Author's note (i): Oh God, I seemed to have forgotten I was in the middle of writing a story. College and shit—you all know the drill. I'm sorry for being such a flake, and thank you for reading and reviewing and favorite-ing and alerting regardless of that. I'll always be appreciative of it.
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Saturday
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Sometime after the sun comes up, Brittany awakens when something on her bed shifts. It's just like Charity to get up early on the weekend and have no regard for the people who are still trying to sleep. Brittany just tries to shut her eyes tighter and curl further into the blankets. But when a blinding light can be seen through her eyelids, she becomes irritated.
"Stop playing with the pulley things," she chides. But when what actually comes out of her throat is a groggy growl, Brittany remembers. She remembers so fast she thinks her head might just explode.
Opening her eyes, she watches Quinn—already showered and dressed and ready for the day—stride towards her. "Good morning, Blondie," she greets and kisses her floppy ear. Brittany smiles inwardly despite the pounding in her head.
"Come on. Up, pup," she gently orders, patting the dog on her shoulder. "Let's go outside."
Begrudgingly, Brittany jumps down from the bed and follows her friend downstairs and out the back door. In the dewy early morning, she can't help but feel relaxed, despite the less than calming situation she's currently in. Quinn sprawls out on a lawn chair on the patio and idly strokes Brittany's fur, who sits dotingly beside her.
There's no way to tell how long they sit out there in comfortable silence before Quinn states, "I'm not waiting forever, you know."
Brittany turns her head questioningly. Quinn almost scoffs, but a playful smile still graces her beautiful features. "Don't give me that," she softly scolds. "You haven't gone once since I picked you up. You can't hold it in forever.
It takes a prolonged moment before Brittany gets it, but she immediately feels the truth in her bladder. And instantly, she panics. Quinn wants to watch her pee? Quinn wants to watch her pee in the backyard! She whines at the injustice, but under Quinn's intense gaze she withers and hesitantly makes her way to the middle of the grass. Turning her back to the house and to her friend, Brittany stands, waiting for instinct to take over. She needs to go—like, she really needs to go. But she can feel Quinn's eyes carefully watching her.
Geez, Louise, even Santana knew her boundaries when it came to the bathroom. Join in the shower? Sure. Join on the toilet? Nope.
Brittany swivels her head to look at Quinn after a minute and sighs.
"… You're kidding."
Ears perking, she gently wags her tail.
Quinn groans as she gets up from the chair and begins to reenter the house. "You are a piece of work, you know that?" Brittany barks lightly to affirm this, just as the door closes behind the other blonde.
No longer shy, it takes no time at all for Brittany to feel the urge to squat. Despite the fact that she's peeing in the middle of the Fabray backyard while completely sober, the relief is immense, and she'd collapse right there if that weren't just where she did her business but a moment ago.
She approaches the French doors and reaches for the handle but, not having actual hands—Come on, Brittany, you're a dog. What do you not get by that?—ends up scratching the window instead. It still has the desired effect; the door opens. But she trots inside to a cold, "I'm not going to have that animal marring the glass. That's expensive to replace."
Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Fabray.
"Mom," Quinn whines as she shuts the door behind Brittany, "settle down. I'm pretty sure Blondie's not going to wreck your door."
Instead of scolding her daughter for her contradiction, Judy instead stops stirring whatever is cooking in the frying pan and looks down at Brittany. She shrivels underneath her gaze.
"Dear Lord. You named her."
"So?" Quinn asks as she sits at the counter. There's an empty plate in front of her.
"We're not keeping her."
"I know that."
"We're not."
"I know."
There's a tense silence as Mrs. Fabray walks to the counter in front of Quinn and loads the plate with—sweet mother of God—bacon. She replaces that pan onto the stove, grabs a second one, and also serves her daughter some eggs. After the practically-orgasmic smells have shocked Brittany's system enough, the blonde notices that the older woman is barefoot.
That surprises Brittany on its own, but she's even more floored when she examines Judy further and notices 1) no makeup, 2) no bun, and 3) no stuffy clothes. Instead, Judy's face is clear, her hair is only pulled back with a clip, and she wears an actually stylish peasant top and—holy crap—jeans. Jeans! She looks like an actual mom for once.
