Mike glares at Santana, his eyes glinting dangerously.
Santana stands her ground, glaring right back.
Beside Mike, Puck leans forward menacingly.
Santana refuses to be bullied into submission, and when Mike narrows his eyes, she just smirks at him.
It only seems to anger them further. "Give it up, Lopez."
"Never."
Mike growls, and it takes everything Santana has to not laugh in his face.
She's not afraid of him.
"C'mon, Lopez, it'll be a lot easier for all of us once you surrender."
Santana ignores Puck's goading and focuses all of her attention on Mike. He's the dangerous one, the one she needs to be wary of.
Mike sets his jaw, clenches his fists.
Santana narrows her eyes, just slightly.
Mike blinks.
A chorus of cheers rise from behind Santana, and she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, thoroughly enjoying the groans of defeat from behind Mike.
"Best two out of three!"
"In your dreams, Puckerman," Brittany says from Santana's side. She squeezes Santana's hand in silent congratulations before continuing, "Santana won the staring contest fair and square, now fork over her winnings, losers."
Mike pushes the large bag of candy – which had been resting comfortably between him and Puck on the table – closer to her, and winces when Puck punches him in the arm.
"Dude, I've been saving that up for, like, three weeks!" Puck complains.
Santana pops a gum ball into her mouth and happily accepts a giant kiss on the cheek from Brittany.
"Next time," Brittany says when she pulls away. "Don't put all of your chickens in one egg, Puck." Puck narrows his eyes and cocks his head slightly to the left in confusion, and Quinn leans over to whisper in Brittany's ear for a moment. When Quinn pulls away, Brittany says, "Don't put all of your eggs in one basket, Puck."
Santana smiles fondly and hands Brittany a stick of taffy, which earns her another kiss on the cheek before Brittany steals away to the corner to speak to Mercedes and Rachel.
"Looks like you two have gotten pretty close," Mike says knowingly. He's still rubbing his arm where Puck hit him, and Santana really doesn't want to laugh, so she manages – just barely – to turn her chuckle into a cough.
"I could say the same for you and other Asian." She nods towards Tina, then makes a show of blowing a gigantic bubble with her gum.
"What can I say, she's my lady." Mike jabs at her bubble with his finger, as if to pop it, but Santana just raises an eyebrow, entirely unphased.
She sucks the gum back into her mouth, then asks, "Do your parents know?"
Mike grins, nods, and tries to swipe a piece of candy. When Santana's quick hands thwart his efforts, he pouts and says, "Yeah, they know. They're okay with it but they don't exactly understand."
Santana scoffs bitterly. "I wish Britt's dad was like that."
Mike cringes, but before he can reply, Puck interjects. "Yo, that dude needs to take a serious chill pill." Before she can stop him, he grabs a fistful of candy, drops a kiss to the top of her head, and runs off to share with Kurt.
Santana shakes her head but lets the matter die as she finally allows Mike to share her winnings.
As she watches Brittany converse with Mercedes and Rachel, Santana sobers. "You guys have been…really good to us."
Mike makes a noise, and Santana isn't sure if it's a scoff or a laugh. He looks around at the room's other occupants. Puck has joined Brittany, Mercedes, and Rachel in the corner. Finn and Artie have taught Kurt, Sam, and Tina how to play Poker and are attempting to best them in their first real game, unaware that Quinn is standing behind the two of them silently revealing their cards to their students.
Mike's gaze returns to her and he clasps Santana's shoulder for a moment. "You're our friends," he says finally. "We treat our friends with respect here." He gives her shoulder one last firm squeeze before following Puck to join Brittany, Mercedes, and Rachel.
She smiles and shakes her head slightly before looking towards the Poker game. Finn and Artie have caught on to how the others had gotten so good after only one lesson, and now Finn is playfully tickling Quinn as she squeals that she is innocent.
Santana rises and saunters over to attempt to bask in Quinn's misery, but as soon as Artie spots her, he taps Finn's elbow and gestures towards the opposite side of the room.
They excuse themselves, and Kurt heaves a huge sigh once they're gone. "Aaaand there they go. Again," he says.
