Brittany's always been told that there are better, safer jobs for her to have. It's not like she doesn't know that, but it's just that it's really hard to get a job when you're still in college, and driving a cab is an easy way to make money. Plus, the tips are good. She knows it's not the safest job for a twenty year old, blonde woman to have, but apart from those one or two customers who just wouldn't leave her alone, everyone she's ever given a ride to has been lovely. She's lucky to have even got a job like this, she's lucky that her uncle owns the firm and gave her a chance. They came to an agreement when she got the job that Brittany would only work in the light, never when it was dark - her safety was the most important thing - which meant the latest her shift finished was usually eight or nine.

Right now, it's 8:50pm and Brittany's shift is due to end in ten minutes. Her last call of the night is to one of the most upmarket clubs in New York City; Avenue. It was unusual for a cab like hers to be called to somewhere so exclusive. Usually, the people who went to parties there were celebrities and models, and they always arrived in limo or chauffeur driven car. She double checks the address, to make sure she isn't mistaken, and make her way to Avenue.

When she pulls up outside, she immediately feels out of place. All the cars on this street are expensive and posh, which is the complete opposite of the ten year old car she's driving. The people queueing to get into the club are well dressed and every single one of them is extremely attractive. A poster beside the door catches Brittany's eye - 'Annabelle Peter's Modelling Agency Charity Fundraiser'. The date on the poster is today, and suddenly everything makes sense as to why there isn't an unattractive person in sight. Brittany begins to look around at the models making their way into the building. What's the harm in checking out a few women who want to be checked out? Just as she's beginning to enjoy this little escape into a world she'd never get to experience herself, the back door of her cab opens and a woman in a long black coat gets in.

"Collection for Lopez, right?" the customer asks.

"Yeah," Brittany confirms. "Heading to 3rd?"

"Please," the passenger replies. Brittany looks in her rearview mirror and realises that her passenger is crying. This isn't the first person she's picked up who was in a state, but something about this passenger is different. She's absolutely beautiful, even when she cries. She's attempting to wipe the tears away from her eyes when she catches sight of Brittany watching her in the mirror. "Please," she says. "Just take me home."

Brittany puts the car in gear and begins to drive, daring a glance in the mirror every few minutes to check her customer is okay. After five minutes, the woman still hasn't stopped crying and Brittany can't keep quiet any longer.

"Are you okay?" she asks. "I mean, I know it isn't any of my business but sometimes it's useful to unload all of your problems onto someone who doesn't know you at all."

"Just had a rough night," the woman replies.

"I'm sorry," Brittany says, and she really means it. She knows nothing about this woman apart from her surname and her address, but Brittany still feels bad that there is nothing she can do to cheer her up.

"I wish Kate felt the same way. Bitch doesn't even care." Brittany is startled by the woman's language and hostility but overlooks it and continues on.

"Who's Kate?" she asks. "If you don't mind me asking," she adds quickly.

"My girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. I don't know." Brittany almost crashes the car at the admission. This beautiful woman in the backseat of her car is gay. Or at the very least bisexual. Either way she's attracted to women and Brittany would never have guessed in a million years.

"What happened?"

The passenger looks at Brittany in the mirror and they make eye contact for the first time.

"I'm Santana," the passenger says. "I feel like you should at least know my name before I tell you my life story," Santana smirks. Her eyes are still wet, but she's not crying.

"I'm Brittany."

"Thanks for picking me up, Brittany," Santana smiles.

"It's kind of my job," Brittany jokes, and they both laugh. Brittany is glad that she could cheer Santana up even a little.

"Yeah, so, Kate," Santana starts. "I guess she's been sleeping with Brandon for the past few months behind my back. I mean, he's her stylist and they obviously spend a lot of time together but I just feel so stupid that I didn't see it happening. It was right in front of me the whole time."

"Wow."

"Everyone's been looking at me with pity in their eyes for weeks, been avoiding me or being extra nice and I didn't know why. All that time, all that fucking time they knew. They knew she was fucking him, they knew she was cheating on me, and not one of them had the decency to tell me."

"That really sucks," Brittany says.

"Yeah, well, what can you do? Sometimes people suck."

"Yeah, sometimes they do."

Silence fills the air, but it's not uncomfortable. Brittany watches Santana as she stares out the window at the cars and buildings passing her by.

"Hey Brittany?"

"Yeah?" She can see that Santana is still staring out the window, but there's focus in her eyes.

"Do you have another pick up after me?"

"Um, actually no," Brittany answers. "You're my last." Brittany watches as a small and subtle smile takes over Santana's face.

"You have any plans after work?" Santana says with a smirk, making eye contact with Brittany in the rear view mirror.

Brittany is shocked. She's been asked the same question by clients before, but she's never wanted to act on it. But she really, really wants her time with Santana to last longer than the next eight minutes that it's going to take to get to her house.

"No. Nothing. Why?"

"Do you wanna come up for coffee or something?" Santana asks. "It's just... I don't really want to be alone right now."

Brittany takes a quick look at Santana in the rear view mirror, and she notices how small she looks. She looks more like a scared little child right now rather than a model. It takes Brittany less than a second to make her decision.

"I'd love to."