To top it all off, when Mrs. Fabray grabs a second plate and fills it with the remaining bacon and then puts it on the tile next to Brittany, she's officially been knocked off her feet. Metaphorically-speaking, of course, because what Brittany really does is—when Quinn's mother kneels—takes the opportunity to lean up and lick her jaw in thanks. Then she goes to wolfing the bacon down like Mrs. Fabray is going to change her mind and take it back.
Her shock only increases when Judy doesn't immediately backhand her. Instead, she laughs.
"Oh! Puppy kisses," she giggles. Patting Brittany on the head, she stands back up. "You're welcome."
"Mother," Quinn chides with a gentle smile, her mouth full of eggs. "We're not keeping her."
Judy smiles back. "I know that."
"We're not."
"I know."
The bacon in front of Brittany is already long gone as she watches this exchange. The two blonde women are chuckling at each other and enjoying the silence that ensues. No digs, no daggers, no nothing. Brittany is happy to conclude that most mornings are like this between the Fabray girls—it's just that the only ones Quinn bothers to relay to her and Santana are the messy ones. Those are a better story, after all.
After Quinn finishes her own meal, she rises gracefully and moves to the sink, stooping on the way to pick up the bowl sitting by the back door that serves as Brittany's water dish. As she turns on the faucet to rinse the dishes, Judy interrupts.
"Dear," she says, moving just as effortlessly next to her daughter. "Let me."
"Okay." Quinn steps back as Mrs. Fabray takes over. She watches for a beat, and then turns and heads towards the stairs. "I'll be in my room if you need me."
Judy hums her approval. Brittany would usually follow, but she's thirsty. Instead, she waits patiently for the woman to finish washing the dishes and to fill up the bowl with clean water. She replaces it by the door and, as Brittany goes to quench her thirst, kneels onto her haunches to stroke the fur around the dog's collar. After a moment, Judy Fabray—sore and apparently full of surprises today—sits cross-legged on her kitchen floor, quietly petting Brittany as she drinks.
"You look like Bear," she whispers. "Bear was my dog. He died when I was Quinn's age."
When Judy doesn't move away once Brittany's done, Brittany doesn't move either. She watches the older woman's face as she's studied herself. Judy's eyes follow her hand as she strokes Brittany's fur; she almost looks sad. Brittany whines to tell her that it's okay for a mommy to be sad sometimes, and when Judy's eyes dart up to meet hers, she figures that she understands. She knows that she understands only when Judy wraps her arms around Brittany and nuzzles her face into the fur of her neck.
"Good doggy."
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Brittany wakes up on the couch with her head in Judy's lap. The woman covers the dog's floppy ears when she calls out, "Quinn?"
"I got it!" There's the sound of stomping feet hurrying downstairs. When she hears the front door opens, Brittany realizes it was the doorbell that woke her up. Realizing that someone new is about to enter the house, dog-instinct kicks in, and Brittany launches from Judy, skidding across hardwood floor to where Quinn is just opening the door.
"Greetings, Quinn!" is all Rachel Berry can get out before there's ninety-pounds of golden retriever in her arms.
"No, Blondie!" Quinn scolds. "Down!"
But Rachel is on her knees, scratching Brittany's ears and happily accepting all kisses Brittany gives—who is just pleased as punch that someone else likes her regardless of her species. "Greetings to you, too, canine!" When Brittany decides that she's probably being a tad overzealous and backs up to Quinn's knees, Rachel stands straight. "When did you get a dog?"
Grabbing Brittany by the collar and leading her inside, Quinn motions for Rachel to follow with her head. "I didn't. She's not mine."
"Whose, might I ask, is she?"
"I don't know. I found her out front of Britt's."
"Well," Rachel shrugs, tugging on Brittany's ear fondly. "Somebody must be missing her by now."
Quinn starts to go upstairs, and Rachel follows. Brittany—confused and wondering if Rachel and Quinn have private girl-talk sessions every weekend because if she's going to be honest she's a little insulted she was never invited before and isn't technically even invited now!—trots up to Quinn's room with the both of them.