"Guys, we need to be majorly careful with our curiosity from now on," Tina says. "I don't want to be left at home alone again. It's super boring."
Santana sits beside Sam and sets her candy down beside them. He immediately begins helping himself, and Santana wishes she'd chosen her seat more wisely. She hits him on the shoulder lightly and gestures to the others. "Share, Trouty Mouth," she says. He frowns at her, but pushes the bag closer to the center of the table anyways. "Okay, wait. So you're telling me that I'm not the only one that got left at home last time?"
"Yep," Quinn says bitterly, then scoffs in Santana's direction. "What, did you think Rachel and Brittany were only punishing you for asking questions?"
Santana rolls her eyes; sometimes she just does not like Quinn. "That's exactly what I thought, Blondie." Quinn rolls her eyes. "How was I supposed to know, I haven't seen you guys in, like, a hundred years."
It becomes obvious that the other three have been completely ignoring them when Sam says, "Guys, maybe we should just leave it alone. If they want us to know, they'll tell us."
"I'm disappointed," Santana tells him flatly. "You were the most excited about this at one point." Sam just shrugs, but doesn't get the chance to answer.
"Uh, excuse me," Quinn says, holding a finger up. "If they're doing something that involves us, I think we deserve to know what it is."
"Well, technically," Tina says. "We don't deserve anything. In case you've forgotten, we're slaves."
"Shut up, Tina."
Tina glares at Santana, who just shrugs and grins, although she knows Tina has a point.
"Both of you shut up and listen," Quinn says before leaning closer over the table. "Berry has literally started keeping all of that crap-" She gestures to the couch where the Masters' books and notebooks have been sitting since they all arrived. "-under lock and key. They really do not want us anywhere near what they're planning."
Kurt taps his chin. "This just gets more and more interesting."
Santana sighs and rests her chin in her hand. "Guys, I think Sam may be right," she concedes regretfully. Quinn coughs into her hand, poorly disguising the word quitter, and Santana rolls her eyes again. "I was going to say that you also have a solid point, but never mind." Quinn looks unconvinced, but remains quiet. "I'm curious, sure, but I don't want Britt to be mad at me. And I definitely don't want to be left at home with her dad again."
Kurt frowns. "Did he do something?"
Santana groans and drops her face into her hands. When she looks up, her friends are leaning impossibly closer. "Fuck, okay, you can't tell anyone." She points at each of them in turn, making sure to make eye contact so that they know that she is dead serious. Once they've all agreed, she sighs and whispers, "Well, the day the masters left all of us at home, I was in the kitchen with Shannon. Pierce was already gone, but he forgot his phone, so he came back. He asked where Brittany was, found out that she had left me behind, and thought that I did something to upset her. So he backhanded me."
Kurt and Tina gasp. Sam looks like he could run from the room and murder Pierce at any moment.
"Does Brittany know?" Quinn asks lowly. Santana shakes her head, making Quinn quirk an eyebrow. "Did it bruise?"
"For a couple of days." Santana shrugs. "Shannon helped me hide it with makeup."
Tina puts a hand to her chest. "Why didn't you tell Brittany?"
"Because she already can't stand to be in the same room as her dad. I don't want her to completely hate him because of me."
"That man." Quinn shakes her head. "He's so hell bent on keeping others from hurting Brittany that he can't see that he's the only one who actually is."
"I know!" Santana says, thankful that someone else gets it. "He can't see that just the sight of him is nearly enough to make Brittany cry."
"I think just the sight of him is nearly enough to make Noah cry," Kurt mumbles. Santana gestures to Kurt as if to say see?.
"Well, if you ask me," Sam says. He steals another piece of candy and twirls it absently between his fingers. "I don't think you, Brittany, or Shannon should be in that house."
"Brittany and Santana could easily leave if they had somewhere else to go," Kurt says, as though he's suddenly been struck with an idea.
"That would be great, but what about Shannon?" Tina points out. "She's in more danger than Brittany and Santana. Pierce actually owns her." Santana's thankful that she isn't the only one who cares what would happen to the other woman.
