Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.
Author's Note(s): 'ello. As ever, thanks to the people who are reading and favouriting and reviewing and alerting! A bit of a change-up in perspective in this chapter. Originally everything was supposed to be from Santana's point of view but I decided to show a little bit of what Brittany is thinking starting from after the first break. Hope you enjoy this chapter :-)
No Rest for the Wicked
Chapter 8
White hot rage courses through Santana's body as she slams her shoulder into the door to the Roadhouse and stalks outside and in the direction of her car. Rain beats mercilessly down on her skin and she glares up at the storm clouds that weren't there earlier; are they purposely doing this just to piss her off?
"Santana!" a voice calls behind her, but she doesn't falter in her stride. "Please stop."
Santana clenches her jaw tightly as the sound of footsteps on crunching gravel closes in on her. "Not now, Brittany," she snaps when she knows her friend is close enough to hear.
Naturally, Brittany doesn't know what's good for her and continues to jog towards Santana until they're close enough to touch. Santana bites down on her lip because she knows if she doesn't stop herself now, she's going to say something she'll really regret.
"Okay," is all Brittany says. Santana stops dead in front of her car door and desperately tries to push away all the negative feelings that are controlling her actions. She's obviously still for too long because Brittany's arms wrap around her shoulders and she feels herself being pulled forcefully into Brittany's chest. "I'm sorry, Santana. We should have stayed in the motel tonight like you wanted."
Santana is almost amused at that. "You didn't do anything wrong," she says tonelessly.
Much to her displeasure, Brittany's grip loosens and she turns Santana around so they're facing each other. For a second, Santana is dumbstruck. Brittany is staring at her so intently that it steals her breath away. Her eyes linger on the rain water that is already dripping from Brittany's bangs and running down her perfect face. She's so beautiful.
"Please don't cry," says Brittany so softly that Santana almost doesn't hear her over a distant roll of thunder.
"I'm not crying," says Santana breathlessly. A strange smile crosses Brittany's face and she raises a hand to stroke Santana's cheek gently. She shows her the small drop of water on her thumb. "That's…rain." Brittany just shakes her head sadly and pulls Santana in closer.
Swallowing against a lump in her throat, Santana weakly tries to free herself. She doesn't deserve Brittany's comfort because everything Quinn implied was a hundred percent true. Okay, so it was an absolutely bitch move to say it all out loud in front of an audience but it didn't make anything she'd said wrong. If Brittany wants to survive the next few years, the best thing she can do is get herself as far away from Santana as humanly possible.
"Come on, sweetie," says Brittany right into her ear. "Please calm down. You're shaking really bad and it's freaking me out."
Santana lets out a small choked laugh but otherwise finds herself unable to respond. The car park is lit up by another flash of lightning and Santana is struck by how desolate the whole place looks. She can't help but wonder how Rachel Berry of all people can stand living in such isolation from the rest of the world.
"Brittany," Santana begins, raising her head from the taller woman's shoulder. "I think you should leave."
She feels all the air expel from Brittany's body and she pulls away to look at her face. The reaction is not one Santana's expecting.
"This again?" Brittany asks with an arched eyebrow. "Santana, honey, I thought we'd been over this? I'm not going anywhere."
Santana blinks and feels hot tears fall from her eyes. Oh so she really is crying. Not done that in a while. "Britt, everything Quinn said is right. You just don't understand. I can't keep you safe."
The sympathetic look that grows on Brittany's face almost sends Santana over the edge into hysteria. Brittany just doesn't understand! "Maybe I don't need for you to keep me safe," says Brittany, almost as though it's a suggestion. "Maybe I'm old enough to make my own decisions."
A pathetic whimper of frustration escapes Santana's lips. She feels like her now soaking wet clothes are trying to drag her to the ground and she locks her knees to keep them from buckling. "You just…you don't get it, Britt. He died. He died and I just…didn't do anything."
"I know," replies Brittany, maddeningly calm. Santana shakes her head furiously. No she doesn't. There's no way she could. "Do you think the things that Quinn said are new to me?" Yes. "Whenever you mention your dad the light in your eyes just…dies. I know something must have happened to him." Santana shakes her head in denial. "I know it must have happened recently because people keep asking you about it and you keep glaring at them like…how dare they ask you such a stupid question."
