CHAPER 7

As soon as blinked away the last signs of sleep and was greeted by the first signs of a killer hangover, I went into panic mode. My mouth was extremely dry, my lips chapped, my arms feeling like dead weight, and I'm sure my messy hair could probably house a couple cute pigeons because I could just feel that it was a total bird's nest.

I knew better than to freak the hell out though because any unnecessary movement would cause more pain, but the fact that I was actually laid up in an empty bed rather than in my usual spot on the couch at home was enough to have me slowly start to sweat. I couldn't really remember where the hell I was or how I got there even and that alone brought me back to my early college days of drunken girls' nights out.

It wasn't until I started to look around the mysterious room to maybe get a hint of whose house I was in that I realized I was really really hot underneath all the blankets. I always manage to tangle myself up no matter what, but even more when I'm drunk. I'm just a really active sleeper I suppose. As I glanced at the grey, empty walls then dresser top covered with jewelry, perfume bottles, earrings to the lone arm chair in the room with two black leather vests thrown over its back, my memory slowly started coming back. I backtracked the night before, or what I could remember, as I tried to wiggle my arms free when I hit me:

Sleep with me.

My eyes widened at the memory, along with whose room this was and whose bed I was laid up in, and I was quickly untangling myself from silky sheets despite how much my body ached, desperate to see if that actually happened.

To my surprise, I was still fully dressed in Santana's baby blue pajama pants and NYU tshirt.

I let out a sigh of relief, because how awkward would that have been, before turning to my side to see a bottle of aspirin, surrounded by Sloppy Babies matchbooks, and a tall glass of water waiting just for me on the night stand.

That was the cause of my first smile of the day.

XXXX

The smell of bacon lured me out of bed.

That was my next smile because I don't even remember the last time I had woken up to a hot breakfast. Sam wasn't really much of a cook and I never strayed too far from the microwave when it came to something hot.

After heading to the bathroom to make sure I didn't look like a complete hot mess, I padded out of the bedroom and followed the scent of sizzling bacon. Upon leaving Santana's bedroom, I first noticed the lack of pictures on the hallway walls, actually, the lack of anything on the walls. Either she had just recently moved in or she was horrible at decorating, but as I ventured out into the living room that thought was quickly dismissed.

The first thing I noticed was the huge flat screen tv that hung off the cream painted brick wall. It was the first thing I noticed because it was left on cartoons, from here it looked to be an episode of Rugrats which had me slightly confused because that show has been off the air for awhile now. I moved further into the room, picking up on the warm cozy feeling of someone cooking in the kitchen and the tv being left on and the natural sunlight filtering in through the curtains and though I should be cringing at all the light, I sort of liked it all.

Maybe it's because my home lately hasn't really been feeling like home with everything that's happened, but something about Santana's place made me feel, I don't know, welcomed. When I was close enough to see, I peered back up to the tv to see it was the episode where Chuckie was getting his first haircut, and chuckled because that really was a great show back then. I remember watching it at home with my dad and laughing because he was laughing too and I never thought I'd see a grown up laughing at cartoons but he was.

I looked around the well decorated living room, admiring how healthy all her plants were and the few pieces of art hanging on the walls, none personal pictures though, then caught a glimpse of a keyboard tilted up against a well stocked bookcase. I walked closer to see how worn the buttons were and the dust free whites and blacks of the piano keys. Santana never really struck me as a musician, then again, there are a lot of things I don't know about the girl to begin with.

It wasn't until I looked away to admire Santana's fluffy white rug that I saw the lone pillow and throw blanket lazily strewn across the longer of the two leather couches.

I guess she really did take the couch after all.

Thinking that it was the least I could do, I leant down and folded the blanket up neatly and set it on the chair's arm along with the pillow before heading into the kitchen. I was actually surprised that Santana hadn't spotted me sooner since the living room and kitchen were basically connected; the only thing dividing the two was a bar-like counter and three low hanging lamps.

I rounded the bar to find that the kitchen counter on the other side of it was covered with a plate of golden waffles, a bowl with fresh strawberries and blueberries, and another plate lined with paper towels. I didn't focus too long on the delicious looking food for my attention was being drawn to a pair of toned, tanned, bare legs peeking out from under an oversized red and white flannel shirt and black socks with two white bands around the tops rolled up to her knees. I nearly collapsed at seeing the sight and though it was probably the sexiest outfit I'd ever seen on the bartender, I couldn't help but find the whole thing extremely cute.

