Disclaimer: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Chapter Four

Brittany pulled up to the softly lit Craftsman at exactly 5:30. If working for Sue had taught her anything, it was the importance of being prompt. That didn't necessarily mean she enjoyed early mornings, however—her normally radiant blue eyes were half-hidden by droopy, heavy eyelids, and she let out a long, slow yawn that stretched her jaw and made her eyes water.

When she blinked up at the house again, she saw Santana hopping down her front steps, two travel mugs in her hands and a duffel bag slung across her chest and bumping low on her hip. The roughneck wore loose-fitting, faded jeans and a heavy, dark denim workshirt. Her thick, black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and she wore a backwards, navy blue baseball cap with the Dallas Cowboys insignia embroidered on the front.

Brittany smiled sweetly at the sight, resting her cheek on her fist and leaning against the window. She was sure she looked like a fool, grinning stupidly at the approaching woman. Luckily the Lexus had a strong tint and she was confident Santana couldn't see her gawking through the dark glass.

Santana placed one of the mugs on the roof of the car and pulled the door open before retrieving the coffee and sliding in. "Mornin'," she said, her low, gravelly voice causing a shiver to snake down Brittany's back. "I didn't know how you took it, so it's black." She handed one of the mugs to the lawyer, setting her own between her knees and clutching it tightly.

"But," she paused dramatically and reached her fingertips into her shirt pocket. "Tada!" Santana exclaimed with a flourish, pulling out packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer and flapping them together with delight.

Brittany moaned at the rich, tantalizing smell filling the car. "Oh my God. I think I love you," she breathed, her eyes closing at the pleasure of the hot coffee in her hand and the heady aroma wafting around her.

Santana chuckled. "So, how do you like it?" she asked, her voice lowering and her eyebrows wagging enticingly.

Brittany blushed and ducked her head, not really understanding why the roughneck could make her act so silly sometimes but enjoying it nonetheless. "Um, two sugars, two creams, please."

Santana gathered all the packets in one hand and tore them open together. She took back Brittany's mug, letting her fingers brush against the woman's soft skin for a quick second before pulling away and dumping in the cream and sugar. She mixed them together with a plastic stirrer that she pulled from her front pocket. Once everything was incorporated and the dark brown liquid turned a creamy tan, Santana slipped the stirrer between her lips and hummed appreciatively at the sweet taste. "Mm, delicious."

Brittany licked her lips, mumbling a quick "thanks" before taking the outstretched cup distractedly. They shared a shy, quiet smile before she finally put the car in gear and rolled out of Santana's driveway.

The roughneck punched the rig address into the GPS with no less enthusiasm than she had the night before. "So dope," she whispered, excitedly. Her fingers brushed the switch to open the sunroof and she turned twinkling brown eyes to the lawyer, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Go ahead," Brittany laughed, completely smitten by the young woman. Santana seemed like such a big contraction. Tough and cocky one moment, soft and playful the next. It made her feel all warm and tingly to see all sides of the roughneck, and she found herself becoming more and more captivated by the young woman.

"Left turn, one mile," Santana mimicked the calm, disembodied voice of the GPS, making Brittany laugh affectionately. "She seems sweet. Have you named her yet?" the roughneck asked.

"What?" Brittany giggled again.

"The GPS lady. You gotta give her a name. You can't just go around calling her GPS lady."

"I guess I don't really mention her often enough to give her a name."

"Unacceptable," Santana said, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "We're naming her."

"Well, if you insist then." Brittany's bright, teasing blue eyes caught Santana's, and after a moment, she realized she was grinning like a dork at the roughneck and turned to focus back on the road. "So what were you thinking?"

Santana shrugged. "I dunno. She's your lady. What do you want?"

"Hm, what about Kimberly?"

"Kimberly?" Santana mulled seriously. "That's kinda … plain."

"Well, she sounds kinda plain."

"What? No frickin' way! She's got like superhero, know-it-all, what's it called, omniscience or some awesome shit like that. She's a total badass."

"Well, Kimberly can be a badass," Brittany defended.

"Name one badass named Kimberly."

"Kimberly Hart," she said with a shrug.

Santana sat back, stunned. Her mouth hung open and she stared at Brittany with wide, unblinking eyes. "You did not just bring up Kimberly Hart, the pink Mother-Fucking Power Ranger, by name! Ha!" she rolled around in her seat and clutched her stomach, laughing wildly.

"What?" Brittany questioned, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"You, Miss Brittany, are a nerd."

"Hey!" She batted Santana on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "I am not a nerd!" The lawyer flashed sparkling eyes at the roughneck. "I'm a geek. There's a difference."

"Is that so?" Santana laughed, intrigued. "What's the diff?"

"Well," the blonde's voice turned faux-professorial, "nerds are like super geniuses, and because they're super smart they like super smart things. Like math and physics and chess. Geeks are just passionate-"

"Obsessed," Santana interjected.

