Let me warn you before reading that this fic crosses over and will get a little cracky at certain points. Just to be safe assume that there are spoilers galore pertaining to every television show ever created.

Santana Lopez sat in a large boardroom in the middle seat of a conference table, her entertainment lawyer and manager flanking her sides. She did little to hide her irritation as she ran her fingers through her long dark hair with one hand and drummed harshly on the table with the other.

Across from her sat, Miranda Bailey, one of the most dignified chick producers Hollywood ever had the glory of breeding. She was known for her incomparable script choices and take no prisoners attitude. But, that still wasn't enough for Santana—also known for her take no prisoners attitude—to huffily ask, "Where the hell is she?"

The man on Santana's left cleared his throat as he checked his watch, "Really Miranda. She's thirty minutes late. This is getting…"

"Ridiculous?" Santana offered. "I agree."

Miranda barely seemed to register Santana's agitation as she took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee that sat in front of her. "I'm sure she has a good reason for being tardy. Give her a few more minutes. You won't regret it."

Rolling her eyes Santana whipped out her phone and began tapping furiously on the keypad. This was an impromptu meeting that her agent insisted she take (even though he himself was noticeably absent). The writer, Brittany Pierce, an up and comer with a serious hot streak was known for her dark pieces of fiction. Santana Lopez was not. In fact, she still had no idea why they were meeting in the first place. She had no clue as to why it was so important to take away her tanning time to meet with someone who she was creatively on opposite sides of the film spectrum.

Santana's last movie was aptly titled "Love in the Time of One Night Stands." A romantic comedy about falling in love with—you guessed it—a one night stand. She starred opposite Noah Puckerman. It was a box office smash, a teenage dream of a movie come true. But, the critics roasted it, which was the case for every movie she made. The studios keep casting her because her name alone rakes in millions.

Brittany Pierce's last (Oscar Award winning) movie was a dark comedy called, "Flowers for Olivia." Ellen Page was cast and it too was a box office success. It took a little longer for it to reach it's peak, but it did. And the critics ate it up. Applauding not only the acting, but the flawless writing behind the screen. It wasn't her first nod from the academy. Her first screenplay, "Delirium," another macabre tale about young love and obsession was nominated for an Oscar. She lost to James Cameron. But, everyone always does.

So why their agents/managers/suits thought they were a match made in Hollywood heaven was beyond Santana's reasoning. And she was done waiting to find out. Pushing back her chair she stood with a huff just as the door exploded open and a rush of blond hair came bouncing inside. The woman kept her eyes trained on Bailey, a wide smile smeared across her face. Santana prepared herself to witness one of Miranda's legendary verbal lashings in person, but was quickly deflated when the older woman simply shook her head and asked evenly, "Where have you been?"

"Bringing Lexie back from the brink of death."

Santana's eyebrows arched hearing the girl speak for the first time. Unsure of what she was expecting she knew it wasn't what she heard: A low, bubbly rumble.

Miranda took a sip of her coffee, "Clarify."

"Apparently Mark knocked up some lady and has a kid that's like almost of legal age now. Also, she's very blond. I wouldn't picture Mark with a blond kid. Actually I wouldn't picture Mark with a kid. But he's got one." Her words came out in a deliberate slur of excitement as she peeled the black coat from her arms. "Lexie cut the tip of her finger off!"

Santana had had enough, "Excuse me! But, I've been waiting here way longer than I should've and although this little story of yours is fantastically creepy I don't really care about it."

For the first time since she'd entered the room, Brittany's smile faltered. Once she zeroed in on Santana's face it vanished completely. Turning back to Bailey she asked, "What's going on? I thought we were meeting with Zooey about going to series?"

Calmly and without a single trace of remorse Bailey stated, "I lied to you. Have a seat."

"Clearly." agreed Brittany as she slowly sat down, her hands drumming nervously against the table. With a assured nod from her manager, Santana sat back down heavily, tossing her cellphone loudly against the table.

