I own nothing other than my interpretation of the Gleeniverse. I did not create these characters nor their epic love.
Embarrassing spelling and typographical errors, sadly, all mine.
Love this ship.
Dang! There was so much going on in the subtext of 4x22; I didn't even realize it until I started writing. I never thought in a million years it would take me this many chapters to get to the end!
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Would love to hear from you! :)
Go Big and Go Home
Chapter 9
As the lights began to flicker us all back to our seats Kurt grabs my shoulder and squeezes it hard.
"Oh mah gawd! I can't even handle this stress!" he squeaks, fanning himself with the flimsy program.
"Princess, un-ruffle your panties and remember to breathe. The last thing Blaine needs is some hot EMS guy fondling you back from the dead."
I plop down in front of Kurt's appreciative chuckle as the lights explode and some regal swagger fills the stage. They are calm, cool, classy and completely in control. Artie fucking Abrams ROCKS it. Seriously. It's like The New Directions finally believe their own reputation. Even without Mercedes. Even without, well, Kurt and Finn and Quinn and Puck and I guess even without... me. And I don't even mind. They're champions and they know it. "Hall of Fame" totally shows off their strengths and they are just so grown up and elegant up there! My little Sugar looks like a queen. Brittany just glows. She makes everything look so effortless and she's having a blast. Even Sam. With that terrible hair flip that makes him look like Provincetown Ken, he's singing better than ever! They all are. And they haven't had a rehearsal with everyone together in how long? This is nothing short of a show choir miracle. And I'm just stupid, stupid proud.
As the girls come downstage Emma leans over again and says "Oh Santana you're gonna love this!" and it is Icona Pop! These baby girls may not be The Troubletones but when "I love it! I don't care!" Starts pulsing through the speakers I find myself standing, cheering and fist pumping with Emma Pillsbury like we're besties. And this choreography? Totally sexy. Totally adorable. And totally not trashy like Polly Pocket Powerhouse and friends were before. Brittany Susan Pierce. What a sassy little bitch. She stages herself subtly in the back, not drawing attention to her super fly moves, but this choreography is all Brittany.
I don't care!
I love it!
Then the music settles for the ballad and I grit my teeth wondering if they can really pull this off with out the power of Micro-Barbara Berry and I don't recognize the song but before I can ask, Mr. Shue looks over to me and says, "Marley wrote it. And it's awesome" and he's right.
Blaine and Marley make a great vocal pairing – completely free from the awkward sexual chemistry that always got in the way with Rachel and Finn. They can truly lead musically and the rest of the team fans out around them as their voices swell, and so does everything I've been feeling for the last twenty-four hours.
This is my life
I'm not gonna live it twice
There's no in-between
Take it too extremes
I'm just so full of everything. And that everything can't help but spill from my eyes. Emma casually passes me a tissue and I peek to see if Kurt can see me crying. But actually I turn to see that he's stone still, white as a sheet, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Hey honey, honey, you okay?" I implore.
Blaine is front and center. Singing his heart out. Singing to Kurt. Begging for another chance.
I can't give up
Can't just let it burn
And watch the fire
I started turn to dust
"Why am I so nervous?" he chokes.
Could the answer be any more obvious? Could Kurt be any more oblivious?
"Because you still love him, you dope." I blurt out, almost wishing I could take it back. But I'm grateful to see Kurt smile instead of smack the back of my head.
He just nods into the tears, snatches my tissue and blots without comment.
Nothing can stop us now!
There was never a shadow of doubt…
The New Directions finish their impassioned set standing like royalty in the footlights. They're putting it all out there. They're putting themselves on that line heart and soul. They're as connected to the crowd as they are to each other and I'm just so humbled and so impressed to be part of their legacy.
It's All or Nothing
All or Nothing
At all!
The audience response sounds like the Fourth of July and Mr. Shue and Ms. Pillsbury jump into each other's arms. Their mouths crash into a celebratory smooch and he wraps his big arms around her tiny shoulders like both a proper gentleman and an awkward seventeen-year-old boy at the same time. Kurt and I lock eyes and share a pang of envy, turning back to the stage to see Blaine and Brittany both clamoring for Sam, shouting and celebrating, arms wrapped around bodies, eyes filled with joy, radiating so much love.
