The streets were eerily quiet for New York City. The only sounds were made by the occasional speeding taxi and the synchronized clicking of shoes on the icy sidewalk. Christmas Eve. Santana couldn't even remember the last time she had truly celebrated the holiday. She had no family that she particularly wanted to visit or spend any amount of time with, much less share a holiday meal. Just being in the company of this blonde had placed an odd feeling within her stomach. It was kind of, well, warm and fuzzy. She remembered the last time she felt like this. A few years back..but quickly snapped out of it. Memory lane was not a path she'd like to go down.
Santana's thoughts were broken by the blonde's sudden stop and the clumsy jangling of keys.
"Here. I'll open it." She offered with a chuckle.
Brittany looked hesitant at first, but she handed over her keys wordlessly.
Santana nodded, easily clicking open the lock and opening the door.
The door swung open to reveal a well decorated, colorful, homey looking apartment. Warm air rushed out of the door at the two as they hobbled inside. Santana was stunned. She may not have been there for more than thirty seconds but already this place felt more like a home than anywhere else she had lived. It was slightly messy, not in a pig sty, teenage boy's bedroom kind of way, but it gave off the aura that someone was living in the apartment. The kitchen was all stainless steel, cutting edge, modern and completely sleek. The bedrooms, she suspected, would be colorful and bright, not at all like the black walled basement Santana had previously lived in, or the lifeless walls of her bedroom growing up. The place smelled like shampoo, food, and not anything like the musky stale stench of the subway terminal.
Noticing the awestruck expression on the brunette's face, Brittany spoke up, "It's just an apartment. I try to keep it fairly clean. But uh…"
"It's great, don't worry about it."
"Uh, I can cook something. Do you want to eat?" Brittany asked as she tried to walk over to the fridge, stumbling along the way. Santana's arms were around her before Brittany had the chance to hit the ground. It's nice, human contact that wasn't to fend off a drunken pervert. Also, the blonde smelled kinda nice.
"Sit down. I'll cook. You're letting me stay here for a night and you're hurt. It's the least I could do." Santana shrugged, "What do you want?"
"Whatever you want to cook."
She nodded with a smile, cooking she could do. As she moved around in the kitchen chopping, stirring, and frying, the blonde just watched. The way Santana did everything was precise. She moved efficiently and with purpose. Santana just looked like she belonged. For all Brittany knew, Santana could have been a chef. It was odd. Brittany hadn't really had time to look at another person like she was looking at Santana right then. Sure she'd made friends as she rose to fame and she'd kept up her friendships, but her love life was a non-existent hot mess. Her last couple of relationships had been with people who had wanted to just use her for her connections. She'd backed completely out of the dating scene after those incidents without any intention of coming back. But now with this stranger, this homeless woman standing in front of her, Brittany thinks it'd be nice to have someone to come home to every night. Well, someone apart from Tubbs.
"Where do you want to eat?" Santana asked as she turned off the heat.
"Oh. We can eat on the counter."
Santana leaned over and set the plates and silverware down.
"Thanks. For cooking," Brittany grinned.
"Thanks. For letting me stay." Santana gave what could only be described as a shy smile back.
The two began eating in a tense silence broken only by the sounds of cutlery on plates.
"This is delicious. Tastes like rainbows."
"Thanks, I guess?" Possible red flag number one.
"So. Where are you from?"
"Kind of everywhere." Santana said carefully as the blonde stared at her. Continuing conversation had never been her strong suit. Shutting down conversation was much more her style.
"Well I grew up in Lima, then I moved to L.A. and now I'm here. For work."
"What do you do?"
"I was a dancer and now I'm a choreographer for musicals and stuff."
"Cool." Santana looked at the blonde. The long, toned, legs, the perfect body, it all made sense.
"So what do you do? How'd you end up, well, you know…"
"Homeless? It's kind of a long story." She said in that tone that meant the topic was no longer up for discussion.
"I've got time." Brittany shrugged and rested her head on her palm, with a curious expression on her face.
Santana cocked her head and furrowed her eyebrows. Usually when she brushed people off they didn't try again. But apparently those tactics wouldn't work on this blonde. A different approach would have to be employed.
"So is this huge apartment all for one person? Or do you have a significant other?"
"No. Just me. There's no one else. Well there's Lord Tubbington's son, Lord Tubbington Jr, but he's not really my significant other. Significant other means like a husband right? He loved LA and I think he's still adjusting to New York which is probably why you haven't seen him yet."
"Lord Tubbington? Who?"
"My cat."
Santana nearly choked on her food.
"Your cat?"
"I've had him since my other cat, Charity, kinda took off." Red flag. Definite red flag. Of course it was too good to be true, no sane person would just take a complete stranger into their home on Christmas Eve like that. Magic of Christmas? Yeah, didn't exist. But it was snowing like a bitch outside, freezing, no doubt, Santana was tired, and frankly, this woman seemed harmless enough, she was sure she could survive one night here.
"Huh." She was just gonna humor this cat lady for that night, get a good night's sleep and dash first thing the next morning. Good plan, she commended herself.
The two continued their conversation well into the already late night. Moving from the kitchen to the couch. Turned out, Brittany had a nice collection of schnapps (and vodka)
"…So that was the last boyfriend I ever had. He actually turned out to be a really good friend though." Santana said, reminiscent smile on her face. Trouty mouth really was something. She couldn't seem to remember what his real name was though. Sam something.
"What do you mean? You haven't dated since high school?"
"No. He, uh, wasn't my type, Brittany." She let out a throaty chuckle. If you took away the crazy cat thing, the blonde was pretty cute.
"So? You could always date a different type of guy."
Ahh, might as well spell it out for her. What's the worst that could happen? She'd get kicked out?
"I'm gay."
"Oh. So he really wasn't your type."
"Nopee. No he was not." She half laughed, half giggled, full drunkenly. Man, what'd happened to her? She was a lightweight. Oh yeah, 3 years ago. Her life went up in clusterfuckery flames.
That was the last thing she remembered before passing out. Good thing Brittany wasn't out to rape and murder her in the middle of the night.