Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. After reading a bunch of really good fics on here, I started to feel like a Sugar Motta in a world of Rachel Berrys. Anyway, here you go!
Part 4: Have to stand up to be stronger
The smoke detector shrieks in the kitchen. I groan and pull the blanket over my head to block out the noise, but the smell of burnt bacon worms its way through the fabric. My nose crinkles and I turn onto my stomach so I can bury my face into my pillow. My brow furrows against the smooth fabric, however, when I realize there's something off about the couch. It takes several seconds for my brain to catch up to what the rest of my body already knows. Brittany's gone.
I push myself up and the blanket slips from my head down to my shoulders, revealing a tangled mess of hair. I look over the back of the couch and find Brittany and my mother flapping their arms beneath the screaming device on the ceiling. Brittany's height makes her much more effective at chasing the smoke away. The corners of my lips twitch as a smile threatens to appear. My mother's eyes lock with mine and she raises an eyebrow. I force the smile to turn into a scowl.
"It's good to see you are capable of waking up before noon, Santana," my mother says once the noise cuts off. She walks back to the stove and pulls shriveled strips of black bacon from one of the pans. The clinking sound they make when they hit the plate makes Brittany blush and stare at the floor. "Now you can come set the table for this… meal… your friend helped me prepare."
Brittany shifts her gaze from the floor to me when she hears my mother call her my friend. I almost miss it, but she sucks in a breath and holds it, as if she's waiting for me to deny the friendship. Her eyes brighten when the denial never comes.
"I don't see why we can't just eat in the living room," I mutter as I throw off the blanket and get up. My mother glares at me, but I ignore the look in favor of stretching my arms over my head. While I stretch and fight back a yawn, my eyes scan the room for my elusive hairbrush. I find it on the floor, buried beneath the pile of video game cases next to the television. Once my hair has been somewhat tamed and the brush has been put away, I start to set the table while Brittany and my mother carry over the platters of food. By the time I place the last fork, the boys are shuffling out of their bedrooms in sweats and old t-shirts.
Sam's shaggy hair sticks out in every direction. He tries to smooth the unruly locks with his hands as he takes a seat at the end of the table. Puck sneaks a piece of bacon off the plate before he sits next to Sam. He tries to shove a strip in the blonde boy's mouth, but Sam knocks his hand away before staring down at his lap. Judging by the grin on his face, he is most likely reading a text from his girlfriend. My father walks out of my bedroom with Diego hanging from his neck like a human tie. He tugs and kicks at the larger man, trying to pull him down to the floor. I chuckle at the sight of the small boy's futile attempts. The determined look on his face is replaced with a pout when our father peels him off his torso and sets him in the chair next to Mamí's.
I'm about to sit down next to Diego when I see Brittany at the edge of the kitchen with her back pressed against the wall. Her eyes are wide, taking in every tiny detail of the scene at the breakfast table. She scoots along the wall towards the living room when I approach her and shakes her head at my offered hand.
"I should probably get back to Quinn's," she says with a shrug. "I didn't really mean to fall asleep here. She might be worried and I don't want her to call the police or—"
"Hey, it's fine. She stopped by this morning," I reply. She blinks in response, obviously not expecting that bit of information. "I let her know you were here so she wouldn't freak out. It won't kill her if you stay for breakfast." She still seems reluctant, but a smirk appears on my face as I say, "Come on. I've seen what kind of food Quinn and the munchkin have stashed in their refrigerator. Unless you're a vegan, I'm guessing you'll like this way more."
She looks down at the floor and uses her foot to trace a pattern on the linoleum as she says, "But they're your family and I'm not."
"You helped make this, dear. You're going to help us eat it," my mother insists before I can argue with the blonde. Brittany looks up from the floor and stares back at my mother, who, despite the demanding tone of her voice, has a smile on her face. "Then you are going to sit with me and laugh at Santana and the boys when they have to do clean up."