"It is a stupid question," says Santana with venom. Brittany just nods vaguely and runs her icy cold hands down Santana's leather covered arms. "Quinn is such a bitch."
"Nothing Quinn says is going to change how I feel about you," Brittany tells her. Santana feels another well of emotion and lowers her head a little, casting shadows across her face.
"She's right though, Brittany. If something happens to you I don't think I could ever forgive myself." Santana is determined to make her point clear. "My dad was killed and it was all my fault."
"It wasn't," Brittany insists even though she can't possibly know that.
A small laugh escapes; it sounds more like a broken sob. Pulling back, Santana breaks free of Brittany's grip and leans against the car. "It was. I refused to go on a hunt with him and because of that he's dead."
Brittany's eyes shine with compassion and she reaches forward to brush wet strands of hair away from Santana's face. She flinches away from the touch so Brittany withdraws her hand. Then just as Santana opens her mouth to say something else, the door of the Roadhouse is thrown open and two burly men stumble outside with booming laughs. Santana cringes at the thought of anyone seeing her like this and bows her head. She's starting to feel really stupid about this little outburst. It's exactly what Quinn wanted.
"Come on, Santana," says Brittany softly. "We can finish this conversation back at the motel, okay? Everything is gonna be fine."
Right now, in the pouring rain, that seems incredibly unlikely, but Santana gives a simple, sharp nod and fishes out her keys from her pocket. She takes a deep breath and tries to pull herself together. Game face: on. "Um…maybe I should drive," says Brittany tentatively. "You're a bit–"
"Just get in the fucking car, Brittany," Santana snaps. "I'm fine."
Brittany's face falls and Santana's stomach twists with guilt, but something stops her from apologising. The silent drive back to their room is not a pleasant one.
Brittany has always been popular among her peers. There's just something about her that people instinctively like. It never stopped all the mean kids in school from talking about her when they thought she couldn't hear them but as a general rule, Brittany is well liked by pretty much everybody she comes across. She's never had a best friend before though. Or even a close friend really. Brittany is fun to hang out with, but she guesses she just isn't really friend material or something. The boys always seemed to like her but it's not the same; at least Brittany assumes it isn't because she doesn't have anything to compare it to. What she used to do behind the bleachers with guys is probably not what people do with their girl friends.
Maybe that's why she's so drawn to Santana even though she barely knows anything about her. It's such a nice feeling to be so close to somebody and not have to worry about the silly little things that the girls in her high school had always thought were so important. College was different, of course. The people there were nice enough but Brittany couldn't help but feel like the other students and tutors alike looked down at her because of her small town ways and because she wasn't quite as good as everyone else. She'd have caught up to them in the end if her mother hadn't fallen ill. It's a shame she'll never have the chance to show them all that they were wrong about her.
Right now though? She doesn't really care about all those silly people from her old life because she has Santana. Santana doesn't seem to care that she's no good at math or geography or that she doesn't know why nobody at the Boston Tea Party drank tea. So what if they spend more time in the car than should be humanly allowed? At this moment in time, there's nowhere Brittany would rather be and nobody she'd rather be with.
Although, she much prefers it when Santana isn't on the verge of hysteria. It's weird because she's always so cool and collected but a few comments from Quinn has just sent her over the edge and Brittany really wants to know why. Brittany isn't stupid; she worked out pretty early on that there must be a reason Santana's dad isn't around anymore and based on the job he did she always imagined it couldn't be good. She's never asked though because she hates that heartbroken look Santana wears whenever she mentions him. She likes it better when Santana smiles. She has like…the prettiest smile in the world. It's like sunshine and lollipops and rainbows all rolled into one little facial expression.
At the moment though, they both look like drowned rats and as Santana fumbles with the lock to their door (her hands are shaking really badly from the cold) Brittany doesn't think she's ever looked more miserable. She's about to offer her assistance when Santana finally achieves her goal and pushes her way into their room.
"Fuck it's cold," Santana says when Brittany closes the door with a sharp click. Brittany tilts her head to one side and regards Santana carefully. She's refusing to look her in the eye.