"So are we going to get down to busy now or do you have to make a quick coffee run? I'm sure none of us mind waiting another thirty minutes for another monumental personal crises." Santana's throaty voice oozed condescendingly. But, if Brittany noticed it, she simply brushed it off, instead turning her attention back to Bailey, "I don't understand what we're doing here."

Reaching into her bag, Bailey pulled out a a thick brass bound script. Brittany's eyes widened as she scanned over the cover sheet that displayed the title, "Bright Eyes" and her name in the same, smaller font right below.

"Bailey…" Brittany warned but the woman pressed on.

"This is Brittany's latest. It's dark, of course. It's edgy, of course. And it's got Oscar written all over it. Of course. But, what it doesn't have is a leading lady…Yet."

Santana's heart began to beat wildly beneath her chest, but she held her poker face. This was too good to be true, "What does that have to do with me?"

"Are you offering Santana a role in the film?" Her manager, a pious little man in an overpriced suit asked. Brittany could practically see the numbers crunching in his mind.

Miranda grinned a smile that was both arrogant and warm, "We're offering her the role."

Brittany who up until this point had been doing well to hold her tongue made a strangled gagging noise and all eyes turned to her. Santana's lawyer stood to grab her a bottle of water but she waved it away with a polite thank you.

Santana could feel the fireworks going off incessantly inside of her body but she kept calm. Kept her perfect sneer on. Kept the air of quiet irritation in her voice. "I haven't even read the script. I don't even know what it's about."

Miranda slid the papers across the table, "Take it home. Read it and get back to us."

As Santana's perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around the script, Brittany finally spoke up, unable to contain herself, "Wait."

Santana's hands fell to the table, the script untouched.

Brittany was a writer. Words came easily too her, allegedly. But she was never good at this. Never good at confrontation. Never good at going against the crowd. But, no matter how hard it was, she'd been programmed to never let herself be walked over. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Brittany we talked about this." Miranda spoke through clenched teeth. Her brown eyes quietly threatening dismemberment.

Brittany reached across the table and pulled the script back to her side, to safe hands, "Yeah we did. And I told you that I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to offer her the role."

"Santana is a hot commodity in town right now. You would be lucky to have her on your team." Her Manager said as he licked his lips his eyes burning holes into the stack of papers.

Brittany forced herself to look Santana in the eyes—she was beautiful—but she had to focus. "Your movies are entertaining, but I don't think that you would be a good match for this script in particular."

Santana stared back at her, her round eyes an icy brown. Brittany thought for a moment she saw an inkling of sadness, but it was gone before she could really register the moment. Grabbing her phone, Santana stood again. "You're probably right. I make movies about love and laughter and you make movies that if you can make it to the very end you're left with an overwhelming urge to go home and take a razor blade to your wrist. I'm done wasting my time here."

She brought her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose and stalked out of the room, the door clamoring shut behind her. Brittany grinned uncomfortably at Santana's hired help still sitting in front of her, "You know I've heard tales of her monumental bitchiness…It's good to know some people still tell the truth."

They looked away sheepishly.

Brittany sat on her kitchen counter, holding a cold beer bottle to her forehead. Her house rested on top of hill, over looking the beach. From her vantage point she watched as the ocean angrily hit the shore and grey skies rolled in. "You'll never guess who I met today." She hollered into the house.

In a blur of black curls a small Asian woman appeared from the hallway pulling a shirt over her her head, "The Pope?"

"Yes," Brittany grinned, taking a long drink from her beer.

"Did you inform him of being the leader of the world's largest cult?" She asked grabbing Brittany's beer and finishing it off.

"No, but I did ask him to ask God why he created Santana Lopez."

Cristina balked as she hobbled around the room putting on her boot, "You met Santana Lopez today?"

Brittany grinned as she shook her head to the affirmative.

"What was she like?"

