Can I just say holy mother fucking God for the reviews on the last chapter! I'm so glad all you guys liked it! Seriously, the reviews astounded me and have given me more inspiration to write!
You guys are the reason I continue to write, you truly are amazing readers! I love every single one of you!
Anyway, this chapter, I have to admit isn't great. Since the last update and it's reviews, I now feel like whatever I write is shitty – so please excuse me if it doesn't meet the standards of the previous chapter, and sorry as it's kind of a filler!
Enjoy anyway!
Summary: After an unfortunate injury, Santana is ordered to take a two year leave from her life, known as the military. However where she thought her life was ending, as her career was torn away from her... Really, it was just beginning.
Rating: T
Disclaimer:Unfortunately, I don't own anything to do with Glee. Sucks to be me.
The Bodyguard:
Chapter Nine
Santana wakes the next morning, stretching her arms way above her head and feels her arm and thigh muscles ache, rejecting the movement. For a second, she deliberates where this is coming from, but then the previous night comes crashing down on her and she groans, throws her head back and wishes she could curl up into a ball and die. Last night, without a doubt, had topped her list of the stupidest things she's ever done, and fuck, she's done a lot of stupid things. The memories of her and Brittany's arguments are living evidence of that.
A distant crack of thunder breaks her from her thoughts and she jolts from the bed, landing in a crouch on the ground with her gun grasped in her left hand. It's an automatic reaction, and for some reason she's still pretty damn jumpy. It takes a few seconds to lower her heart rate and stand from her position; throwing the gun on top of the bed and rubbing at her eyes, trying to make the ache lurking behind them disappear. She quickly checks her alarm clock by her bed, it's 6am and she should probably start getting dressed. But there's no one inch of will inside of her pushing her to do so.
The talk, it's going to come. The awkward, fiddling-with-hair and looking-at-everything-around-the-room kind of talk that will undoubtedly break her heart further, is inevitable. But it doesn't stop her from not wanting to have it. She throws herself back onto the bed, clad in the clothes she left Brittany's room last night in. Her forearm rests against her forehead as she closes her eyes, and is greeted by flashbacks of her and Brittany rolling around in the bed, limbs entangled and hands wander- Fuck. No.
She can't do that. It was a mistake. A stupid mistake. Meaningless hook-ups happen all the time, and this just happened to be one. Plus it's going to lead to thoughts of the stupid talk, and she still doesn't want it, hell, maybe she can avoid it - completely disregard any responsibility for her actions and blame it on some irrational excuse like she's in a strange place or drunk. Despite not drinking. Fuck. It doesn't matter how much she tries to reason with herself, she knows it's her fault, she knows she has no-one but herself to blame for why she's feeling so damn upset, confused and generally shitty. She wouldn't have to have it if she'd just kept her damn legs closed. Fuck.
"Lopez!" There's several knocks at the door and Santana debates whether or not to answer it, "I know you're in there. Get your lazy ass up!"
She groans, knowing Puck won't leave her alone until she answers the damn door and slips into some sweat pants and hoodie, before padding down the hallway towards the glass paned doors. The outline of Puck is clear and she rolls her eyes, affirming the fact she doesn't want to see him, Quinn or anyone else for that matter.
But she throws the door open anyway, "What do you want Puckerman?"
He steps back defensively and does a once over, noticing her no-make up and unbrushed hair, which shit, is probably still ruffled from the se-
"You look like shit."
Santana cocks her head to the side and leans it against the door, blocking his entrance, "And you wanted what? To abuse me and make me feel worse? Or did you actually have something to say?"
Puck shrugs, "Actually I came to get the cologne I gave to you yesterday, saw Sam a minute ago and he said you hadn't given it to him."
"Oh, yeah, shit sorry. Was a bit pre-occupied with a little thing called my job, maybe you should've been too."
She slips off the door and leaves it open for Puck to walk in. She heads back towards the bedroom where she knows her blazer is, and hopes to God that the cologne's still in there. If not, she might as well bring out a silver platter for her head to be served on. Since he "loves that damn stuff". Oh fuck, that reminds her. That's the smell. The one she walked in on. She still has to talk to Trouty Mouth about that.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Puck calls from the living room.
Santana picks up her blazer, shuffles through it until she finds the glass bottle and heads back down the hallway towards Puck. He smiles and props his feet up on the coffee table as he sits on the sofa.
"It means," She throws him the bottle and it hits him in the chest, "You were standing by the damn side of the stage when I was protecting Britt."
For a second she swears she sees panic flash across Puck's face as she steps into the kitchen, "Sorry, was talking to a chick."
"A chick?" Santana repeats as she heads towards the kettle and flicks it on, "Oh, was it the same one then?"
"Same one as what?"
She opens the cabinet and takes out a plain white mug, and replies slowly, "The one from earlier, when I was standing outside."
Puck pushes off the couch and walks to the kitchen island opposite Santana. He leans his forearms on the marble countertop and furrows his brows in confusion.
"You came out, fixing your belt and stuff…" She presses on, filling her cup with hot water and plopping in a tea bag. Damn, it's like she's talking to a pre-schooler, actually no, that's mean to the pre-schooler. Puck's currently resembling something from the ice age. A Neanderthal perhaps.
