Chapter Summary: Grocery shopping is boring unless someone is complaining about eggnog; Brittany and Mercedes have a good feeling about what the coming month will bring.

so people plod on with their everyday lives

"Yeah, I'm just at the grocery store, mom," Brittany deftly dodges a couple of kids chasing each other, their boots leaving trails of muddy water that Brittany tiptoes over. "I just wanted to see how he's doing."

Her mom sighs deeply and Brittany can hear the hesitation in the sound. "Not great, sweetie," she finally admits. Brittany's stomach twists even though she was expecting it. "We're taking him to his appointment later but we're not sure."

"I wish I was there," Brittany mumbles, blinking quickly as she turns down the first empty aisle she finds. She walks to the middle and turns, staring at the rows of tea and pretending that the boxes don't all blur together through her watering eyes, carefully cradling her phone against her shoulder so she can scratch at the skin under her eyes and catch the tears before they fall.

"Me too," her mom murmurs, "I think he misses you."

"I miss him too." Brittany takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling lights until they dance behind her eyelids. No matter how many times she blinks them away, the tears just keep prickling her eyes until she's quickly brushing them away. "I gotta go," she manages thickly, "I have to be at the theatre by eleven, and I still gotta finish up here first."

"Good luck tonight, sweetie," her mom says quietly, "I know you'll do great, you always do." Brittany manages a small smile as she swipes at her eyes again. "Love you."

"Love you too, mom. Keep me updated. Bye." She hangs up and shoves her phone in her pocket, bouncing on her toes and willing her eyes to dry up. Some old woman clumsily enters the aisle cart first, bickering with the man behind her. Brittany takes one more deep breath before spinning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction. She picks up the rest of the stuff on the list Mercedes sent her, grabbing a canister of hot chocolate because they're almost out of it at home and she has a feeling she's going to need its comforting warmth in the coming days. Her phone dings and she tugs it out of her pocket with only some difficulty and sees a Snapchat from Mercedes of an empty milk jug with a sad face drawn on it in thick blue ink. She manages a small smile at her best friend's antics and heads for the back of the store until she emerges in the dairy aisle.

Brittany sighs as she scans the rows of milk. She's not sure what it is, but whenever it's her time to buy groceries the store is always out of the two litre jugs of milk. The two of them don't drink enough milk to warrant a four litre jug, and Brittany always has trouble remembering to make sure the spout of the milk cartons are fully closed before putting them back in the fridge, so they end up going bad half the time. Brittany sighs as she weighs her options; maybe she'll just pick up the four litre jug and invite the stray cats around the apartment complex in for a drink, or she could just pick up some cereal and invite Sam over, seeing as he consumes more cereal than any person Brittany's ever met.

"You know they get embarrassed if you stare too long," a warm voice comments idly behind her.

Brittany spins around, her stomach swooping at the move (or at the voice, it's probably the voice, but Brittany tucks that particular thought away for later). "Santana!" she gasps.

Santana grins, a half-filled basket in the crook of her arm. She wears a different jacket then she did at breakfast yesterday, and Brittany briefly wonders if her other one is still dying. Without rain soaking her hair, and without her needing to keep it out of her face in a ponytail at the theatre, it's soft and wavy and Brittany's fingers itch to push it back from her face. "Fancy seeing you here," she teases.

Brittany grins. "Do you live around here?"

"Just a couple blocks south," Santana says, gesturing towards the bakery, "It's like a five minute walk."

"Cool! Me and Mercedes are like a five minute walk west!"

Santana nods and there's a short beat of silence that doesn't feel nearly as awkward as Brittany thinks it probably should, considering they hadn't even known the other existed last week and all. "Don't take this the wrong way, Britt," Santana says, and Brittany's stomach swoops a little at her shortened name on Santana's lips; Santana doesn't even seem to realize it. "But are you feeling okay?"

Something sharp and cold arcs through Brittany's chest. "What?" she manages.

Santana moves her basket to her the crook of her other arm, her body swaying closer to Brittany's at the shift in the weight. "Before I came over here you just seemed really, I dunno," she pauses, searching for the right word, "quiet, I guess. And I was wondering if everything was okay?"

Brittany automatically starts deny her words but something soft and warm in Santana's dark eyes stops her head mid-shake and she sighs. "I have—" she hesitates, "Uh, something going on, yeah."

"You can tell me, Britt," Santana says, "If you want to. I promise I won't say anything."