"I'm going to drive around the neighborhood tonight and see if anyone posted about her," Quinn states. "If no one has, I'm going to put up 'found dog' posters tomorrow after church."
"Oh!" Rachel squeals, setting herself on Quinn's bed and clapping her hands. "Let me help with the posters! I strongly believe that you will be able to garner more attention if you decorate it with a gold star or two. Count yourself lucky that I received a new bedazzler for Hanukkah!"
Brittany looks over to Quinn, expecting a classic eye roll or some mean comment on Rachel's nose/Jewish background/a combination therein. But she's shocked—absolutely shocked—when Quinn smiles softly, nods her head, and says, "You know what, Rachel. That'd actually be great. Thank you."
There's a moment of silence as the two girls appraise each other before Rachel says, "Well, we'd better get started."
Get started with being normal, perhaps? Brittany thinks. She vocalizes it with a groan as she looks up at Quinn. Seriously. What is happening?
"You can have the bed," Quinn says to Brittany, pointing to the spot Rachel just vacated. Brittany doesn't turn that offer down, settling with a wary eye on the girls in front of her.
Rachel is pulling her pink, rhinestoned iPod from her bag. "Now, I must say, I am honored that you allowed me to help you write a song to audition for nationals. With your rich and largely contralto range, I would really like to pull influences from Judy Garland's best work. I have her original 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' from The Wizard of Oz on here somewhere, but I have to dig through several other versions to find it, including—of course—Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's only recently popularized ukulele adaptation…"
Brittany's head is spinning trying to keep up with Rachel's droning (she seems to have that issue whether she's a dog or a girl), but she's only thrown for more of a loop when she chances a glance at Quinn. The girl, who probably isn't listening anymore either, is bobbing her head gently in agreement and has the tiniest of smiles gracing her features. Where's the sneer? Where's the single-raised eyebrow that usually makes others literally quake in fear? Granted, Quinn lost a lot of her zest after she gave up Beth, but Brittany knows that doesn't mean Quinn doesn't still resent Rachel from her split ends to the tips of her awful Mary Janes (Santana's words, not hers).
Or does she resent her at all? Apparently not, because when Rachel asks Quinn what her favorite style of singing is, the blonde answers, "I don't know. What do you like to hear me sing? I mean, you're the experienced one, after all."
Brittany could faint.
Rachel look just as surprised, but—for her part—swallows it down. "Well, Quinn, thank you for your confidence in my expertise. I must say your and Sam's rendition of Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat's 'Lucky' was superb, so I would pin your 'type' as being more romantic." Rachel stops and takes a breath before continuing. "How are you and Sam doing, anyway?"
Quinn's small smile fades as quickly as Brittany's ears perk—this will be interesting.
"We're fine," is her curt reply.
Worrying her lip between her teeth, Rachel appraises Quinn. "Are you sure? I know that you and I have just newly begun to reanalyze a possible and—if I may be so bold—probable friendship, but I can assure you that you can trust me wholly." She takes a tentative step forward. "It's just that—um… You've seemed unhappy lately. More than usual."
"And what do you mean by that?" Quinn sneers.
Rachel pales at her clipped words. Brittany muses that it's uncanny how quickly the two snap back into their roles from only a year ago—mean cheerleader and frightened wannabe.
"There was no double meaning behind that," Rachel fumbles. "I only meant to help by—"
"Well, don't," Quinn interrupts. She sits on the bed next to Brittany, and finds an excuse to avoid Rachel's eyes in stroking the dog's ears. "It's not your place."
"Is it that insulting that I feel responsible for you?" the brunette asks loudly, then visibly draws herself back as she realizes what she just said.
Quinn takes her eyes off of Brittany for only a moment as she takes a quick glance at Rachel. "How on earth do you figure you're responsible for me?"
Rachel walks over to Quinn's bed and takes a seat on the other side of Brittany—as Brittany's head switches back and forth in confusion on which she should pay more attention to. "Where do I start?" she jokes. When Quinn doesn't even crack a smile, she takes a deep breath and continues.