We're not surprised when they win. We're not surprised at all.
Mr. Scheuster hugs Mercedes and Mike and thanks them for their help. And he hugs me too. Then Kurt's eyes widen as he exclaims, "Where's Finn? Oh my god, where's Finn? I can't believe he missed this!"
"Don't worry Kurt," Mrs. Pillsbury intercepts, looking me dead in the eyes.
"Finn had to run back to campus. Puck was with campus police, again, and needed him to get back into their room."
She smiles like it's the greatest news of the century. I completely agree.
Then Shue adds, "He'll probably make it back for the pizza party in an hour or so. So he won't miss everything Kurt. No worries."
With that Emma bounces away into the hall, Shue palms Kurt's back so hard it winds him, and Mercedes and I share a laugh. Finn. Puck. Classic.
"It's a shame Rachel couldn't be here," Mercedes pouts.
"Truth. But hey, for Funny Girl? I'd have missed it too."
Mercedes rolls her eyes and laughs right at me and I don't even care.
"Wait? Who am I kidding. No I wouldn't. Night even a little."
"That's my girl!" Mercedes says, smiling her big momma smile. She then kisses my cheek and spins me around to face the stage before disappearing into the crowd.
The out-of-towner audience thins into the hall and then into the parking lot and then into the night and the McKinley kids evaporate into the wings. I wait in the back of the theatre until the stillness seeps in and silence settles on the stage. Mercedes knew I wouldn't leave. I can't leave because Brittany won't leave the stage and I won't leave Brittany.
The remnants of the pyrotechnics fill the air with the same royal purple as her dress. From a distance I can't quite make out her features, but I know she's there. I can still feel her presence in the room like an invisible string pulling at my chest. Pulling me to her. I can make out the golden shine of her hair in the flashing lights and the adorably goofy way she sits down. Her feet point in a little, her knees spread like a trucker, and her arms lean on her thighs like she's completely over-dressed to judge a marmalade contest at a state fair. But the tech team starts to shut down the light board and one at a time sections of color snap off until its just beautiful Brittany cradled in a pool of the gentle work light, which they are kind enough not to turn off.
As I climb the stairs behind her I can see the smile spread into her shoulders. She knows who it is. Who else would wear these ridiculously loud shoes?
Her eyes beg "are you proud of me?" without her having to say a word. I hope she can hear "of course I am" overflowing my smile in return. Her perfectly bow-shaped mouth twists to the side as I reach out my hand. She could have simply wrapped her fingers in mine but instead she scrunches her shoulders into my armpit and snuggles into my side. We head off stage right with our arms wrapped around each other's waists and I'm so grateful to have shared this moment with Brittany. Gratitude. Completion. Pride.
I'm also really glad I didn't wimp out and change into my flip flops, because you know, I gotta tell you, being the little one kinda of sucks sometimes. But in these six inch strut makers I'm a good two inches taller than Brittany. I could get used to this wrap-my-arms-around-you-baby thing, even if I have to wear sick stilettos to do it.
We cross into the dark of the backstage wing space and I pat myself on the virtual back for accomplishing my mission. I turn giddy knowing that just a few minutes from now we are going to be guests at a pop up wedding that none of the glee kids see coming. I reach my left hand for the back stage door but Brittany grabs my wrist.
I turn to her in the dark but my eyes haven't adjusted and I try to pull back towards the work light still present on stage. But the final switch clicks into place and the entire space plunges into darkness.
I hear the air suck into my throat before I even feel it. I can't feel anything but the warm pressure of Brittany's tongue on the inside of my wrist, inching up to the inside of my arm, to my shoulder, to my collarbone, my neck, to my ear. I'm unsteady on my feet. She pulls back from beside my silly grin to look at me in the dark. We both strain to focus but I can only register the tiny glistening shine in her wide and pleading eyes. I feel Brittany's nose circle my nose. Brittany's hands clasping my hands. Brittany's breath spills onto my lips in tiny shuttering exhalations. Brittany's lips tracing my lips. Brittany's heart beating in my palms.
