(I've Never Reached An Answer) I'm Only Given Clues

by thefooliam

Santana and Quinn's hopes of a peaceful and relaxing summer at Santana's grandmother's in Florida are dashed when the rest of New Directions invites themselves to join them.

10. Part 8

It's not what she expected it to be, being left alone in bed.

Her arm stretches out beside her automatically, even though she's never done it before, and it burns to find the sheets beside her cold. At first, the truth doesn't register and she keeps sleepily reaching for soft and supple skin until her eyes open and her stomach drops with an unbearable ache. Suddenly, the bed doesn't feel as warm as it did a minute ago.

It hurts to be the one left behind, wondering. It hurts to be the one disappointed.

Shame and guilt plummets inside of her, unable to accept that this is what she's been doing to Brittany for so long. She buries her face in the pillow and tries to control the tears that well inside of her.

It takes so much effort that she almost falls back into a sleep, dreams of every single time she left Brittany playing like a show reel swirling around her head. Her brain is seconds away from slipping into unconsciousness when she hears the shower shut off.

Her mind is suddenly very much awake.

Then she hears nimble feet wandering back into the room, a familiar humming and then the tell-tale signs of a record being slipped onto the player. Her heart skips and she lifts her head from the pillow, aware of the single tear that leaves her eyes for a different reason now. She turns her head slowly, eyes still sleepy, and doesn't breathe out until she sees the only thing she'll always want to see.

Brittany pulls the underwear up her legs, hips swaying already as they move to the record. The volume is low, but it doesn't stop her. She sways her hips to the beat and Santana's mesmerized, stuck. She chastises herself for ever thinking that Brittany would leave.

Brittany's not her. She's better.

/

She's unaware of how long she's been staring, but Brittany sways to the song like her hips are controlling every beat. She's not really dancing, just moving to the music, but it's still one of the most beautiful things Santana's ever seen. She props herself up on an elbow, her earlier fear dissipating easily and replacing itself with awe.

Her mind stops worrying and, instead, she finds herself daydreaming about a life like this, right here. She wonders what it would be like to have Brittany as her own human alarm clock, waking her up when the shower shuts off and when she's dancing to the radio.

She thinks that she'd always be happy, because how could she not be when her day starts with this?

She blinks out of her daydream when she hears a giggle. Her eyes refocus and find Brittany staring at her. She's still only wearing her underwear, her hair damp from the shower. She grins madly and Santana smirks back.

"You know," Brittany says, "It's rude to stare."

Santana shrugs. "I wasn't staring," she bites her lip and flits her eyes across Brittany's body. Her hips, her thighs, the curve of her torso to the gorgeous sparkly blue of her eyes. She takes a deep breath in. "I was... admiring."

Brittany looks at her curiously, but there's fear and nerves in those eyes. Santana ignores it for the sake of keeping herself together. "Admiring what?"

Santana looks at her, letting the blood rush to her head and blossom in her cheeks. "You," she says and her heart skips a beat.

Brittany moves closer. Her hips still sway and Santana can't tell if she's doing it to the music anymore. It doesn't matter. She's more concerned with the way that Brittany's knees dip the end of the bed like they did the night before, the way she crawls up and hovers above her with a face full of determination.

Santana feels typically fearful. Her eyes dart to the still closed bedroom door, the window and the balcony. They're still hidden but it's more likely that someone will walk in. "Anyone could find us," is falling out of her mouth before she can control it.

Brittany doesn't take any notice. She pulls the covers away from Santana's naked body and leans down to kiss from the base of Santana's breast bone to behind her ear. Her nose presses to the skin and she breathes in unsteadily. It scares Santana how much the sound makes her feel like everything's right in the world.

"They've gone to the beach," Brittany whispers softly. Her lips kiss Santana again. "It's two pm. They went an hour ago... Artie and Quinn went somewhere, too. I told them you were sick."

Santana feels her hands instantly come up to rest at Brittany's thighs, urging their pelvises flush against each other. They both choke on a moan before their eyes catch. They don't need to say anything else.

/

It scares her how easily things can go from slow to desperate. The sun burns through the voile curtains, casting a million colors around the room, but all she's aware of is the blue of Brittany's eyes and the white of the sheets.

Brittany takes the same control Santana gave her the night before and holds her down as she kisses all over her body. There's something sombre about it, something sad in the way that her lips linger over patches of skin. Her nose presses and strokes against the swell of her breast as her breathing becomes ragged. She kisses up to Santana's ear, draws in the smell of sweat, of chlorine and the underlying scent of her hair.

Santana doesn't know what to do. She feels things changing in ways she can't explain. It feels like Brittany's here but she's not at the same time, distant in a way that Santana's never experienced before.

Her teeth bite down on Santana's neck and it's so unfamiliar, so possessive that she's not sure what she's meant to do. Instead she just watches as Brittany's hand skims between their bodies and slips between her legs.

/

The shower is warm and it eases her aching muscles, except she's not sure that they ache from physical activity anymore.

She washes her hair, lathering the bubbles in dark locks until they begin to drip down her body. Getting clean usually makes her feel better, like she's washing away the worries of the day before. But not today; she can't wash these worries away – she's never been able to wash them away – and now they coat her skin like a layer of grease she can't wash off.

She takes in an uneven breath and thinks about Brittany, laying alone in her bed after falling back to sleep again. She looked so tired, so damn tired. It didn't even feel like she was there with her, just a shell or a hologram of a girl she recognized but didn't know. Her fingers were fast and rough, her tongue was unrelenting and harsh. Her teeth were sharp and her breathing was paced and even, determined. She was in control and Santana had never seen that red in her eyes before.

It felt like she'd lost her, even though she was still in her arms.

Her spine tingles a little when she sees Brittany walking into the bathroom, all tired eyes and sleepy hair. Santana doesn't turn around, just watches her out the corner of her eye, waiting for whatever she has next. She waits for her body to meet cold tiles, for fingers to find their way between her thighs.

But they don't. Brittany steps into the shower wordlessly and barely pauses for a second before her arms are wrapped around Santana's waist. She buries her head in Santana's neck, holds her close and Santana sighs because this is what she's used to. This is the Brittany she knows.

Brittany kisses her neck, soothes the bruises that already blossom on her skin, and Santana can feel the guilt on her lips. It makes her knees buckle and her hands stretch out to support herself. Brittany holds her steady, tightens the arm around her body and reaches to tangle their fingers together against the wall.

Santana turns instantly and pulls Brittany to her, keeping their fingers locked. She can't let go, not now. Her arm wraps its way around Brittany's shoulders and pulls her into a kiss. Everything instantly feels that little bit better with her hand in Brittany's and their lips moving together.

/

They're still wrapped around each other under the spray of the water when they hear the others come back a while later.

Santana tightens her hold knowing that she'll have to let go soon, and Brittany's shoulders slump with acceptance.

"I'm going to have to go," Brittany whispers. "They might come up here looking for me."