Santana leads them up the stairs to her penthouse apartment overlooking New York. Brittany's taken aback already by how posh the stairwell and reception of her building are, so she's excited to see what Santana's apartment is like on the inside.

Santana puts her key in the door, makes her way inside and holds the door open for Brittany. "After you," she says, motioning for Brittany to make her way inside.

Brittany giggles shyly and makes her way in, eyes widening at how big the apartment is. Everything is so modern, and the wall on the far side of the room is just one large window, with an amazing view of New York City.

"Wow," Brittany says breathless, walking over to the window.

Santana watches Brittany walk, never taking her eyes off her. "Yeah. Wow," she says, eyes fixated on Brittany. "It's not just a window, y'know. There's a balcony out there, too."

Brittany turns around excitedly. "Really?!"

Santana smiles. "Wanna see?" Brittany just jumps up and down on the balls of her feet, and Santana can't help but laugh.

She leads them both outside and Brittany gasps again. Instead of a brick wall surrounding the balcony, it's made out of glass. You can see everything. Brittany sits down on the ground with her legs crossed even though there's a perfectly good table and chairs beside her.

"I'm going to have to go get changed out of this dress if we're going to be sitting down there," Santana tells her. "Hey, how about we screw the coffee and start on wine instead?"

"I'm driving home," Brittany reminds her.

Santana smirks. "Who says you have to go home?" Brittany's mouth drops open, and then turns into a smile.

"Wine sounds good."

Santana returns a few minutes later in sweats and a t-shirt. Brittany thinks she prefers this Santana. Not that she ever really knew the one who was dressed up, but there's something about this Santana that she thinks is more honest and more herself.

Santana sits cross-legged beside Brittany, setting down two wine glasses, and filling them both almost to the brim.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Santana?" Brittany flirts. She can sense that there's been a shift in the night. They aren't really strangers anymore. She doesn't know what they are, but it feels like they're going to be something.

"Do you... want me to get you drunk, Brittany?" Santana's voice is soft like silk and it makes Brittany's insides melt.

"I haven't decided yet," Brittany says, lifting her glass of wine and taking a sip. "We'll see."

"It was totally my mom's idea. Dad always wanted me to do something more stable like being a lawyer or something. After I came out to them he was obsessed with the whole 'power lesbian' thing. Thought I should be in a position of authority," Santana tells Brittany. They've been chatting about everything and anything for the past hour. "Mom was disgusted and said that I shouldn't be conforming to stereotypes, even though I knew I'd be a damn good lawyer, regardless of who I'm fucking, y'know?"

"So what happened?"

"I was in college - doing economics, not law - and I got scouted at a club. Annabelle's agency spotted me and offered to do some headshots for me and get me some work. Mom was ecstatic, and I wasn't going to turn it down, after all I had to pay my way through college somehow. But after a few months the work was coming in thick and fast and I was making maybe a thousand dollars a week."

"That's impressive," Brittany tells her, eyes wide.

"Yeah, and it was easy money too. So I dropped out of college and started doing it full time. That's when I started getting bigger and better gigs, and the money just kept going up and up. I was only in the business for about a year before I bought this place."

"Wow."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be though. I mean, it's nice to get dressed up every day and have people do your hair and make-up, but the whole business is full of bitchiness and it's ruthless. People will do anything to get a deal... like Katie and Brandon." Santana takes a larger drink of wine than usual, before shaking it off.

"So anyway, less about me," she says, changing the subject quickly. "What's your deal?"

"Um, I'm currently driving cabs for my uncle's firm trying to pay my way through college just like you were," Brittany tells her. "It doesn't bring in as much money as modelling, that's for sure," she laughs. "I'm at NYU, studying journalism. I dream big, y'know? I wanna write for The New Yorker, but it's hard to get into that world. Especially when you're only a twenty year old college student and you're someone like me."

Santana turns to look at her. "Someone like you how?"

Brittany sighs, and looks out over the city. "I've always been different. My brain's wired differently or something. People just don't get me. I have good ideas, I know I do, but I just don't get taken seriously. Back in high school I wasn't good at math or science or any of that, but I was good at cheerleading and I was good at journalism. I even had my own webshow," she tells Santana proudly. "I'd report for the school paper every year, but I also had my own show on YouTube. I put my heart and soul into it, but it just became a joke. Just like everything else I ever did."

Santana notices how sad Brittany becomes, and moves closer, putting her arm around Brittany's shoulders. Brittany snaps her attention round to look at Santana and smiles at the gesture. "It's just been hard. I just want to be given the same treatment as everyone else. I don't care if people think my writing sucks, but I'd like them to at least consider it and read it first. Most of the time they just take one look at me and assume I can't do anything worthwhile."

"That's not true," Santana says with determination. "That's not true at all."

Brittany laughs sadly. "How do you know? You only met me a few hours ago."

"Yeah, and from the moment I sat down in your cab I knew you were different. Do you think I invite cab drivers up into my apartment on a daily basis? No way. You're the first."

"I believe you should try everything once," Brittany tells her.

"Yeah, me too. And if it doesn't work the first time, then don't do it again."

"Well... is it working?" Brittany asks flirtatiously.

"I have a good feeling about it."

"That's good," Brittany replies. "Me too."