"Passionate," Brittany repeated, "people who like things that might be a bit outside the mainstream, at least for grown-ups." She turned a quick smile at the roughneck. "So I might be into cartoons and kids shows, and I may have a collection or two," she blushed a little at the admission. Why did I just say that! "But I'm not like an intellectual or anything. I don't know anything about real technical, science-y stuff, you know? So I can't really be a nerd. I'm just your average geek who likes geeky things," she stated simply.

Santana sat back, leaning against the corner between the door and the seat. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked the young lawyer up and down. Everything about her was fucking adorable. The way she bit her lip and drummed her fingers on wheel when she was nervous. How her pale, freckled skin turned bright, rosy red and her sea-blue eyes twinkled with mischief when she was taken off guard but was gonna give as good as she got. It was all incredibly endearing.

"And," Brittany continued after a beat, "I noticed that you knew exactly who I was talking about." She smirked at the roughneck. "Well, Miss Lopez?"

Santana cleared her throat, shifting in her seat and turning her head to look out the window at the still-dark sky. "Okay, so maybe," she drawled out, "I was into the Power Rangers when I was a kid. But Kimberly Hart was totally hot so it wasn't like I was getting my geek on or anything. I was just being a good little lesbian."

"Oh, of course," Brittany teased. "Nothing geeky about that."

"Anyway," Santana said, "I don't think she's a Kimberly. I mean she's not even pink or anything. Zhane would be a better fit cuz he's at least supposed to be silver," she rolled her head to the side, "even though everyone knew he was just friggin' white. But he's not even an original Ranger and he's such a little pretty boy too. Gross."

"Tell me again how you only watched casually for the hot chick."

Santana smiled a wide, toothy, totally geeky grin, and stuck her tongue out, warming Brittany's blood and making her flush.

"Okay," Brittany redirected, tapping a finger against her lips. "So no Kimberly. Hm. I don't know. You suggest something."

"How 'bout Velma?"

The blonde chuckled. "After Velma Dinkley?"

"You're such a geek!" Santana laughed.

"It was your suggestion! Besides, knowing Velma from Scooby-doo isn't all that geeky."

"Yea, but you totally knew her last name!"

"So did you!"

They shared a quick look filled with amusement, both smiling stupidly at each other, amazed by how much they had in common.

"Velma's okay," Brittany said, after a comfortable pause. "Makes her sound old though. I think she's sleeker and more modern than that."

Santana nodded thoughtfully. She threw her head back, trying to come up with a boss name that'd fit the voice of the tech-ed out ride. "I got it!" She sat up straight, grabbing Brittany's arm excitedly. "Sarah" she said with confidence, spreading her arms wide before sitting back and grinning smugly.

Brittany's brows furrowed, trying to figure out what cultural reference the young roughneck was suggesting. "Like Sarah Connor?"

Santana shook her head. She pulled a plump bottom lip between her teeth, trying to contain her excitement.

"Sarah Michelle Gellar?"

"Nope. Besides, I'd totally suggest Xena before Buffy cuz Xena's much more of a badass."

"Now, that's debatable," Brittany quirked a brow at her.

"Hardly. But that's a conversation you can lose another day. Come on, think about what she is and how she sounds." She gestured to their surroundings. "She's a Sarah."

Santana watched the lawyer purse her lips and cock her head to the side, thinking deeply.

"Wait," Brittany said suddenly, flinging an arm out and hitting Santana in the stomach. "Sarah, like, S-A-R-A-H, right?" At her slow, nod, she laughed heartily. "You mean a Self Actuated-"

Santana jumped in with her. "Residential Automated Habitat," they finished together, each breaking out into wide grins.

The tall blonde pulled up to a light and took a moment to just observe the roughneck. The woman was just amazing. Not only was she probably the most beautiful woman Brittany had ever seen; she was strong and self-sufficient and confident and sweet and dorky and smart and such a complete and total fucking geek that Brittany could scarcely believe she was actually real. I mean the girl just suggested she name her GPS after the artificially intelligent, automated house from Eureka! How frickin' amazing was that?

"Well," Brittany started slowly, narrowing her eyes and puffing out her cheeks as she continued down the street, "as much as it seems otherwise, I don't actually live in this car. And she doesn't really do anything more than give directions, unlike the actual SARAH," she glanced over at Santana who seemed a little disappointed that she didn't appear as excited about the name as the roughneck. "But," Brittany continued, "it's a totally awesome name and pretty damn perfect for her. She even kinda sounds like SARAH."

"Totally," Santana agreed, smiling approvingly at the decision.

"Alright, Sarah," Brittany patted the top of the center console, "welcome to the family."

They let the sound of Sarah's even, soothing voice guide them the rest of the way to the site.

Once she pulled up to the massive rig, Brittany turned wide, awed eyes to the tall, complicated scaffolding, impressive steel pipes and bulky machinery. A couple broad-shouldered men in checkered workshirts were hauling heavy, mud-stained equipment up to a large platform on the rig. Metal piping slammed together with a clang, causing the lawyer to jerk back and bring a hand to her rapidly beating heart. Everything looked so big and so incredibly dangerous.

She felt the car door close and turned to see that Santana had grabbed her stuff and already exited the Lexus. The roughneck stuck her arms through the open passenger window and bent forward, resting her weight on her forearms.

