Die Moldau
It's a studio apartment on a corner in London. The windows overlook a street busy with the classic red double decker buses, full of clueless American tourists, and a glimpse of the River Thames off in the vague distance. It's the end of her three month stay and therefore time to go back home and face the facts. She's a twenty-four year old dance major from Julliard with no career and no jobs lined up, making the future a pretty scary place. Her bombshell looks won't last forever and neither will her agility and skill for that matter. But the blonde puts aside her worries and pushes the last of the boxes towards the door. She prepares herself for another lonely dinner at the local pub. It's not as though she hasn't had the opportunity to make connections in London, it's more that she hasn't quite found the person she wants to be making connections to. Still, it's her last night. She might as well at least try to enjoy it.
It's a different story for the Latina. It's her first night in a new city. She needs to enjoy it. Work has lately consumed her and pulled her down into a seemingly infinite black hole. That's probably why her friends pretty much forced her onto the plane head for London. She'd been writing again, which while good for the band, had pretty much meant that her personal life (or rather the shreds left of her personal life) had been pushed aside. Alcohol. That was first on the agenda. Actually that was the only thing on the agenda.
It should be no surprise, then that the paths of our Latina and our blonde would cross: one girl acquainting herself with the new, the other ushering out the old. They meet in an awkward odd way when the blonde is trying desperately to ward off a drunk, horny male and plants an impromptu kiss on the Latina in an effort to convince the man to go away. It works. He leaves.
"Sorry. I – I wasn't sure what else to do. I should have warned you. This is awkward." The blue-eyed girl began rambling, but the Latina just looks amused.
"Do you normally kiss strangers then not introduce yourself to them?"
"Right. I'm Brittany."
"Santana." Santana smiled. "So are you going to buy me a drink or should I continue leading this relationship along?"
"Right. A drink. What would you like to drink?"
"Whatever you're having."
Brittany isn't really sure what else to say. Santana has her captivated, mesmerized.
"I'm twenty-four, a dancer, jobless, broke, lonely and tonight is my last night in London." The blonde states staring straight ahead, turning to look at Santana's face only when she's done with her speech.
"I'm twenty-four, a lead singer for an unsigned band, vaguely depressed and tonight is my first night in London."
They've got chemistry, the kiss showed them that. They like each other, understand each other in a way or at the very least understand pain, and that's why when they end up in Brittany's empty apartment in the wee hours of the morning they don't resist temptation. That's also why Santana's not disappointed when she wakes to a completely empty apartment, save for the note and the bed upon which she rests. She spends another three weeks in London staying out of a hotel though, with the note folded neatly in her wallet and when she returns stateside, she finds that she regrets only one thing: not giving the blonde her number.
It's been a year on the dot since their initial meeting in that London pub. So it would only be fitting that they meet again, on the same day the next year. This time, it's Brittany who startles Santana. In the year that has passed, Santana and her band have gotten signed and famous and are ready to do a tour. They audition whole rooms full of potential dancers for only six spots. It's not until they're at the final stage, where it's all the best dancers that Santana sees Brittany dead center, right in front of her. Brittany makes the cut.
This time, it's Santana who initiates the contact. With a gentle hand, she sweeps Brittany's sweaty bangs aside and moves her hand to cup the blonde's cheek. Then suddenly her lips are on Brittany's, her tongue inside Brittany's mouth, her hands moving through Brittany's hair. It isn't until her manager, Quinn, clears her throat that the two remember where they are and pull away from each other.
"Glad to see you've met." Quinn smirks dryly.
"Fuck you, Q."
"You mean fuck her."
"Seriously Q, shut it."
Santana sends a look menacing enough to stop a charging rhino in its tracks and scary enough to actually shut Quinn up. Then Brittany bursts out laughing (for a reason that the other two cannot fathom) and actually hugs Santana (or rather Santana actually lets the blonde hug her) and skips off leaving the singer and her manager so confused.
Though they're on the same tour, the band and the dancers rehearse pretty separately until the last month before the tour. This time when they come in contact with each other, it doesn't start with a kiss. It starts with Santana handing Brittany her number. On the back of the paper are words written in messy scrawl: Dinner 8pm, Hotel Lobby. Brittany smiles, turning to look up and say something to Santana but the Latina's been drawn into a meeting with her publicist.
They go on their first date. It ends with a kiss but nothing further. There's promise of a future now, no need to rush the present. They become best friends, cohorts, inseparable and indistinguishable from each other. Indistinguishable not because they are the same person, but because where one finishes the other picks up. Together they seem more whole and more person-like than apart. They continue to get lost in each other and with each other long after the tour is over.
It's been weeks, months, years since their first date when Brittany wakes to a cold empty bed with naught but a folded piece of paper beside her. Taped to the paper is the original note she left all those years ago.
Santana,
Why couldn't we have met sooner? You are exactly what I was looking for at this time in my life. The song you shared with me has re-inspired me to dance. I don't know if you believe in fate, but I do. If we are meant to be together, we will. Just know this. If I never get the chance to see you again, I'm so lucky to have met you. Thank you.
Eternal love from Brittany.
Santana had written on the paper below the note.
Brittany,
Fate was on our side. We were always supposed to end up together. I didn't believe in happy endings and second chances until I met you. Love does indeed conquer all. Seeing you everyday reminds me of how truly lucky I am to have you, my muse, in my life. But Britt, sometimes things can't always stay the way they are. Sometimes, something's gotta change. That's why Britt, I've gotta write this. I'm too damn cowardly to say this in person.
Will you marry me?
Beyond eternal love from Santana.
Brittany looked up at the door where Santana now stood leaning against the frame of the door in pajama bottoms and a tank top holding a ring box. Brittany just stared at Santana before jumping off the bed and nearly tackling Santana. Brittany grinned from ear to ear as she pinned Santana to the wall.
"Yes. Yes. YES!"
Then in the next second her lips were pressed up to Santana's their mouths and tongues melding and fusing and kissing. It all started with a kiss. And it would continue with many more.
A/N: The name is not based on the literal translation of "Die Moldau" but rather just based purely off the fact that I played Smetana's 'Die Moldau' on repeat as I wrote this story. Reviews noticed and appreciated!
-A.R.K.-