Santana nods in agreement. "I know," she whispers, kissing Brittany's collarbone. "I love you."

Brittany stiffens a little and then slumps again. "I know," she says as she untangles their bodies. She presses a kiss to Santana's lips and nods. "I love you, too."

/

She wanders down into the kitchen an hour and a half later, directly into the middle of an argument about dinner. None of them notice her, but she just weaves around them and starts taking ingredients from the pantry.

It's not until she starts throwing pans down onto the stove that anyone notices her. Rachel's suddenly at her side, indignantly shaking her head like she can't believe this is happening.

"Santana, you're sick and you look terrible," she says. "You should go back to bed; I'll handle this."

Santana rounds on her slowly, saucepan in hand, and holds up a finger. If she looks anything right now, it's damn good. She'd like to see how hot Rachel Berry could look with bed head, no make up and wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and her underwear.

"Get out of my kitchen, Berry," she says as calmly as she can. She feels so out of sorts that she's about ready to kick Berry's ass just for a dose of normality.

It must be noticeable in her voice because, when Rachel leaves, the others quickly follow after her.

/

She's not even hungry, but she she sits at the table just so that Berry can't make any comments about her getting more rest again. She sits at the head of the table with a Sprite and half a plate of her homemade lasagne and watches the others are they all sit together in silence.

Not a word is spoken and as much as it irritates her how annoying they are, it also unsettles her that they're not arguing.

Eventually, the silence gets to her and the sound of cutlery against plates makes her jaw tighten. She scoffs and pushes her chair back, before storming from the table.

"You fuckers astound me," she shouts over her shoulder, a cigarette in her mouth before she even reaches the door.

/

For some reason, the fact that Brittany is the one who comes to find her shocks her. She jumps a little before she instantly calms. Brittany scratches at her arms as she steps closer.

"We're all going to Uncle Frank's," she says with a shrug, smiling gently. But then her shoulders slump a little and she visibly gulps. "Are you coming?"

Santana smiles and nods because where else would she be?

/

She spends half her night on a bar stool in the corner, nursing virgin cocktails Uncle Frank gives her while she watches her friends act recklessly around her.

The group is split; half of them dance and half of them sing, while occasionally switching sides.

Brittany does a performance of Toxic that occupies almost every corner of the bar and Santana watches on proudly as Rachel Berry tries to follow it with a performance of Pink's U + Ur Hand that seems to be geared towards Hudson.

He doesn't seem to get what she's saying though, and that just makes Santana laugh harder.

/

The night seems to be going well until Uncle Frank steps closer to her and lowers his head to her level.

"That friend of yours," he says softly, his arm resting flat to the bar. "She's the same age as you, right?"

He cocks his head behind him and she catches sight of her out the corner of her eyes. She glances at Quinn for a barely second before looking back to Uncle Frank. "Quinn?" she says, "She's almost eighteen."

He turns to look at the girl in question and Santana turns to look too. It's then that she sees what he's really looking at: Quinn's lazy limbs, her red cheeks and glassy eyes. The way she sways to the music and trips as Artie tries to grab hold of her to keep her still. It's nothing new and it takes Santana a second before she realizes the implications of what Frank's saying.

"She needs to go home, Cookie," he says with a pointed look... a look that says she should definitely be concerned. "She can do what she wants there, but if the cops get called and they see her like that... I can't have it in my bar."

Santana nods and it's like something that was once imaginary just came to life. She nods nervously and glances at Quinn. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

She tries to step away but then his bucket-sized hands are around her wrists and holding her back. He narrows his eyes for a second like he doesn't want to say what he's about to say.

"Whatever she's had," he says reluctantly. "She didn't get it from here. Or any of your other friends, by the looks of it." He shrugs. "Just... I'd be careful, Cookie."

She nods and feels something sink inside of her.

/

It takes them twenty minutes to get her onto the sidewalk. Artie clears a path ahead of them through the crowds and Santana holds Quinn steady against her side, practically dragging her through. Once they hit the cool night air, Quinn proceeds to sway a little from side to side before throwing up in the gutter.

Santana grimaces and steadies her so she doesn't face plant into it.

"Where the fuck did she get booze from, Artie?" she says, turning to him. She expects him to yell at her in response but he doesn't. His eyes glaze over with dark worry and he shakes his head. He looks terrified and she almost wants to hug him, but she doesn't.

"I don't know," he says a little breathlessly. "I've been with her all night... All night. All day, even. I've not seen her drink anything but a couple diet cokes and a root beer at dinner. That's it."

He looks like he could cry and she understands instantly. It's been scary enough when Quinn's done this while they're not watching. All the things that could happen to her when they're not watching should be the things that terrifying them the most. But, now, those things are still happening right under their noses and that's worse than anything they can imagine.

"Listen," she says, reaching out for him. He's a foot away and holding Quinn's limp, clammy hand in his but she's never felt closer to him. She's about to say that everything's going to be okay, but the words die in her mouth and she just looks at him hopelessly as she tries to think of something to make him feel better. She can't.

She's glad when Brittany bursts out onto the sidewalk behind them and breathes out a "Hey, what are you guys doing..." before all other words vanish at the sight of Quinn. She looks at Santana with the same worry she'd done that first night in Orlando. "I'll get the others," she says before she heads back into the bar.

/

Their worry goes over the heads of the others and Santana's glad for it.

She and Brittany take Quinn upstairs and put her in bed. She looks completely at peace, but Santana knows that isn't true. She strips Quinn of her clothes while Brittany disappears downstairs.

She stares at her and wonders what the hell is going on in that head of hers until Brittany returns, glass of water and bucket in hand. She sets them both where Quinn might need them before leaning forward to press a kiss to Quinn's forehead.

"Feel better, Quinn," she says and, if Santana wasn't so damn worried, she would kiss her.

/

She does it without thinking. One minute, she's walking past Artie's worried looks at the bottom of the stairs and the next she's in the kitchen, fetching an empty cardboard box. She wanders around the house and places every bottle she can find in it until it's almost too heavy to carry.

She can feel Brittany stood behind her and she ignores her as she takes one last fleeting glance around the kitchen before heading to the pantry. She's on her grandmother's foot stool in a second, climbing to the top shelf and reaching around blindly in the darkness for the thing that she wants.

She finds a bottle of cognac her grandpa used to keep there for dinner parties first, and places it inside with the rest of the half-empty bottles. But then she's back to her task, searching impatiently for the thick envelope she'd hidden there the day before while Brittany had been excitedly bouncing at her feet

When she's palmed at every inch and found only thick gray dust, panic dumps itself easily in the base of her chest.

/

She takes a few moments to herself so she can calm down while a million reasons rush around her head. She clutches at the edge of the shelf until her knuckles go white and it isn't until Brittany's calling out a tentative "Santana?" that she climbs down from the stool, hefting the box under her arm as she exits the pantry.

"Hey, Britt," she says as carefully as she can. "Did you move the weed?"