"Thanks for the ride, Britt. You really didn't have to, but it was totally better than the bus."

"No problem, San. It was fun." She drummed her fingertips nervously against the wheel, knowing they both had to get to work but not wanting to let the roughneck go just yet. "Um, so you like really work on that thing?" At the roughneck's nod, Brittany continued, "but it's like humungous! I mean you're so," she waved her hand up and down at Santana, "and that's so," she flicked a hand at the rig.

Santana chuckled softly at the lawyer. "Yea, well, I'm tougher than I seem."

The shy smile she gave the lawyer caused Brittany's heart to flutter and she had to turn her head away briefly, clearing her throat before turning back to the roughneck. "So what time do I need to pick you up?" she asked.

Santana couldn't help but shake her head at how sweet the young woman was. "That's really nice of you, Britt, but I can get a ride from one of the boys."

"Nonsense," Brittany dismissed. "It'll give me an excuse to get out of the office, and besides," she smiled, "you owe me a house tour."

The corner of the roughneck's lips raised into an uncharacteristically bashful grin. "Sure thing," she said quietly.

"So what time?"

"I get off at six. If you give me an extra 15 minutes, I can even be showered and clean when you get here."

"Deal. Six fifteen then."

"Thanks, Britt. I really owe you." Santana held the lawyer's gaze, her dark brown eyes flickering back and forth, searching Brittany's crystal clear blue ones for … she wasn't quite sure what. But in the blonde's returning look, she could see that Brittany trying to make sense of her too. Normally, Santana would have taken affront to the bold appraisal, to some woman trying to get in her head and figure her out. While she wasn't necessarily a guarded person, she didn't relinquish control or leave herself exposed easily.

But for some reason, Brittany was different. They barely knew each other yet Santana felt safe and secure within the other girl's scrutiny. It didn't feel judgmental or invasive, just … curious. And for the first time in a long time, Santana found herself actually welcoming, even encouraging, that curiosity.

A loud wolf whistle coming from over the roughneck's shoulder caused the two women to finally break their stare. Santana looked back briefly to see Puck and Mike leaning against each other a few feet away, Puck with his fingers at his lips, letting out another long, suggestive whistle, and Mike clapping and hooting appreciatively at his side.

The roughneck shook her head at their teasing, giving them the finger behind her back before bringing her eyes back to the blonde.

"Looks like we're making a scene," Brittany said quietly, a soft smile on her lips.

"Yea," Santana chuckled. "You'll have to excuse 'em. The boys haven't seen a classy woman in so long they've forgotten how to act around a lady," she said in a raised voice, causing the roughnecks behind her to snicker at the slight.

"She's totally talking 'bout you, dude," Brittany heard one of them try to whisper to the other.

"No way! She's so talking 'bout you."

"I'm talking 'bout the both y'all so shut it and git your asses on the rig 'fore I make sure neither of you have to worry 'bout birth control ever again. Tell Pops we're rollin' in five."

Throughout her speech, Santana never looked back, her relaxed posture never wavered. But even as she smiled and winked at Brittany, her voice deepened, taking on a commanding, authoritative tone and slight southern drawl that clipped her words and rounded off the ends. The sound made Brittany shiver and clench her fists on the wheel. She heard an "oh shit," mumbled from over Santana's shoulders just before she spotted two muscular men sprint away and up the metal stairs of the rig, shoving each other the whole way. She chuckled at their childish antics before turning back to Santana. The roughneck was watching her closely, a half-grin tugging the corner of her lips and bright, chocolate eyes shining back at her.

"I gotta head up," Santana said softly, chucking at thumb back behind her. "Guess I'll see ya a little after six?"

Brittany nodded. "I'll be here."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Try as she might, Santana couldn't wipe the cheesy grin off her face and by the time she hopped onto the rig platform she was beaming. Brittany just put her in a good mood and she found herself thoroughly enjoying the blonde's company. She was pulled out of her good thoughts, however, once she met the curious raised brows and knowing smirks of Puck and Mike, and she coughed lightly, bringing her forearm up to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her good humor. She tried to level her trademarked scowl at them, but the intimidation factor fell way short as her eyes were still twinkling and her cheeks were still puffed up by an unrestrained smile.

"What the actual fuck, Lopez," Puck stated deliberately, his eyebrow raised almost comically high. "Since when did you start nailing high society broads?"

She tried to brush it off quickly and get to work. For some reason, she didn't like the idea of the boys knowing too much about Brittany or her promise to not sleep with the girl. "All my ladies are classy, Puckerman," she dropped the stern façade and backhanded him jovially on the chest. "Just cuz you like to troll last call at JJ's for whatever scraps the real ballers leave behind doesn't mean Mike and I aren't hittin' it in the big leagues." She raised her hand and high-fived Mike.

"Yea, right," Puck huffed. "You were right there next to me last week at JJ's. We closed the joint down together."

"I," she emphasized, "was waiting for a super hot waitress. You were hanging off some blitzed old lady who kept hogging the karaoke machine to sing Neil Diamond songs all night. Badly, I might add."

