Revisited and revised.
02
This is the third dinner Santana pays for as she sets up a strategy to handle Brittany's case. The restaurant is Mediterranean with a touch of Greek decor. Santana likes it. The food is amazing too, every single ingredient incredibly fresh and rich, as it should be. Her Mascarpone Cream with cherries and sweet Samos wine roll down her tongue pleasantly and she almost purrs at the taste. She doesn't have dessert too often but she makes it worth her while when she does.
"I also brought you this." Santana's friend Samantha, who is more acquainted with the proper legislation, hands her a book. "It's a good start. I made a few annotations on the margins and highlighted a few things. It should be of some help." She is also wise enough not to delve into the subject too much. She knows enough: old friend, doing a favor, needs guidance. Santana appreciates the gesture and takes the book in her hands. Going through the pages, the number of annotations and highlights shows Samantha's dedication.
Santana only mingles with the best. Samantha is her age, redheaded, and ready to take advantage of any rich, separated couple. "Thank you." Samantha had sacrificed her night solely to inform and guide Santana through the process. Santana feels much more prepared now. "You took your time just to help me. I owe you one." She hates feeling indebted, but a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do. Brittany invades her thoughts and she wonders why they are doing this.
It's been too long since they had a connection. She has tried not to think about the past. It was over a decade ago. Why, then, does she feel so taken aback and confused? The revelation that Brittany's life went on without her tastes sour in her mouth. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It couldn't be further away from any projection she might have made and expectations she had allowed herself to have.
She stops her own train of thought and looks back at the book. It's better to focus on the situation at hand, get the most and the best for Brittany, and let life follow its course again. Samantha is talking on the phone, looking at her apologetically. She gestures for her friend to keep talking, there's no problem. She finishes her dessert, trying to erase a certain blonde from her mind. She feels like calling her, but that would be crossing a dangerous line.
Santana walks around the dance studio, examining every detail closely. Her heels echo soundly on the floor. She runs her fingers over the walls, stares at herself in the mirror, and even feels comfortable enough to press play on the stereo. A soft electro tango beat begins to play. She's not a big connoisseur, but she can appreciate the beauty of it.
"Bajo Fondo," Brittany says, her body reacting to the beat without her noticing, mimicking a few basic steps as she walks. She has just finished a class, so she is wearing her dance clothes, small drops of sweat dripping from her body, running down her arms, her neck, her back. "It's an Argentinian group. They're amazing," she adds, staring into Santana's eyes. "My last class reacts much better to this than to classic tango." It is a useless piece of information for Santana, but she takes it anyway.
It's late at night. Brittany's last class had ended, and so had Santana's last meeting. The latter had expressed a wish to see the studio and Brittany had conceded, just to listen to the message in the answering machine and meet somewhere outside the office. Just that. Santana avoids the tension by leaving the room and heading to the reception. Tango stills plays in the background as Brittany follows. "Has he shown up?" She asks in a professional tone.
"Here? Yes." The taller woman pauses, picking up a few sheets of paper. "When I'm not around, to teach a few classes. The business is running as usual." Santana takes this chance to examine her client in the discreet light. She is as beautiful as a Renaissance painting. "He has been calling me." Something inside Santana twists and she wishes Brittany was looking at her, so that she could read her.
"Have you been in touch with him somehow?" She asks, keeping her tone serious. That could significantly alter the strategy she was putting together.
"No. I don't want to." Brittany turns to the answering machine, takes out the small tape, and hands it to Santana. "Just in case," Brittany says. All the effort in the world is put into them not touching. They haven't talked yet, not for real. Every conversation is limited to the case and its perspectives. She does not ask Brittany how she feels, she does not comfort Brittany with a hug, she does not reminisce about their past lives, she does not mention their drifting apart.
Santana puts it in her purse. "Good. Have you made your decision yet?" They have all the tools, but it is not the lawyer's role to decide what to do with them. "About what you want to demand?" A touchy subject, but it has to be approached sooner or later. She looks down. She has listened to the messages. There are two of them, making it very clear what was going on between the caller and Brittany's soon to be ex-husband.
She plays with her own wedding ring. What would she do if she were cheated on? She doesn't have the answer. Her blood boils with the mere thought. John Cox swore loyalty and fidelity on his wedding day and he was going to suffer the consequences of breaking such promises. "I want everything we manage to get." Brittany's voice startles her and their eyes meet. "And I want him out of my life." For the first time since she entered Santana's office the other day, Brittany sounds determined. Santana's smile to that is predatory.
It is a sunny day. Brittany loves sunny days. She looks up and smiles, pleased with the blue sky and the cozy warmth of sunrays on her skin. She's in a yellow cotton dress that hugs her waist and flows freely to her knees and brown sandals. There are no classes to teach this afternoon, for which she is glad. She can feed the ducks at the park, take a walk, have some ice cream or do anything else.
She is meeting Santana for coffee. Santana said she had a meeting canceled and asked Brittany if she wanted to grab a coffee or something. The invitation was promptly accepted. It felt nice just seeing Santana again, truth be told. Not to fill the space left by John, but just because. She had forgotten how easy it was to be around her, to have dinner with her and let her talk about this or that new restaurant in Soho and how Brittany had to go there.