"Umm," Puck says, looking like he's scanning his brain for any memory.
What the hell? Santana's confused. Puck always remembers all his hook-ups. Hell, she knows this better than anyone, mostly because he tells her every minute spent with whichever unlucky idiot decided to spread her legs for him, with every single tiny and incredibly dirty detail. It's pretty gross.
"Uh…" He picks up an apple out the fruit bowl and takes a large bite out of it, "You sure that was me?"
Santana turns, and spoons out the teabag as she turns to Puck. "Yeah. You accused me of being jealous."
"Oh yeah," Puck exclaims, widening his eyes in a forced manner, "That chick."
She rolls her eyes and takes a tentative sip from her un-milked tea. Hey, don't judge, it doesn't taste that bad. Puck stays silent for a few moments, spinning the apple in his palm as his eyes glaze over, like he's day dreaming or thinking pretty damn hard. Puck never thinks hard. No, scratch that, Puck never thinks. What the fuck?
"Yeah, so, was it that one?" Santana pushes on, placing her mug down gently on the counter and hoisting herself up onto the counter and watches Puck look at her like she's talking Chinese. "That you were talking to at the side of the stage, blah, blah, blah?"
He stands, letting the half-eaten apple drop into the bin beside him and he heads towards the fridge, "Yeah. We were talking and stuff."
"And stuff?"
Puck nods, "Yeah. Stuff."
She lets her eyes scan over him for a second. It's only then she notices the five o'clock shadow on his face, the way his eyes look darker and how the bags underneath them make him look like he needs a cup of soup and about thirty hours sleep. There's something seriously weird about this. Puck was always about appearances, and the few months she'd been here, that never seemed to have changed. Until now.
"You alright Puckerman?" She asks gingerly, picking up her tea and blowing the steam off the top, "You look a little tired."
Puck nods and shuts the fridge after grabbing a bottle of water. He twists the cap off and throws it onto the countertop before heading towards Santana and leaning against the counter opposite, "Yeah, that's it, I'm just tired."
She kind of wants to hug him. He looks like along with the soup and sleep, a great big cuddle would perk him up. But that's not how they work, they have a lesbro relationship. One with little jabs and teases, jokes about sexuality and talks about gruesome details of Puck's most recent sexcapade. So she bites it down and watches as his eyes glaze over, again. He's seriously thinking about something hard. And she wants to know.
"What are you thinking about?"
Santana's hand lowers, and she aims to put the mug down on the countertop but misses. Her arm does a little spasm and she jolts off the counter, in any attempt to catch the mug that's currently falling through the air. But as she reaches for it, another tanned hand beats her too it and her head snaps up to look into dark, hazel eyes.
"Whoah," She says, eyeing up his hand grasping the mug tightly, "And you said I had reactions like a cat." She jokes, straightening up and shuffling back onto the counter.
Panic flashes across his face, and Santana raises an eyebrow, suddenly suspicious. But within a second she shakes it off, like it matters? So what if Puck has ridiculously good reactions? Join the freakin' club.
"Uh," He stutters, shoving the mug onto the counter next to him, "Yeah, I gotta go."
And within a second, the door shuts and Santana's left alone, wondering what the hell just happened.
It's 7.30am when she finally makes it out the pool house in respectable clothing, being a white v neck t-shirt and skinny jeans, and of course her shoulder holster. Puck's always pretty cavalier about his clothing, and she really can't be bothered to get into anything smart so she heads out, sliding her ponytail through the hole on her baseball cap. It's a pretty sunny day for November, but there's still a chill to the wind, so she grabs her leather jacket and shrugs it on.
She hates this time of the year, coming up to Christmas and the weather can't decide whether it wants to be sunny or cold, instead it has to mix and leave Santana with a cold sweat. I mean, what the fuck is that about? Stupid body glands. She shoves her hands inside her pockets and stalks out through the little pathway, checking to make sure no foliage has grown over the CCTV cameras, because gardening isn't one of her skills.
There's several dancers sitting on the rim of the dolphin fountain when she gets there, and they all look at her with a disgusted sneer, immediately disregarding her and continuing to have their nicotine lunch. Quinn had told her they replaced any actual food for damn cigarettes, something to do with weight loss, and she thought it was ridiculous. What was the problem with exercising?
"Santana!"
She turns and see's Sam jogging up to her, and immediately she's suspicious. She still needs to talk to him about the cologne thing, but how the hell is she meant to bring it up without sounding like she's accusing him of something?
"Hey," Santana murmurs as Sam sidles up beside her, they walk towards the staircase, "You good?"
Sam nods, "Yeah, I'm good and you?"
"Yeah, fine thanks."
"Good."
Did he actually just come here to make chit chat? What the-
"Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you." Sam says, stroking one hand through his dirty blonde locks.
There we go.
"Right," She says warily, not entirely sure where this is going, "What's up?"
He slows his walking, and Santana matches the pace as they approach the mansions' front door. Once they get there, he stops fully and suddenly she starts to worry. What could he want? It's not like they didn't talk, but the way he's speaking, all serious and shit, they just don't talk like that. They never have, not even when she lost her virginity to him. It'd been all actions and no words. It was like her old motto. She preferred not to talk during, well, actually, preferred not to talk at all.