Brittany chews a little on her lip. "Are you asking this as my friend or my stage manager?"

She can see something in Santana jolt at the question, and it seems like the words burst from Santana without her realizing they're on the tip of her tongue until it's too late to stop them. "We're friends?" she breathes.

Brittany swallows thickly. "Well I'd like to think we're on our way there," she manages.

Santana nods once, and then again, and Brittany can see her struggle to rein in whatever she's feeling. "As friends, then," she murmurs.

Brittany swallows and smoothes her hand over the handle of her basket where it weighs heavily on her arm. "I—" the words catch and stick in her throat before she finds herself admitting, "I don't wanna say it out loud, in case it makes it true."

Santana nods seriously. "Of course," she says earnestly, "but if you do wanna talk about it, I'm always free for my favourite fairy."

Something in Brittany's chest loosens and she finds her self smiling a little at Santana's words. "I'll remember that," she whispers.

"Good," Santana says, and dark eyes bore into her own for a long moment before Santana blinks and shakes herself a little, turning back to the rows of milk and taking a couple steps to the side to grab a coffee creamer.

Brittany turns back to the milk and finally makes her decision as opens the cooler doors to grab a two litre carton of milk; if it goes bad it's not like the grocery store is that far away, she reasons, and if there's a chance of running into Santana again, she'll definitely take it. There's something softer in Santana when she's not frazzled at the theatre and dealing with about a hundred different problems and people and complaints at once; Brittany noticed it yesterday at breakfast, and again today, and she kind of really wants to keep seeing it.

"What, no eggnog?" Santana teases as the cooler door swings shut.

"Gross." Brittany laughs and wrinkles her nose. "It's slimy and smells awful. Why would I willingly drink it, let alone buy it with my own money?"

Santana giggles and it makes Brittany feel a little bit giddy. "My mom let me try my abuela's homemade recipe when I was really little and apparently I immediately got sick after," she laughs, and then something strange crosses her dark eyes and her laughter dampens and flattens, like a deflating balloon.

"My Uncle Jimmy loves it," Brittany blurts, wondering where the light in Santana's eyes went and how she can get it back, "and that's reason enough for me not to ever want it anywhere near my mouth. I mean, Uncle Jimmy's great and all, but we're pretty sure he lost his tastebuds after eating his first wife's cooking for so long, so."

Santana smiles a little, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, as she bumps her shoulder against Brittany's. "I'm glad you're not too excited for Christmas either," she admits suddenly. "Everyone else at the theatre and Mike and Tina are all so caught up in it and I'm just," she pauses and takes a deep breath, something melancholy flickering over her face, "not."

Brittany bites down on her lip, adjusting her basket in the crook of her elbow. "Well, we can be humbugs together," Brittany says, desperately hoping to chase away the crease in Santana's brow and the slight tremble of her lips. "You know, really get into character. Kurt could probably hook us up with some sweet Grinch costumes."

Santana looks at Brittany for a long moment and Brittany lets her, wondering what Santana's searching for, exactly. Santana's finally face breaks into a smile, those deep dimples creasing her cheeks and making Brittany feel that bright, fluttery feeling again. "You'd look cute in green," Santana decides. Brittany laughs and strikes a pose, Santana's returning laugh making relief flood her limbs. She's barely dropped her dramatic pose when Santana sucks in a deep breath. "Can I have your number?" she asks, her words all running together and squishing as they race out of her mouth.

Brittany's breath gets caught somewhere in her chest but she forces it away because Santana looks too shocked and embarrassed and adorable for her to focus on anything else. "Don't you already have my number?" she teases, and the breathless, too bright look Santana gets makes Brittany smile involuntarily.

"I mean, yeah I could just look it up at the theatre but—" Santana's teeth sink into her bottom lip and Brittany's eyes automatically drop follow the movement. "I'd rather if you gave it to me," Santana says shyly.

Brittany feels more than a little giddy as she nods. Santana tries not to look too eager as she reaches into her pocket, fiddling with her phone for a second before passing it to Brittany, but based on the effusive smile on Santana's face no matter how hard she bites down on her lip, Brittany can tell she kind of fails at it. Brittany passes Santana's phone back to her, and she's about to offer Santana hers when Santana's phone starts buzzing in her hands, startling both of them.

"It's already ten thirty," Santana says in shock.

"Huh?" Brittany says blankly.