Quinn crosses her arms and rests her elbows on the table, but she doesn't get the chance to respond because Brittany chooses that moment to bound over.
She leans over and rests her chin on Santana's shoulder. "Thought I heard my name. What's up?"
"Oh, um," Santana scrambles.
"Santana was just telling us about how she could easily beat you at arm wrestling," Quinn supplies oh so helpfully.
Santana gawks at her and Brittany looks affronted.
"Oh it's on, Lopez."
Santana flexes her sore arm, then rubs it vigorously. She'd beaten Brittany in arm wrestling, but she highly suspects that Brittany had definitely let her win.
But of course Puck had seen what was happening across the room and had declared a tournament.
And had promptly began calling foul when Mike beat him in the first ten seconds.
Santana sits heavily on the side of Brittany's bed. She pouts and cradles her arm pitifully. "You know, you could have told me that you were going to let me win. I wouldn't have tried so hard."
Brittany plops on the bed beside her. She throws one arm over Santana's shoulders to pull her closer and uses her free hand to rub at Santana's arm. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."
Santana huffs out a laugh and leans into Brittany's embrace. "Yeah, you can stop pretending now, I saw you take Sam out without breaking a sweat."
Brittany throws her head back and laughs. "Okay, okay, you caught me. But to be fair you held your own for, like, twenty seconds."
"My arm got tired," Santana gripes.
"Poor baby," Brittany coos. She plants a kiss on Santana's temple, and though Santana rolls her eyes good naturedly, she sighs happily.
"This is nice."
Brittany hums but otherwise remains quiet. The entire house is pleasantly quiet; Santana thinks it's safe, then, so assume that Pierce is still not home.
Brittany shifts beside her, and Santana pulls away so that Brittany can move up the bed to place her head on her pillow. Once she's settled, she opens her arms wide. Santana grins at her before crawling up to rest her head on Brittany's shoulder.
"I'm glad you decided to take me to Rachel's this time," she mumbles. Brittany scratches her nails up and down the arm resting across her stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Santana can't see Brittany's face, but she sounds guilty when she asks, "Was it boring last time?"
Santana shrugs one shoulder. She suddenly wishes they'd turned out the light before lying own; though her bruise has long faded, the fear that Brittany will see it has not. "You could say that."
Brittany giggles, and Santana can hear it reverberate through her chest; it quells her fear and makes her smile. "Yeah, you got so bored you decided to play in Shannon's makeup kit."
Santana's smile falters again. The memory of Pierce backhanding her returns; she wants to remind Brittany that the makeup foray happened the morning after, but she's afraid that if she does, Brittany will ask her what she actually did while she was gone, then.
She would have to lie.
She doesn't want to lie to Brittany.
She doesn't realize that her whole body has gotten tense until Brittany nudges her chin up. "You okay?"
Santana forces her face to remain neutral. "Yeah."
Brittany frowns and Santana wonders if anyone has ever gotten anything past Brittany. "Santana-"
"I'm fine," Santana assures, adding a small smile for good measure. "I promise."
Brittany looks entirely unconvinced as she allows Santana to return her head to her shoulder. "If there's something you need to tell me-"
Santana laughs, cutting Brittany off. "What could there be that you don't already know?" She asks, ignoring the nagging in the back of her mind; she's not lying, just…deflecting. "We're literally together 24/7."
"I know, god, I'm so sick of your face."
"Ugh, I know right," Santana plays along, looking up so that Brittany can properly see the grimace on her face.
They make disgusted faces at each other for a few more seconds until Santana feels Brittany's fingers wander to her sides to begin dancing tortuously.
Santana squeals and squirms, but neither do anything to still Brittany's merciless hands, and Santana tries to roll away.
"Britt-" she wheezes, which only makes Brittany laugh harder and roll her over to pin her down. Brittany's giggles mingle with her own as Santana fights for dominance. Brittany might be stronger, but Santana hopes that Brittany's precarious perch on her hips will make it easy to topple her.
"Say uncle," Brittany demands, using one hand to bat away both of Santana's while her other continues its assault on Santana's midsection.
"Never," Santana manages to choke out. Brittany may have let her win at arm wrestling, but Santana doesn't think that she'll be so quick to give in this time.