"Look," Sam scuffs his loafer along the pavestone beneath his foot and looks down, "I know I've been a bit off recently."
Santana blinks, "Yeah…"
"And I just wanted to apologise."
Well that's unexpected.
"For what?" She asks tentatively as she reaches inside her jacket for the key card. The conversation is kind of uncomfortable, and as much as she'd like to pretend she doesn't care what he's talking about, she does. She's always been nosey like that.
Sam inhales deeply and locks eyes with Santana, "When I found out about you know…"
She shakes her head slowly and her brows furrow. What the hell is he talking about? "No."
"Your um," Sam clears his throat, "Sexuality."
The awkwardness suddenly increases, and she finds herself wanting to run away, in any direction, as long as it's fast and gets her out of this conversation. "Oh, right."
She slips the key card through and the door unlocks. Sam holds it open and she takes it as a sign to step in, trying to decide which room to hide away in. But she doesn't have time as a hand is pressed against her shoulder softly, causing her to turn.
"I just wanted to know, I don't have a problem with it," Sam murmurs lightly, dipping his head again. Thank God, he's just as uncomfortable about this conversation as she is, "You're still Santana to me."
It's like some cheesy film where the ex-boyfriend rejects the new sexuality and struggles, but in the end all ends up well as he finally accepts it and they live their lives happy. But she can't say that. Hell she isn't rude. Okay, she is, well can be, but only when the occasion calls for it.
"Thank you," She bobs her head up and down and feigns a smile, hoping it not too obviously forced, "Means a lot."
It's a lie, but Sam doesn't know that. So when he grins, she knows it's quite scary how well she can lie and walks towards the living room with the blonde man in toe. But then it dawns on her, she still hasn't asked him about that damn cologne.
"Hey Sam?" She calls, "You know that cologne you wear?"
Sam frowns and then nods as it crosses his mind, "Well, actually I don't wear it."
Santana frowns, "What?"
"I don't wear it anymore. I only bought it because it was cheap, and then after a few uses, I decided I didn't like it."
Suspicion burns through her veins. It's not like Sam would lie to her, and if she did, her three week lie-detecting training programme she had back in Afghanistan should let her know. The programme was quick, but efficient. So, she supresses it and smile, "Oh right, okay."
Thirty seconds later, and they're entering the living room. Rachel bounds up to them, clasping her hands together and smiling widely in that really fucking annoying manner that she'd formed in high school.
"Good morning, I see you two are up bright and early."
Santana rolls her eyes and exhales heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She's been thinking so much it's like an emotional hangover, and Rachel's high-pitched tone really isn't helping.
"And you're way too cheery for the morning Berry. Tone it down a level."
The shorter brunette flips her hand and chuckles, "Always a morning person Santana."
"Like you wouldn't believe."
Sam heads off towards Puck who's standing on the opposite side of the room. Hate fills her as she turns and sees Rachel still standing next to her. Couldn't she just go away? The other six dwarfs are probably waiting around somewhere.
"So, how are you Santana? We haven't had a suitable time to engage in conversation."
"Talk, Berry, we haven't had time to talk." Santana corrects, not wanting to hear the lengthened vocabulary. She's really not in the damn mood, and Berry being here is just the cherry on top of the cake. Well, technically berry on top of the cake. But her mood's that bad that even that lame joke isn't entertaining.
"Anyway," Rachel continues, "How are you?"
The shorter brunette's eyes brighten and Santana furrows her brow as she hears mutterings coming from behind her. Warily, she twists her neck and follows Rachel's line of sight where she finds Puck, Sam and Quinn. A smirk graces her face and she raises both eyebrows, turning back to the other girl.
"Screw the small talk, what's the deal with you and Fabray?"
Rachel shakes her head and widens her eyes comically, "What?"
"Cut the shit, you and Q, there's something there."
The smaller brunette bites on her lip and starts to bob her leg up and down nervously. It's pretty amusing, seeing Rachel actually nervous, considering her confident and unbelievably annoying personality that she used to have back in high school, but hey, things change don't they.
"I have no idea what you're…"
She tunes Rachel's voice out as soon as she feels the atmosphere around her spike. Her body stands rigid and she feels her muscles tense, her eyes flutter shut involuntarily as she slowly cranes her neck around to see Brittany gliding into the room. The blonde hair is tied up messily into a loose ponytail, and she's wearing the Columbia top and bunched up sweat pants she was wearing last night. And it only reminds Santana of exactly how long it'd taken to take each one of those off, and what they'd done afterwards. Not good.
"…But I can assure you we're just friends."
Santana turns and raises an eyebrow, "Oops, wasn't listening. Shame." She mutters sarcastically.
The look on Rachel's face is enough to send the wave of satisfaction through her body. She shoves her hands deep into her pockets and dips her head, hoping Brittany won't come and talk to her now because she really can't deal with it. She at least needs a few hours to process what happened, and then maybe a couple of days on top of that to get her shit together.
