AN: One-shot surrounding the events of Shooting Star, so there are spoilers for 4x18
The single sound rang through the hallways, bouncing off of every whispered locker confession, every linoleum tile breakdown, and every sticky slushie leftover. It was punctuated by another, this one ricocheting and pinball bouncing between the stalls of the girl's bathroom, repeatedly slicing through Brittany's chest and cutting daggers into the muscles surrounding her furiously beating heart. She lifted her feet, trying desperately to keep her limbs from shaking as she perched, removing her legs from view. Her mind flashed, revealing bits and pieces of the last four years on a continuous loop, moments of unadulterated joy and moments of unhinged sadness.
The shot's echo continued assaulting her senses as brief glimpses of caramel skin and dark waves moved through her head. She saw glances of red and even against the bleached scent permeating the air, she could recall the heady scent of vanilla as clearly as she had the year before, when the leather and felt surrounding her body belonged to her girlfriend. A violent buzzing pierced the still air, and she slowly reached into the pocket of her Cheerios jacket, seeing a text from Sam, his worry evident even through the blue bubbled words. Tears welled against her eyelashes as she tapped at the screen furiously, pulling up a name she'd left untouched for weeks.
Are you at work?
She waited impatiently, tapping her feet against the toilet seat as she anticipated a reply, though she wasn't sure if she would receive one. When her phone buzzed again, the vibration was far longer than it should have been. A brilliantly smiling Santana flooded her background, and with shaking fingers, she slid her thumb to answer the call. Brittany hushed out a greeting, feeling as though her voice pierced the silence around her, though she knew her words were barely audible to the woman on the other end of the line.
"Why are you whispering?"
"I'm scared Santana," she replied, her voice tremulous and wavering. Goosebumps pimpled her legs and she rubbed the hand not furiously clutching her phone against her shins. She realized, as she had when talking to Becky, that the words were more truthful than she'd intended. She was scared of the shots fired; she was scared of being found and having wasted her last chances; she was scared of the uncertainty of her future, now looming so dangerously; she was scared of losing the greatest love she'd known because of timing and location; she was scared of settling.
"Why are you scared Britt?" The edge the brunette's tone had contained had disappeared immediately and her voice now drowned in sincerity and concern. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." She paused, taking in a shaking breath, pressing her palm against her heart; despite the thousands of miles between them, her chest ached at hearing the fear in her ex-girlfriend's words. "What's going on? Talk to me baby, please."
The slipped term of endearment washed over Brittany, soothing her frayed nerves and warming her limbs. Suddenly the happenings outside of her head held so much less importance, be them graduation or Sam or even the possibility of a crazed gunman. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked back further tears, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm still in love with you, you know." She heard the effect the single sentence had on Santana's own breathing. The silence stifled them both, keeping their respiration thin, if present at all.
The brunette flashed back as had Brittany, remembering one of the few moments she regretted in her lifetime. She could practically feel the cool plastic of the choir room chairs on her thighs, the tears dancing against her eyelashes, the notes her mouth produced, each of them falling over her lips, tongue, and teeth.
"Santana, your break is up; get back to the bar." The dancer's brow furrowed, confused as to what the mysterious voice in the background had meant, when she wasn't aware that her ex-girlfriend had acquired a job.
"Where are you working?"
The pang in Santana's chest returned tenfold as her eyes scanned the regular crowd before her. She noted her coworker's boots kicking against the bar top as they slung drinks into the waiting mouths of adulterous business men and long haul truck drivers. She flickered over the peanut shells coating the floor before filtering down to her obvious cleavage and the cut off shorts that barely covered her cheeks. "I never stopped loving you Britt," she whispered, avoiding the question entirely. "I have to go though. Please text me later to let me know you're all right."
The blonde nodded before vocalizing her agreement, hitting the end button and tucking her phone back into her pocket and ignoring the three texts her home-screen boasted from her boyfriend. She couldn't respond then and perhaps not even later, knowing he would be fighting tooth and nail to get to her while she professed her lingering feelings for their mutual ex-girlfriend. She heard the door open and froze before hearing her name called out, the tears spilling over once more when the Glee club director's name passed her own lips. Brittany wrapped her arms tightly around Mr. Schuester's waist, relishing in the familiarity of his warmth, as if he were a tangible connection to Santana.
She silently followed him back to the choir room once receiving the all-clear from the suited men in the hallways, feeling the breath knocked out of her upon crossing the entrance of the doorway. Sam pulled her tightly into his arms and she searched for the comfort she'd expected to feel upon falling into the embrace. She nuzzled into his chest, his words a dull murmur as she recalled Santana's sincerity in her confession. Once the turmoil had calmed down, she pulled her phone from her pocket, ignoring Sam's questioning glance in her direction.
I'm okay. I'm sorry I called. I shouldn't have bothered you at work.
She slipped it back into its place, feeling her boyfriend's arm wrap around her waist and trying to fight the ache in her chest at the knowledge that the limb holding her together wasn't smaller, warmer, and belonging to the woman commandeering her thoughts. Right before she walked out to join her classmates in song, she illuminated her screen once more, seeing Santana's name across her notification bar.
You're never a bother Britt-Britt. I'm glad you're okay, and I want you to know I meant everything I said. I will never stop loving you.
The group around her began singing, repeating a single phrase again and again, one that resonated far more with Brittany than she'd like to admit. She tilted her head to catch a glimpse of Sam's overgrown blonde hair, a mirror to her own, realizing that she needed to do just as the song instructed her. Say what you need to say. She was hoping that one day, sooner rather than later, she'd be able to do just that.