Santana Lopez drove through the traffic-congested streets and looked impatiently at her wrist watch. Her back had ached and her eyes seemed to drop. She just had a rough time at the police station. She was already dreaming of the soft bed in the share bedroom with her wife. Speaking of her wife…
"Fuck it," the Latina slammed her fist on the steering wheel. She had forgotten to pick her up from work. Surely, her wife wouldn't be happy about it. Fifteen minutes later and she quickly pulled up in front of the brownstone building.
The Latina sprinted for the elevator and made it successfully. She punched for the seventh floor and waited for the lift to reach her floor. She stared at the wrist watch again. It's two minutes past eight. She's just two minutes late. Two minutes. Surely, Brittany won't be mad about it.
She opened the apartment door and walked towards the fridge an swung it open, obviously searching for something to eat. What was left for her was a cold Chinese dish and some chicken legs.
There was a familiar shadow that shifted along the doorway of the kitchen.
"Where were you?" The bitterness was in the voice of Santana's wife.
"Hey, baby. Why are you still up?" Santana tried to distract her wife by giving the best smile she could muster. But, it was useless. Her wife stood rooted to the floor.
"What time is it, huh?" the blonde asked, clearly trying to hide the anger in her voice.
Santana threw a glare at the wall clock. It read 08:03 P.M.
"You should have been here by eight. And you forgot to pick me up today."
"Gosh, Brittany!" Santana rambled. As much as she hated being wronged for, she also hated it when Brittany gets pissed. "And besides, I really had to run for work, that's why I forgot to…"
"Work? Or is it something else? Maybe someone else, perhaps?" Brittany's voice was laced with jealousy.
"No baby…no…it's just you," Santana tried to come near.
"You know what Santana? Save it. I'm just too tired for all that," Brittany turned around and went to their bedroom.
"I'm too tired about this too!" Santana yelled. Then she cursed under her breath. She kicked the chair, instantly feeling the pain on her left foot.
"Fuck! That hurts. Damn."
The Latina went into the bedroom, wearing her boy shorts and a grey shirt. Brittany was soundly sleeping on the left side of the bed, with a pillow beside her, clearly trying to make a barrier between them.
Santana sighed. "Fine. If you want to sleep separately, fine."
Santana took two pillows and a blanket. The Latina went into the living room and cursed the air before flopping on the couch. She had fallen asleep for a while.
Santana woke up, a little later that night, disoriented of the dark when she heard a sniff from the bedroom. Brittany must have been crying. She had woken up to the same sound these past nights, and all the other nights that they pick on fights. It nearly broke her heart, but…wasn't Brittany wrong too? It must have been very unfair to Santana. She did say sorry after all.
The next morning, Santana was waking up from a stiff neck and she realized that Brittany had gone to work already.
"Fuck," she cursed under her breath and opened the microwave oven. She is used to check her breakfast in the oven. Her wife always did just that. And she felt so guilty for being so irresponsive to Brittany while her wife did just the opposite to her.
The Latina cop quickly finished her breakfast and went straight for work. Her work as a cop was a bomb. Well, that was very different for the work of a married person.
The day dragged on and it was the normal grind for Santana. Until afternoon.
"Lopez, assist for Anderson," Finn Hudson said. "Bay Area at Sixth."
"Fine, Hudson. Tell that to my wife." Santana said, half-meaning it as she climbed into her car. "Anderson, I'm up."
"Two o'clock, Lopez. Green car."
"Fine." Santana stepped on the accelerator. A few more minutes and an unlucky carjacker was led into the NYPD station.
"Congratulations, Inspector Lopez," the captain said.
"Tell that to my wife, Sebastian. I would like to stay but I will have a nagging wife by the second." Santana was already out the door and ran halfway towards her car. She drove all the way towards her apartment. Thankfully there was less traffic but she was late again. It was already 08:05 in her clock.
"Where were you?" Brittany's impatient face was on the door.
"I…I was in the station," Santana stammered. She couldn't lie to Brittany.
"Really?" Brittany's voice raised, the sarcasm dripping.
"Oh god, Brittany. At least, give me a time to eat, please? I'm tired." Santana walked over the fridge and found the same cold Chinese dish again.
"Damn…" she muttered.
"You know, Santana I really need to talk about this. About us." Brittany's voice shifted to a baritone. And it meant serious, dead-serious.
"What? You want to talk, let's talk." Santana sat on a kitchen chair and looked at Brittany, who was wearing her Columbia t-shirt. In other days, she might have grabbed the blonde by the waist and made love to her.