Brittany's brow furrows with confusion and then it sparks with the same worried recognition that Santana had felt. To anyone else it would have felt accusatory, but the way Brittany looks at her says that she's thinking the exact same thing that Santana is.

"It's not..." she starts and steps preemptively closer. "It's not up there?"

Santana shakes her head. In an instant, a million different emotions rush her: worry, anger, betrayal, panic, hurt. The box is falling onto the counter with a crash and her feet are moving before she can stop them. Brittany sighs as she tries to catch up with her, but Santana's a little too fast. She's in the living room and switching off the TV before she Brittany can stop her.

"Where is it?" she demands. Her hands shake as she grabs the remote from Sam and her eyes water from how wide they are. She stares at them all, looking for guilt, but she looks away quickly, aware that all they're going to see is her panic. "Come on," she demands her voice raising. "Where is it? Who took it?"

Brittany's hand is on her elbow, soothing her but she's still mad. They all look at each other and then at her like she's crazy and, for a few seconds, she thinks that maybe she is.

"Somebody's taken the weed," she says, attempting to calm down. Brittany's still there helping; Santana can feel her thumb brushing her elbow back and forth and it calms her enough that she doesn't throw herself at one of them and demand to know the truth. "I hid the weed in the kitchen and now it's gone. So, who took it?"

They look at each other again and a unified look of fear spreads through all of them. Santana doesn't think it's the same fear as she feels, though.

"Are... are you sure?" Rachel asks softly.

Santana scoffs. "Yes, I'm sure, Dwarf," she spits. "It's not like I like accusing people of stealing from me for fun, is it?"

"But, there can't have been much left, can there?" Finn mumbles. "I mean, we smoked a lot last night. Probably too much."

It's Puck that answers for her. "We barely used a third of what was there... maybe even a quarter," he tells them. "It's worth a lot of money... hundreds of dollars."

Recognition flutters around the room and increases the worry on their faces. It's all she can see on their faces and it makes her feel bad that not one of them looks guilty. It makes the ideas in her head seem more possible. And there's one thing for sure in her mind: those ideas can't be true.

"Listen," she says and hopes the waver in her voice sounds like it comes more from anger than the tears threatening internally. "I don't care about the weed. I don't care about the fucking money. I care about the fact that someone is in my grandmother's home and they're taking things that don't belong to them. Do you understand? Fucking respect that, okay?"

She's storming from the room before anyone can answer.

/

She debates hiding the booze in her room, until she thinks again and carries it out to her car.

She slips it into the truck and shuffles into the back, taking a breather.

Before returning back to the house, she gulps down some of the tequila and appreciates the way it burns.

/

Only Puck and Brittany are still up when she returns. They sit opposite each other at the kitchen table and Brittany watches the speed of Puck's hands as he deals the cards.

Santana sits between them and takes the glass of Sprite Brittany gives her as she pours her own Dr Pepper. Brittany gives her a smile as she begins to sort through her hand of cards.

She waits for a few hands to pass before she looks over at the empty space opposite her.

"Where's Abrams?" she says, eying the place where his wheelchair would usually sit.

Puck snorts and deals her another card, slapping it down in front of her as he drinks a beer he seems to have pulled from nowhere. She was sure that she'd got all of them.

"He's probably holding back Quinn's hair while she pukes," he snorts, shoveling a handful of chips into his mouth and washing them back with half of his beer. Santana sees Brittany's eyes flick between the two of them as he speaks. "Or he's trying to pry her away from the bottle..." Brittany's hand is around her wrist before she knows what's going on. "Guy's a fool..." he shakes his head. "Chick's a mess."

She doesn't know if it's because he sounds so nonchalant or if it's because he sounds so uncaring, but her chair's hitting the floor instantly, her hands balling into fists as she gets to her feet. A flurry of Spanish leaves her as she pushes him backwards, watching him as he falls to tangle around the chair, his beer spilling all over him.

"What's your fucking problem, Lopez?" he says as she grabs him by the collar. Her hand swings back to hit him but Brittany's there to stop it, gripping her wrist tight as her arm wraps around Santana's waist and pulls her back. Soothing words are whispered into her ear and Puck ignores them as he pulls at the soaked fabric of his shorts. "Jeez, on the rag, much?"

Brittany tightens her grip when Santana fights against it to swing for him. "Santana," she whispers breathlessly. "Let it go, just let it go."

For the third time in less than six hours, Santana storms from a room with enough attitude to rival Rachel Berry.

/

"You need to stop smoking," Brittany mumbles and it makes Santana jump. She spins around from her space leaning against the balcony to find Brittany, back pressed against the wall beside the door to her bedroom. She doesn't know how long she's been there, but she doesn't really care.

She frowns but stubs the cigarette out anyway. She looks Brittany up and down and notices that she's changed into her pajamas. It makes her brow furrow more and she shakes her head a little. "What are you doing here?" she asks and it should feel wrong to ask that question but it doesn't.

Brittany smiles gently and cocks her head inside Santana's bedroom.

"I ran you a bath," she says softly and Santana feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes at the idea. Brittany laughs a little. "You looked like you might need it," she jokes but it doesn't really work like a joke. Not when it's true.

/

As soon as she smells the bath salts and sees the thick layer of bubbles that floats atop the water, she feels tired.

She sits on the edge of her grandmother's huge bathtub and rolls her neck and shoulders, fighting away the tension. She can sense Brittany smiling at her as she mills around Santana's room, fetching her something to sleep in.

"C'mere," Brittany whispers softly, and she turns Santana around so that she can get to her hair. Her fingers rake through it gently before she piles it atop Santana's head and ties it with the tie she always keeps around her wrist.

Santana slumps against her in exhaustion and says nothing when Brittany slowly removes her dress, lifting it over her head and tossing it across to the laundry basket in the corner. She's naked in Brittany's arms a few seconds later but it doesn't excite her for the first time in a long time.

"Stay with me," she whispers fists gripping at Brittany's sleep shirt weakly. Her eyes open for the first time in minutes, just in time to see Brittany nod in consent and take her shirt from Santana's hands and lift it over her head.

/

She could fall asleep like this, she thinks; even if the water goes cold and her body turns into a pruned mess. She's more relaxed than she's felt in a long time, her body completely at ease where Brittany cradles it in her arms. She's warm and mixed with the temperature of the water, she settles into a calm so perfect that it would sting in any other circumstance.

"We've never done this before," Brittany whispers softly. She squeezes water over Santana's body with a sponge, keeping the goosebumps at bay. She runs the softness of the sponge over Santana's body, stroking in all the goodness from the salts that will make her feel better.

Santana nods and she basks in the warmth, in the way that Brittany's thighs feel under her hands and how they squeeze at her hips. She concentrates on how Brittany's breasts feel pressed against her back, how she can feel her heart beat steadily thumping against her spine. It's steady and perfect and all she wants to do is turn in Brittany's arms and press her ear to it, letting it send her to sleep like a lullaby.