"Santana, take me home" she says.
Her words feel like a cry, or a prayer.
Her hands slide to the small of my back and their warmth radiates all the way up to that most vulnerable space right between my collarbones.
As if she can feel me think about that space, where my throat dips underneath muscle and bone, she kisses it so gently, right there under my chin. Her tongue traces languishing circles of sweet adoration and my head falls back. My arms slack and I can't think clearly at all until I just start walking. I have no sense of distance and how far we are from the door, but it only takes three strides before I push Brittany up against the cold stone of the wall, our lips crashing almost as hard as our boney hips.
We collapse into a kiss that is slow, aching and deliberate. It feels like there are hands everywhere. Thighs everywhere. Heat everywhere.
I feel myself falling so far into Brittany, so fast, so now, so right, so please, so much longing, so much need, that when the door slams open and Marley Rose steps into the dark shouting, "Britt? You okay? Santana? Hello?"
She doesn't even see us in the perfect triangle of light spilling in from the hall, nor do we stop touching until Brittany lets out the tiniest of moans and Marley snaps around and the door slams shut and all three of us freeze in an awkward and silent blackout.
"Hey Marley...?" I shatter the silence. I can feel myself smirk, then giggle. I can feel Brittany thread her fingers in mine as her breathing starts to settle into shoulders bouncing in embarrassed laughter.
"Santana!" she almost squeals. "I'm so so so sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Oh god. This is so embarrassing. I didn't know you guys… oh god. I'm so sorry."
Brittany stops her rambling, "Marley, its okay. Santana doesn't bite... unless I ask nicely." Then she kisses my cheek, turns away, and triumphantly kicks open the door and struts through.
Well okay, talk about twat-swat. So I follow.
Looking back I see Marley confused and squinting into the fluorescent lights as she and I sheepishly head towards the choir room. We can already hear the others celebrating and poor Marley's blushing harder than I am. "Hey Santana, wait, let me-" she says as she licks her thumb and smudges what I presume was lipstick off of my earlobe. She then tries to rub something off of my collarbone and says "Whoopse, that's not coming off. Sorry"
"Good god Brittany" I mutter under my breath, bringing my hair over my shoulder to cover the mark. "Is that better?"
She nods affirmatively and I can't believe I'm asking a gigantically tall tenth grader to confirm that my hickey is appropriately hidden. But then again I also can't believe I almost just had sex with Brittany backstage and Marley actually saved us from ourselves.
I knew I liked this kid.
"Hey, thanks. And you were amazing tonight Marley. Really. I was truly impressed. I actually cried a little I was so proud."
"Really? Oh golly Santana. Coming from you? Thank you! Thank you so much."
"Thank YOU. Really."
I took her trembling hand in mine for a second.
"That could have gotten all kinds of crazy up in there. Really."
"Oh it's okay. I just really wanted Brittany to be there when we put the new trophy in the case and you know all the after competition stuff. It's gonna be so weird with out her you know? I mean- she's not in Massachusetts yet. This is our last night as a team."
I could see her heart sink. And I knew exactly what she meant. Life without Brittany is a total drag.
With that Brittany explodes back into the hallway and grabs both Marley and me by the arm and delivers us to the rest of the gang circled up around the piano. Marley and me. Ha. Isn't that a movie about a dog?
Marley skips her way back to Jake's teddy bear embrace, thankfully, already forgetting what she just interrupted. Maybe she'll tell him later and he'll blush too.
Sam looks up at me and smiles gently. Awkwardly. Apologetically? Generously? I just can't quite read him.
Sensing our discomfort Brittany creeps between us like she's got the best secret in the universe, "So did you hear? The New Directions won Regional's even though their most fabulous lady dancer is actually a big math nerd!?"
"Yea I heard something like that Brittany," I said wrapping my arms around waist and dropping my head to her shoulder.
"I hear she's pretty freakin' cool" he croons, his smile is warm and forgiving. His eyes a little damp. His earnest good-guy charm, sincere. "And her friends are gonna miss her like cray-zay!" he cheers, wrapping us both in an enormously surprisingly warm embrace.