"We don't communicate," Brittany started.
"Like, what part of 'we don't communicate' do you mean?"
"Like, I say this and you don't listen…like you don't get to chance to read between the lines, like we don't understand. There's your work and-" Brittany stopped midway in her litany when she saw Santana leaning on the chair, slowly drifting to sleep and softly snoring.
"Santana Marie Lopez!" the blonde yelled, causing the brunette to jolt and wake up from her slumber. The brunette wiped her face, expecting a drool dripping form her mouth.
"Are you even listening?" Brittany said, her eyes glaring. "Ugh, this is what I'm saying, Santana! We're not communicating!" She left Santana in the kitchen to dwell on her thoughts. The brunette started to go to the bedroom, in hopes that she might cool her wife's head. But as soon as she had taken a step, the bedroom door was slammed loudly.
"Ah, shit! I have to sleep in the couch again," Santana wailed.
Santana woke up to the same familiar sniffs that night. Brittany was crying again. She went to the door and tried to knock but the blonde did not open and pretended to be asleep, for the sniffs had subsided.
The next morning was basically the same. Santana headed for work grumpily.
"Hey, Inspector Satan, what's up?" Blaine Anderson asked.
"You're such a dick, Anderson."
"Had a fight with the wife?" Blaine doesn't even need an answer. He knows too much about his partner in the job. "Communication problems?"
Santana just nodded.
"Hey, maybe, she'd just come around. Why don't you talk to her? Maybe surprise her tonight with a dinner or something. Serve her. After a long day of being a waitress, it's alright if you serve her some special dinner. The ones that you cook," Blaine suggested.
"Alright, Blaine. I just hope that idea will wo-"
"Lopez, Anderson. I need you guys to work on the Quasimodo case. It's in the Hampton Palace on Fifth tonight. I need you to get dressed," Chief Smythe, the police director gave them the orders.
"Well," Santana stood up. "Seems like your dinner thing is shot to hell."
Both cops pulled up in front of the Hampton Palace Hotel that afternoon, obviously waiting.
"So what's the plan genius?" Santana asked Blaine.
"We need to get passes," the curly-haired man said.
"Passes?"
"Look, Lopez, this is no booze-nigga party. This is a collared party, now I need you on some decent clothes."
Santana stared at her jeans and tanks. "These are decent clothes!"
"You know, let's go shopping."
"Goddamn! I even hate it when my wife goes shopping and now I get dragged to a fashion house. How charming!" Santana nagged at her partner in crime.
"We need some clothes, for a party. My wife here has to wear it," Blaine told the cashier.
What…what?
Cop work is dirty. Santana had to follow Blaine's intuition if she wanted to live. Undercover work was a hard thing to deal with. Plus, she had to use her credit card. But, Santana Lopez could deal with anything.
Yeah. Except for a nagging wife.
Speaking of the devil, Santana's phone rang as she was dressing in a very sexy and fitting gown that even she had the difficulty of wearing it. There was even a saleslady who helped her. It was a call from Brittany.
"Hey, baby," Santana tried to sound cheery. She already knew what was coming.
"Santana, what the fuck? I went to buy out a few groceries and I found out you chipped a good 500 dollars on our account? Where the hell are you?"
No matter what, don't give her your location.
"I'm at…"
"Hah! Hampton Hotel huh,"
"Is it inside already? Honey, tell me when it gets in…" the saleslady chirped.
"Who the fuck is with you?" Brittany angrily asked.
"It's not yet…ahhh," Santana felt the belt clasp in her abdomen. "Uhh, no one baby…"
"Fuck, who is with you?"
"Uhh…it's just…"
Santana had to hold her head to get into the tight top. "Ah shit…" the Latina muttered.
"A little more push, honey," the saleslady carefully slipped the tank top over her head.
"What the hell are you doing?" Brittany asked, infuriated.
"No-thing…ahhh," Santana groaned. At last, after much difficulty, she was already finished and dressed.
"I'll finish with you when you come home!" Brittany practically yelled on the other end of the line. A dial tone followed, leaving a very worried Santana Lopez.
The night dragged on and Blaine cracked the whole night. There wasn't much of her investigation, except that she and Blaine had blown up a multi-million drug deal. However, Santana had the dealer in her hands when Blaine bumped to her.
"Fuck it, Anderson! Damn!" Santana yelled as she saw the dealer run towards the waiting Hummer.
"Damn, Anderson, he's getting away!" Santana jumped into the beaten-up Jaguar that was owned by Blaine. The chase started at Fifth, and the Hummer took a sharp left turn and continued into the alley. The Jaguar followed, crashing into a hotdog stand.