She feels her body loosen the more tired she gets, and Brittany's grip around her body tightens. She wraps one arm above Santana's breasts and the other curls around the bottom of her rib cage. Her nose buries into Santana's neck and she breathes in the smell of her, new and clean from the water.

Santana's eyes flutter and she opens one to watch Brittany's hands as they skirt over her skin.

"You need to stop worrying," Brittany whispers against her neck and, as her fingertips map out her body, Santana finds it hard to know which one of them she's talking to when, no matter how tight she holds onto her, it still feels like Brittany's letting go.

/

Brittany drags her from the water, sits her on the edge of the tub and towels her dry. Santana does what she's told and moves when Brittany asks her too. She stands when Brittany wants to dry her back and lifts her feet when Brittany tugs clean underwear up her legs.

It's not until Brittany tries to pull a t-shirt over her head that she becomes aware of what's really going on. The shirt feels awkward and unfamiliar and she opens her eyes to see what it is and blushes a little when she notices.

"No," she says, shaking her head and pulling her mom's old worn gray UPenn t-shirt back over her head. Brittany looks at her confused and she looks down at the fabric in her hands.

Her fingers stroke over the faded letters and she remembers back to the eighth grade when Brittany had seen it for the first time. She remembers how Brittany had recognized the word instantly and brightly said "my mom has a shirt like that, too". She remembers how Brittany's face had fallen when she had followed that statement up with "but she'll only let my big sister wear hers". Brittany had been wearing the shirt since.

"It's..." she whispers and then she stands to tug the fabric over Brittany's head. "You're the only one that wears this shirt."

Brittany looks at her confused and Santana hopes that she doesn't put everything together. She knows it's hopeless, though. Brittany's not stupid.

"Then why did you bring it with you?" she says, eyes going brighter with every idea Santana sees in their deep blue.

Santana takes a moment before she buries her face in the cloth at Brittany's stomach and breathes deeply. Brittany's hands instantly go to the back of her head and Santana sighs before turning to the side.

"Because it still smells like you."

/

That night, Santana's glad she doesn't have to cuddle her mom's old Brittany-scented Upenn t-shirt like she's done on many a night over the last few months.

Instead, she gets to wrap her body around Brittany and fall asleep with her nose buried into sweet smelling hair.

/

They've barely been there two weeks, so they shouldn't need more food already. But when Hudson lumped out the milk onto his cereal that morning, she thought it was a good idea to at least replace some of the stuff they were already out of... and the stuff that was growing more stuff.

She leaves at the same time everyone else does for the beach and tries to ignore the way that she sees Quinn looking around the kitchen for something that isn't there anymore. She even purposefully avoids her so she can't ask her to get anything, mostly because she doesn't know what she'd say.

Instead she backs out of the drive and honks her horn at the others when she meets them on the corner. They wave and she's glad to be away from them and alone, if only for a hour or so.

She needs a plan, and she needs quiet to make it.

/

She's pretty sure she knows what she's going to do, she just needs to be sure that she's not being hasty before she puts things into action. She hefts the bags out of the car and into the kitchen, leaving them all on the counter with every intention of searching the house top to bottom for any left over booze while no one is there.

But then she stops when she hears music coming from upstairs. It fills her with fear because the last thing she did before she left was lock up the house and because she has no idea where her grandpa keeps the baseball bat like she her dad does when she's at home. She looks around for something heavy and finds nothing but a meat tenderizer. She forgoes using it and decides to simply jump on the intruders back and gouge their eyes out when she realizes that the music that's playing is Ke$ha. She smiles a little because... what intruder would break into someone's house and play Ke$ha?

She tiptoes upstairs, navigating towards the music and not stopping until she can feel the vibrations of it beneath her shoes. She stops at the half-closed doorway to Brittany's room and peers inside, smiling at what she sees.

Brittany stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by what looks like every full-length mirror in the house, dancing to the music. Her body moves jerkily and Santana keeps herself hidden as she watches Brittany look at herself, brow furrowed in frustration. She's trying to think of new moves; Santana's seen her do this enough to know when she's trying to push herself harder, trying to find the next awesome step (like someone throwing her in the air or doing fourteen backhand springs into the splits) and be better than everyone else.

/

She watches her for what feels like ages, smiling every time she gets frustrated to the point of giving up, before figuring out some other awesome move to do next. She slumps to lean against the door jam and just watches her, watches how she moves and how perfect she is, how effortless every move looks once she's thought so hard about it.

She's done this so many times and it still amazes Santana how sensational she is. Not from that very first time she saw Brittany do a pirouette at her Christmas ballet recital to watching her dance on stage at sectionals last year has her amazement wavered; it's always increased. There's not a day goes by where she doesn't become more aware of how wonderful Brittany is.

Her eyes don't leave Brittany, not until her phone starts ringing and Brittany jumps in shock and turns to her. She switches off Berry's call (that's no doubt only to ensure that Santana buys her more tofu) and glances up at her guiltily.

"How long have you been standing there?" Brittany says, out of breath and wiping sweat from her forehead.

Santana smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know," she says, pocketing her cell in her shorts and opening the door wider. "What's going on, Britt?" she says narrowing her eyes curiously around the room. There's mirrors everywhere and they all point towards Brittany. "What's with the mirrors?"

Brittany's shoulders slump and she drops down onto the foot of the bed. Santana steps in and moves closer, dropping down beside her.

"Promise you won't laugh," Santana smiles and nods. Brittany looks at her hands in her lap. "I've been worried about dance class."

Santana frowns. "Dance class?"

Brittany nods. "Yeah, dance class," she repeats more forcefully. "I haven't been in... over a month."

"Okay..." Santana nods, not quite sure where this is going.

"I haven't been to dance class in over a month and I've only been silly dancing with Mike and Tina in bars and stuff..." she talks so fast that Santana has to concentrate on her lips to make sure she catches every word and not miss a syllable. "And I haven't been to dance class in a month and, like, what if I start to forget how to dance and then I can't dance anymore because I didn't practice and then I can't get into dance school or something and I get stuck in Lima for the rest of my life while everyone else goes to college?"

Santana's heart sinks and she goes to open her mouth to say something but Brittany's not done.

"Everyone was talking about what they were going to do after school and they all had plans... maybe they weren't sure plans like yours, but they're still plans and I don't want to not have a plan," Brittany says. "I don't want to not know where I want to go or what I want to do... and I'm probably not going to get into a real college, but I know that I can get into dance school; I just need to practice so I don't forget."

Even though her heart is breaking a little bit at the thought, Santana reaches out and takes Brittany's hand in hers. "Then why didn't you tell me?" she whispers softly.

Brittany shrugs. "Because I didn't want you to think I was being stupid."

Santana turns completely and cups Brittany's face in her hands. "You're not stupid," she whispers before she kisses Brittany quickly, just a peck on her lips. "You could have told me," she says, nudging their noses together as Brittany keeps staring down into her lap. "Plus," she smiles and waits for Brittany to look up at her curiously. "I have a better idea."