"Say it."
"Britt, I'm gonna pee!"
Brittany barks out a laugh. "Does that mean you give up?"
"No!" If she pees on Brittany…well, it'll be all Brittany's fault.
"C'mon, Santana," Brittany taunts, not realizing that one of Santana's hands has snuck past her defenses. Santana digs her fingers into the bend of Brittany's knee, praying that she's ticklish there. Brittany shrieks and her balance falters enough for Santana to roll her off of her hips. Brittany lands beside her, her face red from laughing.
Santana throws her arms up. "Victory!"
"Psht, you got lucky." Brittany winds her arms around Santana and pulls her a bit closer, and Santana shifts to her side so that she can rest her forehead against Brittany's as she attempts to catch her breath.
Santana is silent for several seconds. She rubs Brittany's arm as Brittany rubs her back. "Yeah," she says. "I did get lucky." Brittany's smile grows, and Santana bites her lip. She's suddenly overcome with the crippling need to kiss Brittany, but she's not quite sure if such a thing would be appreciated.
She releases a huff of air, and Brittany frowns. "Santana?" She asks worriedly.
Santana shakes her head slightly and grips at Brittany's sleeve when she tries to pull away. "No, I'm fine, I just…" She huffs again, annoyed at herself. There is absolutely no harm in at least asking, she reasons. "Can…can I kiss you?"
Brittany's breath hitches, and as she pulls Santana closer and leans in, she whispers, "Silly. You don't have to ask."
Santana wants to tell Brittany that she just wanted to be sure – since they've only kissed, really kissed, once – but Brittany's already eagerly wrapped her lips around Santana's top lip and oh Santana knows that if she weren't lying down, her knees would have buckled instantly.
She moves her lips against Brittany's, slowly, and Brittany backs off a tiny bit, letting Santana explore, giving her total control. Her hand roams Santana's waist, her back, her side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake; Santana quivers and wonders just when it'd gotten so hot.
She brings her hand up to Brittany's neck, kissing first her top lip, then the bottom one before sliding the tip of her tongue across it. Brittany opens for her immediately and Santana gasps when their tongues touch for the first time. Brittany's hips jerk and her fingers still on Santana's shoulder blade and dig in, making Santana arch into her.
It's obviously taking everything Brittany has to surrender total control to Santana, and Santana appreciates the effort, really.
But she wants more. So much more.
She rolls over, pinning Brittany under her, and when she grinds her hips, Brittany grunts into her mouth. Santana, breathing heavily, tears her mouth away from Brittany's and trails open mouth kisses along her cheek, nips at her jaw and neck. Panting, Brittany turns her head to give Santana better access, and her fingers tug at Santana's hips as she grinds up and into her.
"Santana," she breathes out. Santana hums and nips at Brittany's neck before bringing their mouths back together. She forgets to be embarrassed about her lack of experience when she runs her tongue over Brittany's and Brittany whimpers.
God, Santana wants her so bad. She aches for Brittany.
Gathering her courage, Santana lets her hand wander up Brittany's shirt. She rakes her nails over Brittany's abs, then brushes the backs of her fingers across the underside of Brittany's bra.
Brittany startles and gropes blindly for Santana's wrist. When she finds it, she jerks Santana's hand from under her shirt.
"Wait," she gasps as she pulls her mouth from Santana's. She slides out from under Santana and jumps away and off the bed so quickly that she topples over.
"Britt!" Santana yelps. She crawls to the edge of the bed, and when Brittany leaps up from the floor, she almost catches Santana's chin with the top of her head. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"I'm fine," Brittany answers quickly, but her voice is strained, her eyes wild. She runs her hands through her hair, then tugs on her shirt to put it back in place. The tips of her eyes are bright red. "It's…it's nothing. I just…"
It clicks, then. Santana realizes what's wrong. She crosses her arms and huffs, unsure whether she's hurt or angry or a mixture. "It's because I'm a slave, right?" It's rhetorical, and she rolls her eyes and chuckles darkly. Her chest aches. She just wants to disappear. She never thought she'd feel this way with Brittany. "Of course, I should have known. You could have anyone, why would you want a slave." She spits the word like it's bile on her tongue.