Rachel continues to talk at Santana about something to do with her life, maybe how Smurfville was invaded by Gargamel again, or how they finally found the one ring to rule them all and Gandalf is throwing them a celebratory party. But, in some fucked up way, she's kind of grateful for Berry right now, because she knows Brittany well enough to know the blonde won't want to talk about what happened last night in front of an audience. And hell, Rachel is loud enough to count as an audience all by herself. But fuck, that makes it kind of worse, the thought that Her and Brittany going to talk alone. Just them. Together. Alone. That's gonna be tough.
A clap breaks Santana from her thoughts, thank God, and she turns to join everyone as their attention is centred to the small brunette moving towards the middle of the room. Oh wow, that's different. Rachel Berry being the centre of attention. Well at least some things don't change.
"Now, everyone, listen up," She claps her hands again. That's going to get annoying, "Last night was a shining example of why we need to step up our choreography."
Santana narrows her eyes and lets out a sarcastic chuckle. Of course Berry would focus on the dancing, and the damn show – not the fact Brittany was half-pulled off the stage and nearly beaten up.
"Artie's here to give you some advice, as I'm only renowned for my impeccable vocal skills. However my dancing isn't terrible."
"You look like you've been asleep for years Berry," Santana interjects, raising both eyebrows, "Seriously, it's embarrassing to watch."
Rachel flips Santana off and she stares at the smaller brunette intently whilst a few chuckles come from around the room. It's weird and pretty damn aggravating seeing Rachel with balls, metaphorically obviously, but still, the woman's finally strapped on a pair. At least it gives Santana a challenge now. Artie steps into the centre, rubbing his hand up Rachel's arm before giving her a slight shove so she stumbles off into the surrounding crowd.
It shocks Santana to realise that there were now at least 30 or so dancers in here, most of which she'd never seen before. Panic sets in as she scans along the crowd, knowing that the psycho could possibly be here, and she wouldn't know any better. So, with intense concentration, she focuses on Brittany who's perched on the back of the sofa, hands clasped as she balances on the thinness that is the back of the couch.
Blue eyes meet brown and she knows she should look away. But there's something so inviting about Brittany, there's always been something so inviting and addictive and she can't bring herself to look away. Santana can always see whatever emotion Brittany was feeling, and even now, as she watches hurt and pain flash behind cerulean orbs, it does nothing but make her feel bad.
"Robertson, tighten up your chasses – they're sloppy." Artie points towards a short man in the corner, with a buzz haircut. Santana studies him for a moment and decides he's probably as threatening as a ten week old puppy and checks him off her list.
"Goldman, you need to work on your cross-body lead with Jennifer, there were a few crucial steps missed last night and it affects Brittany's performance."
Santana rolls her eyes and leans against the side of the window, eyes trained on the dancers encircling Rachel. She takes note of everyone, their facial features, their hair colour, their figures and body shapes. It's not for any particular reason, it's just in case. Never can be too safe. Hell, maybe she can even re-watch the CCTV and try to match them to that damn psycho. At least it'll give her something to for a while, instead of focusing on that isn't blonde, blue eyed and breath-takingly beautiful.
Artie moves around the room, and stops in front of Brittany, pressing his hand his hip whilst bringing his hand up to the blondes jaw. He does a quick sweep and Santana tunes into what he's saying,
"…And you were perfect as always Britt."
Cerulean eyes shoot towards coffee ones, and Santana feels the piping hot jealous pour through her. She's trying, like really fucking trying to supress the red she's seeing, but the way the anorexic fucking dancer is lingering on Brittany's perfectly chiselled cheek and soft skin is just fuelling it. Her fists clench into the sides of her ribs, as her arms are crossed, and she bites on her bottom lip hard. Somehow, she manages to force her line of sight to the swirling texture on the ceiling and waits it out. She can't react. She has no claim over Brittany. Fuck.
"Santana."
Santana frowns and looks down to Quinn who's standing next to her now, folded clasped in front of her and hair neatly straightened, framing her face. Her eyes leave the hazel eyed blonde and fall on the blue eyed dancer that's chatting away with a few of the dancers, since Artie had apparently left the circle. It's like gravity, like nature's calling or some shit because as soon as she focuses on Brittany, the blonde looks up and they stare intensely into each other's eyes with unresolved problems and sadness. Her hands fidget in front of her, and she can't not stare. It's like her eyes are glued in place, and her heart sinks as she watches the many emotions flash behind those usually bright blue eyes.
"Lopez,"
She finally rips her gaze away from Brittany and finds Quinn staring at her expectantly, "Earth to Santana?"
"What?" Santana hisses, a little harsher than intended.
Quinn raises an eyebrow and twists her body to face the half-circle now. There's basically a separation between the two, the employees and the dancers.
"What's going on with you two?" Quinn asks, jutting her chin forward.
She doesn't need to follow the inference, because she knows exactly where Brittany is. Hell, she always exactly knows where Brittany is. It's some fucked up gift that tortures her mentally.
"Nothing." Santana deadpans, crossing her arms tighter as Brittany slaps one of her colleague's arms flirtatiously. She's pretty sure the blonde's doing this on purpose, and feels the bitterness and rage roll onto her tongue. The urge to yell something explicit hovers, but she bites it down, knowing it'll just start the talk and then everyone will know and if this isn't enough to handle, that sure as hell will be.
