Things That Go Bump in the Basement (part 8)

Brittany heard Santana say she thought she could reach under the door for the key, but her internal reaction was disappointment rather than relief.

Santana Lopez had demonstrated more vulnerability stuck tonight in a basement than she had in the eight years since Brittany met her in second grade, and Brittany Pierce was not at all ready for that to end despite the near-constant throb in her injured foot.

"Santana," Brittany called up to the Latina.

"Yeah?"

The brunette's voice was muted as she squeezed herself up against the door, shining the flashlight into the hall's darkness.

"Are you sure it's the key?"

Santana sat up on her knees and hollered down to Brittany, "Ornate black metal thing? Yeah, Britt…it's a key."

Brittany frowned and sighed. Santana can be such a pain in the ass sometimes, Brittany thought.

"I can almost get my arm under this door," Santana described as she pushed her slender wrist under the gap and reached out toward where she remembered it was laying, patting the ground to feel around for it.

She felt her finger hit something as she moved across the floor then she heard it slide further away, "Crap!"

"What?" Brittany asked.

Pulling her arm back out, she replied, "I can't reach it. I think I just pushed it further away." She bent down again, shining the flashlight in order to check the key's newest location, telling Brittany, "Well shit…I knocked it further out in the hall."

Before she thought about the consequence of her helpfulness, Brittany suggested, "Why don't you find something to knock it back closer?"

"Brilliant, Britt!" Santana responded as she stood and walked back down the stairs, hearing a creaking sound as her sock-covered foot hit each step along the way.

"Thanks," the blonde said woefully, now realizing what she unintentionally did.

Her gaze followed Santana as she crossed the basement and stood in the far corner, looking around.

"Ah, here we go!" the Latina said triumphantly, taking one of the fishing rods off the wall, adding as she walked back past Brittany still seated on the beanbag chair, "Cross your fingers, Britt Britt! We may break free in a few minutes!"

Brittany reacted with the first distraction that came to her mind, grabbing at her leg and screaming out in pain, "Owwww…Santana!"

Santana dropped the pole quickly near the staircase, turning to attend to Brittany immediately, "What happened?"

"I don't know…my ankle hurts really bad all of a sudden," Brittany fibbed, grimacing dramatically for emphasis.

Kneeling down and lifting Brittany's foot carefully, Santana inspected it, rubbing gently, "It doesn't look any more swollen so that's good. Did you do something to it again?"

Brittany shrugged, a tingly-type warmth moving through her as Santana touched her leg.

"You didn't try to stand again, did you?" Santana asked with a raised eyebrow of suspicion.

"That's it, yeah," Brittany nodded, continuing with her fabrication. She had gotten Santana's attention, but now she didn't know how to say what she so desperately wanted to say. Fresh tears, from emotional not physical pain, appeared in her eyes, and she embellished further, "I was going to try to help you."

Santana studied Brittany's face, her gaze moving across every feature as she caressed the smooth skin of Brittany's long, muscular leg. This was the second moment of tears in Brittany's blue eyes tonight, and it tugged again at Santana's heart. She reached up and ran her fingers across Brittany's cheek and down the side of her mouth, pausing a moment as something unfamiliar traveled through her.

The Latina's expression softened into the sweetest smile Brittany could remember seeing on Santana's face, and she assured Brittany, "I don't want you to hurt anymore, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Brittany took a deep breath, the tingling feeling moving all the way through her now, giving her noticeable goose bumps. It was only for three seconds, at most, but Brittany saw something in Santana's dark eyes alter when she called her that. There was a sudden radiance there, a sort of recognition.

"Sit still, ok? I'm going to get us out of here," Santana instructed, broadening her smile.

Brittany sighed heavily in defeat, the moment between the best friends as fleeting as always. She watched Santana pick up the fishing pole and climb to the top of the stairs.

The brunette pushed up the long sleeves on the white thermal shirt and bent to the ground again, shoving the top end of the fishing rod under the gap of the door while shining the flashlight to guide her efforts. Seeing the key, Santana carefully dragged it toward her until the pole refused to move further.

"Oh hell!"

"Now what?" Brittany inquired.

"Hold on a sec…I got the hook caught on the rug." With that announcement, Santana pushed her bare hand back out into the hallway, reaching for the old, braided rug.

She had nearly released the fish hook when there was a loud screech and a hard pounce, startling Santana, forcing her to withdraw her hand swiftly. "Owww! Jesus!"

Santana pushed up to her knees, shaking her right hand as if that would rid it of the searing pain.

"What happened?" Brittany asked with concern.

Santana shined the flashlight on her hand, seeing four long streaks of bright red on the top of her wrist. "That goddamn beast tried to slice my arm off!" she ranted loudly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding!"

"Come down here and let me see," Brittany coaxed her.

Santana shined the light once more under the door, seeing Princess Penelope curled on top of the key, licking victoriously at her paw. The orange tabby paused and looked directly at the light, her eyes flashing brightly as if they were on fire, and Santana was sure she saw a sarcastic grin cross the old feline's mouth.