It was a dead end. Santana got out of the car, and took her standard .45 caliber gun out.
"Put your hands above you head!" Santana aimed her gun to the man who emerged from the Hummer.
Another police car blocked the end of the alley.
The man went out, shotgun in hand and shot aimlessly at Santana's direction. It blew up the windshield, sending shards of glass everywhere.
"Darn it!" Santana scrunched her face as pain crawled towards her brain from her arm, where a shard of glass was stuck. Blaine covered for her and shot the man.
"Damn it, Anderson, we needed him," Santana's chest heaved up and down.
"Argh, Lopez, sorry," Blaine grumbled.
The EMTs were actually there at the drop of a hat, assisting the wounded Santana towards a clinic. After having her arm bandaged, she asked for her captain to drive her back to the police station.
"Hey, Lopez…there's a slot for you at Forks. Less crime and a nice place."
"Well, I'd like to Captain Smythe, but I really have a lot of things running in my mind right now."
"The wife?"
Santana nodded. If there was one thing that could put Santana Lopez down, it's the wife.
"Go for the kill," the other cop said, and tapped Santana's shoulder.
"If it doesn't kill me."
The drive home was long and tiring. The Latina was anxiously staring at her wrist watch. She went up to the seventh floor and knocked on the door. There was no answer.
She knocked again. Still no answer.
"Open the goddamned door, Brittany!"
"I won't!" Brittany shouted back. "Don't you dare come in!"
Santana kicked the door. Still, Brittany wouldn't budge. The Latina slowly made her way to the elevator and out into the rooftop.
The city lights were beautiful. It was just like those days when they don't pick up fights and they'd spend the evening, making love and drinking cheap wine out in the open air.
Santana sighed and clicked her tongue. Seems like those days were intended for a blue moon only. She felt a drop of water on her hand. Then another, and another.
"Fuck," Santana cursed in dismay. A shot of pain coursed through her system.
Such bad days.
Santana sat on a corner, with the rain soaking her to the skin. Her arm was acting like a total bitch and it suck. She tried to ignore the cold and closed her eyes to go to sleep. She lay awake, with eyes closed, and then she felt the trickle of the freezing water no more. But the rain was still there.
I might have frozen-died in the rain.
"Hey, let's get inside," Brittany was holding an umbrella over her head.
"I thought…"
"Shhh…come on now," Brittany took Santana's freezing hand.
"Britt, wait…" Santana mumbled.
"What?"
"I'm sorry…" the Latina pulled her wife for a kiss. But, Brittany pulled away.
"Let's talk this over the fire?"
"Yes," Santana answered nervously.
Hand in hand, the couple went down a few floors and went into their apartment.
"So…" Santana said while Brittany handed her a chocolate drink topped with marshmallows. Santana sat on a kitchen chair and Brittany was leaning with her back on the kitchen sink.
"So?" Santana fidgeted with her red-terracotta bath robe.
"Who was with you?" the blonde's eyes narrowed.
"Blaine. You know him. He went to dinner with us," Santana said, without looking at Brittany.
"What about the other girl?"
"What?" Santana muttered. She can't believe that Brittany still thought of her as someone who was cheating on her.
"I was asking who the girl was. What was her name? Is she beautiful?" There was a hint of sadness in Brittany's voice.
Santana gazed around the room and saw a duffel bag by the doorway.
"Are…are you leaving?" Santana said, dreading what her wife might answer.
"I don't know. I just feel as if-"
"No. Look, let me explain here. There's no other woman…damn," Santana rambled on.
"If there was no one, well, tell me who was that girl with you. Clearly, you had a good time with her," Brittany leaned on the counter, lips tight.
"Look, Blaine and I went shopping," Santana let out an exasperate sigh.
"Shopping?" Brittany's eyebrows rose.
"Like, you buy clothes. Don't worry about the 500 dollars, it's been refunded already. I checked."
"Wow, why do you have to buy clothes?" Brittany asked, the sarcasm was dripping from her voice.
"Well, we had to chase a real badass guy and we can't get into his joint without real nice clothes."
"And the girl?" Brittany tried to get back to the question.
"She's a…saleslady," Santana bowed her head.
"Really?"
"Britt…I told you already. I was with Blaine the whole day. You can even ask him," Santana wailed.
"What happened to your arm?" Brittany nodded to Santana's gashed arm.
"Remember the badass guy I told you about? He's got a shotgun…" Santana dared to look up at the blonde.