"I'm calling bullshit on that Lopez," Quinn crosses her arms, pressing the folder to her chest, "There's something fishy."
"Maybe you should wash then."
A sharp slap is delivered to her bicep and she cringes, "Ow, shit Fabray, what was that for?"
"You know exactly what that was for. Stop being crude. Now cut the shit, what's going on?"
Santana stays quiet. She knows the silence will probably speak volumes but she doesn't know how else to respond. Is she supposed to say anything? Is there like a duty to tell Quinn, or whatever? Hell, she doesn't know. And doesn't really care. Brittany's still standing over in the corner, throwing her head back and laughing in a way that just makes Santana want to go and kiss the long slope of her neck and hold her forever. It's stupid, and not what she should be focusing on, but fuck, she can't stop.
Quinn hums for a few seconds, tapping her chin with her forefinger as her eyes dart between Santana and Brittany, observing the situation. Quinn was always able to read Santana, not in the way Brittany could, because only Brittany could do that, but the hazel eyed blonde was always on the same wave length, and pretty damn smart which meant she could put pieces of the puzzle together like a damn detective. She would've made a good lawyer.
"Tell me you didn't," Quinn says, her eyes growing wide in realization, "Santana, please, tell me you didn't."
There it is. Fuck. Now what's she supposed to say.
"No," She looks away, "I didn't."
Quinn prods her in the arm harshly and she rubs it, "Stop with the physical abuse, I could take your ass down, Fabray."
"You wouldn't be getting it if you weren't so fucking stupid!"
Santana dips her head as a few of the closest dancers turn at the volume of Quinn's voice, "Damn it Fabray, keep it down."
The hazel eyed blonde brings her head closer to Santana's, "Why the fuck would you sleep with her?"
It's starting to get pretty damn annoying. Quinn judging Santana, and giving her all these looks. She doesn't need it, she knows how much of an idiot she is, she knows she shouldn't of done it. Hell she knew during doing it, she shouldn't be doing it. Fuck, even Brittany knows. And she doesn't need Quinn pointing it out like it's not already eating her up inside.
"Listen," Santana retorts, pushing off the wall aggressively and spinning around to stare at Quinn. Even though the hazel eyed blonde had an inch or two on her, she still undeniably scarier, Latina's are known for being fiery and therefore, more terrifying. "I don't need a lecture, okay? I know what I did was stupid. Do you think I'd look like this if I didn't know that?"
Quinn raises an eyebrow and purses her lip, scanning over Santana's can't-be-bothered apperance. For a moment, Santana thinks she's going to be lectured more. But the brow drops and the blonde relaxes her shoulders, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the other dancers talking animatedly amongst each other. Then she sees Quinn reaching inside the folder and taking out a small piece of paper, or card or something. Suspicion burns through her and she cocks her head to the side slightly, trying to peer through the other girl's fingers to see what the hell was on that damn thing. The blonde pushes off the wall and moves to stand in front of Santana, blocking her from seeing Brittany. She meets Quinn's gaze and looks at her with a sadness she just can't push away.
"Santana, just think about what's going on, okay?" Quinn says, offering Santana her hand, palm down.
Santana looks at the limb quizzically for a second before placing her hand underneath, not knowing if she was supposed to do so, "I'll try."
"Please do, because anyone that knows Brittany and Santana, want Brittany and Santana to be together. Okay?"
She nods and then Quinn removes her hand, leaving a small square of paper in her head. Santana stares at it for a second and then raises both eyebrows. Quinn leans in, putting one hand on her shoulder and nearing her lips to her ear.
"You dropped this in Marbella's."
Quinn pulls away, smiles and then gives her a knowing look. Then she looks down at the square piece of paper in her hand. It's the picture of her and Brittany she found the other day.
They walked through the mall, hand in hand, fingers laced together and grinning widely. Even though Santana hated shopping, the fact they'd just exited Victoria's Secret with some incredibly interesting garments for Brittany, she knew she could handle it. Santana was carrying most of the bags, and Brittany grinned at her attempt to be 'gentlemanly'.
"Baby," Brittany said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Santana's cheek, "You know you got that new purse?"
Santana raised an eyebrow and pulled her girlfriend over to the side, slipping down a small workers corridor, "Yeah…"
"Well, I was just thinking," She trailed a finger along Santana's collarbone, which was really distracting, "There's a photo slot…"
It was almost so distracting Santana didn't realise where this conversation was going, so she nodded and stepped forward, pushing her bodies closer to Brittany's. The fact that they were in the middle of a mall completely bypassed her as she untangled their fingers and gripped the other girl's hip.
"And we don't have a photo of us together."
Santana leaned in, humming as she pressed a kiss to Brittany's neck, "So?"
But the blonde wasn't buying the distraction technique and pushed back on Santana's shoulders, "I want one."
"Why? You already have me, you don't need evidence."
Brittany shrugged, "I don't care, I want a photo," she finished with a grin.
And that was that. Santana knew she wasn't going to win, and so she just allowed herself to be dragged out the corridor, past a few shoppers and into a small photo booth. She was pushed down, and Brittany sat on her lap, legs thrown over her own, discarding the bags down by their feet as she slipped two dollars into the machine. Brittany's arms snaked around Santana's neck and Santana laid one arm over the top of her girlfriend's thighs and the other round the small of her back.