"Let's see. Last year, I tattled to Finn about you and Puck in order to break you two up, and then I snatched him up as soon as I possibly could. And then this year I used you to clarify his feelings for me, utterly ignoring the inner conflict you must be feeling—"
Rachel cuts herself off. Brittany can feel both girls' hands trembling—Quinn's on her head, Rachel's on her back. She feels Rachel clutch at her fur as she continues.
"Now that Finn's and my relationship is over, I have been able to take a step back and assess just how selfish I was. How selfish I still am, most of the time. And, since I seem to be on a roll—" Quinn actually chortles a mite at this. Rachel glows. "—I just wanted to let you know that I truly care about you, and that I'm here if you ever need someone to talk to."
The end of her sentence hangs in the air an extra minute. The tension is palpable, and Brittany is conflicted on whether she's intruding on an extremely intimate, private moment or if she should fetch (Ha! Get it? Fetch) a video camera and attempt to record this. Finally, Quinn lifts her hand from Brittany and places it gently on Rachel's shoulder—the diva flinches, obviously expecting a slap.
"Thank you," Quinn says simply before replacing her hand on Brittany. The silence that ensues is—strangely—not at all uncomfortable.
It lasts a good while before Rachel claps her hands and says, "All right. Shall we begin writing you an original song?"
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After three hours of Rachel's endless babbling and Quinn's quiet nodding, there's not a whole lot of work to show for it—not that Brittany is entirely aware of this, seeing as how she took a second nap that day, starting a mere thirty seconds into the girls' songwriting. She only awoke to the shuffling of a book bag and the two chatting away.
"Thanks, Rachel, I really do appreciate the help," Quinn says, pushing her hair out her face as she watches Rachel collect herself.
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," she replies, standing straight and giving the blonde a hug. "What time do you want me back tomorrow?"
Before Quinn can respond, she's interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone on her end table. Scratching Brittany's forehead as she passes, Quinn picks it up, checks the caller ID, and answers with, "Hey, S."
Brittany's heart somehow both rises and falls at the sound of Santana's nickname. She strains to hear what her best friend is saying on the other end of the line—to no real avail. This whole super-sonic-dog-hearing thing doesn't seem to apply over phones.
"No," Quinn says, throwing a look over to Rachel, who waits at the door. "I haven't seen Britt at all. I texted her a couple of times, but she never texted back. I stopped by her house after school yesterday, too, and she wasn't home."
The guilt literally makes Brittany sick. She tries to hide from her shame by twisting her head until she's under a pillow; that always made her feel better before, and she knows that's Charity's favorite place to go when she and Lord Tubbington have had a fight. Rachel obviously thinks it's cute though, as she giggles and sits on the bed with Brittany and scratches her tummy, which actually kind of works.
Well, it works until she hears Quinn say, "Santana, are you crying?" Then Brittany is back to hating herself. She works herself back out from under the bedding.
"Sorry," Quinn continues. "It just sounded like you were sniffling… Hey, I was just concerned, okay? Don't go all Snix on me… Look, I'm sure she's fine… I don't know that, no. But I feel it… I would say that now is not the time for another 'mother's intuition' joke, okay? Jeep calling her, she'll give in eventually."
From her spot on the bed, Rachel waves her hand to get Quinn's attention. When the blonde looks over, all they do is share a glance before she asks, "Would you feel better if Rachel stopped by B's place? I feel like Britt's more likely to open the door to her than to either of us right now."
That's actually not a wrong assumption—as much as Brittany complains about Rachel (in her head, at least), she does think that she gives the best advice. But she's too floored by the Brittany-Santana-know-what-the-other-is-thinking moment Quinn and Rachel just shared to think about that too much.
"Santana, she's not that short. And regardless, I really don't think that's what matters right now. You want to talk to her, right?" Brittany holds her breath as she waits for Santana's unheard response. When Quinn continues, her body relaxes so much that she drops her head down with a heavy plunk. "… I thought so. Stop freaking out, okay? Britt will talk to you when she cools off." Santana apparently hangs up, because Quinn closes her phone without a good bye.
"Santana will thank me one day," Rachel states, getting up from the bed and again heading for the door. She throws out a "Bye, Blondie!" as Quinn follows her out. Brittany is left alone for the first time in a long while.