Maybe it is.
"No!" Brittany says loudly, pushing her hands in front of her. "No, it's nothing like that, I swear!"
"Brittany, don't lie to me." Santana scowls up at Brittany, her face hot with shame. "I know, okay. I'm a slave, I have a purpose, and that purpose isn't to enjoy-"
"Look, okay, it is because of…that," Brittany relents, but rushes to explain herself when Santana's face completely crumples and she looks away. "But it isn't what you think!" She lowers herself to kneel in front of Santana and forces Santana's arms to uncross so she can take her hands. "I don't want you to think…that I'm only making love to you because you're a…you know. I want it to be special."
Santana continues to stare to the side for so long that Brittany wonders if she'd even heard the words. Or if she cared about them at all. Then, slowly, Santana turns her head; she refuses to look Brittany in the eye when she mumbles, "But that's what I am. That's…all I'll ever be."
Brittany's heart breaks at the resignation in Santana's voice. A tear slides down Santana's cheek, and Brittany reaches to wipe it away, but Santana beats her to it. She sighs and moves up to the bed. After a bit of coaxing, Santana allows herself to be pulled into Brittany's lap. "Just…be patient."
Santana scoffs and asks, "Be patient with what, exactly?" And though the words are muffled by her neck, Brittany catches the deep bitterness in them.
Brittany presses a kiss to Santana's eyebrow. "If I'm wrong," she says in lieu of an answer. "Then I'll come home and make love to you as long as you want. Okay?"
Santana wants to trust that Brittany is telling the truth, that Brittany even knows what she's talking about, but she isn't sure. She wishes Brittany wouldn't be so cryptic about everything; what is there to be right or wrong about? She offers a small nod; she just wants the conversation to be over. She just wants to go to sleep.
Brittany guides both of them to the head of the bed again, and Santana lets her rub her back until she falls asleep.
When she wakes a couple of hours later, the light is off and she's alone, still on top of the blankets. She waits for several long minutes for Brittany to return, and when there's no sign of her, Santana rises from the bed and pads to the door.
The bathroom light is off, the door wide open. The house is silent. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she looks to the left; the kitchen is dark and empty. When she looks to the right, she almost misses the dark lump on the couch.
Brittany.
Santana bites her lip and contemplates waking Brittany to ask if she's okay, but changes her mind. If Brittany wanted anything to do with her, she wouldn't be sleeping on the couch.
She turns and makes her way quietly back to their room, her tongue jammed to the roof of her mouth in an effort not to cry.
Santana doesn't sleep the rest of the night.
When she hears the door open after the sun has risen, Santana waits until the count of three before she rolls away from the wall she'd been facing.
Brittany offers a small, awkward smile and pretends she's just risen from the bed.
Santana pretends that she doesn't know that Brittany's lying.
Brittany won't stay in a room with her alone for more than five minutes. Santana helps Shannon around the house, making forced small talk.
When they lay down for bed, Brittany bids her goodnight, turns out the light, and faces the window.
It feels like her first night in Brittany's bed all over again.
Santana faces the wall, wraps her arms around herself, and cries herself to sleep.
A few days later, when there isn't a chore left for Santana to help with, Shannon demands to know what is going on.
"You two have been inseparable for months," she says, and Santana can't bear to meet her eyes. "Now it seems like you guys don't even want to be in the same room. What's going on, kid?"
"We just…had a disagreement," Santana mutters, picking at a loose thread on her sweatpants. She can hear bits and pieces of the television playing in the living room. The sound is deafening to her. She should be in there with Brittany, not sitting at the kitchen table, her hands smelling of bleach as she stares blankly at the newspaper. "We're fine, it's just awkward."
Apparently Shannon agrees that this is not the proper place for Santana; she grips Santana by her upper arm and pulls her up. Santana is so stunned that she stumbles over her feet when Shannon pushes her towards the living room. Towards Brittany. "Go fix it, kid," Shannon says sternly. "If I have to smell any more cleaning products in the next couple of days, I might risk running away."