She loved being close with Brittany. Everything about her just made her want to be near her. Her smell, her hair, her personality, ah, just her in general. She didn't think she could possibly love Brittany any more. She didn't think anyone could possibly love anyone more than she loved Brittany. She was without a doubt, head over heels, stupidly in love with Brittany, and she loved it.
"Fine," Santana huffed, tightening her grip as Brittany tilted her chin towards the camera as the countdown on the screen begun. But the natural rebellious teen was encoded in her muscles, so when the first photo snapped, she buried her face behind Brittany's arm and then chuckled.
"San!" Brittany whined, slapping her arm playfully.
Santana raised her head and kissed her girlfriend's cheek quickly, "I hate photos."
"Well deal with it," Brittany said firmly, furrowing her brow, "I want one."
She shook her head and waited for the countdown again, just as it approached one, she raised her hand and pushed it towards the small circle above the screen where the camera was located. It wasn't intentional to piss Brittany off, but as she pulled back and saw the blonde pouting and frowning, she knew she had.
"Santana Marie Lopez!" Brittany half-yelled, shuffling around Santana until she was half-straddling her, "Stop being a big meanie and take a picture with me!"
Santana chuckled, "Technically, I am taking a picture with you."
Brittany jutted her lower lip out further and even though she was supposed to look angry, to Santana she just looked damn adorable. So she scrunched her nose, craned her neck up and nuzzled her nose against Brittany's. But the blonde crossed her arm and hunched her back over, apparently she wasn't buying it.
"Baby," Santana purred as she kissed her way up to Brittany's ear, "I'm sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?" She whispered, tugging her girlfriend's earlobe between her teeth.
Brittany knew what she was inferring. Hell, anyone would know what she was inferring if she'd heard the seductive tone she'd said it in. But Brittany knew to play dirty, just as well as Santana did, so she pulled back, smiled and said, "Take a picture with me, where you won't ruin it."
She rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily, "Fine, fine, fine. Whatever makes you happy."
"Good. Because this is our last picture."
Brittany pressed the button and the countdown began again. Santana trailed her finger over her girlfriend's brow, down her temple and cheek until she found her lips. Her thumb traced the outside of her girlfriend's bottom lip and Brittany turned instinctively, leaning down and pressing a quick, soft kiss to her lips before spinning back to the camera and grinning, pulling Santana's head into her chest. But that wasn't enough for Santana, so she bared her teeth, furrowed her brows and crossed her eyes. The click went off and Brittany immediately looked down to Santana who remained with the face she was pulling.
"I'm Bernard," Santana grumbled in a deep voice, "I don't like me no pictures."
Brittany giggled whilst pouting. Now that, was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. The whole 'Bernard' thing was some lame thing they'd made up in High School, and she knew it'd let her off the hook a bit for ruining the picture.
"Not funny San." Brittany whispered after breathing out her chuckles.
Santana nuzzled her nose against her girlfriends, removing the face she was pulling, "I beg to differ."
But the blonde was firm. She pulled back; pouting and frowning so all the creases were visible on her perfect skin. Santana withdrew the hand she had on the small of Brittany's back and brought it up to trace her finger pads along the lines, trying to make them disappear.
"I'm sorry baby, again. I'll put another two dollars in and we'll take some more pictures okay?"
As soon as blue eyes locked with brown, Santana felt guilty. It was clear Brittany wanted a picture, and Santana made a joke of it. But now she was just feeling bad, so she pressed a soft kiss to the side of Brittany's neck and twisted in the stool, leaning one hand out and pressing one of the buttons on the screen to follow Brittany as she was turning away too.
"Baby," Santana called, sliding her hand up the other girl's shoulder to cup her cheek, "I'm sorry and I love you."
It took a few seconds, but Brittany's body relaxed and she let a small smile grace her face as her hands slid around Santana's neck. She leaned in, lowering her head until Santana let out a small moan as their lips met gently. Santana snaked her hand around to Brittany's hip, pulling her side against her body as the other hand curled around the blonde's thigh. They moulded together and she let herself sink into the kiss, sighing as their lips parted and breaths mingled together. She'd never tire of kissing Brittany; it was in her top three favourite things in the world. All of which included her girlfriend.
But a beeping broke them out of their kiss and Brittany pulled back abruptly, grinning widely as she faced the camera. However Santana was still dazed from the kiss, and she applied a bit more pressure to the hand on her girlfriend's hips, allowing her tongue to dart out over her own lips to feel the remains of her girlfriend on them as she stared up at Brittany. Damn, she tasted so much better than a person should.
"Smile," Brittany let out as her hand curled around the nape of Santana's neck.
And then the camera clicked, with Santana staring adoringly at her girlfriend. Brittany clapped once and swung open the curtain, hopping out before Santana finally managed to get her head in gear and exited, with bags in hand. The blonde was bouncing in her stance, waiting as the booth made a strange, mechanical noise and the pictures popped out.
