Disclaimer: I quite literally own nothing. Especially not Glee. Unfortunately.

Spoilers: Let's say up through "Rumours", episode nineteen of season two.

Summary: Brittany, through a series of events that only Brittany of all people could get herself into, is turned into a dog by a Miss Cleo-type cat-hater. She's taken in by Quinn, who—much to Britt's surprise—has her own emotional adventure of sorts. And since Brittany can now be a help in her friends' lives while not being held fully accountable, she might as well make the most of it.

Warnings: So far, rated T or PG-13/R for strong language. May be changed in later chapters due to added content.

Author's note (i): The idea was born from an anonymous patron of the Glee Fluff Meme on Livejournal, in which they suggested Brittany transforms into a dog and gets Faberry together while working out her own issues with Santana somehow. It's not usually what I like reading, but for some reason the idea just hit me and stuck and wouldn't leave. So, here's what happened.

EDIT (24/8/11): I'm reposting this chapter because I just recently got the best beta a gal could ask for, who lovingly revised this chapter recently. I hereby pledge my undying gratitude to Hannah (HMai here on FF). For real, I owe that woman my life.

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Thursday

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Lock all the doors with outside-access and every window each night. Set the alarm before you go to bed. Money's in the bottom-right drawer of my desk; this is for food and emergencies only (no HSN, honey!). Phone numbers of the hotel and of the park are written down and with the money, should you not be able to reach Daddy or me on our cellphones. No boys. No girls (other than Santana if you get scared). No parties. No alcohol. No drugs. No fire. No helium—

Brittany picks her head up from her mom's shoulder, over which she is reading "Britt's Home Alone Instructions" that is in the process of being painstakingly written right at this moment. "No helium?" She raises her eyebrow. "Really, Mom?"

"Your thirteenth birthday party, April of 2007," her mother states. "Case in point."

Brittany chuckles in remembrance. She unwraps her arms from around her mom's waist to cross them and takes a step back. "It wasn't that bad. You didn't end up taking me to the emergency room or anything."

The slightly shorter woman finishes the directions, ending with the flourish of a signature—Love you, sweetie. Mom—and hands them to her daughter. "You almost fainted and it took two hours for your voice to go back to normal. If it's on the list, it was bad."

She pats Brittany's cheek as she begins to stride past, calling out to her husband. "Warren, do you need help packing the car?"

Mr. Pierce emerges from the kitchen with the plane tickets and a travel cup full of coffee in one hand and Brittany's little sister's own palm in the other. "Nope, sweetums. I reckon I'm all finished."

Brittany pockets the instructions in the back of her shorts. She crouches and reaches her arms out to the seven-year-old across the foyer. "Ariel, are you gonna kiss me good bye, or what?" She barely has time to finish her sentence before the tiny girl hurls herself into her sister's arms, already crying.

"Whyyyyy c-can't you cooooome?" Ariel sobs, squeezing Brittany as hard as her skinny arms will let her.

"Oh, honey," Brittany coos, stroking down her sister's blonde curls. "My spring break ended Monday. I told you already that our schools are on different schedules. I need to stay here to keep up."

"But you didn't get to go to Disneyworld! Or even the beach or grandma's or anything!" Just thinking about the obvious injustice sends a new wave of tears through the girl. "It's not faaaaair!"

"Hey," Brittany pulls back to look Ariel in the eyes, "I had the best spring break ever rehearsing with my glee club. Don't feel bad, I loved every second. And you're going to love every second of Disneyworld. Now go find the cats and give each of them a hug good bye." Ariel nods and pulls away, trotting to the kitchen where Lord Tubbington is surely scouting for snacks. Brittany stands and hugs each of her parents.

"You're sure you'll be all right, button?" her father asks. "If not, just say the word and I'll stay behind to keep you company. You might get spooked or lonely, especially since you and Art—" A look from Brittany's mom silences him fairly quickly. He visibly considers his words before he restarts, "Well, what I mean to say is, Mom can handle Air-bear all on her own, I'm sure. I could stay here with you."