"I told you it would rain," Brittany replies with a shrug.
"I guess you just know everything," says Santana bitterly. Hurt stabs at Brittany's heart and she lowers her head as Santana begins to wring out water from her hair. She's really not sure why Santana is being like this. Maybe it's like that time Lord Tubbington was sick so he kept trying to scratch her. Brittany knew he wasn't really mad at her and he just lashed because he felt bad.
"You promised me you weren't going to be mean to me," she says quietly.
Santana freezes, arms above her head. "I promised to try," replies Santana in an equally low volume, but the annoyance is slipping away now. It must be exhausting to maintain that level of anger all the time, Brittany thinks.
"You're not trying very hard," she observes. Santana's arms drop to her sides like all the strength has been drained from them.
"What is it you want from me, Brittany?" Santana asks wearily.
"I want you to be honest with me," says Brittany. Then as an afterthought she adds, "I want you to stop taking out your frustration with other people on me too. Please."
Santana hangs her head and for a moment Brittany just watches little droplets of water fall from Santana's hair and clothes. It's really hard to stay annoyed at her when she looks like this. So downtrodden and haunted. Eventually, Santana looks up (still not meeting Brittany's eyes though).
"Sorry," she mutters. Brittany almost doesn't hear it but for the time being it's good enough. It's probably the best she's going to get out of her now anyway.
Brittany takes a few steps forward and ignoring the reproachful look she gets, pushes Santana's heavy jacket from her shoulders and onto the floor. She'll pick it up later because for now her only mission is to get Santana to relax because she's shaking like those wind-up toys shaped like teeth. Brittany smiles lightly and takes off her own jacket and throws it to join Santana's on the ground.
"How about we make use of the tiny bathtub in the tiny bathroom so we don't catch ammonia?" Brittany suggests as she begins to fiddle with the hem of Santana's t-shirt. Santana lets out a weak chuckle and opens her mouth as though she's about to say something, but she seems to think better of it and closes it again. The dim sparkle is back hidden amongst the wretchedness in her eyes though as she nods her head at Brittany's suggestion. "And then maybe you can tell me what it is that makes you sad."
It takes her a moment to deliberate this but after a moment, reluctantly, Santana agrees and the two make their way to the dingy bathroom. Before they actually use the grey (Brittany isn't sure if that was the original colour or if it's just really worn down) bath, Santana insists on washing it down with the shower head because she doesn't want to 'catch AIDS or whatever' and Brittany certainly isn't complaining. While she doesn't mind sleeping in all these different motels she's really not a fan of not knowing how clean the bedspreads are and stuff. Santana tells her she'll get used to it but she's not convinced. Maybe she'll buy a sleeping bag and start using that instead of the provided sheets. Maybe she can find a rainbow coloured one. That would be awesome.
When Santana is happy the bath isn't going to give her an STI, she switches on the hot water and pours shower gel into the tub because they don't have bath stuff and Brittany really wants bubbles. She wants a sail boat too but apparently that's one of the few things Santana doesn't have stashed away in her car trunk of mysteries. Very disappointing. But then Santana starts to take off her clothes and any thoughts of toy ships vanish from Brittany's mind.
"Britt," says Santana in exasperation after moment. "Stop leering at me and strip."
Brittany grins at Santana who is now clad only in her underwear. "You're so pretty."
Santana's cheeks turn a little pink and she folds her arms across her chest. Brittany noticed fairly quickly in her friendship with Santana that the woman really doesn't know how to accept a compliment without either fake bravado or stuttering and stumbling over her words with a red blush across her face. It's really kind of adorable how flustered she becomes. The best part is that Santana thinks Brittany doesn't notice. Or maybe she just really hopes Brittany doesn't notice.
The bath is more than half full now and Santana adjusts the taps so it isn't too hot. She's still shaking and there are goose bumps along her arms so Brittany decides to stop her 'leering' and quickly discards her clothes. They should probably find somewhere to do laundry soon because Brittany is running out of clean things to wear.
"After you," Santana says when she's finally satisfied with the water temperature. She gestures to the tub and offers Brittany a strained smile. Before following the request, Brittany presses a quick kiss to Santana's lips and then steps into the tub. In the back of her mind she briefly thinks that this is probably the most intimate thing they've ever done together. Maybe that's why Santana looks so nervous.