Brittany frowned at the first three, before Santana sidled up beside her and stood behind her, one hand palming the blondes abs, whilst the other gripped the blonde's waist after shuffling the bags up her forearm. Her chin met Brittany's shoulder and she peered over, eyeing up the ridiculous pictures and watching as blue eyes sparkled as they settled on the last one.
"San, you look so cute," Brittany exclaimed, turning her head to press a kiss to Santana's temple.
Santana frowned, "I'm not cute."
A pale finger pointed to the photo and traced around Santana's glazed eyes and puppy dog smile, "I think you are," Brittany said softly, scrunching up her nose.
Santana sighed and released the blonde, lacing their fingers together as they headed for the exit of the mall, Brittany still gazing at the pictures of them. She looked over her shoulder at her girlfriend, taking in her innocence, her beauty and just the goodness of the girl. It was hard to believe she was so to have found Brittany, and fallen in love with her. But what was even harder to believe, was that somehow, by some luck in the world, Brittany loved her back.
And despite all her fighting or rebellion against actually having a photo taken, that picture was definitely going to be framed and put in her purse.
"Where'd you go?"
Santana snaps out of her daze and looks towards the person addressing her. Brittany's standing there, biting her bottom lip and fiddling with the hem of her shirt. It was one of the habits Santana had come to know and love over the years, it was a nervous one, and a sign that the blonde wasn't comfortable, but it was just too damn adorable.
"What?"
Brittany raises an eyebrow, in a knowing manner. It's pretty fucking annoying that the blonde still knows her that well.
"Daydream." Santana deadpans, feeling all the awkwardness settle in as the previous night came crashing down on her.
Brittany sidles up beside her, arms brushing as they both subconsciously lean against the wall, "San, can we talk?"
"About what Britt?" It's a little sharper than intended, and she immediately feels the wave of regret wash over her. Fucking brilliant.
Brittany seems to be fixed on talking about the subject, so she moves in front of Santana and crosses her arms, face contorting into a half-sad, half-unimpressed expression, "About last night."
Santana gulps audibly, dips her head. This is really not the place to be having this conversation, in a room full of strangers that are most likely listening. She doesn't even want to have the damn talk, why can't Brittany see that? She closes her eyes and hopes to God, something will save her from the conversation. Even if it's in the form of Rachel Berry.
"Santana!" Rachel calls from across the room, beckoning her forward with a wave of her hand.
The immediate urge to rebel burns through her body, but she can either deal with Brittany or Rachel, and right now, even Berry seems like a better idea. So she offers the blonde a small smile and moves past her, almost fainting at the way Brittany's send smacks her in the face as their shoulders brush. It's pretty damn annoying, being able to sense what Brittany was feeling, because right now the hurt, she knows the blonde's feeling, settles in her gut comfortably, and she really fucking hates it.
She approaches Rachel and shoves her hands into her pockets, "What?"
"I was wondering," Rachel says, looping her arm through Santana's and dragging her out into the hallway. Within a second, she rips her arms out of the shorter blonde's and offers a really? Face – which Rachel conveniently misses, "If you'd stop doing whatever you're doing to Brittany."
This cannot be happening. Santana stares down incredulously at the small brunette and her eyebrows meet her hairline. For a second she debates whether she actually heard Rachel right, and thinks of her words as her mouth drops open. Insults brim on the tip of her tongue and she bites them down, curious about Rachel's knowledge.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She replies non-chalantly, taking her hands out her pockets and heading towards the bench in the hallway.
Rachel follows and sits down, tapping it, gesturing for the other brunette to sit. Of course, she doesn't. "There's something going on between you and Brittany, and I'm afraid affecting and disrupting the atmosphere of the household."
Santana rolls her eyes, "So?"
"So," Rachel stands, smoothing out the front of her plaid skirt. Damn, she still wears those things? "You should care."
She shrugs, "Well I don't."
"You should."
"Look, Berr-"
"No," Rachel raises a hand, stopping the other brunette from speaking. Santana knows her eyes and widening, and facial expression lacing with disbelief – it was weird talking to this Berry. "You do care. Quinn and I have discussed this at length and we both thing you two should sort out whatever's going on between you."
Why doesn't that surprise her? Quinn and Rachel talking about her behind her back. Big surprise. "Of course you two have been talking about me."
"Oh don't get ahead of yourself Santana. We're only concerned for Brittany's wellbeing."
Santana scoffs, "Well I'm looking out for Brittany's well-being too, and frankly I don't need a dwarf from the Snow White reject collection telling me what to do."
She paces up and down the hallway, putting one hand to her hip as the fingers on her other hand rub at her temple, "I'm not here to sort out whatever this thing is between me and Britt. I'm here to do my job. Too protect Brittany and be her bodyguard. That's what I want to do."
The Jewish girl sits back down on the bench and crosses on leg over the other. Her face is twisting with disappointment and anger, and she observes Santana for a moment, furrowing her brow and biting on her bottom lip. Santana waits it out, crossing her arm as she leans her left shoulder against the wall. Why does everyone feel the need to examine her? She's not in a bloody zoo. First Blaine, then Quinn and now Rachel. Fucking hell, take a damn break, she wants to be left the hell alone.
"Have you ever thought about what she wants?"