"We've both gotta be at the theatre in half an hour." They glance at each other before spinning and racing down an empty aisle, giggling and trying to block the other one from getting ahead the whole way to the checkout lines.

When Brittany gets back to the apartment, she's pretty sure she wears her dopiest smile, and Mercedes instant teasing when Santana texts her confirms it, but she can't bring herself to care. There's something about Santana that just makes her feel light and at ease, no matter what else is going on. Brittany's never been one to worry too much about stuff like missed opportunities or whether she'll find love or whatever, she's always been fairly content to patiently wait and see what's going to happen; she figures that fate probably has something in store for her, and she's always been perfectly content with the understanding that something's bound to eventually come her way.

But there's something, deep in her chest where she keeps her most precious hopes and dreams, telling her that this might be what she's been waiting for.

Brittany doesn't see Santana again until she's waiting in the wings during the number right before she goes on. She spots Santana first, with her head down and her heavy prompt book in her hands, furiously whispering into her headset. In her black skinny jeans and sweater she's hard to pick out in the near pitch black shadows of backstage, and it's only in the onstage lights spilling between the curtains that Santana becomes visible. Brittany mostly traces Santana in the pools of light and flickers of movement in the shadows. Just as Santana is passing the curtains Brittany is tucked between, she glances up and her eyes meet Brittany's easily even through the dim lighting.

Her face lights up in that dimples-deep, nose-scrunched smile as she gives Brittany a small wave before she disappears into the shadows again. The music changes and Brittany moves into position without even realizing it, her body pulling her onto stage even though her mind is still stuck on Santana's smile in the flashes of stage lights.

As she steps out onto stage and easily rises en pointe when the first notes of Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy play, she can already feel it in her bones that this is going to be one of her best performances.

Brittany's in the middle of banging another pair of ballet shoes after the show when Santana pokes her head in the open dressing room door. "You know," she calls conversationally over the banging, Brittany freezes in the middle of smacking her shoe against the wall and turns towards Santana with a bright grin. Santana's sweater is long gone, leaving her in a black t-shirt and jeans, and she really has no right to look that good in something so simple. "Your dressing room is the only door I don't have to knock on since you do all the work for me."

Brittany rolls her eyes and gives the shoe one more smack for good measure. "Well then I should be getting some of your salary then."

Santana snorts. "As if, you make more than I do."

Brittany shrugs and points towards the bucket of melting ice sitting in front of her couch. "More pain, more money."

"I dunno," Santana drawls, a small smirk on her face, "you ever have to deal with the sound guys?"

Brittany winkles her nose up. "God, that's worse than drinking eggnog."

Santana's façade drops and she bursts into laughter. "I can't believe it but you're right, I would totally drink eggnog before I'd willingly deal with any of the sound guys."

"We should have picked up eggnog today then," Brittany muses as she collapses onto the couch, tossing her shoe on the coffee table. Santana chuckles and holds up the notebook in her hands, waving it around a bit with a smirk. Brittany claps her hands together, clasping them in front of her chest excitedly as she sits up properly. "Our first note session together!"

"Well, I barely have any notes for you," Santana says around a small laugh as she falls onto the couch beside Brittany. "You did amazing tonight."

Brittany feels heat crawl under her cheeks and she shrugs, trying to wave it off. "Thanks," she mumbles, ducking her head down.

"No, really, Britt," Santana says earnestly. "I mean I've seen the other shows and I knew you were an amazing dancer but tonight you just," she trails off and shrugs. "Tonight you proved what I had a suspicion of from that first show. You're the most amazing dancer I've ever seen, but tonight you were even more beautiful, like you were glowing or something."

Brittany flusters and feels a little bit like her body has shut down, butterflies beating against her ribs until she almost feels like she's trembling with them. "Thank you," she murmurs, glancing up at Santana under her eyelashes to find that Santana has that same dimples-deep smile as earlier. She swallows her shyness and finally meets Santana's eyes, losing her train of thought for a split second before she blinks out of her daze. "But you've still gotta have some notes for me," she manages.