But what was even cuter? Santana's humming. I couldn't make out the tune, but I liked it. I could already picture it getting stuck in my head and humming this mysterious tune for the rest of the day because it was so catchy and cute and just so..Santana. I don't know, I can't describe it. If Santana were to have a sound, that would be hers.

Then I realized that I had been standing in the threshold of the kitchen for a few minutes now and that's kind of creepy considering she still hadn't realized I was there yet.

"Need any help?" I piped in causing Santana to flinch at the sudden sound and spin around, left hand wielding a metal spatula while the right gripped the handle of a hot frying pan.

"Holy fuck!" She gasped, swinging the pan around and the spatula in the air like she was really about to fight me off with it. I grabbed the closest thing to me, which happened to be an empty plate, and hid behind it.

"Sorry!" I pleaded, ready to embrace bacon grease to the face but it never happened.

"Oh God, it's just you." Santana sighed in relief, the sound of the pan hitting the stove closely following. "You need to quit creeping up on me like that; I could've wasted you with this bacon." I slowly set the plate back down, trying to fight a grin at how scared she had gotten the second time. She went back to frying up bacon as she nodded to the fridge next to her, "There's some popsicles in there if you want one."

"Really?" I grinned and opened up the freezer door to find an unopened box of name brand popsicles, the kind we couldn't afford at me and Sam's apartment, "Thanks."

"No biggie, that weird trick actually does work." She chuckled then turned down off the stove and brought the pan of crispy bacon to the counter behind her so she could lay out the strips on the paper towel covered plate, "How are you feeling anyway? Did you take the medicine I set on the night stand?"

"I'll be okay, I'm sure the pills will kick in once I get some food in me." I answered as I bit off the plastic tip of a cherry popsicle, thankfully for having something to finally fix my dry mouth.

"Well, you're in luck then. Chef Snixx's specialty is breakfast and though it's already afternoon, who gives a fuck." She smirked and handed me a plate, "Dig in."

XXXX

At first sitting face to face was kind of quiet. I wasn't sure why and I don't think she knew either. Finding something to talk about was hard for some reason, but we both chalked it up to her being really hungry and I being plagued by the worse headache, which really wasn't all that bad. I just needed an excuse. Santana always came off to me as a very guarded person and though my head was swirling with a never ending supply of questions for the bartender, I knew I couldn't ask in fear of scaring her off.

But the weird thing about our quietness was that it wasn't awkward. Well, maybe it was a little awkward, but it wasn't to the point that I was rushing out the door or she was fidgeting in her seat with nerves. It was a comfortable quiet.

"So, I saw you have a keyboard over there.." I drawled out attempting to make up some sort of conversation.

"Uh huh." She hummed as she sliced up her waffles.

Rolling my eyes at the tiny smile she tried to keep from her lips, I asked the inevitable, "So do you play?"

"I do," She answered shortly.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Lots of stuff," she shrugged casually.

"Can you play me something?"

Finally peering up from her plate, she smirked, "Nope."

"What? Why not?" I gasped, "You could be lying for all I know."

"Could be," She teased with her nose all scrunched, "You'll never know.."

"Sounds like I have to stick around and see then," I countered with a wink that had her snickering again.

"Maybe."

XXXX

"This was super tasty," I complimented after finishing my third waffle and popped a fresh blueberry in my mouth, "Did you make them from scratch?"

"I did," She nodded with a soft smile on her lips as she pushed around a slice on her plate, "Waffles are kind of my go-to thing."

"Oh yeah?" I chuckled and reached for my glass of orange juice, "What happened to Chef Snixx and breakfast being her specialty?"

I slowly watched her shoulders ease as she snickered and went for a strawberry, "I said it was my specialty, I never said I knew how to make more than one thing."

"Well you do better than me," I shrugged, "I can make a mean bowl of microwaveable oatmeal though!"

"Sounds delicious." She teased as she finished up the rest of her food then moved to clear the table.

