Title: In Another Life
Author: timorous-scribe
Length: ~1.2k
Rating: like, not even T for this chapter
Pairing(s): Brittana for this chapter
- - Brittana - -
Brittany parks in the gravel lot just behind the run down old blues bar, dropping her forehead to the steering wheel once she's switched off the ignition. She listens to the clicks and whirrs of the engine winding down and tells herself that what she's doing here is okay. She's not betraying her family, she's not going to actually talk to her, she just wants to hear her sing again and that's okay.
Santana Lopez isn't a Beyonce-level star, but she's had a couple number ones (two in the last six years, plus three more that peaked top ten) and she's got a pretty solid following of fans.
Brittany owns all three of her albums and has been to every show Santana's booked within six hours driving distance of Lima, but she doesn't let herself keep up with Santana's fanclub or social media feeds. That has always made it too much, made her feel too close at the same time as being an acute reminder of how very far they actually are.
Like these quiet sessions Santana has when she's back in Lima, they've always felt to Brittany like passing her fingers through a candle's flame—it doesn't sting as long as she doesn't linger. She's never come to one before, simultaneously terrified and anxious that a crowd of so few people would bring them face-to-face again.
She's always wondered if that's why Santana does it.
Her phone chimes from the passenger seat and Brittany nearly jumps out of her skin, half-chuckling out loud at herself as she pulls it from her purse to check the message. She tries to ignore the pang of guilt that slices through her belly when she sees the text from Sam, he's stuck at work for an extra couple hours but he dropped the boys at her parents' house for the night so maybe they can go to a late dinner.
She sends him a quick "perfect" and tells herself again that it doesn't hurt anything to just see her, just once, and let the burning smoke of Santana's voice cauterize the craving that never really went away. She's just going to listen, and then she'll go back to her life and leave Santana to hers, and there's no harm in that, right?
…..right?
Brittany drops the phone back into her purse, adding her keys before pulling the strap over her shoulder and ducking out of the car. The conflicting urges are making her feel like she's wearing headphones blasting static and she's always found action over thought to be comforting when that happens.
She pays her cover and accepts her stamp before gravitating through the small crowd towards the bar along the wall opposite the stage. Brittany finds a seat near the back—closest to the door in a shadowed corner—and settles onto the stool just as the first notes of the song hum out and the crowd quiets. It's a slow melody, almost lazy in its tune, and Brittany wonders what it is that makes some songs feel like loss, even before the lyrics tell you what's missing.
The stage lights come up and Santana is seated on a stool behind a mic, looking stunning and breathtaking and like everything Brittany's ever missed. It aches to look at her from only a room away. She's a little older, of course—they both are—but the years have been kind to Santana, accenting her eyes with crinkles and deepening her dimples.
A smile curves the edges of Santana's lips and Brittany's stomach spasms; it's a secret kind of smile that she both recognizes, and recognizes the differences in immediately. It's not her smile, and Brittany almost winces with the realization. Of course it's not, it can't be, it hasn't been for several years now.
"For you, I was a flame. Love... is a losing game." The first words ring out clear and Brittany's breath hitches, mesmerized by Santana's easy stage presence. Brittany stares unblinking as the song continues, lost in the sight and sound of her former lover.
Santana still does that same thing with her hands when she sings.
It's simultaneously bittersweet and comforting, and it reminds Brittany of summer nights on the roof of Santana's parent's house a lifetime ago, when Santana would sing into the half-empty tequila bottle and they'd trade quiet promises for the future. If Brittany closes her eyes and just listens, she can almost smell the humid air heavy with marijuana smoke and young love.
"Played out... by the band, love is... a losing hand."
It's a much more melancholy tune than the stuff they used to sing to each other, but Santana's voice is just as striking as it was at eighteen and Brittany finds herself lost in the hazy hypnotism of it.
"Memories mar my mind, love is a fate... resigned."
The song ends a few moments later with a lingering note that resonates against Brittany's ribs, and she finds herself wondering if maybe it wouldn't be so bad to talk to her again. Their goodbye wasn't exactly the stuff of legend—Santana moved off for college and Brittany didn't, and when the weeks between visits stretched on into months, Santana untied their thread before it could be cut.
Sam had been there with his kind eyes and his easy understanding, and as cold as Brittany's insides felt, he'd been warm enough to keep her from shattering.
But then there'd been that one time when they didn't think it mattered if they used a condom because the world was ending anyway—one of her more obvious self-detonating moments, Brittany's pretty sure—and now there was a Max and Alex (her beautiful blonde little X-Men) and her life was in a totally separate universe from the plans she and Santana made for each other, back before they had any idea what the world really was.
She would never forget the hard sound of Santana's voice—like sandpaper on gravel—when she'd told Brittany congratulations. They'd never lied to each other before that phone call, never had to play those pretend smiles and faked masks like everyone else.
The crowd in the club goes nuts cheering and Brittany starts from her memories. Santana's getting to her feet beaming that same deeply-dimpled shining grin that always fluttered Britt's heart—part smug confidence, part mischievous scamp, part aching vulnerability seeking reassurance.
She follows Santana with her eyes as she steps down from the stage and walks over to a small table, leaning in towards a strikingly beautiful woman with a strong jawline and honey blonde hair. The woman smiles and the two kiss comfortably before Santana turns and hops back to the stage with her smile splitting her face.
Love looks good on her; Brittany's always thought so, really. She lets her gaze slide to the woman at the table, seeing the same adoration shining back towards the stage.
Brittany turns to leave with a sigh, she needs to get home before Sam beats her there and worries where she is. Talking again after so long would just be awkward, anyway. They're different people now and they're both happy, right?
…...right?
Brittany digs into her bag for her keys as she walks to the parking lot, a heavy sigh lifting and dropping her shoulders as she looks up at the night sky. "In another life..."