The question leaves Santana speechless. She runs her tongue along the back of her teeth and clenches her jaw. It's not out of aggression, it's out of annoyance. And not even for Rachel. She's annoyed at herself. Truth be told, she hadn't even really asked what Brittany wanted, hadn't even thought about it. All she'd been doing was running off her own feelings, worrying about herself when she should've put Brittany put.
Admittedly, she hadn't been entirely fixated on herself, the thought of how she was effecting Brittany did cross her mind as their mouths brushed against once another, limbs entangled and naked bodies moved together – hell, she spent eighty percent of her brain focused on what the spontaneous sex was doing to both of them, instead of what she was doing to Brittany. She fucking hates herself for it, like really fucking hate herself now.
And she bangs her head against the side of the wall and rolls it from back and forth, prolonging the pain she knows deserves, in any way to punish herself for it. And what's even more annoying, to top it all off, Rachel fucking Berry had pointed it out. It wasn't the main factor, but it was definitely a contributing one to her anger and annoyance.
Santana glances up, seeing Rachel in front of her, reaching her hand out to rest it on her shoulder. She supresses the urge to shrug it off as soon as it lands on her, but instead brown eyes lock with similar brown;
"Just think about it Santana, and please make your mind up soon." Rachel says, rubbing the hand on Santana's shoulder in a circular, reassuring motion before heading away, back towards the living room.
"You know maybe you should think about yours too."
Rachel halts and Santana slowly walks up behind her, "Maybe you should make your mind up."
The smaller girl turns, "What?"
"You and Quinn," Santana shrugs. For once, she's not actually making jokes or being crude, she's speaking with clear sincerity, "She likes you, you like her."
Rachel smiles weakly, "It's not that simple though, is it?"
Santana hears the double meaning. Yeah she definitely knows it's not that easy. Nothing ever is. She inhales deeply, feeling her heart ache as she dips her head and nods slowly in defeat, "Guess so."
They don't speak as they walk back into the living room.
By the time they reach the living room, all the furniture has been pushed to the side to create a make-shift dance studio. God knows why they couldn't go to one of the actual dance studios, but hey, who's Santana to argue. She heads towards the far corner, taking refuge in the armchair, and propping her feet up on the bookshelf, ankles crossed as she stares out the window, watching the raindrops trailing down the window pane slowly.
She's aware that Artie's showing Brittany a certain move, and that his hands are moving carelessly and clumsily across her perfect abs, and it's taking everything she has no to snatch them off her. But judging by the evils she's receiving from Quinn, and the sad eyes from Brittany, she can't exactly do anything.
"Kelly!" Artie yells towards a small redhead, watching them by the side-lines, "Come here."
The redhead walks over, chest pushed out and smile confident. It immediately reminds Santana of the annoying, stuck up friends she used to hang out with and she tries to take comfort in the fact the out of the heart-wrenching break-up, came one good thing – not having to hang out with that type anymore, Brittany's friends. She snorts to herself and crosses her arm, leaving her fingertips to linger over the butt of her holstered gun.
It's heavy underneath her shoulder, and she frowns as she feels an itch form at the back of her neck. Her immediate reaction is to brush it away with a flick of her head, and she does so, but it still continues. It's the same one she got the day of marking the gaps in the fences, and she scans around the rooms, searching the thirty or so faces for any suspicious movement. There's something there, something lingering and she can't find it.
Quinn approaches her, leaving Puck to exit out one of the side doors. The hazel eyed blonde sits on the arm of the chair, leaning down and whispering a quiet, "what?" into her ear.
Santana turns and shakes her head, "I don't know."
It's true, she doesn't know. She doesn't have a fucking clue what the hell that itch is, but it's bad. Nothing good has come from that itch. Rutherford getting shot, the SUV following the Limo, even the damn attack that caused the knife into her damn hand, all of it came from that fucking itch and she can't find the source of it now.
Santana glances around; clenching her jaw as she lands upon the blonde she's looking for, head dipped, fiddling with her fingers and taking a quick look at the dancing in front of her every now and then. There's a sadness that radiates off Brittany, and it physically hurts to see the blonde like this. The usual cheeriness that Brittany always beams and Santana hates the way the guilt settles in her gut. Her eyes find Rachel who's laughing away, hand pressed to her chest and head thrown back. She then looks to Quinn who's staring at her, head cocked slightly to the side and eyes adoring. There's something sickly about it, but it's kind of sweet, she guesses. Even if it is in a weird, ex-bully way.
But then she hears it. Her head snaps round faster than usual, and the innate zoom burned into her brain to find Brittany kicks in. However the blonde isn't in the armchair she was a second ago and suddenly Santana's up, heart pounding and sweat forming. She palms her gun in her left hand as she waves with her right to part the sea of people crowded in the centre of the room. Quinn's calling her name but she doesn't care as she practically sprints down the hallway to where she knows Brittany is. Guess that damn sense comes in handy sometimes.
When she reaches the furthest door, she pauses briefly, pressing her shoulder and half her back into the door as she twists the doorknob and flicks off the safety switch on her gun. With a quick, soft exhale, the door clicks and she pushes it open slightly, preparing herself for whatever is inside.
Okay, I know that chapter wasn't very interesting but hopefully the next one will be.
Please review! Thank you!