The water surrounds Brittany and burns at her fingers and toes. She flexes them under the water to encourage her circulation. It would probably be more comfortable if her knees weren't so far out the water; in retrospect she's really not convinced Santana is actually going to fit in there with her at all. Based on the dubious expression on Santana's face, she's obviously having the same doubts.
"We can totally do it," says Brittany after a moment of silence. "See." She splashes the water in front of her. "Loads of room."
Santana chuckles and shrugs her shoulders as if to say, 'what the hell'. It's a bit of an effort but eventually Santana sinks down in the water and Brittany pulls her backwards into her chest. It's a bit cramped but Brittany kind of likes them being this close. Santana leans her head back onto Brittany's shoulder and nuzzles into her neck.
"I wish you could always be my cushion," Santana mutters. "You're so warm."
"You're still freezing," Brittany observes, but she doesn't mind. Well, she doesn't mind much. Maybe this is what the girl in Twilight always feels like cuddling up with an icy cold vampire all the time? She tries to shift position but with Santana wedged firmly up against her it's virtually impossible.
"Struggling?" asks Santana with mild amusement. "You should probably get comfortable because unless someone comes in here with a crowbar I don't think we're getting out of this tub."
"This may have been a mistake," Brittany agrees with a light giggle. "I can't move my legs at all."
"Good," says Santana. "I like it when you're at my mercy." As if to prove her point, Santana then runs a cold hand from Brittany's knee to as far up her thigh as she can manage. She's stopped by her own hips firmly in the way.
Though Santana can't see her face, Brittany smiles softly and wraps her arms around Santana's stomach under the hot water. Suddenly, she feels tired. She wishes she'd listened to Santana earlier when she'd said she didn't want to go out again once they reached their motel. She can't help but feel like this was all her fault. She never wants to see Santana cry again.
"Hey," Santana says after a minute of silence. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," replies Brittany, her heart swelling with warmth at the concern in Santana's voice. "I'm just sleepy. It's been a really long day."
"Tell me about it," says Santana quietly. Brittany presses a delicate kiss into her shoulder. "Listen; I'm really sorry about earlier. I may have overreacted a little and it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you."
"That's okay," Brittany whispers. She likes moments like these when Santana acts like an emotionally competent adult because sometimes Brittany can't help but worry about her state of mind. She's like...a combination of the most grown-up person Brittany has ever known but also the most childish. It's like Santana just doesn't know how to deal with negative emotions and really that could be a potential problem for their relationship. Brittany doesn't want to be on the receiving end of Santana's pent up anger ever again.
Santana's hands find there way to Brittany's knees and she runs her thumbs delicately up and down. "It's not okay," she says tiredly.
"No, it's not," Brittany agrees. "We can work on it though. And maybe keep you away from Quinn because she was being a total meanie. I think she was sad about something though and just taking it out on you. Kind of like you except I think she was doing it on purpose and you just couldn't help yourself."
A tense pause follows Brittany's words before Santana eventually forces out an awkward, "Yeah."
Brittany tightens her hold around Santana's body and rests her chin on the tanned shoulder in front of her. "Do you wanna tell me about your dad now?" she says softly into Santana's ear. She's not sure if now is the best time to bring this up again but she kind of wants some answers. Everyone they meet seems to know what's going on with Santana and it makes her feel really out the loop. She wants to help.
"Not really much to tell," Santana mutters. "He died." It's a half-hearted attempt to sway Brittany from the conversation so she figures maybe Santana isn't all that opposed to telling her about it after all.
"How?"
Santana draws in a deep breath and Brittany feels her whole body expand in her arms; then she deflates as a long sigh escapes. It's like she's mentally and physically preparing herself all at the same time.
"My mom was killed by vampires when I was a kid," Santana tells her in a small voice. "I was there when it happened." Brittany bites down on her lip to stop a small noise of distress from leaving her mouth. "So these two hunters came to see me at the hospital afterwards pretending to be the FBI and asked me a load of questions about it. My dad thought they were acting really suspicious about it so he followed them after they left. I never really found out what happened but he came back a couple of days later like...a completely different person."