"Love me some cougar action. Love me some Neil Diamond," he shrugged. "Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"But," Mike interjected, "back to the blonde hottie with the sweet ride. What's the deal, Santana? You never bring your hookups to work."

"Yea, they just come here to find you," Puck joked, earning him death glare and a whack on the back of the head from Santana.

"She serious," Mike continued, "or you just bring her by to show off her sick wheels?"

Santana scoffed at that. "Please Mikey," she started, pulling on her work gloves and slapping her hands together. "You know there's no getting serious with me and I sure as hell don't need to be showing off some other woman's ride. And before either of you get started on any more questions, we have work to do." She gestured to the chain at Puck's feet and he picked it up, letting a long stretch of it hang down to the floor.

"'Sides," she continued, moving over to swing a length of pipe over to the guys to be fastened in, "she's not a hookup. Just some girl I met through Q."

Puck swung the chain hard, whipping it around the pipe before releasing it and letting it fall to the metal platform with a clang. "Q? You mean Quinn?"

Santana looked up to see Puck scowling, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. Shit, she cursed to herself, instantly regretting bringing up their childhood friend. Puck and Quinn had a complicated history. Against Santana's better judgment and very vocal objections, the pair had dated briefly towards the end of high school. Santana knew it was all kinds of a bad idea, but they were going to do what they were going to do, and after it all went to shit, Santana thought she restrained herself admirably by keeping her "I told you so's" to a bare minimum (which for Santana meant only bringing it up once a day, everyday for a month).

"Puck, let it go," she sighed. "We got a long day out here and we've already wasted enough time."

"Where'd you even see Quinn?" his eyes narrowed at the roughneck. "Lord knows she don't fraternize with us commoners anymore."

"Just grab the fucking chain and get to work, Puck. I'm serious," she said firmly, her stormy eyes meeting his challenging stare.

"Just tell me and I will!"

"She was at our last basketball game, dumbass. If you didn't have it hard for that sorority girl you'd have seen her yourself."

"Shit," he replied, running his gloved hands over his mohawk. "I bet she needed something from you, right? She didn't just come down to see her good friend outta the blue."

"Jesus Christ, Puck. It's fucking Q. She's our friend. Whatever you had or didn't have was ages ago. Grow the fuck up."

"This isn't about high school! It's about who she is now. You don't know these people, Santana." He paced around the platform, waving his hands around erratically. "They think they're all hot shit cuz of their degrees and their money. They think they're so much better than us." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "They'll cozy up to you when they need something but they wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire when they don't."

"Quinn's not like that, Puck, and you know it."

"Yea, well, people change. But it's more Quinn than you realize. She's always been too good for us and now she's got the job and the cash to prove it. And blondie in the Lexus, she'll be the same way."

Santana felt her hackles rise. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled and her nostrils flared. She clenched her jaw tightly, grinding her back teeth before taking a quick, menacing step towards the boy.

Puck raised his hands in surrender when he saw the fire burning in Santana's eyes and he took a step back. "I'm just saying, be careful around 'em," he softened his voice and turned pained eyes on her. "They ain't like us and no matter how much you may want to be friends or whatever, you're still gonna be the blue collar, roughneck, work-a-day fool who ain't never gonna be good enough for 'em." Puck shook his head sadly. "Roughnecks and lawyers just don't mix, dude."

Santana took a deep breath. She let his last statement hang in the air, not wanting to get into it with him any further, at least not at work. She rolled her neck to the side, letting the satisfying crack calm her down and then motioned to the crew to get back to drilling.

They worked in earnest after that, diligently and wordlessly. Their lunch break was spent in similar silence, no one wanting to be the first to break the tension or say the wrong thing to set the two roughnecks off again. When they started back up, everyone stayed focused on their own task, and only Pops' direction cut through the noisy machinery and clashing metal.

Santana worked like a demon the whole day, funneling all of her anger and irritation into her work. She was still fucking fuming at … well at Puck obviously, but she didn't quite know why his little tirade riled her up so. He was always getting into it with Quinn, and it was an old, tired argument that Santana had heard over and over again.

Puck always thought the reason it ended between them was because Quinn didn't think he was good enough for her. It was a sentiment that only grew stronger as they had gone their separate ways and Quinn became a successful attorney at a prestigious law firm and he returned to Dallas, tail between his legs after his dreams of a music career were cruelly stomped on and stamped out. And being in Nashville, with all the schmoozing and false promises, just made him hate the privileged upper crust even more, and he felt like Quinn was aligning herself with those corporate fat cats and forgetting her roots.

None of this was news to Santana and so it shouldn't have irked her as much as it did today. No, the more she let her mind roam and let her muscle-memory guide her physical actions, the more she realized it wasn't what he said about Quinn that pissed her off; it was how much she believed him.

Truth was, hanging around Quinn's office and meeting her new friends did make her feel a little self-conscious and maybe even a little intimidated. Quinn traveled in different circles now and while all of her colleagues had seemed really nice to start, Santana knew that a few casual conversations at a batting cage didn't really amount to much.