/

Puck has a case of beers under each arm when the others return and the sun's already down. He takes one look in the fridge, sees all the fresh meat Santana got at the store and heads outside to light up the pit.

Most of them are drunk before dinner's even over and Santana shoots Artie a look across the pool to see if he's just as worried about Quinn downing beer after beer as she is. He looks completely lost and Santana's worries feel validated again and again and again.

It's not exactly a bad thing when Brittany presses a reassuring press of her palm to the base of her back and whispers that everything will be okay, either.

/

It takes them until noon the next day to get up and get ready. Santana sits beside Brittany at the breakfast table, trying to keep her calm so no one figures out what they're up to. It's like old times, keeping secrets to themselves that no one else can know, and Brittany bouncing a little with that perfect smile makes her feel like it's finally summer.

Santana doesn't say anything until they've all left. She sips at her glass of orange juice until Quinn and Artie close the door behind them on their way to visiting another museum and waits until Brittany rounds on her to acknowledge the promise she made last night.

"What is it? What is it? What is it?" Brittany bounces moving closer. Her hand squeezes high on Santana's thigh and that's enough to make her day better already. Another morning of accidentally waking up spooning Brittany has already given her a great start to the day, and she rolls her eyes teasingly as she gets up from the table and reaches for Brittany's hand.

She leads her to the garage at the back of the yard, beside the pool house and stands Brittany in front of the locked doors as she reaches into the pocket of her cut offs to get the keys.

"What's going on?" Brittany says with awe in her voice. "What are we doing in here?

Santana doesn't answer, not until she's found the right key and opened the door, and she still doesn't say anything until she's urged Brittany inside. Brittany instantly heads for the black 1960 Cadillac and runs her fingers along the hood. "Are we gonna ride in it?" she asks confused.

Santana shrugs. "We can if you want, after," she says and she begins to push the boxes into the corners near where the twin washers and dryers sit at the back of the room. "I was thinking that we'd move these boxes out of the way and then drive the car out onto the drive and you can use this as a dance space."

Brittany's eyes light up and then she shakes her head. "I can't let you do that," she says and Santana scoffs instantly. Brittany looks at her and regards her gently. "You'd really do that for me?"

Santana laughs and steps over to her without another thought. She presses her lips quickly to Brittany's and smiles as she pulls away. "Of course I would.

/

Santana learned to drive in her grandma's Cadillac and it's still the car she feels the most comfortable driving. It's not a tank like her own car.

She parks it out onto the drive and honks the horn at Brittany, appreciating the way that Brittany kisses her against the hood when she gets out. It's quick but it sparks something in her and she slaps at Brittany's ass until she's heading back into the garage.

It takes a while but soon they have the lights working (after realizing they needed to change the bulbs) and the area clear of dust. Brittany sweeps the floor of debris and dirt while Santana rests the huge mirrors (that the interior designer had promised her grandma would be modern and fresh, before she fired him) against the walls. Finally, Santana wires up her iPod to the sound system that her grandpa installed to drown out her grandma's yelling, and it's ready.

She hasn't even put on a song before Brittany's using the space perfectly, moving across the floor with ease until Santana can practically hear the music she's dancing to in her head. Brittany's always been able to create a beat with her body. Her yellow chucks squeak on the floor and she giggles at the freedom to move around.

She's just dancing, like she always does, but it's sexy and it's beautiful and a million other things she'll never be able to make coherent, but it does things to Santana that it hasn't done in a long time. Brittany's freedom makes her tingle to her toes, and the smile on her face makes Santana feel free too. She follows Brittany with her eyes, with her body, turning in circles and just watching as Brittany does something as simple and wonderful as moving.

She's closer than she remembers before she can even notice, and Brittany's body slows as the beat in their heads fades away. With Santana in her dance space, she can't move as much due to the body that almost has her backed against the wall.

And, to be honest, Santana wouldn't have it any other way.

/

A look passes between them; it's nervous and unsure, but then Brittany's lips are curling up slightly and all doubt Santana has goes flying out the window. Her eyes catches a patch of skin on Brittany's hip, exposed from where her shirt has ridden up and her jeans hang low on her hips. The dark green of her shirt and wash of her jeans makes her skin look pale, even though she's been in the sun for the past month.

She backs out of her grasp as Santana's fingers brush her skin, but she misjudges how close she is as her back hits the wall with a dull thud. Santana's eyes darken and Brittany's lips part and she wants to kiss her, she wants to kiss her so badly, so properly, so much in the way that Brittany should be kissed, that she feels an ache down to her toes with want.

She bites her own lip at the thought and presses her palm against the wall right beside Brittany's head for support. She searches Brittany's face before she leans closer and breathes in the scent of her hair, just as her fingers skim over the heart-shaped metal of her belt buckle.

Brittany shivers when Santana's breath rattles against her neck, practically quakes when Santana leans in slowly and presses her lips gently to her pulse. She leaves her mouth still for a moment, but then drags her lips upward, open-mouthed kisses sucking against Brittany's jaw and up behind her ear. Her fingers work at Brittany's belt buckle, years of experience, of evenings on their couches and in the backs of cars, in movie theaters, meaning that it's seconds before her fingers are deftly opening the metal until it falls open.

"Do you want me?" she breathes as the button on Brittany's jeans follows her belt. Brittany barely nods, barely makes a sound as she remains anchored to the wall by Santana's body. Santana presses another open-mouthed kiss behind her ear. "Where do you want me?" she breathes.

Blue eyes widen and the only response that leaves her mouth is a soft and gentle broken moan. Santana smiles and works her way down Brittany's jaw. She kisses her chin just once before capturing Brittany's lips in a kiss that's instantly desperate and full of tongues tangling around each other, searching for more.

/

Brittany pulls away and pants against her mouth, breathless quicker than she usually is. It says enough and Santana sucks on her bruised bottom lip in triumph, feeling bold and in control. She doesn't think when she tugs on the lip in her mouth with her teeth, biting gently and pulling a sound from Brittany so wonderfully compliant and desperate that heat shoots directly to her center.

It feels like walking on a tightrope when she takes her hand away from the wall, losing all support for a moment as she draws her fingertips down Brittany's arm. Her index and middle finger circle her wrist and she smirks at Brittany, resting their foreheads together as Brittany arches up impatiently against her. She's too busy shuffling, trying to get Santana to kiss her again that it catches her completely off guard when Santana pushes her jeans down off her hips, just enough to fit her hand inside Brittany's underwear.

Brittany's breath catches, her eyes and mouthing growing wide as Santana presses her farther into the wall. Santana feels her flinch at the cold feel of the brick but forgets about it when she rounds her hand to Brittany's ass, lets her fingers dig into the curve of it before gripping at Brittany's thigh and tugging it around her waist. It creates more room and Santana's hand slips a little farther between Brittany's legs, cupping her gently.

