You're every love song

by AWoodGirl

Because every love song written is about you. / Series of Brittana oneshots inspired by songs. (Specific rating can be found inside the chapters.) / Expect canon, AU, futurefic, crackfic and everything else in between. Everything is fair game and Britana is always endgame.

1. By your side

Song: By Your Side, by Sade (the link for the video can be found on my profile)
Rating: K
Length: +20k

Notes: Canon up until 4X16, when I started writing this. Also, I know in canon Alma is supposed to be Santana's grandmother on her father's side, but it seemed more fitting for my story for her to be on Maribel's side of the family. More note after the story...

---

Santana doesn't want to go back to Lima.

At first, when her mom calls to let her know that her abuela has been admitted to a hospital, she pretends she doesn't care. Santana mumbles something about being busy and calling later when, in reality, she just got home and is getting ready for a date with her TiVo. She just doesn't have the energy to talk about abuela.

After telling the woman about Brittany and loving girls and being kicked out of her house, Santana never saw her again. Family functions turned into some sort of cat and mouse game - if you found one of them, you could be certain that you wouldn't find the other.

On the outside, Santana played it cool. She would tell her parents it was ok, that it was, really, abuela's loss. She wasn't - isn't - ashamed of herself. But, in spite of that, she's lost count of how many nights she cried herself to sleep in Brittany's arms, sobbing around words of unfairness.

So, when her mom calls her, she wants to not care. Like her abuela didn't seem to care about her happiness. She wants it to not hurt, to not matter. But she can't. She can't not care about the woman who practically raised her when she was a kid and her parents were working way too many hours.

The next morning, she calls home. It's her father who answers and he speaks about strokes and statistics and permanent damages, but Santana can't process that. She just can't picture the woman who would scream and laugh just as loudly on a hospital bed. Larger than life people shouldn't be allowed to be sick. It feels too much like a nightmare for it to be true.

When she's getting ready to hang up, claiming she needs to get ready for works, her dad says something that freezes the blood in her veins. "You should come home, mi hija. I'm not sure if she's gonna make it."

Santana's world becomes fuzzy after that. She knows she hung up and crashed back on her bed, but she can't remember doing any of that. Her dad's words are still echoing in her mind and she clutches a pillow to her chest, as if it could substitute the body of the one person who could understand her right now. When she would talk about missing her abuela to Quinn or Rachel or Kurt, they would all say something like 'she'll come to her senses' or 'you're better off without her'. But not Brittany. Because only Brittany knows about cooking lessons during the weekends and Spanish singing in the living room and going out, at Christmas Eve, to look for Santa, only to go back home to find a tree full of wrapped gifts.

Only Brittany knows what abuela means.

And only Brittany would understand the pain that is squeezing Santana's chest like a giant hand. She almost can't breathe. Stretching her hand, Santana finds the cell phone she'd thrown on the mattress and sends a text to her best friend. She keeps it simple, though. Blunt just like she feels. She can't do polite right now. She doesn't want to deal with her ex-girlfriend.

'Abuela's at the hospital. Stroke. Dad says it looks bad.'

Brittany's name flashes on the screen not even a minute later. Santana knows it shouldn't surprise her - Brittany has always been there when it mattered - but it does and she can't answer the call. Not without choking and sobbing and crying like she has done too many times. Santana just stares at the screen until it goes dark. And Brittany doesn't try again. She knows too much of Santana's ways for that. Instead, she just texts a short 'I'm sorry' and a 'I'll try to talk to you later'. It might seem cold and distant to the untrained eye, but it's just enough to let Santana know she's not alone.

It's her first summer in New York, but Santana wouldn't know the difference. The only thing that gets her out of the house is work and, at the bar, nobody knows what's happening. All they know is that Santana seems more subdued, working harder and talking less shit. It earns her a praise from her boss. It earns her better tips. It doesn't make smile.

Rachel and Kurt have gone back to Lima and Santana isn't sure if the empty apartment she finds at the end of every shift is either a blessing or a curse. She's definitely glad she doesn't have to endure their pitiful eyes and their soft voices and their questions about her feelings. But she knows that their constant singing and talking and bickering would be a grateful distraction. As it is, all she can do is think and remember and feel. It's almost too much.

Brittany keeps calling her once every night. Just once. Always at about the same time. Santana keeps not answering, she wouldn't know what to say, but the short texts she receives after the phone stops ringing help ease her breathing. For a few minutes, at least.

It's good to know you have someone. Even if they are far away. Even if you don't.

Her parents also call every day, or she calls them. But the conversations don't change all that much. Abuela's still at the hospital, she's still critical and, no, Santana can't fly home. She can't find someone to cover her shifts. And it's true, she didn't find anyone. Probably because she never asked.

Almost a week passes on this rhythm. Santana feels like a zombie and, when she looks in the mirror, she finds bags under her eyes and protruding bones she didn't even know she had. It makes her chuckle, thinking how her abuela would say she's too skinny and fix her a giant plate of the best food she'd ever tasted.

Santana misses abuela's food.

After the chuckles come the tears. Because she remembers that abuela wouldn't care if she were too skinny. She wouldn't feed her, she wouldn't hold her at arm's length to have a better look, she wouldn't sit at the table with Santana and tell stories about her mom when she was just a niña. She wouldn't care and all Santana wants is to not care, because caring hurts so much right now.

She's almost used to this routine six days after the first phone call when comes another to disturb her flimsy balance.

There's an insistent noise inside her head and, by the time she understands it's her ringtone, the call has been cut. There's a dread, cold and paralyzing, running in her veins as she stares at the now silent phone. Santana hopes it's one of the few friends she's made in the city drunk dialing. She wishes, even. But the churn in her gut tells her otherwise.

The phone goes off again and she reads her dad's name on the screen and she takes a deep breath before answering. She has a pretty good idea of what he's about to say so early in the morning.

"Good morning, mi hija. I'm sorry to wake you up, but..." The man trails off and Santana thinks he sounds tired, like he hasn't slept in days. And, if he's like that, she doesn't even want to imagine how her mother might be. "If you want to say goodbye to your abuela, venga ahora. I don't think she's gonna make it through another night."

She doesn't want to say goodbye. Not that she doesn't want to go back home and see abuela one last time; she doesn't want it to be the last time. Santana knows people are not immortal; her dad's a doctor, after all. But she's never lost anyone important in her life. Not really. Not like this. When she was born, both her abuelos were already gone and her other abuela passed before Santana's third birthday - the only memories she has are a few pictures and that's all.

"It's okay, dad. I'll call work and let you know when I book a flight."

"Thank you, Tana. I know you two had your differences, but it'll mean a lot to your mother."

"I know, dad. See you in a few hours."

"Oh, and don't worry about money, okay? Just get on the first available flight."

They hung up soon after that and Santana chances a look outside her window. The sun isn't fully up yet and there's a lilac shade to the sky that she likes. If she had to guess, she would say it's not even six in the morning, yet.

One hour later and Santana is nursing her first cup of coffee. Something tells her that she'll need a lot more of those.

La Guardia's terminal is busy and she loses herself to people watching. She tried reading the book she found in her purse, but she was too distracted. Santana would much rather make up stories about these people's lives and what they were going to or running from. It's easier to wonder about their journey than hers.

By the time her flight is called, Santana has fired three texts. The first to her dad, confirming her flight schedule. The second to Quinn, asking if she could pick her up from the airport. Santana knew the blonde was in Lima, which meant she had to know all about the situation. Better than Santana, probably. The perks of living on a small-as-fuck town. There is no such thing as privacy.

The third text is the most difficult to write, but, maybe, the most important. Everything Santana did so far, from the moment her dad woke her up, had been practical. She called a cab, she packed a few clothes, she talked to her boss, she bought a ticket, she managed for someone to pick her up on the other side. Everything...practical. She didn't stop to think about why she needed to do all that; what it all meant. She just needed a moment to acknowledge that, to let the feeling sink in before she gets to the hospital. So, she sent Brittany one text. 'Going to Lima. Abuela's got worse'. It doesn't say how she's feeling, but she knows Brittany will understand.

Only after sending the three texts and getting in line to board the plane, does Santana realize that she has no idea where Brittany is spending her summer. A first in more than a decade. Normally, the Pierce family would visit relatives out of state or go camping or something. Always together. Santana had even joined a trip or two. But, now, she has no idea where she might be. All she knows is that Brittany has graduated and been accepted to college - thank god for Facebook - but she won't have to start for weeks, now. For all Santana knows, Brittany could be doing nothing in Lima. Or she could be visiting Sam's family. The girl chose him, after all.

As soon as she buckles in her seatbelt, Santana decides to force those thoughts out of her head. She has enough on her plate already without thinking about Brittany traveling with Sam Evans. Sleeping would be a better use of the couple of hours she will spend folded in half on this plane.

Santana doesn't want to go back to Lima. But she does.

---

Quinn Fabray hates mornings.

Quinn Fabray hates driving long distances ever since she got hit by a truck.

Quinn Fabray loves Santana Lopez. And there's very little she wouldn't do for the girl. So, when she got Santana's text, Quinn got up, threw on some clothes and hit the road.

Santana smiles a little when the first thing she sees after collecting her bag is Quinn standing there, huge sunglasses on her face and two cups of coffee in her hands.

"Fabray!" Santana yells from afar and speed walks towards her friend and the extended coffee. They're equally important at that moment. "You know me too well, Q."

"Believe me, S. I'm well aware of the fact."

Both girls stare at each other for a few seconds before Quinn opens her arms. Santana hesitates for no more than a moment before falling into Quinn's embrace. When the other girl's arms hold her tight, Santana realizes how much she needs that; the closeness, the warmth, the silent support. She knows she can handle the load - she is still Santana Lopez, after all - but she feels lighter with Quinn helping hold her up.

The hug doesn't last long as it isn't really either of their style (Brittany had always been the hugger of their trinity) and Santana sighs when they start walking towards the parking lot. Looking at the people shuffling about, Santana has the distinct feeling she isn't in New York anymore.

"Look, S, I promise I'm only gonna ask you this once. How are you holding up?"

Santana looks to her right, but Quinn is staring straight ahead, behind her huge, dark lenses. Santana is grateful for that and Quinn probably knows it.

"I really don't know, Fabray. It's like, I don't wanna care, but I can't. It's...abuela, you know?" Quinn nods. She does know. She watched what losing her grandmother's love did to her friend. "Does that make me a bad person?"

There it is, the question that has plagued Santana's mind since her first shift after her mom had called her and she'd made zero effort at getting time off. Her voice is abnormally low when she says it, tamed, but Quinn hears her. She loops her arm around Santana's before answering. "No, S. Makes you human."

"Ugh! Just great!"

They walk like that, arm in arm and in comfortable silence all the way to Quinn's car. Santana feels grateful for their friendship. From their wars for cheer leading power to that hot, although misguided, hook-up during Shue's non-wedding, it seems like they have a recipe for disaster. But they get each other and they have each other's backs. No matter what. Which is why Quinn shouldn't be surprised when she hears Santana's voice.

"Gimme the keys. I'll drive back."

There is something about the soft smile on Santana's face that makes Quinn want to give in on the spot. She really isn't looking forward to the drive back, but she will never admit to it. Not Quinn Fabray. "And why would I do that?" she asks with an edge tainting her words.

"Come on, Q. I made you drive all the way up here; it's only fair I make the drive back."

"Since when do you do fair, Santana?"