"Besides incredibly-fuck-with-your-head hot?"

"Well yeah, besides that."

"Mean, man." Brittany chuckled out as she ran her hand through her hair. "Cristina, she said my movies were the movies people slit their wrist to."

Cristina nodded her head approvingly as she laced up her other boot, "She sounds dark. Befriend her, pronto."

"Pass. She's kind of a bitch." Brittany replied as she leaped off the counter and pulled another beer out of the refrigerator.

"The beautiful ones always are. Don't open that beer. We're leaving. Meredith is going to go all psycho on us if we leave her too long at this birthday party."

Cristina spun around to face Brittany, "Really, why are we going to this thing again? We don't even know the girl."

"Because we're good friends."

"No we're not."

Brittany grabbed the car keys off the end table and tossed them to Cristina as they walked out of the house. "I know we're not. And you know we're not. Arizona really needs to learn that we're not."

"We're crappy friends." Cristina agreed.

"The worst."

Everything and everyone has a price. Money talks, walks, and does fucking handstands. Santana came from a upper middle class family. Her dad is a doctor; Her mother a teacher. So she's known from a very early age that the most important factor in life was and always will be, money. Back then she used it to buy the usual girl things: tons of clothes, make up, techy gadgets she could barely use. She threw it around Lima, Ohio and people took notice.

She had the best of everything. She made sure her parents never spared any expense. These days though after the real estate purchasing got old and the cars she never drives began to pile up she began to use her money to buy other things.

Mainly silence.

Buying off others meant that she could sparingly be someone she never got the chance to be: herself.

And being herself was what she was doing at this very moment. Stretched out in her over sized bed, buried deep within thick black blankets, naked from head to toe, her head pressed into the pillow and her body arching up to meet the eager mouth of one of her, "assistants" Tina.

She knows she's a cliché . She knows she's a story that's been written and remade under the Hollywood lights. A hot young actress stuck so far in the closet she's bumping fists with Aslan. But, she's worked hard to get to where she is—Sorta. So, giving it up to identify as something she isn't even sure she is, isn't going to happen. Besides, it's like her mom said, seven years ago when she was a confused sixteen year old looking for support, "You're not gay if you don't act on."

And she's not acting on it. Not really anyway. She doesn't see the problem enjoying a well practiced tongue attached to a tight lipped mouth. It's American capitalism at it's best. A service is rendered and a price is paid. No harm, no foul. Everyone wins. Thankfully for Santana, Tina is meticulous. She gets the job done without the goo-goo eyes or any lingering touches.

Her hands fist the sheets as Tina dips her tongue between wet folds, sliding against the side of her clit, her mouth opening around the nerves and suckling. On her nightstand, Santana's cell phone begins vibrating. She groans, ignoring it as she begins to rock against Tina's mouth. Higher, higher. Tina flicks her tongue out again and again and oh-

The phone quiets as Santana's moans grow louder. Tina's teeth rake against Santana's flesh as Santana bites back her orgasm wanting to draw out the sensations for as long as possible.

The cell phone illuminates again. Buzzes commandingly. Santana curses at it under her breath as she flops back onto the bed, frustrated. Tina peers up to her from between her legs, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No. But, hurry. It's just my stupid cousin calling."

Minutes later, Santana has her legs clinched tightly against Tina's head, back arching to the sky, coming so hard her bones feel it.

Tina watches from a high backed chair in the corner of the bedroom as Santana quietly dresses. "What kind of party is it?"

Santana shrugs distractedly, "It's her birthday party. She's old as shit now so I don't know why we're celebrating."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-seven."

Tina grins as she slides her foot back into her black high heels, "Santana that's not old."

"That's debatable."

Silence swallows up the small conversation. Tina watches as Santana, clad only in matching black lingerie holds up different dresses to her impossibly perfect body in the mirror. As if it actually matters what she wears, she's going to look beautiful no matter what.