Her face buries into Brittany's neck at the familiar feeling that still leaves her reeling. Moans kiss into Brittany's skin and she doesn't know what she's waiting for but she knows she needs something. Her fingers tease, slipping through her ss they become re-accustomed to the feeling. Brittany whines, jaw tight as she sucks in a breath through her teeth and moans it out when Santana's presses her fingers ever so teasingly in.

"Is this where you want me?" she chokes out in a whisper. Brittany nods, eyes fluttering closed the more pressure Santana exerts against her. "Say my name," she demands, "Say it."

Brittany moans and her hips cant against Santana's hand. "Santana..." she complies.

Santana pants. She kisses Brittany everywhere: her neck, her jaw, her chin, the hollow between her collarbones before dipping her head to kiss at the swell of her cleavage. "Again," she requests desperately lost. "Say it again."

"Santana..." she says again, but she doesn't really say it at all. It's just a moan, slipping free from her as Santana pushes two fingers inside of her.

/

She's not going slow but she's not going fast either. Her fingers push and curl, pulling to hit the right spot until Brittany squeaks and moans out all the little noises that Santana loves.

"Fuck, baby," she pants, mouth buried against Brittany's chest the higher she pushes herself on her tip-toes against the wall in the search for friction. Brittany undulates beneath her and it's almost hard to keep her pressed against the wall and her rhythm steady inside of her. Brittany's hands grip at her wrist and at the back of her neck. Fingernails bite at the top of Santana's spine and she arches at the sting before groaning at the feeling of Brittany reaching around to her ass. She forces her closer, sandwiches Santana's hand between their bodies as their hips grind together. She can feel Brittany's hip bones digging into her and it spurs her on. She wants Brittany to come. She needsher to come right now.

Her hand leaves Brittany's thigh and tangles in her hair. She guides Brittany back to her mouth, nips at her lips and tangles their tongues together again. Brittany sobs with need and gasps away from her, burying her face in Santana's shoulder. Santana won't allow it, though, and she shifts away until Brittany's looking at her. Their foreheads rest together, noses squashed, and Santana grips a naked hip and slows suddenly. She looks at Brittany and loses herself completely in blue eyes as she moves her fingers deeper into warmth.

She feels Brittany tightening around her and works against it, pushes harder inside of her and grips her hips to force her further against her fingers. Santana watches her as her eyes go wide and her body stiffens. She keeps moving, keeps her fingers steady until Brittany's sucking in oxygen, holding onto her tighter and panting against her mouth until she comes with one loud, drawn out echo of a moan.

She keeps curling her fingers, pressing in as hard and gently as she can, moving until she's drawn out every single bit from inside of her. She plans to keep going, to search for more but she stops when she hears gravel crunching beneath someone's feet and the sounds of people laughing.

"Brittany! Santana?" someone calls and Santana's eyes grow wide, matching Brittany's until her hand's pulling away and she's backing away so quickly that she doesn't stop until she reaches the opposite wall.

With eyes wide, she looks at Brittany; looks at her with her hair a mess, her jeans around the tops of her thighs and one shoe fallen to the floor. She takes in the red marks on her neck, how swollen her bottom lip is and the blush on her cheeks and can't believe how careless she's been.

/

She's frozen to the wall, breathing dangerously fast, when the voices get even closer. Her brain wills her body to move but it won't. It's paralyzed under the million different scenarios playing in her head of them being caught, of being forced to admit things she's suddenly aware she's no closer to being ready to admit. She remains stunned by the terrifying thoughts in her own head until the voices get even closer.

"Britt?" she hears Kurt call.

It's promptly followed by a concerned "Santana?" from Blaine.

The sound of her name gives her a soul-destroying crash back down to earth. It reminds her who she is, of how much she lost herself for a minute, and she chances a look at Brittany's face, only to find disappointed blue eyes.

"Britt..." she rasps out but it's useless. Brittany shakes her head as she breathes away tears. She rearranges her clothes, the euphoria of minutes ago becoming replaced with shame as she tugs her jeans back into place and slips her foot back into her shoe.

Her hands rub at all the places Santana kissed and then she pushes off the wall as her hands shakily buckle up her belt. She might as well be buckling up her heart.

"I gotta go," she breathes shakily, not looking as she turns to leave.

It's that which sparks Santana back into action. She presses her palms off the wall and darts towards her. "Britt, wait... please," she begs.

The door slams closed before she's even half way there but she opens it anyway. Kurt's there, stood right by the door with Blaine behind him. His mouth opens to speak but it falls when he sees her. He tilts his head to the side, his hand tentatively reaching out for her.

"Are you... okay?" he asks carefully and she snaps her eyes to him. She notices something different there, something knowing and sure and shrugs his hand away before he can get to her.

"I'm fine," she spits before she marches towards the house.

/

Brittany doesn't look at her. Not when the others are trying what to decide to do for dinner, or when she says she isn't hungry or when Quinn nudges her with a hip and asks her what's wrong. Brittany just shakes her head and tells them that she's going for a shower.

Santana debates following, but the guilt and the confusion eat at her and she just stands in the kitchen and watches as Brittany practically runs up the stairs to her room. Santana can already tell, just from the falter in her step, that she's probably trying not to cry and that following her would only make things worse.

Quinn stops her in the doorway on her way back outside for a smoke and looks at her with pointed, firm eyes.

"You okay?" she says softly and Santana turns to her, eyes sad and mouth unsure what to say.

She doesn't even think that's the problem. It's not that she's not sure what to say, it's what she wants to say. There's so many things she wants someone to answer, like why does she always do this? Why is she on a constant loop of the same thing, never changing? Why does she always hurt Brittany and make her the casualty of her own careless actions? Why can't she be stronger? There are so many question she wants to ask, so many that she hasn't even thought of yet.

She's not sure she'll even be able to answer most of them anymore.

"Is something wrong?" Quinn steps closer, curiously looking at her. Santana looks back and feels like she isn't the only one who needs answers, that she's not the only one who's so lost that she doesn't know where she's going anymore.

But when her mouth opens to speak, she finds that she doesn't even have the energy. She sighs and shakes her head.

"Nothing," she says softly, but from the way Quinn's eyes soften, Santana can tell that it really sounds like she's saying "everything".

/

Brittany doesn't look at her all through dinner and that's how she knows that things are getting worse.

It's like there's something stuck in Santana's throat that stops all the words she wants to say leaving her mouth. She watches Brittany and wills herself to speak but, deep down, she knows she can't promise anything other than what she already has. She can't say that anything will change because she still isn't ready, so all she can do is watch and try her best to be better.

They leave the restaurant with Artie and Quinn to go home while the others head off to a bar. She watches Brittany retreat to the new safety of her dance space and wishes that she felt like it was somewhere safe for her, too. But how can it be after their afternoon, after what she did? It's dangerous and she can't let that happen again. She's not strong enough to take that risk a second time. So, she sits with Artie and Quinn and plays cards while they wait for the others to return.