The joke isn't funny to Santana, and she ignores Shannon. She stares hard at Brittany's profile, pondering how to fix it.
How do you fix something when you're not entirely sure why it's breaking?
And to be honest, she isn't so sure that Brittany wants to fix it.
Santana takes tiny steps towards the living room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Is Brittany even angry at her? Or is she simply disgusted that Santana threw herself at her?
Santana doesn't know which is worse.
Gingerly, she sits on the couch beside Brittany, careful to not make too much movement. While the tension makes it hard to breathe, Brittany makes no move to get away from her.
Then again, Santana isn't even sure Brittany knows she's there. She's staring blankly at the television, and when Santana reaches out hesitantly to touch her arm, Brittany jumps.
She turns wide eyes to Santana, and she seems shocked that she had allowed Santana near her. She gives a small, sad smile and rises from the couch.
Santana holds her breath; if she dares to breathe she'll break.
Brittany's walking away from her again.
Santana can't let her leave.
Somehow Santana knows that if she allows Brittany to walk away from her now, they'll never fix this.
It will all crumble.
"Brittany," she exhales desperately and stands quickly. Brittany freezes in the door. Her shoulders slump and she turns, but refuses to meet Santana's eyes. It seems she still can't say no to Santana, and she decides to take that small victory. "Let's go see the ducks."
Somehow during the drive, Santana finds the strength to reach across the center console and take Brittany's hand.
Surprisingly, Brittany doesn't fight the contact. She latches on and holds tightly, as if she'll simply float away if Santana lets go. Curious at the change, Santana glances at Brittany's left hand only to find it wrapped just as tightly around the steering wheel.
Santana strokes her hand up and down Brittany's arm. "What's wrong?" She asks thickly. "What's happening to us?"
Brittany's hand tightens painfully around hers. Santana tries her hardest to give Brittany's hand an equal amount of pressure, desperate to understand what has Brittany so upset while simultaneously trying to convey that she's there, she's not going anywhere.
Brittany shakes her head and pulls Santana's hand to her lips to kiss her knuckles slowly.
Her face is wet, and it makes Santana turn in her seat and pull Brittany's hand into her lap to hold with both of hers. "Britt…honey, why are you crying?"
Brittany takes a shaky breath and rubs her thumb across every inch of Santana's hand that it can reach. "I'm sorry," she says. She chances to take her hand off the steering wheel for a fleeting moment to wipe her face. "I just…I haven't been sure that I could control myself after…well, you know."
Brittany's scaring her, and Santana can't comprehend what she's talking about. "I don't understand. Britt…help me understand. Please."
Brittany's face scrunches up, and she seems to struggle with herself for a moment before she finally sobs, "I really want to make love to you." Santana's bottom lip trembles as Brittany takes her hand away to wipe frantically at her face.
Okay, so not disgusted. That's good.
Santana reaches out and lays a hand on Brittany's knee. She won't cry. It won't help Brittany calm down if she starts crying too. "Then why won't you?" She chokes out. "Brittany, I'm here. I want it just as much as you."
Brittany just shakes her head. "It has to be perfect."
Santana leans closer. She touches her lips to the shell of Brittany's ear tenderly, and nuzzles Brittany's hair with her nose. She brings her right hand up to the left side of Brittany's face to hold her close. "Baby, it will be perfect," she whispers. Brittany leans into her. "As long as it's you and me. Together. It will be perfect. I don't need anything else."
Santana can see the beginnings of a smile on Brittany's face before it falls and she shakes her head again. "I can't," she says. "Not yet. It has to be perfect."
There's something that Brittany wants to say, but can't. It's buried beneath the surface of her words, and Santana wonders if she's not saying it because she literally cannot or simply because she can't find the right words. Either way, Brittany's getting more upset by the minute, which is the exact opposite of what Santana wanted, so she takes a deep breath and tries for a new approach. "Okay. Okay, Britt-Britt. It'll be perfect. We'll make it perfect. We will."
She doesn't think that it's exactly what Brittany wanted to hear, but Brittany doesn't push the point further. She turns red eyes to Santana briefly. "I don't want to fight with you anymore."