"What did he do before hunting?" Brittany asks curiously.
"He was a doctor," Santana replies. "But yeah, I think he somehow convinced the guys...I don't remember their names...to explain hunting to him. He spent the next year learning everything he could about the supernatural world and that's when he became a hunter himself. He was obsessed, Britt. He was obsessed with finding the vampires that killed my mom because some of them escaped that day. From then on it was like nothing else mattered to him but finding those creatures and making them pay." Santana says 'nothing' but Brittany knows all she's really thinking about is herself.
Brittany suddenly understands that look Santana gave her earlier in the bar when she'd said she thought the vampire thing had been a joke. It's the first time Santana has ever made her feel stupid and she thought it was weird because she's always been so patient with her before. Brittany gets it now though. It's kind of a relief. She was worried Santana was getting tired of her.
"We found a couple of them years later," Santana continues. There's an odd disconnect between herself and her words. She sounds far away even though they're really close together. "It was one of my first hunts after I left school. I wasn't really ready for it but dad insisted we had to avenge my mom." Santana paused and took in a small gulp of air. "We both almost died. It was so bad, Britt. It was like he'd forgotten everything he'd ever known about hunting and just went running in there with no plan and cleaver in hand. He completely lost his mind and it was the scariest thing I've ever been a part of. I'm all for revenge but what he did was just...not okay."
Unable to think of anything to say to say to this, Brittany kisses Santana's shoulder just to let her know she's still here for her. She really wishes she could see Santana's face because it would be a lot easier to tell how she's feeling that way. Santana has really expressive eyes.
"So yeah, early last year he tracked down the last of their pack somewhere in Arizona. I knew something was going in because he was back into one of his funks but he wouldn't tell me what was going on until we got there. When he did I was so angry with him. After last time I said I was never going on a vampire hunt with him again. It just wasn't safe! I wanted to avenge my mom's death just as much as he did but not at the expense of my own life." Santana stopped again and raised a hand to brush something from her cheek. "I was so mad that I told him he could go on his own because I'd had enough of his bullshit. I'm so fucking stupid. I should have known what was going to happen. Maybe somewhere deep down I did because there's just no way he could ever have taken down three vampires without backup. But I just...let him leave anyway."
The utter desolation in Santana's breaks Brittany's heart. She blinks and feels hot tears run down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Santana," she says in a voice she barely recognises as her own. Santana just shrugs.
"It's my own fault. That was the last time I saw him alive...as he stormed out of my motel room screaming at the top of his voice about duty and shit." She starts shaking again and pulls her knees out of the water to press her thighs to her own chest. "I realised how selfish I was being later that night and went out to find him." She shudders. "His mangled corpse is an image I'm never getting out of my head."
Brittany almost gasps in alarm. "What did you do? Did you get them?"
A beat. "No," says Santana quietly. "I burned his body and I left."
Brittany's heart sinks. She doesn't like the idea that these creatures are still roaming free but she feels like Santana did the right thing. "Where did you go?"
"I don't really remember," Santana admits. She raises her hand again and this time Brittany realises it's to wipe away tears. "I'm kind of hazy on the details. I know I went to see Mercedes and then went a bit crazy when she said she couldn't put me in contact with him. I took a shot at Kurt's favourite vase."
"You said something mean about Kurt's vase?" Brittany questions, feeling like for Santana this is quite the under reaction.
"No, I mean I literally pulled a gun on their furniture," says Santana ruefully. Brittany blinks.
"Oh...well I'm sure it deserved it?" she says, unsure of how to react.
"It was obnoxiously colourful," Santana agrees. Brittany can tell she's aiming for levity but it falls pretty short of the mark.
"What happened after that?" Brittany asks. Santana sighs.
"Nothing. I guess Mercedes spread the word that my dad had been killed because she's a gossip whore. He became kind of an authority on hunting after a while so it was kind of a big deal. I just went hunting alone after that. Then I met you," says Santana.
After this both girls fall silent, lost in their own thought. Honestly, Brittany was expecting a story like this but actually hearing it told out loud made it so much worse than she'd imagined in her head. She was secretly hoping that Santana became a hunter for the same reason she herself had rather than some desperate need for vengeance. She always knew it was too much to ask for though.