Santana can see her shadow out the corner of her eye and it makes her feel safe that Brittany's there. But, between that and the way Quinn searches the cupboards silently, she doesn't feel any more comforted.

/

She stays up until the others have returned, and until they've all disappeared drunk to bed. She waits until the giggling in the living room from Artie and Quinn has quieted before she takes the few tentative steps across the yard and over to the garage.

She clutches the keys in her hand, with the intention of making an excuse, and taps nervously on the door before entering.

She pauses at what she sees because it's not what she expected. She closes the door softly behind her and wanders to the corner of the room where Brittany has curled herself sleepily into a ball. Her chest tells her to just get on the floor and curl up with her, but her head reminds her that she can't – for whatever reason, she knows that she can't, because someone is punishing her.

Instead she slips down the wall beside Brittany's head and watches her sleep for long moments, until the world starts to go cold and quiet and she can almost hear the sounds of the waves licking at the shore. She sniffs, because unexpected tears wash down her cheeks, and pauses before she reaches to stroke Brittany's hair out of her face and away from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers gently, fingers tracing Brittany's jaw, her nose. "I'm sorry I can't be better for you..."

Brittany sighs when Santana's fingers curve her cheek and she cries quietly as she tries to imprint to memory how beautiful Brittany looks when she sleeps.

/

After a couple of hours and dozing off a little herself, she wipes her face and nudges Brittany awake. For a moment, she looks happy to see her, but then her eyes glaze over with that same disappointment and they both look away for different reasons.

"What time is it?" Brittany mumbles.

"Almost four," Santana says, checking her watch. Brittany looks up at her then, her eyes and mouth changing ready to ask her why she's up so late but Santana shakes her head. "I just remembered I needed to lock up the garage."

Brittany's head bows and she leaves to go upstairs before Santana's even remembered where she put her keys.

/

Hiding the alcohol doesn't stop them. They wake up and they go to the beach. They come back and they've somehow managed to get some alcohol or got drunk while they were gone.

It happens for a few more days and she doesn't say anything. They've got two weeks left of this vacation before they take the long trip back to Lima where they can pretend it never happened in the first place.

She figures she'll give them another chance because, sometimes, people deserve one. She sits in the kitchen most nights and shakes her head as they get drunk and watches Brittany's shadow through the window, admiring her as she performs move after perfect move.

She takes her snacks and drinks and figures she can try her best to make her smile again, to give her something worth smiling for.

She figures this isn't the trip that Brittany hoped for either and she can sympathize with that and knows that it's the little things that help make it better.

/

It's another night, another rowdy mess of drunken escapades and she hides out in the kitchen while letting the others run riot through her grandmother's house. She knows that she'll have to check the house to make sure that nothing's broken or been stolen, but she's tired of trying to stop them and resorts to just deal with it in the morning.

So, she sits in her kitchen smoking more cigarettes than a person who cares about her voice should, and plays a card game that her grandma used to get her to play when she was bored. She listens as her friends run around her grandmother's house like baby elephants, the girls screaming and the boys hollering. She hears the clink of bottles and the hissing of cans opening. She ignores it all and waits for the silence, concentrating on nothing other than breathing the thick smoke into her lungs, the cards in her hands and the shadow of Brittany moving ahead of her.

It's when the silence comes that she knows Brittany will exit the garage and head up to bed. She'll give her that look that begs her to follow and she hasn't so far, so she guesses she never will. Quinn will come to drunkenly say goodnight when Artie wheels her in to get a glass of water to take to bed with her.

And then it'll just be her, and the unbearable silence where only the thoughts in her head are left to irritate her.

/

Tonight is different, though. She can feel it in the air. She can sense the tingle of something new happening. Things still begin the same: they come back, they get drunk, they act like idiots, they go to bed when they're bored.

Except, tonight, it doesn't feel like they're bored. It feels like there's things going on that she doesn't know about that she wishes she did.

Brittany gives her that look again and she thinks that, maybe, that's it; she'll go upstairs. But it doesn't feel right, so she sits and waits a little longer for the silence.

It doesn't come.

It's broken by raised, muffled voices and the thud of footsteps as someone wanders downstairs.

Santana frowns when Kurt huffs his way into the kitchen, pausing when he sees her.

"What's wrong with you?" Santana asks, glancing indifferently back at her card game. He loiters at the door like he might be intruding, but she nods her head towards the chair beside her and waits for him to sit in it.

Kurt settles into the chair and crosses one leg over the other. "I was... I just wanted a glass of water and a minute to clear my head."

The tone of his voice catches her attention and she pauses mid-sip of her fresh cup of coffee to peer at him over the cup. She gulps and licks at her lips before taking another careful sip, preparing herself. "You okay?"

Kurt looks up at her for a minute, worries over her like a problem in a puzzle book, before he clears his throat. "Things are still weird with Blaine," he says softly. "He... we keep..." he blushes and clears his throat and she can't stop an amused smile into her cup. "We keep expecting the other to freak out."

"And what is there to freak out about?" she breathes out, setting down her coffee and going straight back to her cards. "I mean, you told him how it was, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he nods. "He completely understands that we're equals in this. Neither of us has ever done it before," he explains. "Just because he happens to know more about what's going to go on doesn't mean that it won't be the same for him... it just means that he's more prepared."

"I don't think you can ever truly be 'prepared' for that kind of thing," she says softly.

"Right?" he says shrilly before calming when she jumps back, holding her ear. "Right, sorry. But, exactly. I mean, were you?"

"What?" she says.

"Prepared."

Santana rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "No," she admits with a smirk. "No, I wasn't because knowing how to prevent STDs or shit like that has nothing to do with it and that's probably all he really knows about. That and 'waiting for the right one'. But, you've got both of those and, you know... nothing prepares you for what happens after, for how good or bad it is. How... complete you might feel... how fucking empty. Nothing really prepares you for how much things change."

Kurt eyes her curiously. "And how did you feel after your first time?" She scoffs and shakes her head. "No," he says prodding her in the arm. "How was your first time, Santana Lopez? I won't tell."

"It was perfect," she snaps and instantly blushes. "It was perfect because... I didn't expect it and because it was the only thing that felt right. My second time was worse than my first."

"Because you had a standard to live up to?"

She looks up at him and tries not to think about Puck thrusting atop her without a clue and the way she'd cried after, so lost and confused. "Yeah, sure," she nods but Kurt looks like he doesn't really believe her. He eyes her again and the sinking feeling in her gut instantly returns.

"So," he says carefully. "This person you lost it to... does it still feel right?"

Santana hands work furiously at the cards on the table, using them to keep her mind in order. She knows what move comes after another and she stares down and concentrates on keeping control. She gulps and nods. "Yeah..."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "And... what about for them? Does it still feel right for them?"

Santana feels that lump in her throat and she swallows against it. She feels like she's answering different questions to the ones she's being asked. She gulps. "Yeah..." she nods. "I think so."

Kurt nods and gets out of his chair. He gets himself a glass of water and moves to leave, but not before pausing in the doorway. He turns back to her and smiles. "Then, it sounds like you've got nothing to worry about."