Santana gives her a watery smile; it pains her to see Brittany so torn up about something she can't understand. "I don't want to fight anymore, either."
Most of the tension visibly bleeds from Brittany's body. She pulls into a parking space, and when they leave the car, Brittany is quick to wrap an arm around Santana's shoulders to hold her close.
Just being close to Brittany again puts Santana at ease, and she gladly wraps both of her arms around Brittany's waist.
They hadn't thought to bring bread to feed the ducks, so they're left to watch their feathered friends frolic in the water while they sit in silence.
"I'm glad you had this idea," Brittany says softly after a time. Her arm has yet to leave Santana's shoulders, and Santana holds her other hand tightly in her lap.
Santana leans her head on Brittany's shoulder and sighs happily. Things aren't a hundred percent back to normal, but it feels close enough for now. "Well, I'm glad we're here together."
Brittany runs her fingers in different patterns over Santana's shoulder. "We'll still be coming here a hundred years from now."
Santana laughs and raises her head to look at Brittany. "So glad you plan on both of us living to the ripe old age of 118." And that you plan on us still being together, she adds to herself.
Brittany whirls her head to look at Santana, her face alight. "You did math!" She exclaims.
Santana blushes and shrugs it off, but she's surprised at how easily that had come to her. "Yeah, well. I had a good teacher, so."
Brittany hesitates - just long enough for Santana to notice – before kissing her forehead softly. "You've come so far," she whispers, and it sounds like she's about to burst into tears again.
Startled, Santana pulls back; things had been going so well.
The look in Brittany's eyes makes Santana think she's finally figured out what Brittany is so afraid of.
She wants all of their firsts to be perfect. But she's afraid they won't be.
She's afraid there won't be time.
For reasons unknown to her, Santana finds herself afraid of the same thing.
They leave the duck pond early enough to make a quick stop at Rachel's for a brief visit. This time, instead of entering the basement, they go right through the front door, and Santana gets to see Rachel's house for the first time.
There's an unnerving quantity of photographs of Rachel. Everywhere.
To Santana's immense relief, Mercedes is there with Sam; Brittany had started acting weird again on the drive over, and Santana feels like she needs Sam or Kurt or someone to talk to.
And she hadn't wanted that someone to be Quinn.
It doesn't help to ease her nerves when Brittany bursts into tears when Mercedes wraps her in a hug. Rachel and Mercedes lead Brittany upstairs and when Santana, completely freaked out, tries to follow, Mercedes gently shakes her head at her.
She feels Sam's hand on her shoulder and Quinn's on her elbow as she listens to a door upstairs close forcefully. She's completely in shock. She's not sure what happened this time.
She wants to shrug Quinn and Sam off of her, but she can't find the strength.
She feels like she'll fall apart if they continue to touch her.
She feels like she won't be grounded if they let go.
How had everything gone to shit so quickly?
Quinn must feel her tense, because she moves away and motions for Sam to move closer instead. He wraps his arms around her, and she leans into him, grateful that he's there, grateful that Quinn seems to get it.
Sam is warm and firm and he's the only thing keeping her on her feet.
But he's not Brittany.
"C'mon," Quinn says quietly. "Let's go talk in the kitchen."
Sam sets her on a stool while Quinn gets her a glass of water. She gives them a very brief run through of what's happened, offering very little details, and in the short time her summary takes, Brittany, Rachel, and Mercedes return, denying Quinn and Sam the chance to offer their much needed words of comfort.
"Are you ready to go?" Brittany asks quietly. Her face is puffy, her eyes red and swollen, but her small smile is genuine, so Santana nods even though she wants to spend some more time with Sam and Quinn.
She says her goodbyes, accepts a huge hug from Sam, and takes Brittany's hand to go to the car.
Luckily, they make it home in time for dinner.
The downside is that Pierce is home – for the first time in two days – and try as she might, Brittany can't hide the evidence that she's been crying for the better part of the day.
He reaches out and lays a gentle hand to her cheek. She flinches from his touch. "Honey, what's wrong?"
