Santana sat, cross-legged, at the foot of the rectangular hole in the ground. She didn't care that her black dress could get ruined. She didn't care that she was late and that people were probably looking for her. She stared at the headstone, reading the few words on it again despite having memorised them.

'Carmen Teresa Lopez,
Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Friend'

Santana tried to figure out what she was to her. When she was little, she'd thought of her grandmother as her friend. She'd taught her everything she knew: never to let anyone tell her what to do, to stay strong even when the world was against her, the importance of family.

She seemed so tough, but when it mattered she really cared. She was so loving she scared most people, but not Santana. The only thing she'd been scared of was losing her, and now she had, again.

It wasn't until now that Santana realised she'd already been mourning the loss of her grandmother for months. They hadn't spoken, she'd ignored her calls, and she wouldn't even let her into the house, the house that had been her safe place for as long as she could remember. Now she could feel the sun on her back and her dress was absorbing the heat, bathing her in warmth. She felt closer to her grandmother now than she had in a long time.

She couldn't be gone. She couldn't die without them making things right.

A hand stroked her head, making her jump.

"I thought I'd find you here."

She didn't have to turn around to know it was Brittany. She had come out here to be alone, but she was glad she didn't have to be.

"Hi."

Her voice was so much smaller than usual. She shivered as she felt Britt's hand glide down from her crown, stroking her hair and smoothing it over her shoulder. She knelt behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to her neck and resting her chin on her shoulder. Santana closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of the girl whose cheek was brushing gently against hers.

"You know, the church is over there. Are you sure you don't mind missing it?"

"It's not real. It's not her."

"What do you mean?"

"I know things got bad between us at the end, but all the black, the songs, everyone looking miserable… she would've hated it. But nobody cares what I say; they all blame me. They keep saying I broke her heart, and that's why it stopped working."

Nobody else would have noticed the crack in her voice, but Brittany squeezed her a little tighter and buried her nose in her hair, kissing just behind her ear.

"You know that's not-"

Santana looked down at the arms across her stomach and stroked one with the backs of her fingers.

"I know, I know… I just wish we could do it the way she would want to. She wasn't always angry. She used to throw the best parties – food and drink and laughing – she always dragged everyone up to dance. She picked me first every time because she knew I would join in. I can still remember her lifting me onto her feet when I was really little so I would be a little taller, so I could keep up with her, and now I'm supposed to stand around and sing something slow and cry about losing her. If she were here, she'd tell us not to waste the sunshine."

"We don't have to waste it."

Santana turned her head so their noses were touching. In a second, Brittany went from being wrapped around her to standing at her side, reaching down with open hands. Santana slid her hands into Brittany's, locking them together like they had a thousand times before. Brittany pulled her up, making her feel feather light instead of being anchored down by guilt and regret. She sprung to her feet and crashed gracefully into her, laughing and kissing her slowly. Brittany pulled her close, waltzing with her around the grave, twirling her until she giggled. She lifted her by the waist so that her shoes dropped off then brought her back down so that her toes were wriggling in the grass. Brittany held one hand whilst using the other to clutch onto Santana's waist, swooping her face in close to rub their noses together and glancing at the ground before nodding mischievously at her.

"Are you serious?"

"No. I thought that was the point."

Santana reached up to kiss her again, and as both of their eyes closed she stepped up onto Brittany's feet. They were clumsy yet somehow elegant, wobbling across the soft ground, the sun in their eyes, their hair being blown in between them, but they couldn't stop smiling at one another. Eventually Santana slipped off Brittany's feet, but they kept dancing. Brittany started doing handstands and cartwheels until she decided to lie down on the grass next to Santana, who'd been watching her, grinning and laughing.

Brittany pulled her in close, kissing her forehead and wrapping an arm around her waist. She propped herself up on one elbow, making a shield between Santana and the glaring sun. Between Santana and anything that could hurt her. Her white dress had grass stains on it; she didn't have to wear black, as she obviously hadn't been invited to the funeral. Santana cupped her cheek and stared straight into her eyes. They were full of so much innocence, but she still knew exactly what Santana needed. She liked letting herself be vulnerable with her; she felt safe and happy. She'd never trusted anyone the way she trusted Brittany. She was everything she'd loved about her grandmother.

"You think she would have preferred this?"

Santana nodded.

"I just wish we'd… I wish she'd met you. She would've loved you so much."

Brittany shrugged.

"I guess it's a good thing I've got you."

Santana smiled and nodded.

"I'll just have to love you enough for both of us."

She reached up and kissed her again before they both heaved themselves to their feet.

"Do you want to go in? I can wait for you somewhere."

"No. They're not going to wait for me. Let's go."

Santana picked up the rose she'd brought with her and laid it on top of the headstone. She kissed two fingers and pressed them over her grandmother's name, whispering 'goodbye'. They linked their fingers and Santana picked up her shoes. Brittany slipped hers off and carried them so they could both feel the grass under their feet.

When the rest of the family walked towards the grave, they didn't see two girls, one in black and one in white, both barefoot, holding hands as they left the cemetery. They kept talking to each other and laughing, and Santana knew that it didn't matter how everyone else remembered her grandmother, or how their relationship had been before she died. She knew that as long as she was happy like this, as long as she held onto this feeling of being loved unconditionally, she would never really lose the grandmother she'd been so devoted to.