"Consider it a special treat, Fabray. Besides, I really need to do some thinking and you know I do it better behind the wheel."

"Fine. Just...don't speed, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Quinn is thinking about the accident. Santana is thinking about the accident. Neither of them mentions a thing.

When Santana take a turn and merge into the highway, it is Quinn's turn to feel grateful. Sometimes, she really loves Santana Lopez.

Being the daughter of a respected and busy surgeon means Santana spent more time inside hospitals than your average kid. She remembers how her mom would pack up food on weekends just so they could do a family lunch on the hospital's cafeteria. She used to love the attention she got from all those important doctors in their white coats; she loved walking down the hallways with her dad's stethoscope around her neck. She loved everything about those days. There was only one thing she didn't like about those visits.

The smell.

There was just something about a hospital's scent that made Santana's stomach woozy. It felt like badly masked desperation entrenched on the walls. It was sterile and acidic and distant. It was enough to make her not consider following in her father's footsteps. She knew she couldn't bear smelling that every single day.

So, when the doors to Lima Memorial open, Santana can almost feel her insides playing merry-go-round in her body. She tries breathing through her nose, but that only makes whatever horrible smell lingering in the air stuck to her tongue. Now, she can't breathe or swallow. Just great.

Foregoing the nurse's station, the girl heads straight to the elevators. She knows the building just as well as she knows her own home and her dad already told her where she can find them.

The high pitched bell sounds when the metal car reaches the fourth floor. Santana exits and take a left. She walks slowly, dreading what she'd find when she reaches her destination. With every step, her knees feel weaker and it's like her feet have turned to lead. All the while, Santana clenches and unclenches her fist; not as much trying to dissipate the tension, but as a need of something to hold on to.

No, not something. Someone. Someone else's hand.

After Quinn's face, the first thing that really welcomes Santana home is her father's voice, booming over the hallway and putting a lump on her throat. It all feels too real, now.

Until she gets here, Santana could almost pretend that all this was nothing more than a novel she'd been reading or one of those boring and innocuous Lima gossip her mother would tell her from time to time. But she can't anymore. Not when she has just turned a corner and found her father clutching a cell phone to his ear, pacing the floor. No, she can't pretend anymore. This isn't a fictional character; this isn't someone else's grandmother. This is...this is abuela. And she is dying.

The realization hits Santana hard and she gasps for air before reaching her father. Her steps are tentative, as if she could somehow delay what seems to loom over her, inevitable. When Santana is still a good ten feet away, Antonio Lopez looks up and their eyes lock. Santana thinks he seems just as tired as he sounded. Older, too. For him, Santana looks like a kid again, tiny and overwhelmed like on the day she came to him to confess it had been her to break her mom's favorite vase. She was wringing her fingers in front of her just like now and she had these big, wide eyes that looked at him as if he had the power to make it all better.

He just wishes he had.

"Mi hija", Antonio says while opening his arms. Santana speeds her steps and falls right into the hug she had no idea she needed. Just like with Quinn, Santana feels lighter with someone else holding her up. The fact that other people can share her load is still a foreign concept to the girl that used to lock everything away. But unlike with Quinn, Santana doesn't step away from her dad seconds later. As soon as his big arms encircle her, it's like the dam Santana had been holding together for a week brakes down and her emotions are simply overflowing.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay."

Santana cacn feel hands smoothing her hair. She can feel them run the length of her back. She can feel the damp spot on his shirt where she has pressed her face. She can feel the kisses he lays on the top of her head and the way he inhales deeply. She can feel his broad chest expanding with every breath, helping her find back her own rhythm. She can feel all that and she can feel a sense of calm taking her. It is the same steadiness she felt when she'd tried to convince Brittany into accepting help to graduate. As if remaining calm and collected would help her solve problems that aren't hers to solve.

After what feels like hours, Santana steps back and out of her father's arms. She wipes her cheeks, glad she didn't bother with make-up that morning, and slides a hand through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts, come up with her next words, find her voice. That when all her body seems to want to do is turn on its heels and run the hell away from that place.

But she can't do that. Santana came back for a reason and she will try to see it through. "How's..." She swallows the cotton balls stuck in her throat. "How is she?"

"Unconscious. She slipped into a coma last night."

"Why did you ask me to come, then? If she's not even awake." Santana's voice trembles, emotion heavy, and she hates that. She hates how much she can still be affected.

"I know things were bad between you two, mi hija. But that's why I called. So you could say goodbye."

"Where's mamí?" She asks, ignoring her father's answer.

"She's in there, with her. You can go inside, if you want."

"No. Not yet. I think I'm gonna hit the cafeteria. Haven't eaten anything, yet. Just tell her I'm here."

The cafeteria's pretty empty at this time. Lunch hour is almost over when Santana takes the furthest table from the door. She slouches on the chair, nursing a lukewarm coffee in her hands, her feet up on the chair in front of her. She's staring at the phone on the table in front of her, silent, mocking her and her incapacity to make the one phone call she wants. The one phone call she needs.

For one week, Brittany's been calling her once every night, like clockwork. And, for one week, Santana's been ignoring those calls, taking comfort on that twisted kind of connection. But it's not enough, anymore. She needs words, she needs thoughts, but she knows she can't handle voice. It would be too much. So, she settles for letters on a screen.

'Abuela's in a coma. Don't know what to do.'

It's the one person she will admit to it, the one person she will tear her walls down for. And the answer comes not a minute later.

'I'm so sorry, S. Anything I can do?'

There's a sigh on the cafeteria as Santana thinks over every answer in her head. You could hold me. You could take my hand. You could be here. But she knows it's her own fault that she can't say those things and she settles for a 'You could tell me what to do'.

'You know I can't do that.'

Santana can almost see the frown marring Brittany's brow and the way her head is slightly dropped to the side and the softness in her blue eyes. It's almost enough this time.

'Yeah, I know. Still wish you could.'

'Me too. But, what do you wanna do?'

'Dad wants me to see her. Say goodbye or some shit.'

'Not what I asked.'

Another sigh echoes and Santana is grateful that there are only a couple more occupied tables. She thinks about the question and about every thought that's run through her mind, every conflicting wish she has.

'I have no idea.'

Santana closes her eyes when her finger touches the screen to press send. It's not that she doesn't want to see Brittany's response, it's just that there's a sense of helplessness weighting her body down, deflating her like an old balloon. Brittany asked the million dollar question, the one she's been asking herself in a loop since New York, the one she can't seem to answer. She has no idea what she wants to do, no idea what she needs to do for herself. On the one hand, she wants to say goodbye, she wants closure, she wants to say the things she's been swallowing down for so long. But, on the other hand, she knows that, if abuela was conscious, she would not allow Santana to enter that room and see her.

And that's the thing that hurts the most, to remember that things haven't magically changed. Everything's still the same.

When Santana is getting lost in her own thoughts, there's a chime that gets her attention. She looks down and Brittany's words put a small, sad smile on her face. 'Remember that this is about you, S. Not her.'

It still amazes Santana, Brittany's ability to always say right thing to her. Genius.

'I'll keep that in mind, B. Thanks.'

'Not a problem. And let me know what's going on, ok?'

Santana is not sure for how long she's been sitting in that cafeteria. It almost feels like she's entered some sort of alternate reality and time just stands still. As long as she doesn't move too many muscles, the hands on the clock won't keep moving. It's childish and naïve and she knows it, but it makes so much sense when she doesn't want to make a decision, when she doesn't want to know what happens next.

Maybe she can just hide here forever.

But, of course, she can't. And when Santana looks up from her empty coffee cup, she sees her dad entering the cafeteria. His feet drag on the floor a little more than she's used to seeing and his shoulders seem curved and weighted down, but his presence still demands attention.

"You've been here for almost two hours, mi hija. Your mother wants to see you." His voice is soft and it almost doesn't suit his body, but it has always matched his eyes. Santana only nods, staring at the table, fully aware that time has fast forwarded to the present. She misses the way he scans the space in front of her. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

"No."

It's not even a whisper. It's not even a breath. It's very close to nothing.

Antonio hears, though. He says nothing, just turns and marches up to the counter. Moments later, Santana sees a sandwich and a bottle of juice sliding her way. She looks up only to find her father on the chair in front of her.

"Eat. Then we'll go see your mother."

She nods. She doesn't think she can do much more in his presence, anyway.

The bread and the cheese taste like cardboard or foam or cotton in her mouth and she uses the juice to wash it down. Santana's not even aware of its flavor, but she knows the man eyeing her and she knows she won't leave this table until she finishes it all. And, okay, she thought about staying in there forever, but, now, it feels like the walls are closing in on her. Maybe it's her dad's presence. Maybe it's the memory of what awaits her one floor down. Maybe are her thoughts, scattered and running free.

The last piece of styrofoam sandwich is in her mouth, now and she rolls up the plastic wrapper, just to have something to do with her hands. She chews slowly, deliberately, dragging the moment when she looks up and has to move. Everything inside of her is dreading that moment. After gulping down the last of the yellowish liquid, Santana inserts the plastic cylinder she made in the bottle. It's nothing, really, but it feels like an important task.

Antonio gets up wordlessly and Santana knows it's time. She gathers her litter and throws it away before following her dad's footsteps down the stairs. He's a few feet ahead and Santana keeps her eyes focused on the back of his head and the patch of skin showing where his hair, black and thick like hers, used to be. Maybe time isn't standing still, after all. Maybe it's going by too fast for her to notice.

Maribel Lopez is a small woman - and that is by Santana's standards. But she has never seemed so little as she does when her daughter finally sees her. She has baggy clothes on, her long hair is simply tied up in a bun and she has dark circles under her eyes. The woman who always seemed to be larger than life looks just...broken.

The lump finds its way back to Santana's throat. Nothing could have prepared her for that sight, not even all the time in the world. That's the woman who has always held her up, held her together. That's the woman whose first words to Santana after she came out were 'So, when do we get to be officially introduced to Brittany as your girlfriend?' That's the woman who gave her a check for her to go to New York, follow her dreams and just be happy. That's the same woman and she looks like she's breaking at the seams.

"Mamí." Santana says with the little voice she can muster, when they're a few feet away. A sad smile appears on both of their faces the moment their eyes lock. Maribel closes the gap between them and takes Santana in her arms.

It's the third time Santana's embraced like that that day and this set of arms makes her feel like a child again, vulnerable and protected at the same time. Except, this time she seems to be doing as much for her mom as her mom is doing for her. She can feel her mother's body sagging against hers, heavy and limp. And with the way she presses her face against Santana's neck, the girl can even tell that the woman has her eyes closed shut.

Time stands still in that hallway. Santana is glad for the interlude, for that moment when she can just bury her face on her mother's neck, inhale her scent and build herself up. She's an adult, now. She's supposed to know how to do that by herself. She thinks she doesn't.

There's a slight tremble to her mother's body, as if it's strained to the max, as if it's boiling up inside with something Santana can't name. "Cómo estás, nena?" The tremble finds its way to her voice and it makes Santana wince, listening to it so close to her ear.

"I'm okay, mamí." Santana sniffles unshed tears and steps out of her mother's arms. "How are you?" she asks with a sadder smile.

"I'm..." Maribel looks down, almost looking for the right answer on the worn out floor beneath them. "I'll be alright", she finally says and Santana takes notice of the future tense, the new lines surrounding her dark eyes, the paleness of her cheeks. Somehow, that pains her more than the reason of her visit.