Which is dangerous, because when Brittany's alone, she gets lonely. And when she's lonely, she gets sad. She thinks of Santana alone in her own bed, worrying about where Brittany is. She knows that if she didn't know where Santana was, she'd feel the exact same way. And before she knows it, Brittany's crying. It must be loud, because she can hear Quinn down the hallway call for her.
"Baby, what's wrong?" The door reopens a moment later. As Quinn pokes her head in, Brittany notices that her purse is now hanging from her shoulder.
"You okay?" Quinn asks again. Brittany wags her tail to signal that, really, she's all right.
"Okay then." The girl smiles. "I'm going to go drive around the neighborhood, all right, pup? Rachel offered to ride shotgun and be a second pair of eyes." When Brittany remains silent, she continues. "I'll be back soon, hopefully with good news. I'm going to get you home, I promise."
As she listens to the blonde descend the staircase, all Brittany can think is, I sure wish you could.
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Quinn is not home "soon" by any standards. Apparently, she calls Judy at some point to tell her not to wait up for dinner, because the older woman feeds Brittany the other half of the spaghetti she'd made. Regardless of the fine dining Brittany has been experiencing as a Fabray pet, she's rather put out that Quinn didn't remember that she had a lonely golden retriever waiting for her back home—especially since, alone, all Brittany's done has thought incessantly about Santana.
It's eleven o'clock at night when Quinn fumbles into her room. Brittany imagines that they look a lot like a movie when she turns on the lights and finds the dog looking at her from her bed. And how was your evening? Brittany wants to ask.
Quinn misinterprets the questioning gaze. "No luck, Blondie. Not a single poster to be found." She places her purse on her desk before turning the bedroom light off once more and tiptoeing to the bed. Once the two are settled together—Brittany might be a little ticked off, but she never refuses a good cuddle—Quinn begins again.
"Sorry I'm so late, honey," she explains, "When Rachel and I didn't find any 'lost dog' posters, we decided to grab dinner at Breadstix. We drafted what the 'found' posters should look like. You'll really like them, I think. And then she and I just ended up talking for hours at the restaurant…" After Quinn trails off, they're silent for a couple of minutes.
"Santana's in love with Brittany," Quinn states suddenly. It's all Brittany can do to keep herself from shooting off the bed in surprise. Instead, she throws a glance in Quinn's direction that she thinks must look extremely guilty.
"That's why she's so worried. San has no idea that she's so painfully obvious when she's with B, but she's really scared of being, you know, out. This is a hick town, not a lot of people are that understanding about that kind of thing. I think San must've hurt Brittany's feelings because she doesn't really care what people think about her. That's what's so great about B, she's just so honest and open. If S said something that made Britt that upset, and then something happened her, she'd never forgive herself."
Brittany is the most attentive she's ever been as she listens to Quinn's pillow talk. She isn't clear on if the girl is actually talking to her, or just to the open space, but she feels like it's really important to listen—even if it ends up as just mindless rambling.
It's when Quinn says, "I think I understand where Santana's coming from," that really sets an idea in Brittany. She picks up her head just enough to be able to look at Quinn's face—and is heartbroken to see that she's crying. She suspects what Quinn will say next before she actually whispers it.
"I'm in love with Rachel Berry."
The admission is shocking, but not surprising. After it's said out loud, Quinn laughs. "I haven't actually said that yet. But that's it." She's still crying as she laughs, and Brittany is so caught off guard that the only way she can think to comfort Quinn is to give her the littlest lick on the cheek. She quiets instantly and wraps her arms around Brittany's throat.
"I'm glad you're here," she says almost inaudibly, and this time Brittany knows she's talking to her—and she's kind of glad she's here too.
Brittany doesn't fall asleep for another forty-five minutes, when Quinn's breathing evens out and she stops tossing and turning.
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Author's note (ii): Significantly shorter chapter, I know. But hopefully it was just as interesting. Again, my sincerest apologies for not updating for so long. No promises when chapter four ("Sunday") will be posted, but hopefully it'll be prompter than this one. Thank you all, once more!