Brittany sighs and cradles her forehead in her hands, shielding her eyes from her father. "Nothing, dad," she says wearily. Santana feels the same way. She wants nothing more than to take Brittany's hand, lead her to their bed, and sleep until it all goes away.
But Pierce doesn't want to let it go.
So predictable.
"Are you sick? Did something happen?" He places what he seems to think is a comforting hand on Brittany's upper arm, and she shrugs it off.
"I'm just tired, dad," she says. She rises from the table. "I think I'm just going to go to bed."
When Brittany vacates her seat, Santana gets a clear view of Pierce's face and sees the exact moment that he realizes that she still exists.
"You." He points an angry finger at her face and she flinches at the quick motion. "What did you do to her this time?"
"I didn't-"
He slams his open palm down on the table, toppling Brittany's glass of water, and Santana, Brittany, and Shannon all jump from the loud sound. "Don't you lie to me, slave!"
"Dad, please," Brittany whimpers. She covers her face with her hands, and Santana knows it won't take much to break her again.
Pierce stands and reaches out to wrap his arms around Brittany, but she moves away from him. "Honey," he pleads, unable to fathom – or unwilling to accept – that he's scaring his daughter. "Brittany, what did she do to you?"
Brittany shakes her head, and Santana can tell that she's lost the ability to speak. She's crying too hard.
"Brian," Shannon starts timidly, and goddammit Santana hates what this man does to all of them. "I don't think Santana-"
He rounds on Shannon. "What did she do?" He demands of her. He refuses to listen to reason. "Tell me, now!"
Shannon holds her hands out, at a total loss of how to calm him. "Please Brian – Master – calm down-"
"Don't tell me what to do!" He bellows, his face red, a vein in his temple bulging. He draws his hand back as if to strike Shannon, but seems satisfied when she cowers from him. He turns back to Santana. "You will tell me what you did to my daughter, and you will tell me now!"
Santana clenches her jaw. "I didn't do anything." She touches Brittany's elbow, and Brittany turns into her, burying her face in Santana's neck. "Can't you see you're scaring her?"
Pierce steps towards them. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Santana spits. "You're scaring Brittany. You're so concerned with others hurting her that you can't see that you're the one who actually is," she says, repeating Quinn's words from a few days ago.
"Santana," Shannon says in warning.
"Shut up, Bieste!" Brittany whines and Santana pulls her closer, one hand on Brittany's hip, the other pressing between her shoulder blades. "How dare you accuse me of scaring my own daughter."
"But you are," Santana argues. "Look at her!"
"Don't you raise your voice to me."
"Well I have to," Santana snarks. "You seem to have a hearing problem."
"I won't hesitate to hit you again, girl!"
Brittany stills in her arms and raises her head slowly to look into Santana's eyes. The incredulous, murderous look on her face scares Santana. "What?" She demands, her voice scratchy.
Santana tightens her hold on Brittany. "Britt, wait-"
But it's too late. Brittany breaks from her arms and turns to Pierce. The color drains from his face as he realizes what he's said. He'd been too enraged to filter himself.
"Is it true? Did you hit Santana?"
"Brittany…" he says, his voice softer than Santana's ever heard.
Brittany turns back to Santana. "When?" She asks forcefully. "When did he hit you?"
Santana swallows and looks around to Pierce; there's no use lying now. The truth is out, and acting like it's not will only make it worse. Santana clears her throat. "A few weeks ago. When you went to Rachel's alone."
Santana sees the moment it clicks in Brittany's mind. "The makeup," she says absently. "You were covering it up." Santana nods stiffly, and her fingers twist against each other nervously in front of her. Brittany turns back to Pierce. "How dare you," she says lowly, her voice thick once again.
Santana places a gentle hand on Brittany's elbow and tugs once. "Britt, c'mon, let's go talk about this," she whispers, but Brittany ignores her.
Seems she has her father's temper.
Brittany points her finger in Pierce's face, and he has the decency to look ashamed. "How dare you," she repeats before swinging her arm around to point behind her at Santana. "How dare you hit Santana. She's my slave, dad!"
She's my slave.
My slave.
Slave.
Santana's face falls.
The rest of the argument is lost to her.