Despite Puck's insinuation, Santana knew all too well how the white collar world viewed and treated working class stiffs like herself. She knew they made a lot of assumptions about her intelligence, ambition, future goals all because she was a high school dropout, sweating out her days on top a filthy oil rig. She knew all this but just really didn't give a fuck.

At least she never had before.

Santana swung the next length of pipe over, holding it in place for Puck. She wasn't really worried about Quinn. Maybe the girl's tastes had elevated, and maybe she hung around Armani suits more than faded Levi's, but she was still Q. She was still the little girl who collected soda cans with her when they were eight cuz Tommy Johnson's garage would give them two cents a can for 'em. She was still the girl who cried for two days straight because she had to wear her cousin Jimmy's old dungarees since she didn't have female cousins to borrow from. (Santana ended up trading her an old dress she got from her prima for the dungarees. She actually liked the baggy overalls so it was a win-win.)

It might be Quinn Fabray, Esquire now; but it used to be Lucy Quinny Fabray with the buck teeth and Coke-bottle glasses, and Santana would make damn sure the high-class lawyer never forgot that.

She smiled a little to herself. No, the roughneck wasn't worried about Quinn at all, and if Puck would pull his head out his ass for two seconds, he'd see that just because Q worked in a fancy-ass building, wore fancy-ass clothes, and made fancy-ass money, didn't mean she was some highfalutin, pretentious asshole. She was still just Quinn.

But then there was Brittany. And Santana couldn't ignore the fact that a major part of her irritation with Puck was because of what he said about the beautiful attorney. He hadn't even met the girl and already he pegged her as some sanctimonious bitch who didn't care about anyone outside of her social scene. It ticked her off that he could make those judgments about Brittany without knowing the first thing about her. Brittany wasn't like that at all.

Santana sighed as her gloved hands worked the piping into the well. But how much did she really know about the blonde anyway? She knew that Brittany was super easy to talk to and that they were both super awesome mega-geeks. She knew that the lawyer never talked down to her or made derogatory comments about what she did for a living. At least she hadn't yet. Brittany had even let Santana play with all the gadgets in her car so she couldn't be that possessive about her property or think Santana was that much of a moron. Those were all good things, right?

The roughneck couldn't help but smile at how much she really liked the girl and how well they got along, even for being so different. But before she could get too deep into her happy place, a little, grating, spiteful voice that sounded a heck of a lot like Puck started rattling in her ear. Roughnecks and lawyers just don't mix.

She let out another exhausted sigh. Maybe she was just fooling herself in all of this.

No one would ever accuse Santana of being modest or insecure. The girl exuded confidence in everything she did. And while most of the bravado was real, and Santana really was a badass in many respects, she was also more fragile internally than most would believe. While not complete projections, the swagger and cockiness were in part protection, preemptive devices that kept her safe and shielded. At times it felt like her entire self-image was an intricate but delicate house of cards, and any slight movement or light breeze could collapse the whole damn thing.

Santana shook herself quickly. She was being ridiculous. She and Brittany were barely friends. So what if she turned out to be a raving bitch who thought working folk were the dregs of society? That wouldn't bring down Santana Mother-Fucking Lopez. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she'd be extremely hurt if that's how Brittany really felt.

Fucking Puck—putting all of these unwanted thoughts in her head. It was starting to give her a migraine, and rather than deal with it any longer, Santana decided she'd done enough thinking for one day and put all of her focus back on her work instead. As she looked up and took everything in, she was surprised to see how much they had already accomplished and how close to quitting time it was.

The lawyer would be here soon, and she hoped to at least make herself somewhat presentable for her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"You okay?" Brittany's voice filled the small, lush cabin of the Lexus, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the two occupants since she was greeted by a brisk "hey" as Santana's slid her weary body into the passenger seat.

Santana looked over and gave her a subdued smile. "'Course," she shrugged, turning to look back out her side window.

"It's just … you seem a little down. Did you have a hard day at work?"

"Everyday's a hard day at work. This ain't exactly an office job. It's not like we get to sit on our ass one day and drill the next. It's all hard work, every day," she said, her words coming out more harshly than she intended, and she felt terrible about her tone when she saw the sad, nervous look in the blonde's eyes.

Brittany bit her bottom lip, pulling the sensitive flesh between her teeth. She wasn't sure how things had changed so dramatically. The morning was fun and easy, and she'd been looking forward to picking the roughneck up all day. But now the air between them was tense and uncomfortable, Santana barely acknowledging her at all and then snapping at her when she did. It was all so confusing.

"I'm sorry," Brittany began hesitantly. "I didn't mean to suggest-"

"No, Britt," Santana cut her off, reaching out and wrapping her hand around the blonde's that rested on the gearshift between them. "I'm the one who's sorry. I've been a bitch this whole time and you're the one doing me a favor, and … I'm just sorry."