"Wait, I'll get it-"

"No, you don't have to-"

"It's the least I can do-"

"Really, you don't-"

It was a lost battle for the both of us before it even started, because too stubborn people wanting to help at the same time is always going to be a lost battle.

"Okay, fine..but I'm drying." San sighed as she finally let me take the dirty dishes from her hands and led the way to the sink. With a triumphant smile fixed on my face, I followed after her.

XXXX

"By the way," I said to break the new found silence that fell over us as I started to warm the water and dampen the sponge, "You've got a really nice place."

"You think so?" Santana asked almost timidly as she dug around in the drawers for a clean dish towel.

"Definitely! You must make a lot of money at the bar to afford a place like this."

Santana just giggled softly and nodded, "Not really, I can thank dear old dad for all of this. Well, the money he left me for college anyway." She trailed off like she was trying to make light of something that hurt. She seemed like the kind of person that made jokes about stuff you shouldn't really joke about.

I just shrugged anyway, "Still a nice place."

"Thanks."

"You must get that a lot though, right?" I asked lightly as I ran the soup over the sponge and kneaded it between my fingers.

She rose with her brow quirked and her face all scrunched, "Why do you say that?"

Sensing that I might've just overstepped my boundaries, I cursed my big mouth and shook my head, "Nothing, I don't know why I said that. Just ignore me."

She didn't though; I could still feel her eyes on me as I looked back down at the sponge in my hands, hoping that she'd look away soon. She didn't say anything further, just stood next to me and silently dried the plates I handed to her.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes had passed that her voice broke through the sound of rushing water and the occasional clink of the plates. She was busy drying a glass in her hands when she spoke so evenly, "I know you might have formed your opinion of me already, and I don't blame you if it's a bad one, but I'm not-"She lets out a deep sigh like she's struggling to find the right word before shaking her head a little, "I don't bring those girls I leave the bar with, I-I don't bring them back here. I never do."

It was in that moment that I felt like Quinn was the only other person that knew what she had just told me. It was like her little secret and she just let me in on it.

I wanted to ask so many questions: Where did she bring those girls then? How many of them actually saw the inside of her apartment? Did Rachel even see it before? So many things were left unanswered, but I knew that when the time was right, Santana would fill me in on her own. She was just the kind of person that had to slowly warm up to you because, for some reason, friendships were kind of hard for her to manage. That, I could tell from Quinn being the only friend I'd ever seen around her.

"Well, I feel super special then." I replied and smiled brightly down at her hoping to convey how honored I was that she told me that and wanting to encourage that she could tell me more stuff like that only to find that her eyes were still glued on the nearly bone dry glass in her hands. It was like a nervous tick, her turning the glass in her towel covered hand over and over like that. She didn't finally put it away until I was handing her another plate.

We fell into another comfortable silence after that.

XXXX

"Did you fold this or did I?" She asked as I followed her out into the living room and she stopped at the blanket I had folded earlier.

"I did," I answered with a shrug, "Sorry for kind of stealing your bed last night.."

"Kind of?" She teased accompanied by a smirk.

"Well..flat out stealing." I corrected feigning a guilty sigh.

"I'm kidding, don't you remember? I offered it to you, well actually, I made you sleep there. You didn't really have a choice in the matter." Santana replied matter-of-factly as she scooped the pillow and blanket up in her arms and started walking towards the hallway that led to her room, "I'll just put this stuff away and slip into some jeans so you'll quit staring at my ass and we can go."

I flushed at the thought of being caught, but I don't actually remember staring since we've pretty much been sitting the whole time. I've decided she rather just tease me constantly even if I'm not actually doing what she says I am because I think she secretly likes to make me blush. Jerk.

"Wait, where we going?" I called after her realizing that we didn't have work for several more hours.

"Uhm, home?"She chuckled, "Well, your home."

I flushed again, but this time from embarrassment.

Duh, of course she doesn't want me hanging around her apartment all day.

"Oh! Right, yeah, okay cool." I rambled attempting to recover, but she was already back in the living room with a pair of dark blue jeans hiding her legs and a smirk to match.

"I didn't mean to sound like I was kicking you out; I just-I just thought that you'd probably want to go home and your phone has been buzzing like nonstop."

"My phone?" I gasped and looked around for it.