A collective groan fills the dining room. The sound makes Brittany smile, however, and she finally takes my hand. I give it a quick squeeze before I lead her to the table. She takes a seat next to Diego, who can't keep the grin off his face when she scoots her chair closer to his to make room for me.
Plates pass from one person to another, each one on a journey to my mother at the end of the table. When Brittany gets hers back, she stares at the mountain of food in front of her. Even I blink at the pile on her plate.
"What the hell, Mamí? Are you trying to fatten her up for slaughter or something?" I ask as I push some of Brittany's scrambled eggs around with my fork. Her nose scrunches when the eggs end up in the pool of white gravy that takes up half the plate.
"Hey, if she doesn't want it, I'll take it," Puck says as he reaches across the table.
"Noah Puckerman, if you touch that plate you will lose a finger," my mother snaps at him. He slowly retracts his hand and returns his attention to his own plate as he mumbles to himself. Once Brittany's food is no longer in danger of being snatched up by the bottomless pit, my mother turns to the blonde and gives her another soft smile. "You don't have to eat it all, dear. You just looked… hungry."
I know it's not the word she wants to use, but my mother is not the type of person to come out and say someone looks too skinny. That's more my grandma's territory. If Brittany catches the underlying meaning of my mother's words, she doesn't show it. Instead, she shrugs and starts eating.
"Those are some lovely arm-warmers, Brittany," my mother says halfway through the meal, interrupting the sound of silverware clinking against ceramic. Brittany looks up from her plate, which she hasn't made a dent in. "I could never get my Santanita to wear pink," she muses. My fork stops halfway to my mouth when I hear my name. "I remember when we were getting her ready for her aunt's wedding. She started crying because we forced her into a pink dress."
"Mom," I hiss when I feel my cheeks start to burn, "I was like, eight. I didn't want to wear a dress."
"Sweetie, you were fourteen. You threw your flowers at your father when he came to see how you looked," she says, ruining my attempt to save my dignity. I huff at the reminder and start to shovel more food into my mouth. Maybe the sound of my chewing can block out the sound of my mother. "I swear the only time she willingly wore the color was when she volunteered at the hospital."
"Mamí! She doesn't want to hear about that!" I say through a mouthful of biscuits and gravy.
"Sorry, Santana. I couldn't hear you through the food stuck in your mouth," my mother teases before she continues with her plan to embarrass me. "It was more of a candy-cane stripper outfit than a nurse outfit."
"Can we not talk about this anymore?" My father, thankfully, interrupts. "I don't like thinking about the way half of my staff ogled my teenage daughter."
"Fine," my mother huffs before stabbing a piece of sausage with her fork. "Since I'm no longer allowed to share about my own daughter, why don't you tell us something about yourself, Brittany? Santana has been a little lacking in the details."
"What do you want to know?"
"How did you two meet?" My mother asks as she places her elbows on the table and leans forward. Everyone else at the table shifts their focus to the blonde as well. My stomach twists into a knot at the thought of the impending conversation. I can't imagine how Brittany feels. "Was it during a class you have together?"
"Um… Not exactly."
"Really, Mari? Does she look like she belongs in Santana's classes?"
I freeze at my father's comment. I'm not really surprised by the remark, but I had been hoping we would be able to get through breakfast without him judging her. And he wonders where I get my bad attitude from. I look over to see if Brittany heard the comment and frown when I find her staring at her lap and fidgeting.
"Well, if you aren't in medicine, what is your major, honey?" my mother asks in a voice much more inviting than my father's.
"I don't have one," Brittany admits, although it looks more like she's talking to her legs than my mother.
"Oh. Well, it's okay to not know what you want to do yet. I didn't declare my major until I was a sophomore. Then I kept changing it anyway so not knowing what you want to do is nothing to be ashamed of. You still have time to—"
"I couldn't go to college," Brittany blurts out, which makes the older woman stop rambling. She looks up from her lap just in time to see my father raise his eyebrows, as if to say 'I told you so.' Brittany must understand the meaning behind the expression because she pushes her chair back harder than necessary as she stands up and says in a shaky voice, "I should really go back to Quinn's now."