The brunette stood with an audible huff, "I hate that fucking cat!"

Once she made her way to the bottom of the basement again, she plopped down beside Brittany, holding out her hand.

Brittany snickered as she inspected Santana's injury, secretly grateful that Princess Penelope was able to accomplish with one well-timed swipe of her claws what Brittany could not with her charade of renewed pain.

"She got you good," the blonde acknowledged, dabbing at the blood with the corner of the blanket.

Santana rolled her eyes, plotting the cat's demise through gritted teeth, "I'm going to catch her one of these days and strangle her…and then…then I'm going to have her stuffed and mounted. I will hang her on the wall in my bedroom and throw darts at her mangy, old corpse!"

That declaration made Brittany giggle more, "Well, it's not like this is the first cat fight you've been in."

Santana narrowed her eyes, "What do you mean?"

"At school…?"

"Hmph…with Quinn? She doesn't count," Santana dismissed her constant attempt to one-up her and Brittany's other closest friend.

Quinn Fabray might be captain of the Cheerios squad and the presumed-Head Bitch at McKinley, but Santana was confident that she could topple the blonde beauty queen if she ever truly put her mind to it. It certainly was not that Santana hadn't thought of dethroning Quinn a thousand times over, in a thousand different ways, but usually, Santana was satisfied with her second-in-command status because it allowed her better leverage to look after Brittany.

"Maybe…but what about that Rachel girl in Glee Club? You were ready to kick her ass when she went out with Puck," Brittany pointed out.

"Oh her?" Santana snarled, "She's nothing but an insanely-loud Pocket Pet."

Santana relaxed further into the beanbag chair next to Brittany. "Besides, she and Puck were never a…thing," she stated with air-quotes around thing despite the stinging pain in her right hand.

"Sooo…what if they were?" Brittany pushed to see what reaction she would get from Santana," Would that upset you?"

"You don't like him much, do you?"

"Who? Puck?" Brittany shrugged, "He's alright. He's nearly as dumb as me, but he's definitely the best kisser out of the rest of the football team."

Santana grimaced. She never liked when Brittany insulted herself. "You're not dumb, Britt," she reminded her dearest friend, "You're…."

"…special," Brittany tilted her head, completing Santana's thought for her, having heard that affirmation hundreds of times.

Santana smiled, amending her usual assertion, "Very special."

"So why do you date him, San?" Brittany queried, "You always seem bothered by him. Is the sex really that good?"

"He's tolerable, I guess…but," Santana dismissed, adding with a sexy smirk, "He's not as good as that blond guy at that frat party we snuck into last spring."

"You actually liked him?" Brittany sounded surprised, hardly remembering the older boy who snuck off upstairs with a very drunk Santana in tow, leaving her and Quinn and two other Cheerios to defend against intoxicated gropes from the rest of the fraternity while playing beer pong.

Santana gestured, "What can I say? I secretly like blonds."

Brittany smiled inadvertently.

"What?" Santana asked with slight confusion.

Brittany shrugged, grabbing Santana's hand to look at it again.

"Seriously…what?" the Latina nudged at her friend.

Brittany looked up and smiled again, "I'm blonde."

Santana chuckled, but Brittany could tell it was an awkward, what exactly does that mean?-type chuckle.

As the best friends sat there quietly, Brittany ran her index finger absentmindedly over the tips of Santana's fingers, tracing the edges of the brunette's short nails. Santana always had them painted, most often red or black to match her Cheerios uniform, but they weren't girly fingers like Brittany saw on Quinn Fabray or Rachel Berry or even those other girls in Glee Club. Mercedes…and…and…Teri or Tina or whatever that Asian girl with the stutter's name is, Brittany thought.

Santana's fingers always looked slightly torn up from athletics or household chores with her cuticles tearing and her nails broken in places, and she rarely made it more than a day or two before the nail polish started chipping off.

Brittany looked at her own nails too and saw basically the same thing though she had a bad habit of biting her nails when they broke off or she was nervous or unsure about something, leaving her fingernails even shorter than Santana's.

"What are you thinking about?" Santana asked, breaking the long silence hanging over them.

"I just don't know why you let those boys treat you the way they do," Brittany expressed softly. She could still smell sex on both of their hands.

"How do they treat me, Britt?"

"Like you're an object," Brittany stated bluntly.

Santana pulled her hand away from Brittany's grip and looked off to the side, pondering her statement.

Brittany hesitated, her breath catching in the back of her throat, but then she disclosed, "I would never treat you that way."


Author's Note: Princess Penelope strikes again! The racist furbag. Or perhaps the old cat is merely a Brittana-shipping fangirl in disguise. ;)

So Brittany and Santana are starting to talk about feelings. With Santana's stubborn inability to look inward, this could end badly. Here's a thought to ponder: Is it better to hang on to part of something great or is it worth the risk to fight for the whole thing? Hmm…I'm not sure.

Thank you so much for your continued interest and support of this story. If you want to keep me motivated to write more on this one then please leave me a review with your thoughts and feedback.