Most people know the tough Santana, the sharp tongue, the fast mind, the hard front she puts up. What most people don't know is the sweet girl behind the act, the caring daughter, the concerned friend. When she's comfortable, when she feels safe, Santana is the kind of girl who laughs and dances as she helps her mom in the kitchen, who would have the biggest dimpled smile when her dad got home and kissed the top of her head, who could spend hours listening to old stories about other times from her abuela. That's just who she is and that's why her heart breaks a little every minute she stares at her mother's face.

"I'm really glad you're here", Maribel eventually says when they take a sit. "I'm sure your abuela would be, too."

The words sting. They sting so damn much that Santana actually flinches. "Let's not kid ourselves here, mamí." Santana's voice is hard. It's the only way not to crumble under the memories. "We both know abuela would never let me into that room if she was conscious. Hell, I think she wouldn't let me inside this hospital, if it were possible."

"It's not like this, Tana."

"Yes, it is, mamí. You know that." There's a new softness to Santana's voice. It almost sounds like she's explaining a hard fact to a child. "She practically said I was as good as dead, to her. I don't think she changed her mind."

"But..."

"Look, I didn't come back for her, mom. I came for you. To be here for you, okay?"

Maribel nods and leans her head on her daughter's shoulder. It's silent around them and Santana thinks that maybe people are right when they say there comes a time when the parents become their children's children. That's certainly what it feels like, sitting there, staring at the white wall, her mother's silent sniffles by her side, an arm around her shoulders. Maybe that's what growing up tastes like - and Santana's not entirely sure she likes it.

"I have to go back in, Tana", Maribel says after what felt like ages. Santana has completely lost track of time. "Do you want to come with me?"

That's the question Santana was hoping her mother would not ask. Does she want to? Does she want to see her abuela one more time, one last time? Does she want to impose her presence on someone who wouldn't want to see her? Does she have anything left to say? Does she want to say them? Does she want to do any of those things?

Santana's mind is blank as she watches her mom get up from her chair and look at her expectantly. Maybe, Santana wonders, it's her that needs me to be there. It's a plausible thought, but Santana is not entirely sure if that would be fair to her or not. Her mental confusion is starting to translate into a churning feeling in the pit of her stomach. She opens her mouth, drawing in a breath and wondering where the nearest bathroom is, when an unthought-of, unplanned word escapes her lips.

"Sure."

She's trapped. She's trapped in her mother's eyes, she's trapped in her own blurted answer, she's trapped in a world of expectations. But, Santana just said she came back for her mother and, maybe, this is Maribel's way of asking not to go back there alone. Maybe this is her way of asking for Santana's support and it's on this thought that Santana hangs onto as she splays a strained smile on her face and gets up.

Both sets of brown eyes are trained on the greenish floor and Santana remembers that movie with Tom Hanks and that gigantic guy about the death row. How fitting, she thinks. That's exactly how she feels, as if walking the last steps she'll ever make. They make a turn, the door to abuela's room comes into view and Santana's breathing quickens. She can feel the lead in her shoes become heavier and beads of sweat on her hair line and down her back. There's a panicky feeling growing inside of her.

It's too much.

It's too close.

It's too soon.

Maribel seems oblivious to her daughter's distress and reaches for the door, but Santana froze three feet away from her. She wants to move, she's yelling at her body to do something, but it seems to have forgotten even its most basic skills. She's staring at her glued-to-the-floor feet, willing them to take at least one step, when she hears her mother's voice.

"Are you coming, nena?"

There's a gasp. There's a thump in her chest. There's a burning sensation behind her eyes.

The door is open, now. Maribel stands in the way, but Santana can't really see her. Her eyes are glued to the bed behind her mother's figure, the legs covered by a white sheet, the machines by the window. Santana can't see more than her abuela's feet and it's enough to constrict her throat. And her thoughts. It feels like an intrusion to be there, to see her that way. Abuela has always been endless, infinite in Santana's eyes and she doesn't know how to reconcile those notions with the image before her.

Santana's feet have ideas of their own and she takes one step forward, that thread that has always connected her to the older woman tugging at her limbs, revealing more of the frail body inside. On her second step, Santana manages to see the monitor that's counting her abuela's heartbeat. Third step and she sees tubes and wires and a chest slowly moving up and down. And she thinks about all the times that movement had lulled her to sleep when she was little and scared. For so long, that felt like the safest, warmest place on Earth. Now, it isn't even hers anymore.

The moment her foot leaves the floor to take the last step, the one that would allow her to see her abuela's face again after so long, Santana's head jerk back and she finds her mother's gaze on her. Santana has wide eyes, an open mouth and ragged breathing. She looks like she's just been tricked into entering a lion's cage and the door has been shut behind her. Her nostrils are flaring with the force of the air she is pushing in and panic settles again. She can't do that. She can't. She can't... She is furiously shaking her head as she takes a step back.

"I'm...I-I..." she stutters. "I can't, mamí. I can't."

The walls are nothing but a blur as Santana takes off. Her steps screech and squeak and echo against the floor and she has no idea where they are taking her. All she knows is that she needs to get far from that room. She needs to breathe.

Santana runs, as fast as she can. She runs until her lungs are burning and her legs are quivering and there is a piercing pain on the side of her body. She has her torso bended, hands against her thighs, trying to force some air in and wondering where her cheerleader stamina is when she looks up and meet the heavy door that leads outside. Unknowingly, she took the fire escape and ran four stories down. She didn't notice a single step.

Outside, the sun is still high and there is an orange color tinting the city beneath it. Everything around Santana screams of summer and heat while she just feels bare and cold inside. She feels guilty for bailing on her mom, for not being able to do what she came back for - in spite of the lie she told -, for running. She just feels weak and when the tears she had been fighting against since she saw that hospital bed begin to fall, Santana lets loose. She doesn't have any fight left in her.

There is a brick wall behind Santana and when she feels the rough suffice against her back, she lets it take over the job of holding her up. She can't hold herself together anymore and sobbing sounds float around the almost empty parking lot to her left.

Santana feels powerless, lost. Almost like she is drowning, even though she learned how to swim at age five. She wants to get as far away from that place as possible, but all she can manage to do is slide down the wall, pull her knees up to her chest and hide her face in the space created. Her arms are wound tight around her legs, as if she needs to physically hold herself as to not let herself drift, weightless, through thin air.

"Santana?" Confusion laces the voice Santana hears after who knows how long of silence. She feels her body try to curl up into an even smaller ball, but her mind almost recognizes the soft tone that is calling out to her and she looks up.

Gentle, watery blue eyes are looking down on her. Concern marr a soft brow and Santana musters a small, sad smile. Those are not the blue eyes or the concerned face she wants to see right now, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing.

"Hey, Marley." Santana leans her cheek and notices as the other girl sits beside her. Marley's eyes are trained on her face and she knows the girl can tell she's been crying, but she can't read any sign of pity on that blue. "What are you doing here?"

"Just got out from my monthly appointment with the doctor you referred me to", she answers with a small voice, a shadow of a smile on her face. "You were right. Dr. Stiles is great."

"Told you so!" Marley chuckles at the faint cockiness on Santana's voice. "I'm glad to know you're sticking with him."

"Like my mom would let me walk away from him. Especially after you got him to see me for free, you know?"

"Just doing my job. I was your mentor after all, right?"

"Yeah, you are."

Silence falls upon them, but they do nothing to break it. They are content to sit, side by side, watching the sky change colors. Santana is still hugging herself, but she doesn't feel like she has to do that to keep herself whole anymore. She is just drawing comfort from wherever she can. So, when she leans her head on Marley's shoulder and feels an arm around her body, she lets out a sigh.

Eventually, it is Marley who speaks first. "What are you doing here, Santana?"

It takes her a few seconds to elaborate an answer. She'd just assumed everybody knew about her grandmother, but school was out and Marley's family didn't exactly rub shoulders with the Lopez's.

"My...my abuela. She had a stroke about a week ago."

"Oh, my god, San. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Is she gonna be okay?"

"I don't think so", Santana breaths and swallows down the tears. "Dad says she probably won't make it through the night, so..."

Marley tightens her hold on Santana's shoulders. Silent tears are streaming down a dryed out path and she is glad that the other girl isn't trying to stop or dry them. She kind of needs to cry right now.

"My grandpa passed away three years ago. Cancer. He was in the hospital for almost a month, but I never visited him."

Santana looks up at Marley, but she is staring ahead, lost in memories. "Why?" Her voice is hoarse with tears.

"Not how I wanted to remember him. And not how he wanted me to remember him, so he asked my mom to not let me in. He was my favorite person, you know?"

"Yeah... I know." And she does know. She knows what it is like to have a favorite relative and she knows what it was like to lose them. Only difference is, she is losing them for the second time.

"Are you two close?"

It is Santana's turn to look ahead as she answers. "We used to be."

"What happened?"

"I'm gay. And, apparently, I'm a shame."

Memories of the last conversation with her grandmother flood Santana's mind. That night, the last one in the apartment she also called home, is still vivid in her memory. As are the words she heard that day and the look of disgust on the old woman's face and the way she turned her back, walked away and left Santana alone.

Along with the images, Santana feels her body trembling against Marley's frame. She cries for what she lost that day, for what her future can never now hold. And when she feels Marley gather her up in her arms, curling around her body as if she could physically protect her, Santana lets the sobs take over her body once again.

Marley doesn't know what to think when the strong girl hides her face in her neck and brakes down. She doesn't know Santana all that much - apart from that week of mentoring, some long conversations about body image and what she'd heard in the choir room -, but she has always pictured the girl in her arms as the ultimate badass. What she knows was that behind all the attitude, Santana has the biggest of hearts. After all, she helped Marley when she had no obligations. And Marley feels in debt with her. That's why she decides to stay with her as long as she is needed.

Santana lets Marley rock her to calmness. And when she feels like she can breathe without choking again, she looks up and finds soft, blue eyes. Tears still cloud her vision, but she notices how late it is. "Sorry", she croaks.

"For what, San?"

"For crying like a mad woman." They both chuckle and Santana's eyes soften. "And for keeping you here this long. It's really getting late."

"It's all right, Santana. I had nowhere else to be." It doesn't go unnoticed to Santana how the other girl doesn't mention her crying. "Do you need a ride?"

"Wait. You're driving?"

"Yeah. It's my mom's car. She lets me borrow it when I have to come here. It's really old, but it gets around."

"You know what? I would love to go home, right now."

Marley smiles, nods and gets up. She dusts herself off and stretches a hand out. "Let's go, then."

There always comes a time when a child has to take their parents down from their pedestal, when they realize that they are not super humans, they're not flawless, they don't have all the answers, they too make mistakes and fall to their knees. It's a strange moment when one understands that a parent is nothing but a human being.

For Santana and her father, it happened on the night she came out. After saying the two little words she had been battling against for so long, she broke down crying. If felt like a huge chunk of weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she just couldn't hold back the tears. But, then, she heard foreign sniffling, only to look up and see her dad crying for the first time in her life. She wanted to ask why, but her voice was gone. He just got up, sat beside her and gathered her up in his arms. They cried together for a while, until Santana could make out the words he was pressing to her hair. He was repeating 'sorry' over and over again.

A freezing kind of fear took over Santana's mind. What was him sorry for? The ad? Her homosexuality? Did he think he hadn't been a good enough father? Was he preparing to throw her out?

"Why?" she asked, afraid to look into his eyes.

"That this happened to you." Santana tried to protest, but he shushed her. "I mean the ad and the mean words and being forced into doing something you weren't ready for."