"Brittany," I call after her, but she ignores me as she hurries through the door that leads to the stairs. I glare at my father before I get up to follow her.
The door slams shut behind me when I step into the stairwell. I catch a glimpse of blonde hair turning the corner and hurry to catch up with the fleeing girl. I call her name as I take the steps two at a time, only to have her ignore me. I curse under my breath and quicken my pace to catch up to her.
"Will you just wait a second?" I yell down the stairs when she reaches the landing. To my surprise, she listens. "Jesus, you're fast," I say when I finally reach the last step and stand beside her. She doesn't answer. Instead, she wraps her arms around herself and stares at the wall so she doesn't have to look at me. Guilt claws at my insides. I can't help but hate myself for letting this happen. I know what my father is like. I should have put a stop to the conversation when Brittany started to look uncomfortable, or before my mother could push the issue. "I'm sorry," I say with a sigh. "My dad shouldn't have acted like that. He judges people way too fast."
"But he was right, Santana. He knew I didn't belong just by looking at me," she says. She frees one of her hands and wipes at her eyes before she turns her head to look at me. "I know I should have left this morning, but your mom and Diego were so nice to me and you've been like, the sweetest person ever since we met, even though I broke your coffee cup and puked all over you." She looks down at her hands, and her fingers start to fidget as she says, "But I'm not good enough. Your dad figured it out in like, five seconds."
"Brittany, I'm going to tell you something important, so I want you to pay close attention," I say. I place my hands on her shoulders and take a step forward so she has to look at me. I want to tell her she belongs because I want her to stay, but the words stick in my throat. Every person I've ever asked to stay has walked away. I don't want that to happen with Brittany. Not when I still have so much to learn about her.
After three days, I already know the important things, like how she's brave enough to face her fears, or how she lets herself feel a little too much. I want to know the little things, like what her favorite season is, or which part of the day she likes best. I can't learn those things if I scare her away, so I think of something else to say.
"Puck's going to eat the rest of your breakfast if you don't come back upstairs with me."
Brittany's nose crinkles in response. I lower my hands from her shoulders and stare at the floor because those words aren't close to what I want to say. The sound of her laughter, however, makes me look up again. It's the second time I've seen her laugh and, even with the unshed tears in her eyes, she's just as beautiful now as she was the first time. The sound is infectious and I smile along with her.
After Brittany's laughter dies down and leaves a soft smile in its place, she slips her hand into mine and rubs small circles over my skin with her thumb.
"Do you think maybe when I'm ready to talk to you about myself you'll be ready to tell me what you really wanted to say?"
"What makes you think that isn't what I wanted to say?" I ask with a scowl, angry at myself for being so transparent.
"I dunno. It just seemed like you were thinking for a long time," she says with a shrug. She pulls her hand out of mine and lets it hang by her side. I'm surprised to find I miss the warmth of the touch, but I refrain from reaching out to get it back.
"Look, if you want to go back to Quinn's, I won't stop you," I say to change the subject. "I just want you to know before you go that I'm not my dad. I don't care if you're in college or not. I just care about you—er your… food." I cringe at the sound of my slip up. I know Brittany heard me because the smile on her face morphs into a grin.
"You really are sweet, Santana, even if you try to hide it," she tells me. I hate the way her words make my cheeks burn. Aside from my mother, she's the only person to ever call me sweet. And it took my mother years to start calling me something besides selfish. "I guess I could go stop Puck from making himself sick, if you really care that much."
"I do," I say with a nod before I start back up the stairs at a much safer pace than when I had come down them. Brittany stays close behind me and lets me go through the door first.
