''Get your gross, stinking hand off my shoulder. I'm not even kidding. I broke hands before.''
''Ma'am, I'm really sorry but it's our policy,'' nervous eyes glanced around the parking lot, searching for an escape. ''I just need you to move twenty feet, that's all.''
''It just makes no fucking sense,'' the Latina shrugged as she leaned back in her chair and pulled out a package of cigarettes from the bag on her lap to clench it between her teeth. ''Explain to me, Doctor Who, why the smoke would magically stay between the lines of a smoking area if I would smoke my cigarette over there?''
The young, tired-looking man ran his hands through his greasy hair and after that, deliberately put his hands on his hips. If there was one thing Santana absolutely hated, it would be people treating her like she was stupid. And, seen his body language, that was exactly the thing he was about to do, go all Lima Heights on the Latina's ass. Or just maybe all Brooklyn Heights.
''Well fuck me,'' he got interrupted. ''I forgot my lighter at the airport because of the pigs. You gots a lighter for me?''
Just as the nurse was going to respond, Brittany crossed the street, stepping into the sight of the two arguing people, and coyly waved her hand at the pissed off Latina.
''Whatever Dr Dolittle,'' Santana patted the man's shoulder and rolled away in Brittany's direction as she noticed her, leaving the nurse with a confused expression on his face. ''Fine, you win.''
''San!'' Brittany blurted at the sight of her roommate in a goddamn wheelchair, ''what's up with the wheelchair? You told me you only were getting stitches in your thigh.''
Santana shrugged as she stopped rolling at Brittany's feet and pulled herself up, leaning heavily on crutches she dragged along with her, to pull Brittany in a weak hug.
''Dr Phil over there thought I'm an idiot. I'm perfectly capable to walk though, now do you maybe happen to have a lighter? The roofies they put me under before the operation were awesome, but nothing beats a good ol' ciggie in the morning.''
Brittany scowled as she handed Santana her lighter. No, she didn't adapt to Santana's bad habit of smoking like a chimney, really. It was a long story, but it involved Rachel, scented candles and weird rituals. Therefore, not worth telling the entire story.
''Sit down again,'' Brittany gently shoved Santana back in her chair and swung the bag over her shoulder, under the eye of a disapproving Santana.
''You're not going to have that bag on your lap,'' Brittany explained. ''Your leg is full with stitches.''
''Please,'' Santana jabbered as Brittany rolled her down the street. ''It really isn't that bad, it's just like, a scratch. Only a little bigger.''
''Still,'' Brittany stated. ''This wasn't quite what I expected of picking you up, I thought about something more like an airport and stuff. Tell me about your trip to San Francisco and LA.''
''It was nice,'' Santana nodded slowly, taking a deep inhale from her ciggie, ''except from the pigs.''
''I know, San, they're stupid, but tell about your photo shoot and interview. And your sister's graduation.''
''It was good. I finally got to surf again with some old friends and the interview will be in the magazine next week. Graduation was okay, Arianna loved your unicorn sweater.''
''Sweet,'' Brittany nodded. Who wouldn't love her unicorn sweater? ''Do you have some pictures? I'm pretty sure she's as beautiful as you are.''
''Uh- later,'' Santana mumbled, glancing around. ''Wanna have them on my laptop first. Hey, can we get some breakfast? I didn't eat anything since the operation because hospital food is shit and I'm starving to death.'''
''Sure.'' Brittany aborted her plan and crossed the street to go to her favorite restaurant of all time. Santana would love it.
''What happened?'' Brittany nodded at Santana's legs. She knew Santana was dying to tell her about how stupid the cops were and how much she hated the probably dumb nurses and how mad she was at the whole world. But Brittany figured if she'd hear the story now, they'd be able to eat their breakfast in peace.
''God,'' Santana greedily took the opportunity Brittany just gave her. ''I swear to God, Britts, government employees are all so goddamn stupid. How can you mistake someone for a drug dealer and send your ferret at the wrong person?''
''Yeah, what about the drug dealer thing?'' Brittany scowled as she pushed the wheelchair in the waiting line. ''Rachel already panted something about that when you called her, you know her. Can't utter anything when she's hysterical.''
''Turns out they are searching for a feminine drug dealer, Latina, and they thought I was her. As soon as I got my bag, one of the pigs released its bloodhound at me. Really Britt, I've got one of those wounds on my thigh that you would see on live operations on TV.''
''Are you going to sue them?''
''Nah,'' Santana shook her head. ''I wanted to, but then they offered to pay a new laptop and stuff, because all of my shit broke when I fell, so I'm good I guess. Needed new equipment for my studio anyway.''
Brittany sniggered. How typical of Santana to arrange things like that. She would've been perfect for a job at Wall street.
''Just a shame your trip ended like that,'' Brittany stated. ''I totally wanted to pick you up with emotional banners and stuff.''
''I know,'' Santana smiled, ''next time, maybe. Wait, seriously?''
''What?'' Brittany raised her eyebrow at Santana, who looked a little awkward.
''This,'' Santana patted her wheel chair, ''you're really rolling me through the drive-in?''
''Oh, yeah,'' Brittany smiled coyly. ''I've always wanted to go to the drive-in at McDonald's and you know, since you're in a wheel chair.''
''How may I help you?'' The McDonald's employee scowled at the two of them and the queue of cars that were horning behind them, but whatever. Everyone's a little crazy.
''Two medium fries and chocolate milkshakes,'' Santana answered from behind Brittany, granting the employees a smile as they took their order. They were obviously whispering things at each other they couldn't hear from behind the counter.
''Oh, and a Happy meal,'' Brittany added quickly, ''but just, not with a chocolate milkshake. I don't like chocolate flavor because I think it's fake. I prefer real chocolate. Just make it a normal milk instead of a milkshake.''