Selling herself for sex wasn't in her life plan. But, medical school is pricey and she wasn't about to give up her dreams. She use to service a select clientele—women only—but after she got hooked up with Santana she dropped them all. Santana payed twice their amount combined and she alone was the reason her second semester was payed for in full.

Tina would never delude herself into thinking this was a relationship for a multitude of reasons, most important being:

A) She wasn't stupid.

B) She had no feelings for Santana.

C) She had a boyfriend.

But, still she cherished the time she spent with the young actress. She got to really see Santana in these quiet moments. After every "session" Santana was left vulnerable and naked. Her body was left sated, but in her eyes there was a glimmer of fright and sometimes disgust. Tina wanted nothing more than to ask Santana what those looks meant, but she would never dare to. Questions like those were strictly forbidden. Caring about her client was against the rules. This job was too lucrative to fuck up because she was developing a soft spot for some closeted celebretard.

Santana reemerged from her closet wearing a skin tight red dress and black louboutin pumps. She did a twirl, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, "How do I look?"

Tina smiled shyly, "Like a million bucks."

Calliope Torres was in girlfriend mode. She breezed around the room, smile never breaking. Her cheeks aching as her impossible Cheshire grin never waned. She was determined to make a good impression. Arizona had thrown her a birthday party even though she had specifically requested to not be thrown a birthday party. She was forcing herself to make the most of it.

Downing a glass of red wine in a split second, Callie turned to find Arizona laughing with Cristina Yang, a resident at their hospital. She hadn't spoken with the woman much, but word in the surgical room was that Cristina Yang was a beast. A whip smart, slightly deranged, surgically stellar beast. The kind of girl Callie could see herself becoming friends with. Also laughing with them was another blond that Callie didn't recognize. She was dressed in all black, save for the singular sky blue bar running across her halter top. Her boots tapped against the floor to the rhythm of the God awful upbeat tempo pouring out of the stereo.

Catching Callie's eyes, Arizona beckoned her over with a wave. Grabbing another glass of red, Callie charged forward with a frighteningly chipper smile. Arizona bounced on the balls of her feet as Callie neared them, "Here she is, the Birthday Girl! Brittany, Callie, Callie this is Brittany."

"Hi!" Callie's voice was an octave higher than normal.

Brittany smiled back curiously, "It's nice to meet you."

"And you know Cristina already, right?" Arizona asked nodding toward Cristina who was thoroughly uninterested in the conversation as she watched a tiny, forlorn looking woman dance with herself, her wine sloshing over the rim of the glass.

"Are you in Peds?" Callie asked attempting some sort of conversation.

Whipping around, Cristina made a face, "God no!"

"I'm going to pretend to not be offended by your tone. Peds is a very important, very hardcore surgery specialty. I fix the tiny, broken people. I make them whole. I ensure that the future leaders of America make it past their tenth birthday…Go me! Go Peds!" Arizona smiled proudly, her attention turning back to the woman dancing, drunkenly, "You guys maybe we should make Meredith go to sleep?"

An hour into the party and all social pleasantries had been thrown out the window. Callie traded in her distressing, over-achieving smile for her less friendly, more widely known cocky grin. Arizona's friends were fun. Well at least Cristina and Brittany were. She'd made a point to not introduce herself to anyone else after finding out that Cristina was the young doctor who had gone rogue in the OR last Thursday and that Brittany had written one of her favorite movies, "Delirium."

As the conversation switched from politics, to music and then rounded back to film, Callie grabbed at her cellphone suddenly remembering who had yet to show up to her birthday festivities. Arizona eyed Callie and the phone in her hand warningly, "Do not drunk dial your dad again!"

Giggling drunkenly, Callie squinted at her phone, "I'm not calling my dad. I'm calling my cousin. She should've been here by now. She's always late. For everything."