The kitchen is empty when we step back into the apartment. The sound of gunfire makes me peek in the living room. Sam, Puck, and Diego are on the couch with X-box controllers in their hands and Charlie is sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor. There's no visible sign of my parents, but I can hear my mother's voice coming from my bedroom. Judging by the way she's shouting in Spanish, she isn't very happy with my father.
I smirk at that thought before I lead Brittany further inside. After I pull her leftover breakfast out of the microwave, we go to the living room and watch the boys kill each other from the safety of the loveseat. When I finally hear my bedroom door slam shut, my mother is the only one who comes out. She makes me scoot towards Brittany so she can fit on the loveseat with us.
"Your father has decided to spend the morning pouting in your room, Santana," she says once she's comfortable. Brittany frowns, but my mother reaches over to pat her on the knee. "Don't think too much about it, honey. If he wants to miss out on getting to know such a sweet girl, it's his loss," she assures her. I give my mother a grateful smile before returning my attention to the television.
After Brittany finally finishes what she can of her breakfast, she reluctantly says her goodbyes to the boys and my mother, giving each one of them a handshake. I walk her to the door before my mother can force her into one of her awkward embraces.
"Thank you, Santana," she says. She pulls me close to her and wraps her arms around me before I can ask what she's thanking me for. It takes a second for me to get over the shock of the hug, but once I do, I wrap my arms around her waist and return it. "Thank you for letting me be part of your family today," she whispers in my ear before she pulls away and hurries out the door for the second time. When I return to the living room, my mother has a knowing smile on her face.
"Shut up," I huff as I take a seat beside her.
"I didn't say a thing."
I spend the rest of the weekend playing catch-up with my family. My heart breaks a little when I learn Diego has failed to make the basketball team once again. I know he wants to play, but his short stature makes it difficult for him to compete with the taller boys. My mother informs me that my father performed a successful open-heart surgery on some bigwig in Dayton. He shrugs off her praise, but I know he's proud of himself. My father and I avoid talking about Brittany. We both know talking about her will only cause a fight. My mother, on the other hand, constantly asks about her whenever we're alone together. I can only answer her questions with a shrug. She seems to accept that I can't talk about Brittany and doesn't push for answers I can't give her. Unfortunately, as much as I love my family, their impromptu visit has put me way behind in my study schedule and my nerves are starting to fray.
After we say our goodbyes Sunday afternoon, I shut the front door to the duplex and press my forehead against the cool wood. It doesn't do much to ease my worries about my exams, but it feels nice. I groan when I think about the books upstairs waiting for me to plow through them. The sound of someone shouting pulls me out of my thoughts. When I look over my shoulder, I catch Brittany slowly backing out of Quinn and Rachel's apartment. The door shuts with a soft click and she breathes a sigh of relief. She turns around and smiles when her eyes meet mine. I return it before I ask if I should call the cops.
"Just in case they murder each other, I mean."
"They should be fine," she says with a shrug. "And if they do kill each other, that means more space for me." She cringes when something thuds against the wall. "I think Rachel just threw her brush."
"That does seem to be her go-to attack method," I say. I rub the back of my head when I think about the keys the troll threw at me a month before. "What the hell are they even arguing about?"
"Rachel's boyfriend," Brittany replies as she takes a seat on the stairs. "Rachel wants him to move in with them."
"I take it Quinn isn't a fan of the jolly giant?" I ask. I had met the guy once the day we moved in. His dopey smile may have been endearing to Rachel, but to me it just looked like he had gas.
"That's a nice way to put it," she says. The door to Quinn and Rachel's place opens before Brittany can elaborate. The shorter blonde stands in the doorway with her upper half still inside as she shouts at Rachel.
"Fine. Call Finn since you obviously don't care that you aren't the only one who lives here!" She slams the door shut and marches over to Brittany, who yelps in surprise when she grabs her by the arm and pulls her up. "Come on. We're getting your stuff," she orders the taller girl. "If that stupid oaf gets to move in here, then you should be able to move in, too."