Brittany's not certain how long they sit there in the cramped little bathtub, but by the time Santana speaks again the water seems to have become sort of tepid and she's counted the number of tiles on the walls twice so it must have been a while.
"I won't let that happen to you, you know."
"Hm?" Brittany hums, a little confused.
"If you ever wanna do something and I think it's a bad idea. I won't let you go alone just because I don't like it," Santana clarifies in a small voice. "I promise I'll keep you safe."
"I know you will," Brittany tells her. And she means it. "I trust you."
Santana turns her head awkwardly and offers Brittany a strained smile. She doesn't say it aloud but Brittany can read the words, 'you shouldn't' etched into Santana's expression.
"Can we get out the bath now?" Brittany asks, squeezing Santana tightly in her arms. "I'm getting cold and I think I'm about to fall asleep."
"Yeah. I really can't rock the prune look," Santana replies, lifting her hand to show Brittany the way the pads of her fingers have gone all wrinkly. "Might be easier said than done though."
It's so late now that Brittany is sure it's going to start getting light soon, yet she still hasn't been able to sleep and it has nothing to do with the lumpy mattress she's lying on. The things Santana told her are playing over and over in her mind and now that she knows the details, horrible images have started to accompany her thoughts. She's always had an overactive imagination and the heavy rain beating against the window and occasional flash of light casting eerie shadows on the wall really isn't helping. She really misses her My Little Pony nightlight. The main problem is that she really doesn't know what to say to comfort Santana because the 'it's not your fault's don't seem to be having an impact.
Brittany sighs into Santana's chest and allows her hand to drift away from its place on Santana's hip. She lightly traces her index finger up and down three perpendicular scars on and just below Santana's ribcage. They're white and raised and as she presses her fingers down gently, she feels Santana's breath hitch and immediately stops moving. Brittany isn't the only one who hasn't been able to sleep sadly.
"Do they hurt?" she asks quietly. Santana shakes her head.
"None of them hurt anymore."
None of the visible ones hurt anymore, Brittany thinks as she resumes inching her fingers along Santana's stomach. She has quite a lot of them. Scars that is. Her whole body is littered in faint marks that each tell a different story. Brittany doesn't know how any of them go yet but eventually she'll get Santana to tell her each and every one. She wants to know all of Santana's secrets and she's willing to wait for them.
Brittany has scars too. She has them on her knees and one across her forearm from when Lord Tubbington got a little scratch-happy before a trip to the vet. Her fingers stroke higher and brush across a small, round patch of discoloured skin on Santana's shoulder. It feels puckered under her index finger; almost like it's never really healed properly.
She looks up to ask Santana about it, but she's facing the wall with a pained expression on her face. Or pained might not be the right word. Uncomfortable maybe. Is it because Brittany is touching her? It hasn't bothered her before. In fact, Brittany gets the impression Santana really likes it when she touches her. She does now anyway; when they first met Brittany was sure Santana was on the verge of a heart attack every time their hands brushed. It was kind of adorable and just made Brittany want to touch her even more.
"That's where I got shot," says Santana, rousing Brittany from her thoughts. Her voice is hoarse and it makes Brittany want to cuddle her tighter. "It was an accident. I was supposed to be protecting this family and I'd gone to the kitchen because the kid wanted a glass of water and all the lights went off. I ran back into family room and the guy thought I was the spirit and pulled out some gun I didn't even know he had. My dad had to fish out the bullet with a pair of tweezers. Fun night."
Brittany frowns unhappily and nuzzles her nose into Santana's neck. "I'm sorry."
"Could have been worse," says Santana as she moves her own hand to rub the scar self-consciously. "He could have been a better shot. Wish it hadn't left such a big scratch though."
Oh. So that's what that look on her face is for. Brittany almost smiles a little. Does Santana really think that she cares about a few marks on her otherwise perfect skin? But then, she supposes Santana doesn't really see them as marks. More like flaws. A lasting consequence of every mistake she's ever made staining her body for the rest of her life.
"I like all your battle scars," says Brittany in an offhand voice. "I don't like how you got them because I think they must have hurt. I think they're super hot though."