"Hello," Brittany says softly, taking a seat across from Santana and taking her sunglasses off. Santana is wearing her work clothes, as always, making Brittany curious about what her informal wardrobe is like now. The sun makes Santana's raven hair shine and her skin seem even smoother, surprising Brittany once again with how aesthetically beautiful the she is.
"Hi," Santana answers, putting her newspaper down and folding it neatly. "You got here so fast." Santana likes her coffee like her family taught her: strong and very, very hot. She hates Starbucks, with their weak, barely warm coffee. Santana's abuela used to say that drinking cold coffee is like kissing a soul – something Santana never forgot.
"It's my afternoon off and I was around. You know, feeding ducks in a pond at the park." Brittany says, opening the menu distractedly.
Santana laughs soundly, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. The sound is just delicious, and so is the image of her in such a laid back moment. Brittany knows Santana is not one to lower her guard and the fact that she allows herself to in front of Brittany does not go unnoticed. "Ducks? Some things never change, do they?"
Brittany smiles. "No, some things never change."
Santana sits on a bench as she watches Brittany teach contemporary music to teenagers. They seem to be a fun group, laughing together. Some of them are boyfriend and girlfriend – it is clear by how some boys are always attached to certain girls' hips. Some of them are talented, others are just having a blast. Brittany is smiling, correcting missteps and walking around. Every once in a while, she takes one of her male students – there aren't many – to demonstrate a step or two.
It is obvious that all of them have at least a slight crush on her. After dancing with a really shy boy who seems to not have decided yet whether he likes to dance with her or if he just wants Earth to swallow him whole, Santana's and Brittany's eyes meet. There's a shared understanding between the two women. Brittany winks at her, and she meant to do it playfully, but she cannot avoid blushing shortly after, as she turns her back to Santana and goes back to watching her students.
Santana just continues to observe her until the class is over. She is glad she got there earlier than expected, if only to see Brittany in her own element. The atmosphere of lawyers, the end of the relationship, it all seemed to be imprinting a soft yet permanent sadness on Brittany lately. Santana worries about her. In a few minutes the kids leave the studio, babbling incessantly about the latest single from the latest famous band.
"I'm going to change," Brittany says, waiting until Santana nods before going to the locker room. They are going to the movies, to watch the latest animated film. Brittany loves animations and she could use the distraction to brighten her mood. That also means they can avoid talking for a few hours. Sometimes it is not easy to dance around subjects such as Santana's marriage, their past together, and what are they becoming.
Santana is walking around, lost in thought, when the door opens. A tall man enters, looking around. He is well built, with broad shoulders and black hair. "Can I help you?" Santana asks, because she does not like how he walks around like he owns the place.
"I'm looking for Brittany." His voice sounds familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it. "Britt?" He calls for her, louder than before. Santana is displeased and disgusted at how he takes ownership of that nickname. It doesn't sound right, coming from him.
Brittany enters the room again and stops at the sight of him. What was John Cox doing there? "John?" Santana's face goes from her to John to her again to John again, as she apparently puts a face to the name. Her expression would be funny if Brittany wasn't panicking. Seeing her (ex?) husband reminds her of his affair, of the hurt and disappointment.
"Brittany, talk to me. First you go over a week without exchanging a word, you don't take my calls or answer my emails, and the next thing I know some lawyer calls me to set up a meeting?" He is unshaven, torn and suffering. Brittany does not want to see his pain, she does not want his particular scent to invade her nostrils, and she wishes he wasn't taking those steps in her direction. Tears threaten to fall from her eyes and she looks away. "Give me one more chance, Britt. We can save this marriage."
Santana snaps when she realizes Brittany may cry at any moment. She acts at the right moment, her right arm encircling Brittany's waist and making her stand behind her as her left hand touches Cox's chest and stops him from getting any nearer to her Brittany. "Hold it there, champ. Brittany has made it very clear that she has no wish to engage in any type of conversation with you and that she considers your marriage to be over already. You will be speaking to her through your lawyer, and this is not a negotiation."
Brittany exhales in relief, clinging to Santana's arm – Brittany has always seen her as bigger than life. She is relieved she does not have to handle this alone, because she feels like running away and not facing anything. This is too big and too serious for her, and she in unprepared. She is trying to adapt, but most of the time she just feels out of place.
"And who are you?" John looks annoyed and surprised at the same time, looking at the hand on his chest and back to Santana as if not believing what is going on.
"I'm Santana Lopez, her best friend and her lawyer. If I were you, I'd leave right away." She gives him her glare, the one that makes it very clear she is a limitless bitch who hides razorblades in her hair. She tightens her grip on Brittany, to make sure she is still there and still safely tucked behind her. "You wouldn't want a restraining order, would you?"
He answers no more and leaves. Santana can feel the hatred towards that man and all that he means. The adrenaline is pumping so fast in her veins that she feels she can run an entire marathon and a triathlon and climb Mount Everest before dinner. Only then does it strike her she is touching Brittany for the first time in over a decade, and she's touching her way beyond a casual, accidental brush. She is holding Brittany close, feeling Brittany's breasts touch her back, Brittany's uneven breathing down her neck, Brittany's hands holding her arm, Brittany's hair tingling her skin. Brittany is everywhere.