"Hey," Brittany said softly, turning her hand around to clasp the roughneck's, interlocking their fingers loosely. "It's okay. We all have bad days. Did anything happen that you want to talk about?" She squeezed Santana's hand and turned to look at her quickly, giving her a shy and what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Santana smiled back and shook her head. "Nah," she replied. "Just a regular workday. Just tired, I guess." She let her eyes drift down to their linked hands. For a second, she felt a bit self-conscious at how rough her palms and fingertips must feel against the lawyer's baby-soft skin. And she wasn't exactly sure how long it was appropriate for them to be holding hands anyway—she didn't want to pull away prematurely and hurt the blonde's feelings, but she certainly didn't want to linger too long either.

Santana didn't really make a lot of female friends, and so she wasn't sure what was common and what might be overstepping friendly boundaries. But then Brittany started to move a long thumb back and forth against the side of her hand and down her wrist and she decided that she didn't really care anymore.

"I can't imagine what it's like up there all day," Brittany marveled. "It looks so scary and exhausting."

"It can be. But I'm pretty used to it. I'm just glad there's no batting practice tonight. My body's pretty beat."

Another hand squeeze. "I don't know how you got Sue to give us Friday nights off, but I'm eternally grateful."

Santana chuckled. "There's no way I'm giving up my Friday nights for anything. But," she paused dramatically, "I think that means she's gonna lay into us hard at tomorrow's practice."

"Oh God," Brittany moaned playfully, before glancing at the roughneck and grinning. "I thought you were running practice tomorrow."

"Well, I'm supposed to run you through the drills and Sue's supposed to 'supervise,'" she said, making bunny ears on "supervise." "I have a feeling that means bad things for all of us."

"No doubt," Brittany agreed.

They stopped at a light, and the blonde rolled her head to the side and smile over at the roughneck. As promised, Santana had changed out of her soiled work clothes and was now wearing a pair of dark, tight-fitting jeans and a white, long-sleeved v-neck. She was stunning and Brittany couldn't help but stare. She felt Santana squeeze her hand gently and looked up to see her tilt her head towards the windshield. Brittany blinked away and saw that the light had turned green. Giggling sheepishly, she accelerated through the intersection, shaking her head at how easily she could lose herself in the girl.

"So," Brittany began, "when are you planning on dropping by the office again?"

"I haven't really decided, but it has to be soon. According to an email I got from … Artie I think, I need to put in at least ten hours by our first game next Saturday. I was going to make time yesterday, but Sue insisted on batting practice instead." She shrugged. "Actually, I really need to hit the mall before putting in my time. I already wore my best pair of pants and shirt on Wednesday. I'm not really used to dressing up for an office and stuff." She could feel her cheeks grow hot and hoped her dark complexion masked her embarrassment. Why am I telling her this?

Brittany was suddenly elated, however. She bounced in her seat and shook their entwined hands back and forth. "We should go shopping! I know the perfect shop to take you!"

Santana couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. "You mean right now?"

"Yea! Um," the lawyer stopped abruptly, her thumb on the wheel started a nervous tapping, "unless you have other plans that is. I mean, of course you have plans. Duh, you requested Fridays off. I'm such an idiot sometimes." She shook her head and tensed both the hand on the wheel and the one holding Santana's.

"Hey, stop that. I actually don't have plans and even if I did, they'd probably suck in comparison to going shopping with you. It's pretty perfect really. Since you know what's appropriate for Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester," she lowered her voice at the name, giving it a mock-serious feel, making the blonde beside her laugh and forget her earlier worries, "you can help me pick out what's appropriate."

"Oh, something tells me you do pretty well dressing yourself." Brittany smiled cheekily, the roughneck having put her back at ease with her joking and playful attitude.

Santana snorted at the statement. "I got 'hardworking roughneck,'" she ticked off with one finger, counting down the kinds of clothing she felt more than equipped to pull off, "'badass butch,' 'causal comfort,'" she ran a hand up and down her body, indicating her current clothing, "and 'sexy seductress,'" she wagged her eyebrows at that last part, "all down pat. Unfortunately, 'temporary assistant at a high powered law firm' just isn't in my repertoire."

Brittany tried to hide her blush by ducking her head and letting her long hair shield the sides of her face. "Well, like I said, I know just the place."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Once Brittany made the turn, Santana knew she was in trouble. They had just turned down Dallas's equivalent of Rodeo Drive where a pair of socks would run you over 200 bucks. Hell, it probably cost a grand just to step into one of these stores and breathe their precious, purified air.

Oh fuck, Santana thought to herself. She had always been smart with her money and so had accrued quite the nest egg. She just wasn't sure she wanted to blow it all on a blouse and a pair of pants. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Brittany pulled up outside a small boutique that specialized in professional wear for women and cut the engine. She was so excited all she could think about was how great Santana'd look in all of the outfits she'd make the other girl try on. She practically squealed with delight as she grabbed her purse and hopped out of the car, a sluggish Santana following behind.

The lawyer greeted the staff with a friendly nod and proceeded to the back of the small shop where racks of blazers and smart-looking blouses hung. A perky brunette sashayed up to the blonde and Brittany started throwing items over the young woman's outstretched arms.