Santana raises a dubious eyebrow at her so Brittany offers her an innocent smile. "Yeah?"
"Totally. They remind me of how much of a hero my girlfriend is." Underneath her, Santana's whole body tenses and Brittany almost panics. "What's wrong? Did I say something bad?" she asks quickly. She doesn't think she's ready for Santana to have another meltdown tonight.
Santana lets out a slow breath and shakes her head. Then she uses her own hand and traces her fingers down Brittany's spine, causing her to shiver lightly. They probably shouldn't have kicked the blankets off the bed earlier because even with their bodies pressed so close together Brittany is starting to feel cold.
It takes Santana a minute or so to answer Brittany properly, but she doesn't mind because she's sort of used to this by now. Santana seems to need time to gather her thoughts sometimes. Sometimes it takes her to long to speak that Brittany is half convinced that Santana's forgotten she's is even there.
"Is that what we are?" asks Santana finally. "Girlfriends?"
Again, Brittany almost laughs. Santana sounds so worried that it's honestly hard for her not to. Considering all the things she must have seen and done in her lifetime, poor Santana panics over the silliest of things. "If we aren't then we should be," says Brittany. "We do all the girlfriendy things already."
Santana chuckles lightly. "Killing monsters together is definitely on the top of the agenda for most new couples."
"It's like our dates," Brittany adds. A bit more dangerous than the dates she used to go on though. "We hunt evil stuff and then you pay for dinner and take me back to your hotel room. It's like the most fun ever."
"Many would disagree," Santana mumbles into Brittany's hair. She doesn't seem especially happy.
"We could go on a normal person date," Brittany suggests. At this change in topic, the heavy air of misery and tension seems to lift a little.
"Do you want to?" Santana asks curiously. Brittany tilts her head so she can look at Santana's face. She looks puzzled; like she's not really sure what people do on normal people dates. For a moment, Brittany wonders if it's because she's never been to one. She finds this idea absolutely unacceptable.
"Yeah!" Brittany says happily. "We could go to the carnival." They had passed it about an hour before they got here and Brittany knew she needed to go there the second her eyes fell on it. She didn't think Santana would want to though.
A little crinkle appears in between Santana's eyebrows as she seems to contemplate this plan. Eventually, she says, "I've never been to a carnival before."
Brittany blinks. "Never?"
"Never really had the time," replies Santana. She doesn't even sound like she really cares.
"We have to go," says Brittany definitively. "Now."
"I love it when you get all demanding," says Santana with an amused smirk that causes Brittany's cheeks to turn pink. "One problem though; I don't think people will approve of us cavorting around in our birthday suits. Well...I guess some people might."
"That's gross," says Brittany with a frown. Then Santana's body begins to shake with suppressed laughter. "Okay so we should probably put on clothes first."
"What if I don't want to?" asks Santana. "Not gonna lie, Britt, I prefer you without clothes." Brittany doesn't really blame her for that. She's a fox.
"I guess we can stay here for a bit longer," she concedes. "Carnival probably isn't open now anyway."
"Tomorrow then?" Santana asks.
Brittany raises an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out on a date, Santana?"
"Um..." Santana stumbles over her words and Brittany can feel her breathing become shallower. It's super cute. "You want me to ask you properly?" Brittany nods her head. "Okay. Brittany...would you um...go on a date with me?"
Brittany looks up to Santana's eyes scrunched closed. Does she still think Brittany might say no after that whole conversation? She rolls her eyes at Santana's silliness and cranes her neck to kiss Santana's cheek. "I'd love to," she says softly. Santana visibly relaxes.
"Cool."
After that they finally find the sleep that has so desperately eluded them.
Author's Note(s): Sorry for the delay on this one. I struggle to write conversations about feelings so it took me a bit longer than usual. Thank you for reading :-)
In other thoughts - To the anonymous person who keeps sending me passive-aggressive messages on Tumblr: kindly desist. They're getting old. I'm very sorry that my lack of being American bothers you and I really do try my best to avoid having the characters speak in my own dialect. I cannot, however, ignore eighteen years of formal education to spell things in a way that would, in my country, be considered incorrect. Sorry, old chap. Cheerio.