"Dad..."

"You'll always be my baby girl, Tana. No matter what. And I think I just realized that I won't always be able to protect you. But I trust you and I'm so proud of the woman you became."

It quickly became Santana's favorite memory with her dad.

With her mom, the humanization happens that night.

Santana's been at home for a couple of hours. She's sitting on the couch, watching nothing on TV, when she hears a car parking on her driveway. She doesn't think much of that, since it's probably just her dad coming back for the night or her mom, to shower and change clothes before going back. But, when she hears two sets of footsteps, Santana knows something is not right.

At first, she thinks they came to talk to her, try and convince her to go back the next day and see her abuela. Santana already lines up a few excuses as she looks up to meet two sets of eyes. Her chest closes in on her lungs when she registers her mother's face. She looks defeated and there's a vacancy behind her eyes that Santana can't dimension.

"Mamí?" she asks, even though she doesn't want to hear any kind of answer. She already knows what happened. Maribel shakes her head in silence and Santana's not sure how her heart manages to keep beating with the way her chest caves in.

Mother and daughter stare at each other for a few more seconds, getting used to this new world they have been presented with. The air feels stale and heavy around them, as if there's too much dust floating around. Maybe there's too much unsaid.

Santana tries to get up to hug her mother, but, when she understands what's happening, Maribel is already in front of her, knees giving in and face buried in her daughter's legs. The girl folds her body over her mother's, a cheek pressed to the curve of a spine, and holds her, as best as she can.

Not a word is said - they don't even seem to exist. Santana can only feel her mother shaking against her, gasping for air, hurting in a way Santana can't quite comprehend. Because, she may have just lost her abuela and it hurts. But, in a way, she had already lost her all those months ago. Santana's already mourned over that death and all she's left with is a hollow pain that throbs with her heart's rhythm.

Her mom, though. Her mom lost her own mom. And as Santana looks down at the mass of hair on her lap, she doesn't know what she would do in that position. Burdened with thoughts and guilt and memories, Santana leans back on the couch and tangles her fingers on dark locks. Slowly, as if she was handling a newborn, she combs out the kinks and knots the day made. Her mother's breathing is calmer, now, and Santana thinks she's gathering her strength to do what's necessary, to be herself again. So, Santana lets her be, lets her take her time, lets her live for a while on this reversed role.

"Bel?" Santana hears her father call from where he had been left standing. Maribel just turns her face to look at him. "Why don't you go back to bed?"

"No. I need to -"

"I'll make all the calls. It's okay. You should rest."

"I don't think I can."

"I can help you with that."

The woman nods a little. It tugs at Santana's heart, seeing her mother so small, but she knows there's very little she can do. Maribel gets up and kisses her daughter's forehead. She doesn't say anything. She lets her eyes and the way her hand clutch Santana's speak for her.

"Go on, mamí. I'll help papí with everything."

There's a grimace on Maribel's face that Santana is sure is supposed to be a smile. She gives a small one back. Just enough to get her mother to accept her husband's offered hand and go upstairs.

They leave and Santana is left alone with her thoughts. She's not sure how she's supposed to feel. Now that it is real, it's hard to follow a promise she made staring at her puffy eyes on the mirror. She was at Brittany's; it was the night she came out to her abuela and she'd just been woken up by a nightmare. While Brittany lay asleep, Santana vowed to never let her abuela get to her again.

Another broken promise.

Before she can get too lost inside her own mind, Antonio gets back. He has the family's old address book and a couple of phones in one hand. On the other, he carries two glasses. He puts everything on the coffee table and stalks toward the cupboard, bringing a wine bottle with him.

"I think we're gonna need this", he says after pouring the red liquid for both of them.

"Yeah. Probably."

It's already a little late to be calling other people's houses, but this is the kind of news that should be given as soon as possible. It shouldn't be allowed time to simmer down.

Santana lets her father make the first call, taking notice of the information he gives about the service that will be held and the words he chooses. It feels strange being a part of this, like she had been given a glimpse of the grown-up world she doesn't belong to yet. After Antonio hangs up, Santana takes a big gulp from her wine and dials the next number.

She paces the floor all the way through the calls. Antonio barely moves.

It's way past midnight when Santana and Antonio finally make their way to the last numbers. They stay sited on opposite couches for a moment, enjoying the new found silence, eyeing the items strewn around the table between them. The wine bottle is empty and there's an ashtray full of the remnants of the couple of cigars he smoke about halfway through. The smell of alcohol and smoke is thick in the room and Santana blames that for the sting behind her eyelids. Even if she has dealt with worse at work.

"We should head to bed, too. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."

"Yeah. I'll go in a bit. Goodnight, dad."

"Goodnight, sweetie."

Santana is left alone in the room, like she had been hours before. Except, nothing feels the same anymore. The world seems to have gone out of its axis. Because, even with their falling out, abuela had always been a driving force in her life. At first, she had been an instigator, a pusher. Then, Santana just wanted to make her proud. In the end, the girl felt like she needed to prove something, exceed expectations. And now...

Before she drives herself mad with all this thinking, Santana decides to take on her father's advice and go to sleep. Based on the number of people they had called, the house will be buzzing come morning and she knows she'll have her duties, she'll need to play host.

Her room hasn't changed since she left home. The same dark walls, the same posters scattered around, the same comforter on the bed. Entering the place feels like submerging in a hot bath. Finally she can let her muscles loose, close her eyes and breathe. Seems more than she has done all day.

Exhaustion and wine come together to make heavy eyelids and an even heavier body. Santana discards her clothes on a pile on the corner and crawls on top of the purple comforter. She doesn't even bother with sleeping clothes; she just buries her head, face down, on the pillows. All she wants is sleep and it's grabbing her quickly. She's almost there.

But there's something churning in her stomach, demanding her attention, keeping slumber close enough so she can taste it, but far enough so she won't rest. It's infuriating and maddening and Santana is almost leaving her room to raid the alcohol cabinet for something stronger than wine when she turns her head and her eyes land on the phone she placed on her nightstand. Without a thought, she grabs it and sends one text. Just one. Two little words and the flames inside of her fizzle and die.

And, when it signalizes that the message has been sent, she doesn't wait for a reply. She simply closes her eyes and falls asleep.

Antonio wasn't exaggerating when he said they would have a busy day. Most of Maribel's family isn't from Lima and there are more people coming to the house every hour. Most of them still have dazed, confused faces and dark circles under their eyes, almost as if they haven't slept since answering the call from the previous night.

Santana wakes up a little after eleven, but it feels like she haven't slept at all. She has a slight headache and her body is sore like it used to be when she was a part of Sue Sylvester's squad. But she needs to power through that for her mamí. The noise from downstairs echo throughout the house as she chooses a black dress and makes herself presentable.

With one last deep breath, Santana opens her door and falls into the beehive that is her home.

She isn't sure why people got there so early if the service won't be until tomorrow. It only leaves them more time to gossip about the people who are not in the room and brag about their lives, she thinks. And all Santana wants to do is scream at them. Scream that her abuela is dead and that that is no damn circus. Scream that she never got to say goodbye and that that isn't fucking fair.

Santana doesn't scream, though. She just plasters a fake half smile on her face and starts walking around, having her cheeks pinched and listening to how tall she got - even though she hasn't grown a single inch since she was fourteen.

Maribel is sited at the armchair in the living room, silent and regal. From afar, Santana observes when new visitors come to talk to her mother. The woman barely notices them, her gaze steady on the wall in front of her. She doesn't even try to return the embrace she's been given and Santana feels like every ounce of life got sucked out of her body. Only when her daughter comes into view, deliberately slow, does the woman show any kind of recognition sign. Santana gives her a one-armed-hug and kisses on the top of the head.

"How are you doing, mamí?" Santana asks sitting on the armrest. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm okay, nena. Gracias."

Things get a little better for Santana when Quinn, Rachel and Kurt arrive together. They don't ask her a single thing - not even Rachel. They simply hold her, one at a time, and sit around a patio table away from all the commotion.

One of the greatest things about good friends is that they normally know what you need before you do so yourself. They don't need to ask or question, they just know. And that's why Santana finds herself talking about college and work and Glee and Lima losers and anything, really, they can think of. There's never a dull moment, the subjects tying together seamlessly. There's never a moment where she can think about what's happening on the other side of the glass doors behind her. And why.

But no good thing can last forever and, sooner than she would've liked, Santana can hear her father's voice from the door. "Tana? Your aunt would like to see you."

"I'll be right there," she answers between sighs. Her voice is subdued, lacking all signs of the snark that made her famous and feared a few years back. Honestly, she just doesn't have the energy today. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Santana turns back to her friends. "Guess I have to fulfill my duties. I'll be right back, though. Does anybody want anything from the kitchen while I'm inside?"

All three shake their heads and Santana slips in through the door her father left open.

Talking to her aunt isn't the worst thing Santana could be doing today. In fact, it might be one of the only good thing to come out of all this. Rosario is Maribel's little sister and Santana's favorite aunt. She lives in Boston and when she heard about her niece's homosexuality, she was so thrilled she was five minutes short from throwing her a 'coming out' party. Actually, she thought about the possibility, but Santana killed it at its roots, both appalled by the idea alone and touched by the implied support. After losing her abuela, it felt good to know she hadn't lost her entire family.

When Rosario found out about her mother's reaction, she became Santana's most ferocious advocate. Maribel had always been a pacifist and Rosario didn't know how to back down from a fight. She would always find a way to say how well Santana was doing in school or how cute of a couple she made with Brittany or how Santana's girlfriend was such a sweetheart. Every single time she would see her mother's jaw clench, or hear her huffed breath, before she changed the subject. Rosario just smiled sweetly. Until next time.

And that heads-on attitude is what Santana finds when they meet. While Maribel seems destroyed, Rosario is resigned. She believes in good memories and making peace and letting energy flow. It puts Santana's mind at ease, for a while, but she can see how it's grating on her mom's nerves. Probably why her aunt is leaving so soon. (Never mind the fact that she can't stand the atmosphere and half the people inside the house, specially the blood related ones.)

They talk very briefly, promising to catch up after the funeral the following day.

After closing the front door, Santana makes her way to the patio. She can almost see the glass doors when she decides to rummage the fridge. Maybe something cold can help her breathe easier.

"I don't know what she's doing here," says a feminine voice, an accent just as thick as her abuela's.

Santana's not sure who they're talking about, could be anyone. It's probably just another piece of Lima gossip and she decides to ignore it and continue with her quest.

"She does have some nerve." The other party on this conversation pipes in. Santana doesn't recognize neither of the voices, but isn't able to ignore them. They're just too close.

"After everything she's put this family through." It's the first woman again and Santana narrows her eyes and freezes in front of the open fridge because now she has a pretty good idea who they're talking about.

"Did you know they hadn't spoken in over a year?" There's so much venom in the second woman's voice that it makes Santana's hands shake. Who are they to talk about my life?, she thinks, to talk about things beyond my control like I asked for them.

"And now she's here, playing the mourning granddaughter part? It's pathetic. Does she really think she's fooling anyone?"

There's glass shattering on the ground. For a moment, Santana forgets how to function properly and she just stands there, in front of an open fridge, wide eyed, breathing heavily and trying her hardest to stay standing. The glass she'd been holding lies broken on the floor and she actually feels a sting from where a shard cut the top of her foot. It's not more than a scratch, but it's the feeling that unfreezes her and sends Santana bolting up the stairs.