"Holy shit, Santana Lopez is here!" Someone called out and all eyes turned to the door where sure enough Santana stood in the red dress, looking like a million bucks. The blood drained from Brittany's face as she turned around and found Santana soaking up the spotlight, posing for shitty camera phone photographs.

"She's here!" Callie tossed the phone to the side as she stood, teetering slightly. "I know semi-famous people too!" She walked over to the crowd that had gathered around the starlet.

Cristina grinned at Brittany punching her on the arm, "That hot evil bitch has intercepted this party."

"Cristina please don't refer to Callie's cousin as a bitch when she gets over here. I'm trying to make a good impression on their family. Apparently they don't dig on the gays." Arizona said as she walked away to introduce herself.

"Should we leave?" Brittany asked finally tearing her eyes away from Santana.

"Sure. They're running out of booze here anyway."

Two failed escape attempts later, Brittany found herself clinging to the corner of the room ignoring Lexie Grey as she recounted her hangups over being a step-mom to an almost fully grown person. She kept a watchful eye on Santana who sat with Callie and Arizona soaking up the attention, batting her eyes at some and scowling at the ones she deemed less deserving of a smile. All thoughts of leaving early had been dismissed when Cristina decided to dive into the bottle with Meredith. They danced drunkenly against an even drunker male nurse. Brittany rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long night.

She was drunk. But, even if she wasn't drunk she could admit it because she wasn't a liar. She wasn't a liar and she wasn't blind. And seeing that Santana Lopez was the most beautiful person in a fifty mile radius and possibly in the entire world, she could openly admit that. Especially to herself and to Lexie who lie passed out over her lap. But, that was as far as this attraction was going. Actually it wasn't even an attraction. It was a slight drunken longing. Booze and beautiful women should never mix.

Lexie sat up, her hair in her face, "I'm not old enough to be a step mother!"

Brittany shushed her quietly and urged her gently back to sleep on her lap. Her eyes bouncing around the room and then nonchalantly landing back on Santana.

She was vibrant and although she'd had a glass of wine in her hand since she sat down she didn't look the least bit inebriated. Watching her was like watching the most incredible silent movie. She was quietly reserved, but her eyes were openly hostile. She laughed but only with Callie and occasionally when Callie glared at her for not laughing at one of Arizona's terrible jokes. Her dress hitched up her leg as she bent over and grabbed at her wine, her eyes flickering across the room and meeting Brittany's. She grinned, but it vanished before she sat the wine back down and leaned into the cushions.

The momentary contact was enough to start Brittany's pulse hammering under her skin. She inwardly kicked herself. She was drunk and Santana was beautiful. That was the only reason her body was acting so…strange. It had nothing to do with full pouty lips. It had nothing to do with the tiny crinkles that formed at the corner of Santana's eyes at every rare smile.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the caramel skin and the fact that she looked so damn delicious Brittany was almost certain she could smell her from across the room.

The one thing she was better at than writing was dancing. So when Mike Chang, a friend from Universal asked her to dance she quickly accepted. They spun, they gyrated, dipped and rolled. They did the impossible: Tore the attention away from Santana and kept it there until the end of the song and a cheery applause.

A slower song kicked in and Mike held out his hand with a gentlemanly flair. Brittany grinned and placed hers in his as they slow danced.

"I want you to meet my girlfriend soon."

Brittany smiled, "Oh the mystery girl."

Mike had spoken about his new girl relentlessly, but had yet to bring her around in the four months they'd been together. Brittany liked her already because every time Mike said her name his eyes lit up like the New York skyline.

Brittany questioned, one more time, just to makes sure it was still there, "What's her name again?"

Mike grinned, his smile singing, "Tina."

It happened around midnight only after Brittany was sure she could avoid it. Callie and Arizona, a drunken blissful hybrid pulled her kicking and internally screaming to where Santana sat on the couch tiredly staring at her cellphone screen.

"Hey!"

Santana jumped as Callie's voice hit her. Her eyes fell on Brittany instantly who refused to make contact. Callie pushed forward, "This is Brittany. She's in Hollyweird too!"