"Thank you," Brittany whispers. "Thank you."
Santana turns to look at Brittany and sees her fighting back tears. It breaks her; her heart is thumping so loudly in her ribcage and she feels useless for letting Brittany cry. She acts on instinct again and pulls Brittany in for a long, tight hug. Brittany deserved to be happy, more than anyone. This was not fair.
Brittany smells like vanilla and something else she cannot decipher and she takes it all in. Santana closes her eyes, one arm wrapped tightly around the other woman as her free hand soothes blonde hair. Brittany begins to cry, her face buried in the crook of Santana's neck. "It's going to be okay. I promise." Santana always keeps her word.
"Good evening." Santana says, dropping her purse on the couch as she enters the apartment. She can smell dinner and her stomach rumbles in anticipation. It's 9pm and the last thing she ate was lunch, eight hours earlier. Having a husband who thoroughly enjoys cooking had done nothing but wonders to her healthy diet. "Alexander?"
He is in the kitchen with his headphones on. It's a tad adorable how his body moves to the beat without him even realizing it. "Hey," he answers, taking his headphones off and placing his iPod on the kitchen counter. As usual, she takes it and puts it in the living room, away from knifes, food, and possible damage. "Missed you at lunch today," he adds, back turned to her.
She senses something is wrong. He didn't ask about her day or begin saying something about himself, or something he saw on the news, or some funny story he heard today. Alexander is quite talkative, unlike Santana, who'd rather keep things to herself until she had the opportunity to process everything in her mind. She plans her actions and thinks before speaking; he is intuitive and impulsive. They're very different as lawyers.
"Yeah, I told that client that I'd have lunch with her. You know, the one that wants a divorce from her cheating husband. I completely forgot I'd agreed to go to that new restaurant you wanted to try." She pauses, taking off her jacket and throwing it on the couch as well. She waits a moment, eyebrow raised. "I apologized for that already."
He is setting the table for two. "Why did you take that case again?" He asks, ignoring her explanation. She sighs. The explanation had already been given two weeks ago – why was he bringing it up again? His face is like stone, unreadable, but she senses the aggression in the manner he sets the glasses on the table.
"I told you already," she says, trying to keep her temper. "She's an old friend who came to me for help." The blatant lie stings horribly. "She's going through a hard time and I thought I should help, even if we lost touch for a long time. She needs me." It's all he needs to know. It's all everyone needs to know, actually. Her past is no one's business. It is buried and forgotten, and she got over it all. She opens a bottle of wine and pours them both some.
Alexander serves dinner. He made paella valenciana. He gestures for her to sit, so she does. "You know you get paid a lot better as a corporate lawyer. Not to mention the time you spend studying for this single case that has nothing to do with your experience for the last decade. You're wasting time, money, and energy with this." He begins to drink his wine. It takes a lot for her to let him finish. Her jaw clenches and she straightens her back.
She is on a hunt for a bigger role on bigger cases, and he knows more than anyone where to push to get a reaction out of her. "This discussion ends here, Alexander. I am not your property. You are my husband, not my father, and I won't accept this commanding attitude regarding how I spend my time, which cases I take, and how much money I make." She frowns, taking in the implications of what he just said. What was he insinuating about the money? That she wasn't bringing home her share of the bread? That he should have a say in every decision she makes? She pours herself more wine. "Do not even try to get all self righteous with me. You dont have a say in all my decisions, and being together for almost a decade does not imply we have become the same person."
"You have lunch or dinner with her several times a week, not to mention the unnecessary amount of meetings. No billable hours, not one – I checked. You're not charging her a dime. You have other clients, more important cases, other priorities. You're not being professional, Santana." He pours himself wine as well, the food forgotten on both their plates. "I never thought I'd say this to you. You should be focusing on the office's necessities right now, not on some woman who just showed up again in your life because it was cheaper or more convenient. If she can't deal with her husband by herself, that's too bad for her, and none of your concern."
She is so angry and hurt at the accusation – he has gone too far, too fast. He, of all people, should be aware of that.
"You don't speak of her like that, ever again." She pauses, trying to wrap her mind around his arguments and form a coherent line of thought. "Do you understand that, Alexander, or do you need me to spell it out for you? This conversation is fucking over. You crossed every single line there was to cross and disrespected me in more ways than one. Who the fuck do you think you are?" He opens his mouth to speak, but she raises a hand to stop him from answering. "Do not interrupt me, Alexander. I listened to all your bullshit, didn't I?" Santana gives him a dangerous look. "Don't even dare question my professionalism again or my professional choices if you want this relationship to continue." Her voice is even and controlled as she speaks, but her hands are trembling in rage as she gets up. "Congratulations. Has arruinado lo que podría ser una noche agradable para nosotros y conseguiste el premio de Hijo de Puta del Año. ¿Contento?" She grabs her purse on the couch. "I can't even fucking look at you right now." She leaves the apartment.