The sound of her heels thundering against the hardwood floor is the only thing that reaches her ears. It's a heavy staccato that drowns out her breathing and the voices below and all the screaming in her mind.

Santana's still trembling when she reaches her bedroom's door and tears are streaking down her face. Again. She actually thought she could make it through this day without crying, but it's already a lost battle.

She yanks the door open and stumbles inside, only having half a mind to lock it before her whole body gives in and she slides down to the floor, knees pulled tight to her chest and face pressed to them. Violent sobs echo in the empty room and Santana would give just about anything to be numb right now.

But she's not. And she can feel everything. She can feel every cutting glare she tried to ignore today. She can feel all the people she avoided. She can feel the emptiness growing inside of her, taking over everything that used to make who she is, who she used to be.

She feels void, now, an empty mold. She's left there, waiting, trying to understand how someone who was already out of her life - by their own volition - can still affect her this much. It's like all the time after her abuela shun her out of her life didn't exist and she's still crying over that. She's still trying to understand how she could've changed so much in her abuela's eyes. How one simple sentence could turn everything around.

Sitting on her childhood bedroom's floor, she's still a scared little girl, who cried on that same spot numerous times because she's never intended to be different; she never meant to fall for her best friend. Because it's all she has ever known.

Her chest hurts from the sobbing. Her ass hurts from sitting on the floor for so long. Her foot hurts from the cut she gave herself. Her heart hurts from everything.

Santana doesn't need to get up and take a look at her face in the mirror to know she must look more than a little crazy, with her swollen eyes and stained cheeks and disheveled hair. It's a fitting look, she believes, for she feels as if all her sanity has been drained from her brain. It's a hollow piece of junk, now and she's learning again how to see the world. So much has changed in so little time...

"Santana? Are you in there?" Quinn's voice cuts the wood of the door, but Santana doesn't move an inch. She doesn't know how to let anyone in. She doesn't really want to be alone. All she wants, in reality, is to lay her heavy head on someone's lap and have them thread their fingers through her hair and tell her everything's going to be okay until she believes it. But she doesn't know how to ask for it. Her walls are too far up.

"Santana? Open this door, Santana."

She cringes at Quinn's abruptness, the sound of her voice grating on all her raw spots.

There are muffled sounds on the other side of the divide and she starts to believe she's been left alone.

"Santana? Are you okay, Santana? You're worrying m-us." It's Rachel, now and she's briefly confused by her presence until she remembers the patio, her father and telling her friends she would be right back. Santana has no idea how long has passed since that and she doesn't blame them for being concerned. She just doesn't have the energy to deal with them right now.

The doorknob rattles a few times, the sound echoing in Santana's head. She can feel the earlier headache coming back and, if it were possible, she would say she had a hangover. Santana parts her knees a little and stuffs her ears between them, interlocking her finger behind her head and silently willing her friends away. The same friends she welcomed so eagerly hours before. They're just not who she needs.

"Okay, Santana, we get it. You want to be alone, right now." It's Kurt's voice that breaks the silence and he sounds soft, like he's talking to a child. Santana loves and hates him for that. "But know that you don't have to do this by yourself, okay? We are here for you and we'll be downstairs if you need us."

Only after the sound of their footsteps fades away, does Santana lifts her head. She leans the back of it on the door and lets out a shaky exhale. Brown eyes are glued to the ceiling and Santana tries to use gravity to swallow down the lump that's lodged in her throat. It doesn't work.

Santana's body feels stiff and heavy, as if she were one of those marble sculptures she saw back at a class in college - eternally frozen in one position. But they are made of stone and don't cry and her eyes are still leaking her sadness away. She's exhausted. To her right, Santana finds her bed, big and distant. She thinks her knees wouldn't hold her weight, right now. It seems to get further away from her the longer she stares and she settles for sliding her body down and lying in the floor with her back against the door.

The cold from the floor doesn't bother her. She can't really feel it. In fact, she can't feel a thing. And when she puts her head on her arm, there's no fighting against the closing of her eyes. All she wants to do is sleep everything away.

She's not sure if she's even awake. She's not even sure where she is right now, but Santana doesn't seem to be able to open her eyes just yet and she settles for lying in the dark, paying attention to every hint of sound around her.

Things seem to sound differently when they don't have a visual to go with. A screeching cat can be a crying child and a backfire can sound just like a gunshot somewhere. And, right now, she can hear a moaning hinge that sounds just like the one from her window - which could explain where she is, if there was any way that her window might be opening. Now that her brain feels more awake and she remembers more of the moments before she fell asleep, Santana's pretty sure she locked her door. And, even if she didn't, she's lying with her back against it. Which means there's no one inside to open her window.

Santana lets go of her curiosity, deciding to chase back her sleep. After remembering why she wound up in her bedroom in the first place, she's not sure if she wants to open her eyes and venture outside. She doesn't know how long has passed since she barricaded herself in there, but she's not risking facing any of those people downstairs.

There's numbness in her arms from her position and the weight of her head pressed in on it. There's a kink in her neck and a stabbing sensation in her lower back. There's a cold feeling invading her clothes and the soft pads of fingers brushing the hair that fell on her face. There's...

Fingers?, Santana all but screams inside her mind. Her brain reels back and she fights her body to open her eyes and see what's going on. She's pretty sure she's supposed to be alone.

"Hey, S."

Brittany.

Santana registers Brittany's voice before she can focus her eyes and recognize the face in front of her. But when she does, she can see bright blue eyes and soft smile on a pale face. The girl in front of her looks like an angel or something out of a dream.

"Am I dreaming?" Santana blurts out before she can kick start her brain.

Brittany chuckles. She chuckles and Santana closes her eyes to keep Brittany there. "No, San. You're not dreaming. I'm really here."

"Good."

Santana doesn't see the smile on Brittany's face. Her eyes are still closed and she sighs sleepily, ready to go back.

"But, maybe you should be sleeping in your bed, don't you think? Why are you on the floor, anyway?"

"I don't know." Santana's voice is a mix of a whine and a pout. She tries to move her limbs, but she can't. They seem to be glued to the floor. "I don't think I can get to bed, Britt. I can't get up. I think I'll just sleep here."

No answer. There's no answer and for a moment Santana thinks that Brittany was never there, just a figment of her imagination. She doesn't dare open her eyes and is almost back asleep when she feels arms beneath her knees and torso. She's jostled and that opens her eyes. Brittany is there and she's closer now. Much closer and Santana's breath is ripped straight from her lungs. "What-what are you doing, Britt?"

"I'm getting you to bed, silly. You can't sleep like this." She pulls Santana to her body and her warmth invades the smaller girl, making her even sleepier. "Hold on to me, San."

Santana's arms move automatically at the command and she obeys, holding on to Brittany's neck as she feels her body being lifted from the floor. It always amazes her to be reminded of Brittany's strength. It had always been a reassuring moment, the subtle certainty that she would have strong arms to catch her.

The mattress is soft beneath her and the contrast with the floor is so great that Santana's not sure how she managed to fall asleep like that. And now that she's on the soft surface, she doesn't think she can go back to sleep. Well, that is until her head hits the pillow and her eyes shut like a doll's. Maybe Santana still has sleep in her.

"Do you wanna change?" Brittany's voice is low and smooth and so familiar in Santana's ears that it makes her smile around a sigh before she answers.

"No."

"Okay. Let's get you out of those shoes, then."

Santana can feel Brittany's warm skin in her shin when she tugs on her shoes; first the right one, then the left. She can't hear them hit the floor, but she knows exactly where they have been placed - by the end of her bed, to the left side. It's not their first time in a similar position and the memories flood her mind.

Drunken high school parties, with even drunker guys touching her body in all the ways that made her skin itch and crawl and burn. But she was doing what needed to be done. So, she drank more, numbed herself up and imagined warm, pale fingers grazing her skin where rough hands were groping her. As the years went on, she started needing more alcohol to believe those fantasies.

By the end of the night, Brittany would always come to her rescue. She would find Santana, get her to the car and take her to whichever home they were sleeping in that night. Inside, she would put Santana to bed, redress her into PJs, usher her under the covers and hold her close all through the night.

On some nights, Santana was practically passed out by the time they got in. On others, they would have sex before falling asleep. And on some, Santana would bury her face in Brittany's neck and cry. Either way, she would always wake up with Brittany's arms securely wrapped around her body. It's something that's always made her feel warm and safe and loved.

"San? Do you need anything else?"

Brittany's voice interrupts Santana's thoughts, but it doesn't bother her. It just means that the blonde is really there. Santana opens one eye - the other one buried in her pillow - and finds Brittany kneeling by her bed, a small smile aimed at her and fingers hovering over her face.

It feels strange to be quite happy right now, when she has so many reasons to be sad.

"No. I'm good."

"Okay."

Brittany's thumb grazes the tender skin of Santana's cheek, right beneath her eye. It's swollen and it stings a little at the touch. Brittany, then, plants her palms on the mattress to push herself up. The movement spurs something inside Santana. Panic rises in her throat like bile and her hand darts out to grab Brittany's. She doesn't know why she did that and she doesn't know what to say, now that blue eyes are wide and questioning, but it sure feels good to have that hand in hers again.

"Wait. Britt, I..." Santana starts, but her lips are dry and her throat is thick. She swallows and focuses on the fingers she's squeezing. "Can-can you stay with me?"

Brittany kneels back down from her half crouch and tangles her fingers in black tresses, cradling the base of Santana's skull and thumbing her jaw. She makes light movement; the kind she knows soothes the other girl, and smiles when she sees her eyes drooping.

"Of course I'll stay, honey. I'm just gonna change my clothes, okay? These are kinda smelly."

Santana nods, with her eyes closed, against the pillow. She's left, once again, to guess what the noises in the dark mean. There's the soft patter of feet on the floor, the high pitch of a zipper in the corner, the ruffle and shuffle of fabric and more footsteps. It doesn't take more than a minute for her to hear Brittany coming back and Santana knows that she must've rushed through her motions just so Santana wouldn't be alone for long. She also knows she'll find a messy pile of clothes come morning. There's a smile on Santana's face before Brittany can reach the bed.

If there's one thing that Brittany knows for sure, that's Santana. She knows everything about the girl. She knows that she hates apple juice. She knows that she would love to learn French. She knows she wants to visit Tahiti. She knows she really hates when people cut off her sentences. She knows her feet always ache after she wears the kind of heels she loves. She knows about her Barbie doll obsession when they were seven. She knows she has a tiny scar on her left hip. Brittany knows a lot of silly, little details. But she knows a lot of big things too. And when she reaches the bed and looks down on Santana trying to curl herself into a ball, Brittany just knows she needs to be held.

There's no conscious thought. There's no decision making. There's debating and choosing. It's like muscle memory leads her body. She doesn't ask if it's okay. She doesn't ask what Santana needs. She doesn't ask if she can. Brittany simply lies behind Santana and holds the smaller girls in her arms. As tightly as she can. As forcefully and sweetly as possible. Until there's not even a breath of air between their bodies.

A flinch.

Realization.

A sigh.

Santana's body takes half a second to understand that it's Brittany that is holding her. And when the blonde girl holds her even tighter, like she always has, Santana turns around and burrows herself deeper in Brittany's warmth. She has her face pressed against a pale neck; her hands are joined under her chin, where she can feel the heartbeat she knows so well; their bodies are touching and their legs are tangled. Brittany's hand is cradling her head, while the other runs the length of her back. It's all Santana tried to forget she needed.