Santana nods easily and flips through the notebook for a while. "Um, it's just some small blocking things for the Pas de Deux," Santana explains. Brittany leans closer on the couch to read the notebook over Santana's shoulder; Santana's breath hitches a little when Brittany's hair brushes across her bare arm. Brittany murmurs her apologies and quickly gathers her hair into a messy bun, snapping the elastic around her wrist into place to keep her hair out of their way. "It's fine, just ticklish," Santana mumbles after a long pause, "Anyways, these notes are mostly for Jake when he enters the stage. He's been a little out of place the past few shows and it's messing up the music cues, I think something with his costume is tripping him up a little because he seems to be moving awkwardly, but I'll talk to him and Kurt about it tomorrow morning. The only issue from tonight was that your bow ran a little longer than normal, but that was because the audience wouldn't quiet down," Santana shoots Brittany a small smile, "Not that I blame them."

Brittany rolls her eyes and leans back into the couch. "Oh hush, you," she mumbles. She wants to press her hands to her cheeks to pat her blush away, but she has a feeling that would just make it even more obvious.

Santana does let it go, much to Brittany's relief; she's pretty sure if her cheeks heat up any more she might actually burst into flames.

A knock at the door draws their attention to Mercedes, already bundled up in her jacket, her purse slung over her shoulder. "Come on, girl, it's already so late," she complains when she takes in Brittany sprawled on the couch, out of her costume but not in her street clothes yet. She has her sweats on, but she's still in her bodysuit.

"Hey," Brittany protests, "I had to sew a new pair of shoes tonight."

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "That can wait until before the show tomorrow and we both know it." Brittany groans and forces herself to stand, heading towards the corner of her dressing room where her sweater and jacket are thrown. Mercedes shakes her head and glances at Santana. "How'd the show go today?" she asks.

Santana shrugs. "The snow corps missed their cue and were late coming in, and it took both me and Zizes whisper screaming through the headsets until Schue realized. And the sound supervisor decided I needed a ten minute lecture while I was giving him notes."

Mercedes' face scrunches up in confusion. "A lecture about what?"

Santana shrugs and pushes herself off the couch. "Beats me, I tuned him out mid-way through the first sentence."

Brittany snorts from the other side of the dressing room, her head just reappearing from the collar of her sweater. "I'm surprised you could even hear the first sentence around his bowtie."

Mercedes and Santana both burst into laughter. "You've got a snarky streak there, Pierce," Santana calls teasingly. Brittany just winks at her, savouring how Santana flusters for a moment, before she shrugs her jacket on and slips into her sneakers. Santana checks her watch and sighs. "I gotta go and see if I can catch Karofsky before he leaves. There was some issue with the Stahlbaum's House fly and it ended up hovering a foot above stage the entire scene," she explains with an eye roll, "I'm hoping he's fixed it because otherwise I have to come in here far too early tomorrow." Mercedes and Brittany offer her sympathetic noises and Santana grins at them. "See you tomorrow. Night, Mercedes. Night, Britt," she calls as she heads down the hallway.

As soon as she's out of sight, Mercedes gives Brittany a look that's far too giddy and knowing for her own good. "Britt?" she teases.

Brittany shoves at Mercedes to shoo her out of the dressing room, shutting off the lights and locking the door before she answers her best friend.

"It's a nickname," she says, "you know. Shortened version of my name."

Mercedes laughs and loops their arms together as they head down the hallway. "Yes, I know that, but I mean it's Santana."

Brittany knows her blush gives her away, so she refuses to give Mercedes the satisfaction of looking at her. "Anyone can give me a nickname," she says easily.

Mercedes tugs on their looped arms. "Puh-lease," she drawls, "you and I both know that there's something there."

Brittany shrugs noncommittally. "Something very often turns out to be nothing," she argues.

Mercedes softens a little. "If you like her as much as I think you do, and as much as she seems to like you too, I think you should just go for it." Brittany shrugs, but before she can respond Mercedes quickly squeezes their arms together. "I mean, I know she's the production stage manager, and if you're worried about that or something I already checked and there's no policies against it, at all." Brittany smiles softly and glances at Mercedes, feeling a surge of affection for her best friend who's always looking out for her. "And the only other thing is theatre gossip, which I know you don't listen to anyways, and it's not like you could sleep your way to a principal spot like people might accuse you of because you already have that spot. And you didn't even know Santana at the time of casting, so."

"I appreciate it Mercedes, I really, really, really do. But I kind of just want to see where it goes," Brittany says, "You know me. If it's meant to happen then it will. I don't wanna force it, you know?"

Mercedes studies Brittany for a very long moment before she gives her a small smile. "I have a good feeling about it," she finally admits.

Brittany sighs, light and airy and hopeful, her lips curling up just a little bit. "So do I," she whispers.