"Quinn," Brittany hisses as she tries to tug her arm away, but the shorter blonde ignores her. "Quinn, we can't do that today," she says. "Listen to me! We can't go back right now. Please don't make me go back."
"Hey!" I snap as I step away from the front door and grab Quinn's shoulder. She turns to glare at me and I notice her eyes are red and puffy.
"What?" She practically barks the word at me. "What advice do you have for me this time, Santana? You're obviously the expert when it comes to life. So please, impart some of your wisdom. I've been dying to hear more of it."
"First of all, Goldilocks, I don't appreciate the snark so if you could kindly shove it up your ass, that would be great," I tell her. I pull my hand off her shoulder and cross my arms over my chest as I say, "Second, Brittany obviously doesn't want to go wherever it is you're trying to take her, which you would know if you were paying her any attention."
Quinn finally takes the time to look at Brittany, who is staring at the hand wrapped around her bicep. She slowly releases the death grip and Brittany quickly brings her own hand up to hide the red marks Quinn's fingers left behind.
"I'm sorry, Britt," she whispers. "I wasn't thinking."
"S'okay."
"No it isn't. I let Rachel get to me and I took it out on you," Quinn says as she starts to pace across the foyer. "She's just doesn't know how frustrating she is! How can she expect me to be happy about Finn moving in here when she knows, she knows, how I feel?" Brittany watches the shorter blonde with a small frown on her face. "Why does she always choose him?" She halts her footsteps once she is in front of Brittany again. She seems to have deflated during her rant. "What makes him so much better than me?" she chokes out before the tears start to fall.
I feel like a third wheel as I watch Brittany wrap the shorter blonde in a hug. She runs her hand over Quinn's back as she makes soft shushing noises in her ear. I shift my weight as I try not to interrupt the moment. Luckily, Quinn seems to remember her and Brittany aren't the only two people in the stairwell. She pulls away from Brittany and wipes at her eyes with the palm of her hand.
"I just can't be around her right now, Britt," she quietly admits.
"I know, but we can't… we can't go to my apartment," Brittany reminds her. She reaches out to tuck a strand of Quinn's hair back as she says, "Can't we just go out for ice cream or something?"
Quinn and I both chuckle at the suggestion. Quinn pulls Brittany's hand down and holds it in her own. Once again I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment. I also feel a spark of jealousy in the pit of my stomach that I can't explain. It's probably just because I've never seen this side of Brittany. That has to be it.
"It's a little cold for ice cream," the shorter blonde says as she stares at their joined hands. "Besides, I kind of thought you'd be happy about finally getting all your stuff here. I know I've been busy lately, but we can do it now."
"And I told you, we can't do it today," Brittany reminds her. She lowers her voice and whispers, "Rick might be there. You know how he is."
"He's a punk."
"Besides, your 'bug won't hold all of my stuff," Brittany points out. Quinn narrows her eyes and releases Brittany's hand. "Quinn—"
"Doesn't your new best friend have a truck?" the shorter blonde asks and I resist the urge to smack the sneer off her face.
"Don't bring Santana in to this."
"Santana is right here and can speak for herself, thank you very much," I interrupt. Two blonde heads turn in my direction at the same time. "How about you guys don't talk about me like I'm not here, hm?" I suggest. Brittany has the decency to blush and look at the floor while Quinn rolls her eyes.
"Look. Brittany needs to get her stuff. If she puts it off any longer, she won't have any stuff to get because her asshole roommate will have sold everything," Quinn explains. "And as she has so kindly pointed out, my Volkswagen is too small to bring it all back."
"So you guys want to use my truck?"
"No!" Brittany says. "What I want is to stay here and continue the Woody the Woodpecker marathon I was enjoying before Rachel opened her big mouth."
"And what I want," Quinn interjects, "is to know you're serious about this new leaf you're trying to turn. Is that too much to ask?"
"I've been clean a month, Quinn," the taller blonde snaps. "What more do you want from me? Tell me, and I'll do it." Brittany's lower lip starts to quiver as she says, "Please just tell me what I have to do to prove I'm changing and I'll do it. I promise I'll do it."
