks. "I thought it was an earthquake, but someone was talking about Superwoman and there's all these men with guns everywhere."
"Yeah, yeah," Brittany waves it off, slinging her arm though Santana's. "She came, did her thing, took off. Important part is that the mayor taking bribes from Sue Sylvester. Heard the whole thing myself! He was pretty much put in office by her to push her slimy business into Metropolis."
"No way," Santana glances up at Brittany through her glasses. "You think we can have it ready to print by tomorrow?"
"I'd like to see them try to keep it out of the papers," Brittany grins. "I'm going to call the office as soon as we get out of here, make them reserve the whole front page for us."
Santana smiles at that, ducking her head and adjusting her glasses, "I have a few things filed away that connect Goolsby to Sylvester. That last tax reform act he pushed, the private security corporation that's replacing law enforcement at the docks."
Brittany peers down at her friend, "And when were you going to share?"
"Oh, I don't know, going after the mayor isn't really my style, but I knew when you had a catalyst you'd be brave enough to use it."
Brittany grins, flattered that Santana would think of holding onto these leads just for her, confident that Brittany wouldn't hesitate to write power political figures under the table. Her heart jumps a little against the swelling affection in her chest.
"You're incredible, Santana."
And in that moment, and maybe for the first time, Santana Lopez believes it.
They stayed at their office well into the night, eating take out and writing about political scandals.
Brittany never once regrets her missed rendezvous with the superhero, and if Santana's ears twitch like she's straining to hear something very, very, quiet, it goes unnoticed.