There is something songlike about her, something melodic about the way she walks, the way she speaks, the way she breathes into the crook of Brittany's neck. There is something musical about her, the way her hands match the tempo as she sings, the way her deep brown eyes follow Brittany's blue gaze.
And this time, they follow her gaze into the pond in Central Park, the breeze swirling the tendrils of deep brown hair around Santana's face as Brittany's hand clutches tight to her Rainbow Dash plush, and she catches sight of a little duckling caught alone at the edge of the pond, his foot wrapped in a piece of seaweed as he quacks in desperation.
"Santana, look!" Brittany gasps, her face falling in worry. She crouches down at the edge of the pond, setting her stuffed pony down, and reaches out for the duckling as Santana comes up behind her, resting a hand on Brittany's shoulder and smiling in surprise at the sight of the little duck.
Carefully, Brittany untangles the duck from the seaweed, holding onto him with one hand and unwrapping his leg with the other. When the duck is free, Brittany stands, turning to Santana with the little creature in her hands, and smiles as her girlfriend coos and strokes the duckling's head.
"Can we keep him, San?" Brittany asks, making her best puppy dog eyes at Santana. "Please?"
"Well, does he have a family? I don't see any other ducks around here…"
"Poor little guy. I bet they left him behind when he got tangled up."
Santana leans down and picks up Brittany's Rainbow Dash plush, tucking it under her arm. "Why don't we walk a little ways to the other end of the pond and see if we can find them?" She suggests, leading the way down the paved pathway with Brittany following close behind, cradling the duckling carefully in her pale hands.
After about half an hour of walking and searching, there is still no sign of the duckling's family, and Brittany begins to get discouraged, balancing the duckling in one hand as she laces her fingers through Santana's, tugging on her girlfriend's hand. "Santana, we have to take him home. He'll starve out here! He doesn't know how to get food, and if we can't find his mommy…"
Santana sighs. "How much do you know about caring for baby ducks?"
"Well, I know they're really, really cute," Brittany insists, holding the duckling up to Santana's face and making big, pouting eyes. "And they eat plants and drink water, so how hard can they be to take care of?"
"Yes, but they poop. How do you potty train a duck?" Santana reminds her.
"He can use Lord Tubbington's litter box. We'll litter box train him. And he can swim in the bathtub. And we don't have to keep him forever, just until he's old enough to care for himself. And we can buy a book about ducks at the pet store and – "
"Alright! Fine," Santana gives in with a slight grumble, though she smiles as she squeezes Brittany's hand. "What should we name him?" She asks as they head down the pathway out of the park.
"Piper," Brittany responds confidently, lifting her hand to her face to kiss the little bird on the head.
Half an hour later, Brittany is making Piper feel at home in their apartment, chopping up vegetables for him and introducing him to Lord Tubbington's litter box, The Caring and Keeping of Ducks lying open on the kitchen table, while Santana is in the bathroom filling up the tub.
There is something songlike about the way she opens the bathroom door, calling "It's ready!" to Brittany, her head peering out. Brittany picks up the duckling and takes him into the bathroom, expecting an empty tub full of clear water, but blinks with surprise when she finds Santana, naked, stepping into the bathwater, a multitude of bubbles settling around her shoulders as she sits down.
Brittany giggles. "I thought this bath was for Piper."
Santana winks. "Piper can join us. I thought this might be a bit more fun."
So Brittany hands Santana the duck as she gets undressed, sliding into the bathtub beside her girlfriend. Santana lets go of the duckling, allowing him to swim through the walls of bubbles towards Brittany, quacking as he goes. Brittany laughs and leans down to nuzzle the duck with her nose, brushing the bubbles from his feathers with her hand. "Piper likes bubbles!" She declares.
There is something songlike about Santana's laugh, too, that makes Brittany want to lean over and kiss her. So she does, catching the brunette by surprise, a gasp escaping her lips as her hands find Brittany's bare back. They are interrupted by a quack from the other end of the tub, and Brittany sits back, laughing as Piper swirls around her through the bubbles.
"Piper wants us to keep it PG," Santana chuckles, gathering bubbles around her chest.
"Sorry, Piper," Brittany coos, rubbing the duck's head gently with her finger. Taking him in her hands, she scoots towards Santana, grinning as she sets the duck atop the brunette's head. Piper quacks in surprise, settling himself down in Santana's hair and Santana smiles as she sinks down into the water, holding her breath. Piper stays above the water, floating around Santana's head before swimming over to Brittany again as Santana comes up for air. Both girls burst into laughter, and Piper quacks his approval, flapping his little wings.
"Santana, sing for Piper," Brittany suggests, leaning her back against the edge of the tub.
Santana smirks. "Fine. But only if you let me wash your hair."
So Brittany turns around in the tub, her bare back facing Santana, sitting in between her girlfriend's legs. Santana reaches for the shampoo, pushing Brittany's head gently towards the water as she does so, and Brittan obliges by submerging herself briefly, wetting her hair for the shampoo. Piper comes up beside them as Santana starts to lather the shampoo in Brittany's hair, humming softly at first, the songlike presence of her soft hands in Brittany's hair matching the slow tempo of the song as she starts to sing.
Meet me down by the whale watch
Meet me down by the sea
Meet me down in Coney Island
We'll go out on the sea
She don't ask me no questions
Cause I don't cry no wolf
By the ruins of the Ferris wheel
See her down in the surf
You might think she's Christ-like
But my lover is childlike
See the fish swimming upstream
Back to the hills
Want no part in the whale watch
If you couldn't tell
My lover ain't Christ-like
But my lover is childlike
She don't care for country
In her tatters and rags
As the band plays the anthem
She whispers, "God hates flags"
Brittany sighs with contentment as Santana finishes singing, lowering her head into the water to rinse the shampoo from her hair, her face still above the water as Piper swims up next to her half-submerged ear and quacks into it. She looks up to see Santana's face leaning over her, and comes up out of the water, her lips meeting Santana's in a brief upside-down kiss before she pulls away and sits up.
There is something harmonious about the way Santana gazes longingly across the bathtub at Brittany, almost as though she is still singing the soft song she finished moments ago.
"You're music," Brittany decides out loud, because it is the only way to describe her girlfriend that satisfies the way her mind has been describing Santana of late, because there is no better way to describe her.
Santana just smiles. "And you're childlike."