"Yeah, it's over there by your jacket." She nodded and pointed to my coat thrown over the bar stool, "I thought about answer it for you because they called like four times, but each time I saw that guppy-lipped face fill the screen, I couldn't trust myself to answer without letting loose a long stem of insults. Sorry."

Sam.

I giggled at Santana's description as I picked up my phone and swiped to see all the missed calls and texts, surprised that they were mostly from Sam.

"Yeah, that was just Sam.." I sighed, "He must've been worried for some weird reason."

"Oh, the cheater?" She clarified as scrunched her face in disgust.

"Yeah, that's him.."

"Huh, maybe I should've answered after all.." She muttered as her voice trailed off, her eyes narrowing all devious-like, then went to turn the tv off, my eyes following after her as she walked. Not so much was I staring at how those jeans made her ass look even greater than usual, but more so how confidently she carried herself. She wasn't even doing anything special, just freaking walking, but I couldn't take my eyes off her. I wondered if I had that effect on people too.

XXXX

"You really don't have to drive me, Santana, I can make it home on my own." I sighed for the millionth time only to have Santana send me that yeah right smirk for the million and first time.

"It's about to rain and I doubt you even know where you are right now," She countered as we shuffled down the stairs, "Besides, I was going out already anyway."

Something about that didn't seem too true, but I didn't question it. More bonding time with Santana is always nice when it's not constantly behind a bar and there aren't thirsty customers begging for our attention.

"Okay, fine.." I sighed and followed after her towards her car.

You can tell a lot about a person from the kind of music they listen to while they're driving, at least, that's what a lot of people say. Santana, though, she was hard to interpret. The music she played off her ipod ranged from typical radio hits like Ke$ha and Rihanna to the more soulful sounds of Amy Winehouse or the occasional 90's artist like Alanis Morissette to filthiest lyrics from Lil Wayne. Her taste was all over the place so it was hard for me to pick up on anything, not that I knew exactly how pick up on anything even if I tried.

XXXX

"Thanks for the ride, that was nice of you." I grinned as she pulled up to my apartment.

"Nice? Nah." She dismissed quickly like the compliment caused her some sort of pain, "Quinn would've killed me if she found out I let you walk home."

A thing I've noticed, Santana puts herself down quite often when it comes to her morality.

"I doubt you would've let me walk home by myself either," I joked as I unbuckled my seat belt, "We're friends, right?"

She didn't answer right away, just mulled the thought over in her head like she really wanted to come up with a good answer. We had to be though, friends don't let friends stumble their way home on their own when they're drunk. They give them their bed and make breakfast and set out medicine and water. Most importantly, they keep the freezer stocked with popsicles at all times.

"Yeah, I'd say that was accurate."

I beamed at her reply because sometimes Santana can be really cryptic but her confirming that we actually are friends was nice.

"Awesome," I grinned happily, "Thanks for the ride."

"Yup." Was her reply which I've always found weird when people said that because I didn't think it was a good reply to someone thanking you. Yup? It's just strange. But, with that, I hopped out of the car, waved goodbye, and then started the dreadful walk upstairs.

It wasn't until I had put some distance between myself and the bartender that the full effect of my hangover came back. I almost forgot I had done all that drinking last night and how crappy I felt waking up this morning, probably distracted by being so close to Santana, until I was inches away from coming home.

"Britt, is that you?" I heard Sam call as soon as I shut the door behind me.

"Yeah." I sighed, already regretting coming to the apartment. I shrugged off my jacket and slung it over the couch as Sam rounded the corner in a white tank top and jeans.

"Where have you been? I've been calling you! You didn't come home last night and I-"

I tuned everything out as soon as the words started falling from his mouth, my head shaking at all of his worried ranting, because why does it even matter?

"Whose shirt is that?" He questioned, jealousy creeping into his tone as he eyed my NYU shirt Santana let me borrow, "Are-are you seeing someone?"

I was completely stunned that he had the guts to even ask that considering why we broke up in the first place, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. I was achy and my stomach was starting to churn again and my headache was back, all that coupled with Sam and his irrelevant questions made for one hell of a mess.

"Sam, so what?" I finally asked once I was too overwhelmed by his talking. I turned to him and stared into lifeless eyes that I used to care about so much.