"Get your stuff," Quinn says in a soft voice. She puts a hand on Brittany's shoulder and leans in closer. "Show me that you can go back. That it isn't too much for you to handle."
Brittany doesn't respond verbally. Instead, she nods her head and pulls away. She looks at me with a question in her eyes. I mentally sigh because I know what she's asking and there's something about her that makes it impossible for me to say no. It could be the lurking guilt I still have over how my father treated her Saturday morning. Or it could be the way she looks at me. As if she completely trusts me and always will.
"Okay, okay. Just let me grab my jacket and the keys," I say with a roll of my eyes before I push past the two blondes and head up the stairs. It'd be nice if my mind would stop providing the imaginary sound of a whip every time I take a step.
The ride to Brittany's old studio apartment is… close. Brittany's elbow digs into my side every time I turn or stop or breathe. Quinn drums her finger against the door while she stares out the window. She occasionally checks her phone, only to slide it back in her pocket with a sigh a few seconds later. The troll must be giving her the silent treatment. Brittany keeps playing with the radio dials even though knows they don't work. I figure it's because of her nerves so I refrain from snapping at her. I settle for tightening my grip on the steering wheel instead.
Thirty minutes and several wrong turns later, the buildings start to become far more dilapidated than the ones I'm used to seeing. It's my first time in the upper part of Manhattan. For once, I'm grateful my truck is a piece of shit. Not only does it help us blend in, but it also means less of a chance that someone will try to jack it while we're inside. At least, that's what I tell myself as I make sure my doors are locked.
"Please tell me this is some kind of shortcut to your place, Brittany."
"Sorry, Santana. This is it," Quinn says with a shake of her head. "Take a right at the next light and the building will be the second one on the right," Quinn tells me since Brittany has fallen silent. I nod so she knows I heard and she goes back to checking her phone. I'd probably find her actions more amusing if I weren't so focused on calming my heartbeat. Lima Heights Adjacent isn't the best place to grow up, but it might as well be Beverly Hills compared to this place.
"This was the only place I could afford," Brittany quietly admits with a shrug after I make the turn Quinn mentioned. "Quinn wasn't very happy about it either."
"Because you were living in the fucking ghetto when you could have been living with me."
"I'm sure Rachel would have been thrilled to have me there."
"Rachel can kiss my ass for all I care," Quinn mumbles as I pull up to the apartment and park the truck next to the sidewalk. "Besides, none of this would have happened if you had just moved in with me in the first place. No Brett. No Rick. No drugs."
Brittany looks like she has something to say, but she keeps it to herself and an uncomfortable silence fills the truck. It takes me a moment to notice the truck is still running.
"Let's just get this over with, huh?" Quinn says once I cut the engine. Brittany squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath before she nods her head. Quinn rests her hand on Brittany's knee, as if doing so will transfer her strength to the other girl. "You can do this," she says before she opens the passenger door and hops out.
"Yeah…" Brittany whispers, but she doesn't seem half as confident as Quinn. Still, she slides out of the truck. I double check my doors before I climb out as well. I join up with the other two girls and we walk towards the apartment while I wonder what the hell I've gotten myself into.
AN: This was originally supposed to be longer but it didn't seem to work well. Meet Brittany's old roommates next chapter. I can't promise you'll like them. There will also be some familiar faces showing up next chapter that you actually might like so you have that to look forward to. I know I'm excited for it. Thank you to kempokarate and mykindofparty for giving feedback whenever I message you guys sections, which is like all the time. And thank you to everyone for all the hits, favorites, reviews, and alerts. You all are awesome.
Chapter title is from the song Pale by Within Temptation. It's a very pretty song that I highly recommend.
PS: I just thought I'd let you guys know Faberry will not be endgame in this since I always see it the way I wrote it here: Quinn loves Rachel, but Rachel loves Finn.