They had awkwardly explained that they had already met. Callie and Arizona tried to make them bond over their shared occupation but had given up instead turning into each other and trading sickeningly sweet "we're in love" eyes.

Santana watched as Brittany shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her blond hair hanging in messy waves, obscuring the view of her left eye. There was something about her that Santana couldn't exactly put her finger on. There she sat, a picture of sunshine painted in black clothes. She would grin at anyone who passed, occasionally standing to hug someone. Her smile was genuine and present in a way that Santana knew her own wasn't. Her physical presence didn't fit in with her work and the words she's written. Santana couldn't figure out how such darkness came from such light.

"I watched Delirium" Santana admitted.

Brittany looked her in the eyes quizzically, her eyebrows raising, "And you're still alive."

"My point exactly," Santana grinned, "Sometimes I say stuff I don't mean."

Despite herself, Brittany felt her body relaxing for the first time since Santana had entered the party, "If that's your idea of an apology you need to rehearse better."

"It's all you get…It's all I give."

"Lucky me."

Grabbing Callie's abandoned glass of wine, Santana uncrossed and crossed her legs. She made a mental note to remember how Brittany's eyes had followed her movements, before they quickly darted away.

"How do you know my cousin?" She asked.

"I don't. I met her tonight."

"So your friends with Arizona?"

Brittany nodded, "Yes."

It was getting kind of ridiculous trying to keep up the small talk while pretending she wasn't checking Santana out, but Brittany applauded herself for her valiant attempt.

Before she could stop it, Brittany heard herself explaining, "It's not that I think you're a terrible actress or anything…"

A raised eye brow against caramel skin, "Oh really?"

Brittany laughed, "Oh my God could you not be an actress for five seconds and let me explain myself to you."

Santana's lips split into a smile, "Why do you feel the need to explain yourself to me?"

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, "Because I'm drunk."

"You're honesty is refreshing. You keep it up you won't last a year in this business."

"I've lasted two and I'm doing pretty well if I say so myself." Brittany tucked a leg up under herself and leaned into Santana. She'd been fighting the handsy drunk woman trying to burst from within her but she was steadily losing the upper hand. "It's not that I think your a bad actress. You do really well with the parts that you're given-"

"Oh thanks, your approval means so much," deadpanned Santana.

"Shut up a minute please. It's just that there's a certain stigma that comes attached with you. And even though you may knock this role out out of the fucking park. I don't want that kind of stuff attached to my work…My work means something to me."

Santana felt her cheeks flush and her blood bubble to a slow boil. She kept her voice steady, but her words still came out in a hiss, "What kind of "stigma" comes attached with me?"

Brittany sat back. This is why she tried not to speak so much. She always said too much. She always said the wrong thing. She shifted uncomfortably and murmured an apologetic, "Nothing."

"Not nothing. What have you heard?" Santana's voice rose. She tried to level it.

"Nothing. I'm going to go." Brittany rose from the chair, but Santana discreetly pulled her back down leaning in. Brittany felt her hands go clammy and she struggled to keep her eyes open as Santana's scent filled her nostrils.

"Don't fuck around with me, Brittany. I may not be up to your standards, but I have enough power to seriously do damage to your career."

Santana released her grip on Brittany's shirt and stood making a bee line for the door, the crowd parted as her heels smacked across the floor. Brittany took a deep gulp of air as she let her body go limp against the chair, her head resting against the seat. Her heart slowed. She was terrified, but it wasn't because of Santana's threats. It was the way her body reacted when Santana had pulled her down that had her completely spooked. She would not let herself develop feelings for someone like her. Someone who…She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought.

Leaning forward, Brittany's eyes fell on a thin silver cell phone covered in a black protective case. She picked it up and hit the home button. A picture of Santana smiling with a beautiful blond woman with a pixie hair cut stared back at her.