The woman dropped her pen and glanced at the enormous queue of impatient people behind them, and then tilted her head at the two of them. ''Seriously? You've got to be kidding me.''
Brittany's cheeks reddened as realization dawned on her. God, she was so stupid. How old was she? Ten? Why did she always had to order a Happy meal?
''You know what?'' Santana rolled her wheel chair closer, ''make that two Happy Meals and two milks please. You're right Britt, chocolate flavor is fake.''
Brittany couldn't help but grinning like an idiot. ''Duh, I know, right?''
''You are,'' Santana smiled as she took the bag with food and grabbed one of the balloons on a stick before she beckoned Brittany to follow her towards the exit, leaving behind the puzzled McDonald's employees. And the queue that had doubled in the time they stood there.
/
Brittany tilted her head at a hyperactive Rachel. Her arms were moving up and down as if she was spastic and her mouth moved like a goldfish. It was funny. It was almost as if Rachel was singing the lyrics that blurted out Brittany's headphones. Though Rachel would never sing a song Rihanna.
''Britt!'' Rihanna's voice faded away as Rachel pulled the headphone off her head and dropped it with an annoyed facial expression.
''Look. At. That.''
Brittany followed Rachel's gaze at the television screen, which, to her confusion, was no showing the front of their apartment. Or, the building they lived in. In front of the building stood on of their neighbors, Brittany assumed, and in the background a curtain was moving suspiciously. Probably Marcela trying to sneak a peek from the journalists.
''I don't know,'' the man spoke in a shrug, ''we're barely seeing them. Rumor has it one of the girls is on Broadway and I don't know about the blonde one.''
''We've heard about a third girl living with them,'' the male journalist almost poked his microphone up the man's nose in curiosity, ''can you confirm that?''
''What happened?'' Brittany whispered, not knowing why she would whisper. ''When did they record this?''
Rachel didn't respond and waved Brittany's words away with her hand, again pointing at the screen.
''… maybe. Every now and then a girl visits Marcela,'' the man pointed at the curtain. Brittany was sure Marcela was hiding right behind the curtain. ''I'm not sure if she lives here, though.''
The journalist nodded, but he wasn't satisfied with the man's answer. Brittany knew, because she also had to interview a few junkies for a school assignment.
''Were you at home at the evening of the party?''
''Yes,'' the man nodded firmly this time, ''unfortunately I was. People kept coming during the entire night and I heard them banging on their room garden. When I went upstairs to confront them with the fact they were keeping the entire building awake, a few guys threw beer at me and one of them flashed his butt.''
''And the penguin?''
''Penguin?'' Brittany repeated the man's words, widening her eyes at Rachel.
''No,'' the man shook his head again, ''I can't confirm that, I guess you have to find out about that yourself.''
The journalist nodded again and turned his head towards the camera.
''This is Brent, live from the place the penguin thief is assumed to live,'' he pointed upwards the building, ''if you've got any information concerning the identity of this person, please contact us.''
The screen went to commercials as soon as the journalist finished his sentence. Rachel glanced at Brittany for a few seconds before they both stood up and hurried their way to the roof garden to hang over railing to see that there, indeed, was standing a camera crew down the street.
''Christ,'' Rachel cursed as she pulled out her phone to dial Santana's number. ''If she comes home right now, we're screwed. He'll recognize her.''
Brittany peeked over the railing again. The crew was packing their stuff and by now, various curious neighbors had joined them to see what was happening. It would only be a matter of time for Marcela to join them, and she would probably give them away since she didn't like Rachel and Marcela was Santana's regular place to get alcohol. She would know things about Santana's house warming this summer and they'd indeed be screwed.
''Britt, she isn't picking up her phone,'' Rachel pulled Brittany's arm, ''what are we going to do?''
''Just… don't yell like that,'' Brittany pulled her out of the sight, ''they'll notice you.''
''Geez you guys, what the fuck?'' Santana's voice came from the doorway, where she was sitting in her wheelchair. ''Thank you so much for picking up your phone, I had to ask Marcela if she wanted to carry me upstairs. God, so humiliating.''
Rachel let out a weird sound of relief before she pulled a groaning Santana into a tight hug. ''Oh my God Santana, you have no idea.''
''You have no idea,'' Santana fixed her hair before she lit up the eternal between her lips clenched cigarette. ''I just had the weirdest day ever. You're not gonna believe this. A woman just fucking breastfeed her fucking child right in front of me, while I was at work. Who the hell would breastfeed their child in a goddamn Starbucks? You know, I'm gay and stuff and yeah, tits are the best things in the world, we're not gonna discuss that, but what the actual fuck? You don't breastfeed your gross child in a coffee shop. That's just the grossest thing someone could possibly do.'' She hopped over the door post with her wheelchair and joined them at the railing. ''I seriously might be traumatized for life.''
''Although I feel really sorry for you having to see breasts while you're getting paid for it, you might want to take a look down the street,'' Rachel rolled her eyes. ''We also might be traumatized for life because of you.''
''What the-,'' Santana scowled at the crowd that had gathered in front of the building. ''What's your problem? I thought you, being an attention slut, actually liked the paps?''
''I do,'' Rachel jeered, ''but they are not here for me, for you.''
''San,'' Brittany interrupted the fighting married couple, ''how did you even manage to get in?''
''Uh,'' Santana seemed to over think her words, ''I was at Marcela's for a little while, checking out her new vodka,'' she showed them a brown paper bag, ''I guess I gots in the building before they came.''
''Well,'' Rachel spoke haughtily, ''I guess someone sued the penguin thief because that's why they're here, searching for the thief. And you can take care of your own business because I'm not going to help you with this.''
And before Santana could react, Rachel already strode back into their apartment.