"What do you think, Monica?" she said after filling the woman's arms with jackets and walking briskly to the tops. "My friend here's interning at the office. And while she should fit into the office vibe, she should also show off a bit of her own personality too. Nothing too risqué, but," she plucked a deep red camisole off a low table, "flattering nonetheless." She held the camisole up against the roughneck's chest.

Santana squirmed uncomfortably. Not only was she not used to the fawning, she was still figuring out how to get out of the store without embarrassing herself or having to take out a second mortgage on her house.

"Hm," Monica hummed, transferring the blazers to one arm and picking up another camisole, this one a rich, dark purple. "Definitely the red and maybe this aubergine."

Purple, just say purple, Santana screamed in her head. She hated the pretention of the place, the smell of excess and superiority. Her skin prickled and if she didn't know any better she'd swear the store was giving her a rash. She rolled her shoulders and clenched her fists to keep herself from scratching.

"And the royal blue," Brittany jumped in, nodding at the clerk and throwing both camisoles onto her growing pile of clothes. "I want to hold off on the lighter shades for now. Although," she grabbed a pale pink blouse with a very low neckline. "I like this a lot." She threw it on Monica's arms and moved quickly to the pants and skirts.

"Definitely want a skirt," she turned and ran her eyes up Santana's jeans-clad legs. "Probably more. One pair of slacks should do and we'll just vary the skirts." She grabbed a few a-line and pencil skirts of varying lengths and colors before finally turning to the fidgeting roughneck and actually seeing her discomfort for the first time.

"Monica," she said absently, her eyes never leaving the roughneck, "could you put these in one of the dressing rooms? We'll be there in a minute."

The attendant scurried away dutifully, making sure not to wrinkle the items too much in her haste.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Brittany asked, reaching out to rub Santana's shoulder.

Santana sucked in her lips and tapped her heel rapidly against the plush carpet. She wasn't sure what to say, but she had to do something and quick.

"Britt, I really, really appreciate all your help with this. And everything's really nice and all," she said slowly.

"But?" Brittany interrupted, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her.

"But, all of this, it's not really me and I'm only going to be working there for a couple months at most. It's kind of a waste to get all of these things and only really use them a couple of times. I was really thinking of just grabbing some slacks and stuff from a Macy's or something." She spoke it all in a rush, trying to get out all of her objections before she lost her nerve.

Brittany chuckled at the flustered girl. She was just so freaking cute! "Just try them on and pick out the ones that really work. You don't have to get everything. Besides, Sue's kind of a stickler for image and pretty much dictates how we look when we're on the company dime. I only got the Lexus cuz it was on her list of acceptable vehicles. But don't worry," she was quick to assure, "she doesn't make the interns buy new cars. Only the junior and senior associates, and the partners, of course." With a wink and a shove, she pushed Santana into a spacious dressing room and demanded she "put on a show" for her.

Great, just great, Santana mused. I'm getting bullied by Hot Blonde Lawyer out there and I don't even have the prospect of getting laid to make it all worth it! How did this become my life? Oh yea, fucking Quinn!

She huffed and stripped out of her comfortable after work clothes, leaning over to pick up a camisole. She took a moment to rub the material between her fingers and appreciate how absolutely soft and silky it was. In her perusal, however, she also noticed that there were no tags on the clothes which meant they probably cost more than her truck when it was brand new. Fan-fucking-tastic!

The roughneck grumbled through the entire fashion show, stalking out, throwing her arms up and spinning around reluctantly at Brittany's direction. She hated to admit how good she looked and how great everything felt on her body.

But Brittany was having a ball. From the exaggerated scowl on Santana's face to her petulant sulking, the lawyer found it all completely endearing. She even asked the girl to spin an additional time with her arms up high in the air just to see what kind of glare she'd received. What made this all the more enjoyable for her was the fact that no matter how much the roughneck seemed to hate this whole affair, there was no request she didn't fulfill. Brittany was almost 100 percent sure that if she asked the girl to hop on one leg and clap her hands together like a seal, Santana would shoot her a glare but end up doing it anyway.

"I like it," Brittany said, after Santana's quick twirl. "I think we definitely go with the red and purple, and one black one. Then a grey, a navy, and a black blazer. These skirts," she picked out the ones she wanted, four in total. "And these slacks," she said, holding up two pairs.

"I thought I only needed one!" It was the first full sentence Santana had spoken since being shuffled into the dressing room, and for the life of her she couldn't understand why that was the first thing she chose to say. She couldn't afford any of this. Removing one pair of pants from the enormous list wasn't going to accomplish squat.

But her outburst only caused Brittany to chuckle. "I know, but you do want variety. If you have these two pants then the combinations you can make with the tops and blazers would be, like, endless. Trust me." She handed the clothing to Monica before turning back to the roughneck. "Change out of that quickly so we can check out."