"No, Daddy, go to Florida. I'll be just fine, I promise." She smiles in a way that she hopes is reassuring. "I'm seventeen now! All grown up, practically. And San is just a call away if I need anyone."

"Thank goodness," Mrs. Pierce adds. "That girl's a godsend. Make sure you give her all my love whenever she comes over, okay?"

Brittany tries not to blush, but a grin creeps over her features regardless. "I will."

"Charity and Tubby want you to come with us," Ariel interrupts as she descends the staircase.

Brittany can only shake her head skeptically. "Of course they want me to go. They won't respect the house rules without me here." She reaches to Ariel for another hug, who gladly complies. "Now," she states in a business-like tone, "remember what I told you to tell Pluto when you meet him?"

Her little sister visibly racks her brain before saying, "'Don't let the mouse bring you down. If Goofy is a dog and he can stand and talk and vote, you can, too.'"

"Perfect. Now go."

There's a final flurry of "I love yous" and "take cares" and "have funs" before the three Pierces begin to exit. Right as the door is about to close, her mother turns back and says, "We'll be back Saturday. Our plane gets in around ten, so we should be home no later than eleven."

"Martha!" her father bellows from the family station wagon. "She'll be hunky dory! Let's go!"

Mrs. Pierce turns back to Brittany, blows a final kiss, and the door closes.

Brittany is completely alone.

So, being the teenager that she is, she squeals and dances around the front hall. Obviously.

When she finally gets ahold of herself, she pulls her phone from her shorts and examines the screen. It's four. That means Santana will be here in about an hour and a half. Meaning she's already late in getting ready.

Wait, she's late getting ready.

Crap!

She practically flies up the stairs in order to get to her room. Dropping her phone and the instructions on her bed on the way into the connected bathroom, Brittany scrambles to plug in her curling iron and pull out her make up bag from under the sink at the same time. Charity stares at her incredulously from the bathtub.

"Hey, don't judge," Brittany scolds as she brushes on extra foundation. She can't look oily in front of the entire web universe, after all. "You know you'd act the same way if Tubbs finally agreed to come out of the closet for you."

In response, the feline blinks her yellow eyes and looks away.

"Yeah, I thought so."

As Brittany is curling her hair, her mind begins to drift. Which is really not that uncommon, but it's not like she stares blankly ahead of her and thinks of nothing. Usually, she worries. About grades, about glee club and all the drama that comes with it, about her little sister. Mostly she worries about Santana. But she's not worrying now. Right now, all she can think of is yesterday during lunch, when Santana took her aside to the choir room and sang to her.

She muses that it's almost just too good to be true. Yeah, the week had started off awful. But she knows in all certainty that it's going to be for the best, her and Artie breaking up. She loves him, truly she does. But she's in love with Santana.

Her heart skips a beat at the silent admission. She's in love with Santana.

She's in love with Santana, her best friend who is in love with her right back! She's never been surer of anything in her entire, long, whole, seventeen-year life. Brittany could just die on the spot, she's so happy thinking about it.

But she won't. Not yet. Because her hair looks perfect and her make-up looks perfect and Santana will be here any minute.

Thinking of that, Brittany decides this might just be the perfect time to change into her pretty underwear. For the—well, the "after party" of sorts. The lacy, blue one, she thinks. Santana likes that specific combo because the bra unclasps at the front. Just as she's making her way to the dresser, though, Brittany throws a glance to the clock on her nightstand, and freezes.

It's five forty-five.

Fifteen minutes to when she wants to start filming.

Fifteen minutes after Santana was supposed to show up.

Her best friend is only fashionably late to parties. Never to sleepovers. Never to school. And certainly never to when Brittany's about to publicly declare her love for her.

Except maybe that last one's an exception.