It's dark out when Santana wakes again. She takes a moment, perfectly still, to remember where she is and what happened. The moment is cut short by a puff of air hitting her forehead.

Brittany.

Just one word, just a name and everything comes back rushing to her brain. Not the day, not the hurtful words, but Brittany. Somehow the blonde got into her room, carried her to bed and held her until she fell back asleep. No, is holding her until this moment.

Santana blinks her eyes a few times to chase away the sleep and adjust her sight to the bedroom cast in the long shadows of the street lamp out. When the world seems less fuzzy, she takes a deep breath and cranes her neck, finding blue eyes staring right back at her.

"Hey." Brittany's whisper barely disturbs the stillness of the room. She had been observing Santana ever since the girl fell asleep in her arms. She smoothed the lines dreams would carve in her brow and brushed straying threads of hair. And, when Santana tried to toss and turn, Brittany pressed her closer and whispered calmness into her ear.

She knew Santana was awake. She was just waiting for her to open her eyes.

"Hi." Santana swallows the coarseness that coats her throat and wets her lips. "What time is it?"

"A little after nine."

Santana nods in acknowledgement and trains her ears, trying to guess if there are still people on the floor below. She understands that people want to show their support to the family, but, in reality, all she wants is to be alone.

"How are you feeling?" Brittany breaks Santana's musing. She looks up, a frown upon her brow. Brittany's fingers dances on her skin until Santana finds her words.

"I don't know. A little better, I guess."

"Good."

"I just wish I didn't have to leave here."

"We don't have to go anywhere, S."

"I'm kinda hungry, though. Unless you have something edible in your bag."

Brittany laughs a little because, if she's being honest, the possibility isn't that farfetched. "Well, I don't. But I'll tell you what." She leans forward and plants a kiss to Santana's forehead. "Why don't you change into PJs while I go downstairs and fetch us some food?"

"That sounds quite perfect, actually."

"Great!" Brittany beams and hops off the bed. After she unlocks the door, she turns back to Santana. "Any special requests?"

"No, I don't think so." Brittany nods and turns the knob when Santana's voice sounds again. "Maybe..."

"Something sweet?" Brittany asks knowingly.

"Yeah."

"I'll see what I can do."

After Brittany leaves the room, Santana gets up from the bed. She feels lightheaded and sluggish, as if she had been asleep for days, not hours. On the way to her dresser, she spies her face on the body length mirror placed on her en suite door. Her hair is like a dark cotton candy cloud around her face. Her eyes are puffy and red, her cheeks are still tinged with tear tracks and her lips are chapped.

She's a mess.

Santana shakes her head at the image she sees and decides to take a shower. She grabs a change of clothes and steps into the bathroom. The floor is cold beneath her feet and goose bumps litter her skin once she sheds her clothes. It should be uncomfortable, but any predictable feeling is welcomed. Like the warmth of being in Brittany's arms.

The water is scorching when she steps under the spray and Santana lets it burn down her skin. Maybe it can boil and melt this knot inside her chest that's been growing since the day before. She doesn't even feel the sting on her foot where the water hits the scratch from the broken glass.

Santana doesn't know how long she spends under the water, but when she goes back to the bedroom, Brittany is nowhere to be found. If it weren't for the duffle bag and messy pile of clothes by her feet, she would be sure she had dreamt the blonde's presence. But Brittany's clothes are there, her shoes are there and she's walking in at that precise moment.

The noose around Santana's neck loosens up the instant she sees Brittany's easy smile and she feels like she can breathe again.

"God, that smells good, Britt."

"It's mac and cheese. I think someone brought it, I just heated it up." She scrunches up her nose and shrugs a shoulder, all the cutlery on the tray she's carrying making clinking sounds. "Oh, and I found some chocolate chip cookies, too."

"Perfect. Thank you."

They share a coy smile and move to the bed at the same time. Brittany places the tray in the middle of the mattress and they sit, cross legged, in front of each other.

"What took you so long downstairs?" Santana asks after she's munched on a couple of bites.

"Quinn found me when I got into the kitchen."

"Quinn?" Santana's eyes were wide and her voice a high-pitched shriek. "She's still here?"

"Rachel and Kurt, too. They said they wanted to be here in case you decided to leave your room. I told them you're okay, though. They're probably gone, by now."

"Thanks."

Silence engulfs them, broken only by the sound of forks and teeth. Every other minute, Santana would look up from her bowl only to find Brittany's eyes trained on her. After everything they've shared over the years, somehow this moment seems more intimate. Almost as if Brittany is privy to a new Santana, some undiscovered part of her, a strong fragility that has surfaced.

Santana thinks she should feel embarrassed under the weight of Brittany's stare, bare and exposed. All she feels is at ease and at home. Brittany's always been her home, the place she could rest and just be. Even before everything, before they became girlfriends, before their first kiss, Brittany already was her calm place, where she would run to after a fight at school or when her parents denied her something. With her head on the blonde's lap, even as a child, Santana could physically feel all of the anger leaving her body. And now, sharing a reheated meal with her, she could feel the pain and the sadness and the sorrow oozing out of her.

Priceless.

"What happened, San?"

Santana looks up from her bowl. "Hmm?" she hums around a mouthful of noodles.

"Why did you lock yourself up here? They said you seemed fine earlier, but you never came back." Brittany's neck was craned to the right in that adorable twist she had when something was confusing. It would've made Santana smile, had she not been forced to remember.

"I just... I just heard some stuff that hurt me." Brown eyes are downcast, staring at a half empty bowl of food. When she looks up, she finds peaceful blue and the words come tumbling out of her mouth. "I don't know who they were, but I heard two women talking about me and how I shouldn't be here, that I was trying to fool people."

"Oh, honey..." Brittany pushes the tray to the side and pulls Santana to her chest. "They have no idea what they're talking about."

"I know," she answers as she settles against Brittany's body; tan legs thrown over pale ones and her ear pressed to her chest. "It just reminded me of everything, you know? I never wanted to fight her, and now I won't be able to make up with her. There's no more time." Santana inhales deeply, feeling Brittany moving with her, their bodies falling in sync. "I never told you this, Britt, but I always wished she would call me and say she was sorry. I never thought it would actually happen, but now I simply know it won't. And it just hurts, you know?"

There are tears in Santana's voice and Brittany pulls her closer, holding the smaller girl by her waist. She doesn't think they can ever be close enough. It is a known position to them and the heartbeat Santana can hear through porcelain skin is her favorite lullaby.

"I know, sweetie. I know. But you can't think about that."

"How, Britt? She's gone and the last thing she ever said to me was to leave her house. That will never change."

"No, it won't. But... Remember what you told me when you said why you were so afraid to come out? That you didn't want people thinking it defined you? That you're more than just your sexuality?"

"I remember that, B. But what's it got -"

"That one fight shouldn't define your memories of your abuela, S." Santana lifts her head and when their eyes meet, Brittany smiles softly. "I'm not saying to just forget it ever happened. I'm saying to remember everything that's happened. You have seventeen years of good memories. Don't lose that."

"It's just so hard, B. When I needed her the most, she just turned her back on me."

"I know it's hard, San. And it will probably be hard for a long time. But it won't be hard forever, I promise you that. This isn't about her, this is about you. She's robbed you of so much since that day, don't let her rob you of your good memories and your peace."

"But people -"

"Forget about other people, Santana." Brittany's voice turns forceful and Santana would pull away if she wasn't being held so tightly. "They don't know about your relationship with her. They don't know what she means to you. They don't even know what happened that day. Think about you and what you gotta do to be at peace. Just that."

"And how do I do that, Britt?" Santana asks with defeat and tiredness etched in her tone.

"Do what feels right. Don't try to please other people, not even your parents. Give yourself time to be sad." Brittany can feel Santana nodding against her chest and kisses the top of her head. "And don't bottle everything up inside, missy. You know that doesn't help."

Santana chuckles at Brittany's airy tone at the last couple of sentences. It is a discussion they had so many times, but the familiarity of the words makes the air feel lighter around them. It feels good to be walking in common, known ground.

"Yeah, yeah. I've learned my lesson." Brittany smiles at the answer and tangles her fingers with Santana's. The smaller girl stares at their joined hands before continuing. "And I think you might be right. As always. I'll try to remember more than just one memory. It's not fair to me to hold on to only that fight. It won't be easy, though."

"I know it won't. But it will be good to you."

They settle in a comfortable silence after that. Santana thinking about what she had heard and what Brittany had said and what she wanted to do come morning. Imagining her future had always felt easier in Brittany's arms. And Brittany, for her part, is content to just hold the other girl. She would be there for as long as she is needed.

After a few minutes, Santana slides down Brittany's body and settles her head in her lap. She's only lain like this with Brittany and her abuela. And in times where she's felt sick or sad or scared, it had always made her feel loved and protected.

"Play with my hair?"

Pale fingers tangle with dark locks. There is something so vulnerable in Santana's voice that it makes Brittany's heart squeeze in her chest. She has always felt privileged to be allowed to see Santana like this, like she has been presented a rare treasure to keep. With a smile, she bends down and kisses a tan brow before threading her fingers with thick hair.

Brittany isn't aware of how long they have been in that position, but she's sure Santana is asleep by now. She wouldn't dare stopping her fingers from combing her hair, though. It's her most important task at the moment.

"Hmm, Britt? How did you get here?" Santana's voice sounds faraway and sleep thick. It startles Brittany just a bit.

"What do you mean, S?"

"Earlier. How did you get in my room? I'm pretty sure I had locked my door and there was no way you could have opened it with how I was lying on the floor."

"Oh! That's easy. I used the window."

Brittany's carelessness makes Santana turn and find her eyes from below. "What? Why?"

"When I got here, I just let myself in. Figured it wouldn't matter, you know? And I was looking for you when I heard Quinn telling your dad that you had locked yourself up here. I just decided to try my luck with your window."

"You are insane, you know that?" Santana says around a smile a Brittany shrugs. "But I'm glad you did."

"So am I." Blue eyes avert to the right and her smile widens. "Hey, you never ate your cookies."

"Unacceptable!" Santana exclaims, sitting back and pouncing on the forgotten plate. "Hey. What did he answer?"

"Who?"

"My dad. When Quinn told him I was up here."

"He told her to just let you be. That you would come down when you were ready."

---

They have no idea for how long they have been lying like that - facing each other, their feet tangled by the end of the bed and Santana playing with Brittany's fingers between them. It's mostly silent in the room, only an occasional sigh escaping their lips.

Outside the world is dark and damp, your typical summer night, and the heat is still uncomfortable, even this late. But it's a good night, calm and with a full moon high up. Its shine invades Santana's bedroom and lends Brittany's blue eyes a silvery shimmer. Santana always thinks she looks like a fairy when her eyes are like that.

"What are you thinking about, San?" Brittany brushes Santana's knuckles as she whispers the question.

"I was remembering my tenth birthday." Santana mimics Brittany's tone, the moment too sacred to be disturbed by loud voices. "The one we had a sleepover at abuela's."

"I remember that. She let us eat so much sugar we couldn't sleep that night."

"And we ended up on the back yard, with all of our blankets, watching the sun rise."

"God, that was such a good day."

"I didn't think so when I woke up the next day with a fever and a sore throat." Santana tries to grimace at the memory, but the smile on her lips is too big for that.

"It was worth it, though. Wasn't it?"