"What do you mean so what? Brittany, do you realize how worr-"

"I don't care how worried you were last night, I don't!" I argued tiredly, "Do you realize we're not together anymore? It won't happen, we're not going to fix things, we're done, and that's that. I don't need to tell you where I am, I don't need to check in with you, because we're not together. We're just two people sharing a space, roommates."

"That's that?" He scoffed out of frustration, "That's that? Really? I don't get a say in this, Brittany?"

"Of course not! It's your fault we're even this way, Sam, you're the one that cheated on me. I didn't ask for that, you did this to us." He was speechless for a moment as he dug his hands in his pockets. I could feel tears brimming and all the yelling I was doing wasn't really helping my headache, but I had way too many emotions to sit idly by this time. "You don't get a say because you've already said what you needed to! Actions speak much louder than words and judging by your actions, you weren't happy." I waited for him to say anything, but when he didn't, I turned back to my jacket and put it on.

"Where are you going?"He asked, he suddenly finding his voice, as I walked out of the apartment and headed for the stairs. I could hear him calling for me, but I couldn't be in the same room with him any longer. The closer I was to him, the angrier I felt.

I rushed down the stairs as fast as my legs could take and shoved the heavy door open, grateful for the gust of cool air that hit me as I stumbled outside.

"Hey, watch out!" Someone grumbled from the other side of the door as I came out from behind it at hearing the familiar voice.

"Santana?" I gasped as I looked around the door to see the bartender gazing up at the list of room numbers to buzz. She quickly spun around at hearing me and looked like she was about to run away, "What are you doing here still?"

"I was just, you know.." She rambled, looking everywhere else in the world but my eyes before digging into her purse, "Oh! You left this in the car and I just wanted to give it back to you." She pulled out this pen that had some business logo printed along it from her purse and held it to me with a shrug, "It could've been your favorite or lucky or something, I don't know."

I couldn't find it in me to tell her than I had never seen that pen before in my life when the door swung open yet again. Santana was quick to stop it from smacking me in the back of the head though, something I must've done to her by accident only seconds ago, as she extended her arm out and stopped the door while I hopped down the steps away from it.

"Brittany? Britt-Oh!" Sam's voice came as he peeked around the door to find me standing next to Santana. I watched as his eyes flickered between the bartender and I before he focused solely on me, "We weren't finished talking, come back inside."

"Oh, we're definitely done talking for today." I chuckled sarcastically as I folded up my arms.

He let out an aggravated sigh at my stance before reaching out to try and coax my arms to unfold, "Britt, please, we have to actually talk without you storming out every damn time."

"No! I'm done talking to you today."I shuffled away from his hand, my arms tightening even more, until his grip got a little rougher.

"Damn it, Brittany!"

"Uh-uh, don't do that.." Santana growled as she took a step forward towards Sam and I. I watched as Sam's stance faltered slightly even though he was practically towering over the bartender, but she must've been giving him a really scary glare to counteract the height difference.

I knew Sam would never get violent with me, his family would hate him forever if he did, but Santana didn't know that. I watched as his eyes left mine and focused in on her until she was tapping a tanned index finger to the back of his hand.

"She said she's done talking today so she obviously doesn't want to talk anymore." She cut in yet again; her voice cool and collected resembling the quiet before a storm, "Hands off, trouty, before it gets real and that's something you really don't want."

To my surprise, Sam did as he was told and pulled his hand away at Santana's request.

I watched as Sam walked back inside grumbling about whatever, I didn't care. I just turned back to Santana to see her smiling all confident and triumphant, it was cute. That quickly vanished as she remembered she wasn't the only one outside.

"So yeah, anyway, the pen.." She stammered and held it back out to me.

I just laughed and plucked it from her fingertips anyway, maybe it was lucky after all?

"Hey Santana?" I asked after I realized we were kind of just standing there.

"Yeah?"

"Do you, I don't know, do you want to hang out some more?" I asked nervously.

Santana just looked up from wringing out her hands and smiled bashfully, "Sure, Britt."

Yeah, the pen is definitely lucky.

A/N I know you were hoping for Santana to knock Sam's lights out, but I don't think Brittany would've liked that very much..at least, not yet. How'd you like it?