Immediately, Brittany dives for her phone on the bed. She's thinking of what could possibly be holding the Latina up. An accident. Traffic jam. Forgetfulness. Her mind jumps from one conclusion to another.

She flips open her cell. One text message from Santana, received fifteen minutes after Brittany started getting ready. Brittany can't believe she didn't set her phone off of silent mode from when she was in school. Clicking to view the message, the blonde holds her breath.

I can't.

After taking a moment to catch her breath, Brittany calls her. Five rings. Then voicemail. She tries again.

Five rings. Voicemail.

Once more. Come on.

Straight to voicemail.

Damn it.

She types out a text message and sends it: What do you mean you can't? What happened?

When it's six-oh-eight and there's still no reply, Brittany throws her phone at the wall. It breaks into smithereens. Charity high-tails it out of the bathroom like the devil itself is chasing her.

Brittany takes her head in her hands and lets out a single sob. "Fuck," she mutters. The curse feels foreign on her tongue. But she likes the way it feels. "Fuck," she repeats. "Fuck. Shit. Avada kadavra. Fuck."

She instantly feels bad when she realizes it sounds like these are aimed at Santana. Brittany would never in her life swear at her, nor would she want to put a killing curse on her. But she also feels better after flinging them out to the world, as if punishing it for making Santana feel the way she does, and for subsequently making Brittany feel even worse.

To her left, her video camera is set up on its tripod. She hired Jacob Ben Israel to come over to pick up the tape and edit it before it's going to be posted. She already paid him.

Brittany sighs. The show must go on.

Crap.

"… Hey, Lord Tubbington…?"

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Fondue for two! Fondue for two! That's some hot dish. Fondue for two!

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At nine o'clock on the nose, Brittany posts the latest episode from her laptop. It's humiliating, to say the least.

Now in the comfort of her pajamas, she flops unceremoniously back on her pillows and lets out what feels like the billionth shaky sigh that evening. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lord Tubbington clawing his way onto the bed next to her, purring loudly as he approaches. Brittany flips her hair out of her face and reaches to grab him, placing him gently on her chest. His eyes begin to drift close as she scratches behind his ear.

"Thanks for filling in last-minute," she whispers, staring at him intensely. He opens his eyes again to meet her gaze before he closes them once more.

"No," Brittany sniffles as tears begin to fall. Again. "I'm not really mad at her. I'm just sad."

The cat's ear twitches.

"Yeah, it has been kind of a bad week." She moves her hand to his fat neck, where she itches below his collar for him. Or, at least she tries to. She can barely fit her index finger under there. "I think you need a new one of these, buddy. This one got pretty tight all of a sudden."

Lord Tubbington reopens in eyes.

"I didn't mean to change the subject. And to answer your question, no. I guess I don't need a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend." Brittany stops petting her cat for a moment to wipe her eyes. "I just… I don't know. I wanted her to be my girlfriend. I wanted it to be official that she could kiss me and only me. Because I just want to kiss her and only her. You know?"

His eyes close again. His low purr hitches.

"Tubby, you know I love talking to you. I can talk to you about things I can't talk to anyone else about. And what I don't tell you, you read from my diary. You know everything about me, but sometimes that's just not enough, you know?"

Steady purring.

Brittany sniffles again, blinking away the last of her tears. "Yeah, I forgive you for smoking. But me and Charity both wish you'd stop."

Lord Tubbington's tail curls itself around his fat, which is so splayed out that it covers Brittany's entire torso.

"I love you, too."

As she settles her head back and closes her own eyes, a meow arises from the bathroom.

"And you, too, Char."

Another meow.

"Yeah, yeah. Good night, you two."

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Author's note (ii): (Revised 24/8/11) Okay, chapter two will be finished within a day or two. It will be beta'd within a week after that. So let's call it two weeks to be safe. Thank you all for your patience, and stuff! And extra props to Hannah, again.