"Of course it was, B. I think that was one of my best birthdays."

"You know what else I remember about that day?" There is such a smile on Brittany's face that Santana can almost feel it soaking up on her skin and traveling through her bloodstream and filling out her heart. "Abuela's cake."

"Damn! You're right. Abuela's chocolate cake was the best." Santana's smile softens before she continues. "You know, I still remember what I wished for that day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I wished for you to always be my friend."

"Guess it's coming true, then."

Santana only nods, her hair rustling against the pillowcase and her eyes on their tangled fingers. There's a lump in her throat as she thinks back to that moment and how badly she had wished the blonde would always be a part of her life. They'd met Quinn earlier that year and Santana couldn't help but be a little jealous of the other girl. Brittany had always been friendly and the novelty of a new friend sparked her curiosity.

Santana needn't have felt that way. Over the years, no matter who entered their lives, Brittany would always go back to her. Like magnets. Santana didn't have the words back then, but she's sure she was already in love with Brittany on that day.

"Thank you, Britt," Santana says softly, looking back up at blue eyes. "For being here. I didn't really want to be alone."

"Of course, honey. I would never let you go through this by yourself. I guess ever since I told my mom your abuela was at the hospital, she knew I would be coming back to Lima before them."

"Where were you guys, anyway? I never asked what you were doing this summer."

"We were visiting my aunt Marcy. You know, the one that lives in Tennessee."

"How did you get here, then?" They are still talking in hushed voices and Santana is back to admiring Brittany's skin against hers.

"I drove."

"Britt!" Santana half shrieks, half whispers. Her mouth is agape and her eyes wide. "That's like a seven hour drive!"

"I know. I totally made it in six and a half, though."

There is a certain smugness to Brittany's voice that mellows Santana down. "But...you hate driving by yourself for so long."

"I do. But I knew you needed me more. So… I just drove."

Santana doesn't know what to do with those words; she isn't sure how far they go. Is it Brittany, her best friend, saying this? Or is it Brittany, the girl that had been in love with her for most of their lives?

"What about Sam? Did he go with you to Tennessee?"

The hardness in Santana's voice doesn't go unnoticed by Brittany. She takes a deep breath, blue eyes lost in brown, choosing her words carefully. She can see the storm brewing within Santana, like dark clouds coming together in the sky just below the surface. Brittany knows that weather cast all too well to feed it.

"No, he didn't go with me." Brittany's voice is low and certain and she speaks deliberately slow, enunciating each word as if trying to engrave them on Santana's mind.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he was happy to know you're back in town, huh?" That is a safe question, right?, she thinks. Friends are allowed to say those things, right? Santana isn't sure of anything anymore and she extracts her hand from Brittany's, toying with a loose thread on her sheet, instead.

"San, look at me." When Santana doesn't look up, Brittany tilts her chin until their eyes meet. "There's no more Sam."

They hold each other's gaze, steadfast and uncertain. Brittany can't read Santana's feelings, as if they are hidden behind a mask she has never seen. Santana stares at her, blinking slowly, her eyes flitting fast over all of Brittany's features.

"Why?" Her mouth feels like it's made out of cotton. She isn't sure that's the question she wants to ask, but it's the only one she seems to be able to voice.

"Because...it was time. We were just so lonely, that being together... I don't know, it distracted us from that. But, we were never meant to last."

"How-how do you know that?"

"Because I've already had a forever kind of love."

Brittany can see Santana's throat bob as she swallows the answer. Hard. Brown eyes are squinted, searching the other girl's features for any sign of deceit, of lie, of half truth. But Santana knows Brittany would never lie to her and all she finds is openness.

This is the same Brittany that kissed her when they were twelve. The same Brittany that loved her when they were fifteen. The same Brittany that took her ice skating every single year. The same Brittany that held her all night long after she found out about the tape. The same Brittany that encouraged her to face her fears. The same Brittany that came to dinner one night to be officially introduced to her parents. The same Brittany who calmed her when she felt like her world was coming apart. The same Brittany who would always find a way to hold her hand.

Santana exhales a shaky breath of air. Her lips are dry and her tongue is sticking to the roof of mouth. Her head is spinning and it feels crowded by a million questions when, in reality, there's only one, echoing over and over again.

"Had?" she asks with hoarse voice. "Past tense?"

"Have. Permanent tense."

The moment feels heavy, too full of promises and things unsaid to be happening the night before her abuela's funeral, in her pajamas, lying in bed. The seriousness of the conversation sits on Santana's chest like a giant. Her skin feels itchy with everything she wants to say and know and hear.

"Britt, I..."

She has no idea what she wants to say first or at all. She just felt like she needed to say something, anything to not choke on all the things bubbling up her throat.

"Shhh... It's okay, San. I know." Brittany smiles her softest smile, the one that still belongs to Santana, and some of the weight on her chest eases. "Let's just go to sleep, okay? We'll have a long day tomorrow and we can talk later. I'm not going anywhere."

Santana can only nod, grateful and unsure. Brittany smiles again, kisses a goodnight on her forehead and gathers Santana in her arms. The moment their bodies touch and mold together, Santana can feel her eyelids getting heavier. She is safe, she is loved, she is home.

Just before she is completely gone, Santana thinks she hears Brittany mumble a 'I'm not going anywhere' in her hair. Real or not, it makes her smile in her sleep.

---

Brittany isn't sure why she's awake. By the soft light that invades her closed eyelids, she knows it's very early in the morning and after driving for so long on the day before, she was sure she would be fast asleep for hours. That's when she hears it.

Soft whimpering and sheets rustling sound loud in the otherwise silent room. Blue eyes snap open and she finds Santana away from her, lying on her back. Her brow is furrowed even in her sleep and her expression seems pained, as if she can't fight the images in her mind. Every couple of seconds, she would toss her head to the sides, balling the fabric covering the mattress in her fists and mumbling words under her breath. Her tone is high pitched and the only word Brittany can understand is abuela.

The sound and the image pain Brittany's heart. She knows Santana isn't prone to having nightmares. They would only happen when something really scared or hurt her. As she slides across the bed, Brittany remembers how Santana would have them at least once a week when she was too afraid to come out to her family and how she would wake up, gasping and sweating, after the tape went public and everything changed.

Brittany does now what she used to do then. She curls her body around Santana's smaller frame, trapping her flailing limbs. She feels like a human straight jacket in nights like these and she can feel Santana's heavy breathing beneath her arm.

"Shhh. San, it's okay," she whispers, low and soft, in Santana's ear. "It's just a bad dream. You're safe. Wake up, now."

The blonde repeats the same words, her voice increasingly louder, over and over until Santana bolts awake, sitting upright with wide, panicky eyes. She doesn't seem to know where she is, so Brittany sits up too and holds Santana by the shoulders, nestling her in her chest.

"It's okay, S. It was just a nightmare. You're okay, honey. I'm here."

After a second or two, Santana holds on to Brittany's shirt as if her life depends on it. It's always like this after a bad dream. She needs a few moments of silence to gather her bearings, to separate the images she'd seen from reality. And she needs Brittany to hold her tight, to moor her, to anchor her. And the other girl is happy to just be there, rocking Santana back and forth, inhaling the scent from black hair.

"Sorry," a voice mumbles from where Santana had buried her face in Brittany's body.

"It's alright, San." Santana seems to relax a bit and Brittany thinks it might be safe to go further. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Santana looks up, eyes still wide and brimming with tears. She stares at Brittany's face for a moment, before lowering her head to the girl's chest, an ear glued to a steady heartbeat. The continuous pace calms her and she sighs.

"I was at abuela's, on the night I told her about me. But, instead of kicking me out, she just kept screaming things about sin and shame. And I couldn't get out. Her house was like a maze and every door I opened led me straight back to the kitchen."

Brittany knows Santana had similar dreams in the past, but never this bad. She doesn't know what to do, she doesn't know how to soothe the girl that still trembles in her arms. So, she does the only thing she knows how to do. Se hugs Santana tighter to her and very slowly lowers them both back to bed, Santana tucked under her chin and draped over her body.

"You know that's not true, right?" she asks after a few minutes of silence. She knows Santana is awake - she could never go back to sleep that fast.

"Yeah, Britt. I know. It was just a nightmare."

Santana tries to play it down and put a hint of annoyance in her tone, but Brittany can hear the light tremble in her vowels. She knows Santana too well to be fooled that easily.

"Not what I meant." Brittany kisses Santana's hair before continuing. "What I meant was, you do know that who you are is not a shame nor a sin, right?"

There is no answer for a long moment and Brittany is gearing up to launch into one of her speeches about how the other girl shouldn't be ashamed of herself, when Santana lifts her head and their eyes lock.

"I know that, B. I just can't erase the words I've heard, you know?"

"I know, sweetie. I know."

After Brittany kisses her on the forehead, Santana lies back down and, soon, she is back asleep. Brittany stays awake, watching over her, hoping to chase away any new bad dreams.

---

The days before had been fast paced, filled with things to do, places to be and duties to fulfill for the clock to matter. Today is morose, at best. The minutes trickling by so slowly that Santana could almost feel them, brushing past her, grazing her skin like a breeze. More than once, she thought that the world was frozen and she, the only moving thing left.

On those moments, without a word, Brittany's hand would find hers and everything would go back to normal.

When Santana first wakes up, the world seems right. She feels rested, the sun is warm and bright outside and she is surrounded by everything Brittany; her body, her scent, her heartbeat, her warmth. Santana had woken up on that same position so many times that a small smile starts to appear on her face because, really, being there is like coming home.

It takes her a second to acknowledge where she is and another one to remember why.

Abuela.

Santana still has her eyes closed, but she scrunches them up, tight. Almost as if she expects to ward off the day by doing so. Her breath hitches in her throat and she knows every muscle in her body is pulled tight. Brittany must know too, for she holds Santana even tighter and buries her nose on the other girl's hair. Santana can't inflate her lungs completely and she likes the feeling.

They stay like that for long minutes, just breathing and being and feeling.

"Hi," Santana says when she finally feels like she can move and looks up to find her blue eyes.

"Hey. How did you sleep?"

"After that nightmare? Pretty good, actually. You?"

"After that nightmare?" Brittany mimics Santana's answer to make the other girl smile. It works. "Not at all."

"Britt!" Santana doesn't speak much louder than the whispering tone they have been using since the night before, no real scolding underlying the sound. Now that she looks for it, she can see tiredness across the pale face. The skin beneath her eyes seems a little darker and the blue in them a little duller. An involuntary pout forms on full lips.

"It's okay, San. I got to watch you sleep. That's a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me."

Once again Santana doesn't know what to do with Brittany's answer. She gives her a shy smile and would be content to just lie back down on Brittany's chest, when a loud banging noise comes from outside the room. Both girls turn to the door, even though they can't see what is making the noise.

"I think your dad is trying to destroy your kitchen."

"Probably."

"Maybe we should help him?"

Antonio isn't surprised when he turns around and finds Brittany standing behind Santana. He would never be surprised to find the two girls together. And when he is told to put down the kettle and set the table instead, he isn't surprised when he gets small glimpses of them working seamlessly together. It's like they can read each other's minds and as Santana stretches her hand to pick a spoon, Brittany is already handing it to her. In the middle of every bad thing that's happened this past week, he thinks, at least something good came out of it.

Twenty minutes later and Maribel joins them. Her hair is pulled into a bun and her eyes are dark and sullen, as if she'd spent the night with them wide open. She is already dressed in black and she would've looked elegant, if her shoulders didn't look like they weighted a ton.