"Okay, Brittany, we really need to talk here." Santana grabbed hold of the blonde's hand and ushered her to a low, padded bench before taking the seat next to her. "I really don't know how to say this without looking like an ass for all the work you and Monica put into all of this, so I guess I'm just gonna have to look like an ass." She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves and met Brittany's kind blue eyes. "I can't afford any of this. It was really nice of you to bring me here and all, and I should've said something as soon as we got here, and I'm so sorry I've wasted your time and poor Monica's time, but I really can't get anything. I'm sorry." Her shoulders slumped and she could no longer hold Brittany's gaze.

She expected a condescending pat on the back and pity-filled look, maybe a caustic remark for all the time they spent here for nothing. But what she didn't expect was full out laughter, like rolling on the floor in glee, wide-mouthed, gasping for air guffaws. Santana raised her eyes to Brittany whose face had flushed as she tried to catch her breath and dry her tears.

"Well, I'm glad my inadequacies amuse you," Santana said coolly.

"No, no, it's not that," Brittany said through her tears, reaching out quickly to reassure the girl. "Is that what you were so worried about this whole time? Oh sweetie, no one can afford this stuff! It's like a gazillion dollars a blouse. We're not paying for any of it."

"We're not?" Santana asked, confusion plain on her face. "Britt, if we were gonna pull a fast one, you should've told me before Monica grabbed all the swag," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Just go change, silly. Meet me at the counter when you're through."

Santana was still in shock as she watched Brittany get up and walk towards the front of the store. She had no idea what was going on, but the lawyer didn't really give her any other choice but to trust her and just go with it.

Once she joined Brittany at the counter, the blonde pulled out a silver credit card and held it up proudly. "This, my friend, is a corporate credit card. All of the bills go to and get paid by the firm. So consider these," she gestured to the packages Monica was putting together, "welcome gifts from Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester." She smiled widely and handed the card over to Monica whose eyes glimmered at the commission she just made.

Santana cracked her first genuine smile since stepping into the store, exhaling deeply and feeling like a hundred pounds had been lifted right off her shoulders. "Well, why didn't you tell me that sooner? I could've torn this place up!" she laughed with Brittany. "Are you sure all of this is kosher? You're not going to get in any trouble are you?"

"No way," Brittany dismissed, signing the credit slip and placing the card back in her wallet. "Like I said, Sue keeps us on a pretty tight leash as far as appearances go. She only allows us to wear clothes from certain shops and designers, and in order to do that she's got to reimburse us. All of the image requirements she has are legitimate business expenses chargeable to the firm. So we're in the clear."

"But I don't technically work there."

"Sure you do. You're still going to be in the building as a paid employee and I'm sure Sue wants you to look the part. You can't look like a ringer, after all. Besides, you're our key to winning the softball tournament. Sue's gonna be thrilled that I'm taking such good care of you."

Brittany grabbed the bags from the clerk and Santana reached out and plucked them from her hands, leaning forward to open the door of the boutique for the lawyer.

"And if we don't win?" Santana asked.

"Then we're all moving to Vanuatu cuz Sue won't let any of us live if that happens." Brittany smiled at Santana, popping the truck for her to stuff the bags into.

"Vanuatu? Why there?"

"Non-extradition country. Good weather." She shrugged and hopped into the Lexus.

Santana climbed in and buckled up, chuckling. "You really got it all planned out, huh?"

"When you work for Sue Sylvester, you learn to cover all your bases real quick. I've got a whole bunch of contingency plans for any number of Sue Sylvester freak outs." Brittany winked at the roughneck and sat back in her seat. She drummed her fingers lightly against the wheel. She really didn't want their night to end, but she couldn't think of anything to prolong it that wouldn't seem too forward or awkward. "So, where to milady?" Brittany turned beet red. Milady? Really Britt? It was all she could do to keep from smacking herself on the forehead and curse herself out.

Santana pursed her lips together to keep from laughing, but she couldn't stop the wide grin that stretched across her face. She put her elbow against the window and leaned her cheek against her fist, her eyes glittering at the blush that had traveled from the lawyer's cheeks to the tips of her ears.

"Guess I owe you a house tour, huh?"

Brittany sighed in relief. "Absolutely." She put the car in gear and Santana leaned forward to program her address into Sarah. She was surprised when she put the first few numbers in and a preexisting destination for "Santana's House" popped up. The roughneck looked over at Brittany and could tell the lawyer was trying not to look at her, her bright red ears continuing to burn under the attention.

Santana selected the link to her house and sat back. It had been a long, confusing day for her, and she was still so unsure of a lot of things. But the one thing she knew with 100 percent certainty was that Puck was a fucking dumbass.


A/N: Thank you so much for reading this monster of a chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. Hopefully things don't feel too rushed or smushed together. I know it was a lot of get through. To everyone who has alerted and/or reviewed this story, a big heaping thank you, thank you, thank you! You all make my day and give me something to look forward when I update.

I really should be focusing on "The Quarterback" right now, but I'm kinda really into these ladies. I guess if the response is really high for this, I'll do one more chapter before turning back to my other story. (Wait, is she trying to bribe us into reviewing this story and/or "The Quarterback"? Damn straight she is! :)) So if you have the chance, please take a moment to review. I love hearing from you and I do take all of your input and suggestions to heart. Thanks again!