"Oh god…" Brittany gasped. The ugly gash was forming red, blood-stained drips on the dirty-white bandage. The blonde's face went from stern to sympathetic. And Brittany looked as if she could cry.
"Hey…" Santana gave her wife a smug little smile. "I'm okay."
"Oh I'm so sorry, San," Brittany wailed.
"Hey, listen, I'm alive, right?"
"I don't want you to work as a cop anymore," Brittany sighed. "It's not that I don't want you to be spending too little time for me or for us or we don't communicate stuff, well, sort of, but I want you to work on some safer surroundings."
"Britt…" Santana rose up from her chair. "Please tell me you're not leaving."
"I'm not, Santana. I'm not leaving. Never. I thought you had another girl, but…I'm wrong. And God knows how thankful I am that I was wrong," Brittany said, teary-eyed because of relief and happiness.
"But you always nag at me," Santana wailed. "God knows how much I tried to be the best wife you could ever have but, sometimes, I can be an ass, you know."
"I know, San. I know. I'm sorry I had been a bad wife and a nagger, too."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
Santana pulled her wife for a hug. "I love you so much."
"I love you too."
Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana's. "Why don't we stay by the fire? Some cuddle while I fix that arm of yours?"
"Glad to do so," Santana smiled as she walked towards the living room.
Things are falling in place. Thank Lord.
The brunette lay on the couch, with the blonde leaning on Santana's chest.
"San?"
"Yes?"
"Am I an ass?"
"Yeah, Britt, well sometimes. But I guess I'm an ass, too."
"I'm sorry about us lately," Brittany sighed.
"Me too," Santana bent her head down to kiss the raspberry lips.
Oh, heavens! Her sweet, sweet Brittany!
"San…" Brittany moaned in her mouth.
"Shhh…" tan hands traversed across the pale back, pushing the blonde locks aside. The blonde girl moved, grazing the bandaged arm.
"Ouch," Santana winced in pain.
"Oh, god. I'm sorry," Brittany froze in panic. "Wait a sec," the blonde sprinted out towards the room and took out a first-aid kit.
"You know, being a cop, it gets me worried, San," Brittany said as she put a swab of alcohol on the gashing wound.
"Arggh…" Santana winced.
"Sorry."
"It's fine. Just get done with it," Santana growled. Her wound just hurt like a bitch. But on the other side, having Brittany nurse her and dress her wound gave her so much relief. She loved to feel the blonde's gentle caressing touch.
"Hey, Britt," Santana looked at the blonde, who was expertly wounding the fresh bandage on her arm.
"Yeah?" the blonde looked up.
"Thanks for loving me."
"Heh, thanks a lot too. Even when I nag at you and you just had to fall asleep while I nag."
"I'm sorry for that," Santana deadpanned.
By then, Brittany had finished wrapping Santana's wound. She looked at her wife proudly and smiled.
"Good as new," Brittany was grinning from ear to ear as she took Santana's hand.
A minute of silence fell upon them as Santana stared at the golden wedding band around her long caramel finger.
"It glitters, a lot. Lately, right?" Brittany smiled, eyeing the Latina.
"Yeah," Santana smiled at herself, content of what she has now, but she dreaded another day at work. Tomorrow would be another grind. Santana gazed her view across the room and sighed.
"Britt," she called the blonde hesitantly.
"Yes? Why?"
"Suppose we move to Forks?"
"Washington? What do you mean, San?"
"What if we move to Forks? So we can start fresh. There are lesser crimes there and I can spend more time…with you…with us."
"I…I don't know," Brittany stammered.
"Well, I mean it. I mean, I want our relationship to work out. Live in a beach house or something, you know, have a bunch of kids to drive you crazy. I want us to be on a whole new level," Santana searched the blue crystals.
"I mean…I didn't know, that you'd go this far, for me…for us," tears started to lace on the blonde's eyes.
"Hey, I love you," Santana giggled. "And besides," the Latina pointed to the duffel bag sitting on the doorway and kissed Brittany's lips, continuing to nibble on her earlobe as she whispered.
"The duffel bag can come in a handy," Santana whispered making Brittany giggle.
"Aww, San…" Brittany pulled her close. "Wherever you want to go…I'm there. I'm stuck with you forever."
Santana chuckled. "And I'm yours forever."
She took Brittany's lips in hers and they made sweet love through the night, their wedding bands twinkling against the New York City lights. Santana dreamed about her life with Brittany. And Brittany dreamed of her life with Santana. They dreamed about their forever.