When she appears at the door, Antonio stands up to pour her some fresh coffee. As he is out, she kisses the top of both of the girl's heads and takes a sit in front of Santana. She wants to say something to her mother, but everything seems small and meaningless when she can see the hurt in her features.

Under the table, Brittany reaches out and links their pinkies together.

The rest of the morning passes in almost silence. After breakfast, they all retreat back to the bedrooms and soon comes the time to go to church. Santana is relieved when they all take Antonio's car. Not only does not want Brittany driving that tired, she really needs to be close to her, to gather from the lithe body every ounce of courage she can find.

The building is dark and tall, towering over Santana like a bad omen. She hasn't set foot in there since the tape was released. She didn't want to risk meeting her abuela by chance. She didn't want to impose her presence nor face the looks and the whispers and the frowns. And, in reality, she felt a little like she had been abandoned by god. Like she had been given a load she couldn't carry.

There is no more avoiding or running away, now.

This time, Brittany takes Santana's entire hand in hers. When she looks up, questioning eyes wide, Brittany just gives her a smile and squeezes her hand.

Inside, the pews are empty and their steps echo in the dark room. Maribel is the first to walk the aisle towards the altar and the casket. Her fingers lightly trace the wooden surface, as if she was caressing her mother's face.

Santana can't breathe. She can't force her feet to walk that way, but she can't avert her eyes either. It's like passing an accident on the road - you know you shouldn't look, but you just can't look any other way. The sun streams inside through the high windows and illuminates the scene Santana knows she will never be able to forget.

Brown eyes are glued to the end of the church until Santana feels a tug on her hand. She doesn't look up, she just lets Brittany lead her. She would follow wherever the blonde is leading. They stop by a pillar to the side of the building. There, partially hidden, Santana feels like she can breathe again.

Evan as people begin to arrive, they stay distant. From afar, Santana can see how people would hug her mom and her aunt, whisper something in their ear, take a look inside the casket and get back to their pews and gossip. Some would make the cross sign; some would kneel down in prayer. Most look around for familiar faces.

Quinn, Kurt and Rachel arrive together and go nowhere near the altar or Maribel or the casket. They take the same detour and find Santana instead. All three give her awkward hugs, since she refuses to let Brittany's hand go, and stand in silence. No one tries to make small talk. No one asks meaningless questions. They are simply there.

The priest takes his place at the altar and Santana takes her place at the first bench, the family bench. All the while, Brittany's by her side.

The ceremony is short, no doubt at Antonio's request, and before Santana can understand what is happening, Antonio and five other men are getting up to carry the casket out. Not everybody follows the procession and, once again, Santana feels grateful. That means less eyes burning her back and less voices whispering about her silence or how she is putting on a show or how she wouldn't let go of Brittany.

When the wood hits the ground, Santana gasps. It feels more real now, somehow. Like she only just realizes that this isn't part of a cruel joke. She has really lost her abuela. There will be no coming back, no second chances, no turning around.

For the first time in hours, Santana lets go of Brittany's hand. Her skin feels clammy as she takes a step forward. On the ground, she finds a pile of roses. They are white and seem to fit the occasion. She bends down to pick one up and something yellow poking through a sea of white catches her attention. Digging through a mountain of petals and stems, the girl finds a lost yellow rose. As she straightens her body, Santana can almost hear her abuela's voice, telling her how she had always wanted wild flowers for her bouquet, but somehow ended up having yellow roses instead. Ever since her wedding day, they became her favorite flowers.

Santana's too.

With a small smile on her face, Santana closes her eyes and makes a silent prayer. All she asks for is peace, for both of them. Nothing more. She lightly kisses the velvety petals and throws the flower in the hole in front of her.

More people are stepping forward to throw flowers and say their last prayers. No one really pays attention to Santana when she burrows her face into Brittany's neck. Pale arms circle her waist tightly and tears are staining her skin. She can hear Brittany calling out her name and she looks up, only to find worried eyes. When she speaks, she does so around the same smile she had before.

"I'll be okay."

---

Brittany is fast asleep ten minutes after getting back to Santana's room. She didn't mean to, she was just waiting on Santana to finish getting changed.

A slow smile stretches plump lips when Santana steps outside her bathroom. Brittany still has one foot on the floor, her head doesn't quite reach the pillow, blonde hair fans out in every direction and one of her hands is placed on her chest, as if she is taking an oath. The whole image makes Santana chuckle to herself and shake her head.

As softly as she can, Santana places a pillow beneath Brittany's head and puts her leg back on the bed before throwing a thin sheet over her body. She still remembers how cold Brittany feels when she sleeps - even during summer.

There is a certain sense of loss running through Santana's veins, now. She looks around her room, searching something that needs to be done, but she comes up empty. Ever since she entered that cab in New York, Santana has been fueled by duty, by expectations, by what she's supposed to do. And now they are gone. The show is over and she is supposed to go on with her life. Only, she has no idea what that means. Is she supposed to go back to New York like nothing happened, like losing her abuela didn't change her? Or is she supposed to figure out a fresh start, another one? Is she even able to follow through with anything?

Looking over at her bed, Santana sees the answer to the one question she doesn't dare to ask.

Downstairs, Santana finds Rosario sitting on a stool in the kitchen. She has a cup of coffee in between her hands and is staring at the blank wall as if she was at the Louvre, trying to figure Monalisa's smile out.

"Hey." Santana announces her presence. Today everybody seems to be spacing out.

"Hey, Tana." Rosario's voice sounds cracky and her eyes are a liquid red. "There's fresh coffee, if you want."

Santana nods and fills out a mug before joining her aunt. They are silent for a long while. There are so many elephants in the room that is hard to choose just one.

"Did you know yellow roses were her favorite?"

It's a simple comment. But when all you have left are memories, those are the kind you treasure the most.

"Yeah... She told me the story."

More silence fills the room around them. Normally, Rosario would be speaking a mile a minute, asking Santana all kinds of questions and telling the girl all about her newest boyfriend or this new club she'd found. Today she seems contemplative and Santana's glad she's not the only different one.

"How long are you staying for?"

"I have to go back tomorrow. But I'll come back as soon as I can to help your mom sort out the apartment. You?"

"I'm not sure, yet. I'm thinking about staying here a little while longer with mamí. I mean, I'm not studying and it's not like I have an awesome job to go back to or anything."

"That's good. She is gonna need you." Rosario takes a sip of her coffee and turns to face her niece. "But, how are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Tana. It's me. I know how attached you were with your abuela. Fight or no fight."

A long exhale leaves Santana's lips and she takes a large gulp from her cup, the hot liquid warming her from the inside. She doesn't look at her aunt when she answers.

"I'll be okay. I mean, sure. I wanted more time with her and I wanted the chance to have her back in my life. But -"

"You mean, the chance for her to apologize?" Rosario interrupts.

"Yes, exactly. But, I don't know. I'm trying not to focus on that, you know. I don't want that kind of heaviness, so I'm trying to focus on the good stuff."

"You sound like me."

"I know," Santana chuckles. After a moment, she can feel her aunt's eyes burning holes in her head and she turns to face her. "What?"

"Where's Brittany?"

Before Santana can stop, a smile tugs on her lips when she remembers the way she found Brittany on her bed. "She's asleep. She drove all the way from Tennessee yesterday."

"Wow. Tennessee?"

"Yeah...," Santana breathes. "She was visiting her aunt when I told her about abuela."

"And she just drove here?"

Santana can only nod. There's so much hidden in that one question that she doesn't know how to answer. She's studying the pattern printed on her mug when her aunt speaks again.

"So, are you two -?"

"I don't know," Santana interrupts her aunt with a sigh. "We didn't really talk all that much."

"Okay."

"She's no longer with Sam, though."

Rosario stares at Santana for a few seconds, before getting up and placing a hand on her niece's shoulder. "You'd better hold on to her this time, Tana. Good people like that don't come around that often."

With that, Santana's left alone with her thoughts, her wishes and her ghosts.

One hour later and Santana is still in the kitchen. There's a white streak of flour in her hair and a sweet smell lingers in the room when she hears the stairs creaking and moaning and announcing she is no longer alone. A smile tugs on her lips because she'd recognize those footsteps anywhere. But Santana doesn't turn. She keeps her back to the doorway, intently stirring ingredients together.

She's got to do this right.

"Hi," Brittany whispers, leaning her body against the wall behind Santana.

"Hey," she answers looking over her shoulders, a softness coating her voice and her eyes and her face. She looks placid.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's all right, Britt. You were tired. I get it."

"Still...," she drawls and closes the space between them. Brittany doesn't mold her body to Santana's, but she places her hands on her hips and perches her chin on her shoulder. It's intimate and domestic and tame at the same time. "What are you doing?"

If you had asked Santana, two weeks ago, how she would have handled having Brittany so close to her, she would have thought she would have fainted or ran away or attacked the girl's lips. Right now, all she does is feel the puffs of hot air against her skin, look to the side and smile. She's not afraid anymore.

"Abuela's chocolate cake."

"Really? Why?"

As Brittany asks her questions, she backs away from Santana to stand beside her. While Santana was appreciating the closeness and the contact, this new position gives her the chance to see feline blue eyes and a lopsided smile and a spray of freckles she hasn't had the chance to memorize yet.

"I don't know. We were just talking about it yesterday and I kinda wanna feel closer to her, you know?" Santana looks over at Brittany's soft smile and a wave of insecurity takes over her mind. "God, never mind. It's totally silly."

"It's not silly, San. I get it. This is one of the good memories I was talking about."

"Yeah, I guess."

Santana finishes her work in silence and Brittany doesn't offer to help. She knows Santana needs to do this alone. It's a simple task, but one that holds a lot of meaning to it.

"Do you know when your parents will be back in Lima?" Santana asks after the batter is in the oven and they're sitting, side by side, on the kitchen island.

"I'm not sure. Probably in about ten days or so. Why?"

"It's just that...," Santana sighs, not sure how to go on. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and talks like she was diving in the ocean. "I'm not going back to New York just yet and I was wondering if you wanted to stay here until your family got back."

Brittany studies Santana's profile for long seconds. Brown eyes are still closed, but she can see the soft slope of her nose and the ripeness of her lips and the delicacy of her neck. "Are you sure, San?"

"Y-yeah. I mean, this way you don't have to be all alone in your house and we get a chance to, I don't know, talk things through."

Just as Brittany is about to open her mouth to answer, a loud dinging sound echoes in the room and Santana hops from her sit to take the cake out of the oven. She takes her time placing it on a dish and serving herself and Brittany.

"So, what do you think?" Santana asks after Brittany takes her first bite.

"About the cake or your offer?"

"Both, I guess."

"I think...it's perfect."

They smile and they eat and they know things will be okay.

---

A/N: So, what did you guys think? This is a creative exercise I've doing for some time and as a lot of my stories seem to have Britana as the main characters, I've decided to publish it.

For those of you who are reading Story Teller, I haven't abandoned that story, it's just that my mind kind of got highjacked by this idea and I had to put it out there. Now I can go back to that...

Also, I have a few more ideas for this lined up, but if you have song sugestions, feel free to send them to me. Songs in English, Portuguese and Spanish are all fair game (some in Italian and French, too). And just so everybody can understand, everytime I use a non-English song, I'll post its lyrics translation, okay? Just one thing, I probably won't be working with any of the most iconic Britana songs, like Songbird and Landslide, for example.