/

His words burn and she stays up longer than she probably should. She sits with the cards in her hands for another half an hour before the urge to move overcomes her. She follows her feet until she's in her bedroom, tugging off her clothes and pulling one of her t-shirts over her head. But her room feels stifling and she's not tired. She needs another cigarette, so she exits her room again, but not before stopping to check if Brittany's okay.

She is, of course; fast asleep, her body wrapped around one of her pillows and the covers kicked to the floor. Santana smiles and steps into the room to cover her back up, making sure she's covered from her chin to her toes. She leans to press a kiss to her forehead and pauses, nose caressing her cheek as she breathes her in.

"I love you," she whispers, not wanting her to forget, and receives a sigh in response.

She presses another lingering kiss to her cheek before leaving the room, but all she really wants is to stay.

/

"Oh, Santana, it's just you."

She almost craps her pants, but so would anyone if they walked into their kitchen and found Rachel Berry wielding a skillet and dressed in a black lace babydoll.

"What are you doing?" she hisses, grabbing the hunk of metal from her hands and throwing it back down on the stove. "It's 3am..." she pauses and takes another look at what Rachel's wearing before quickly averting her eyes. "Are you seriously wearing that, right now?"

Rachel blushes. "I was... Finn and I... he talked me into..."

Santana holds up a hand. "Do not finish that sentence."

Rachel nods and quickly makes her way to sit down at the kitchen table. "I didn't think anyone else was up," she says softly. "I was going to make some pancakes and coffee." She shrugs. "I thought it would be the best idea."

Santana takes in a deep breath and shakes her head. Her hands move to the coffee maker to put on a fresh pot and she reaches for all the ingredients to make Rachel's stupid vegan pancakes. She moves to stop her but Santana calmly shakes her head and indicates for her to sit down as she reaches for the ingredients to make normal pancakes for herself.

"What did he do this time?" she asks softly, mixing batter.

Rachel shifts in her chair and moves closer to the table, folding her arms on the wood. "He got angry at me again and... we had a fight," she whispers. "When I'm drunk it's easier to say that I'll do it, but... once I'm sober it just..." she sighs dejectedly and Santana keeps her eyes away, staring down at the batter in the bowl. "Maybe I should get drunk and do it..."

Santana scoffs out a laugh. "Don't be stupid, Berry."

"It'd get it out of the way," she argues but her heart isn't in it. "At least I wouldn't be the only virgin left."

Santana turns, grabbing the fresh coffee on the way. She pours Rachel a cup with a frown. "What about Wheezy? I thought her cherry was still intact."

"Her and Sam are in our room as we speak," she explains softly. "We agreed that we'd take tonight to lose our virginities to our respective boyfriends so that we could take something memorable from this trip and start our senior year as stronger, more powerful women."

"And sleeping with the man child and Trouty Mouth is going to make you stronger, more powerful women?" Santana laughs.

Rachel stares into her cup of coffee like it might hold the answers. "I guess not..."

Santana doesn't say anything else and, for once, Rachel seems happy enough to sit in silence without saying something stupid. Santana makes them pancakes and tries not to concentrate on how nice she's being, as Rachel sips on hot coffee.

"Here," Santana says once the pancakes are done. She puts the huge stack in front of Rachel and watches her eyes go wide. "I mixed more batter than I thought," she explains. "Eat up."

Rachel does as she's told and waits for Santana to sit down with her own plate before she speaks. "These are great," she says timidly.

Santana just nods in response. She's awesome at pancakes but she's better at french toast. "They could use some bacon but, whatever..."

They lapse back into silence. Rachel clears her plate but, the more food she eats and the more leftover booze in her system that gets soaked up by them, the more tired she starts to look. She rests her chin on her hand and lets her eyes flutter closed. Santana can't help but feel a little sorry for her.

"Why don't you go sleep on the couch?" she says gently.

Rachel blinks back awake. "Artie and Quinn are on there," she yawns. "And Puck took her bed upstairs." She rolls her eyes. "He tried to get me to share with him, but... I know better."

Santana nods and watches Rachel for a few more moments, falling gently asleep on her own arm. She feels a swell of sympathy for her and thinks for a moment before pouring herself another cup of coffee and nudging her awake. Rachel looks up at her blearily before sitting up straight.

"Take my bed," Santana says quietly. Rachel looks confused and opens her mouth but Santana cuts through her before she can say anything offensive. "I'm... I'm not tired. So, just, take my bed, okay?"

Rachel must notice something because she looks at her for a minute before nodding and standing. Santana's eyes flicker over her body and she blushes a little, clearing her throat. "Do you wanna... borrow a shirt or something?" she asks.

"I'm fine, thank you," Rachel smiles and Santana thinks it might be the first genuine smile she's received in days. She quirks her lips a little before looking back down at her coffee as Rachel moves around the kitchen, tidying away her plate and washing out her coffee cup.

"Rachel?" Santana says, needing to say something else. She doesn't know why, she just feels like she needs to. She wishes she could have that same feeling in other areas of her life. Rachel turns to look at her with tired eyes. "You're better than Finn Hudson," she shrugs. "And Puck, if we're being honest... but that's not exactly difficult." She shakes her head. "I just want to say that, if he's trying to push you into it... he's not worth it."

Rachel smiles again and nods. Santana looks away and plans on not looking up until she hears feet climbing the stairs. What she doesn't plan on is the hand that lands on her shoulder and squeezes gently, or the way that Rachel looks at her warmly, like she's a stranger who just gave her the most random act of kindness.

"Thank you, Santana," she says and then she's gone, leaving Santana alone to wait for the silence and hope for some sleep.

/

The sun's coming up when someone nudges her awake. She looks around blearily, ready to attack, but softens when she sees glasses-framed eyes and a concerned face. The heels of her hands rub the ache from her eyes and she leans on her elbows as she cups her head in her hands, not sure if her neck can hold it up much longer.

"What time is it?" she asks gruffly.

"Five," Artie says his own voice thick with a distinct lack of sleep. "I just thought you might want to head up and get a couple more hours."

She shakes her head. "Can't..." she groans. "I gave Rachel my bed."

He looks surprised for a minute before he wheels himself to the coffee maker and puts on yet another fresh pot. She looks at him suspiciously. "What are you doing up, anyway? Shouldn't you be snuggling up to Quinn?" His silence says more than words do but, for once, Santana would prefer the words. She frowns at him and grabs a hold of his chair as he tries to move away. "What?" she says, expecting the worst.

He turns his his chair and purses his lips, hands folding in his lap and worrying themselves together. "I can't sleep," he shrugs. "I can't... I can't rest knowing what she might do while I'm not awake."

Santana leans back away from him like she's been burned, like his words are bursts of fire. "Artie..." she says softly.

"No, Santana," he gasps desperately. "Santana, we need to talk about this."

She rubs the ache from her forehead, presses two fingers to her temples and pushes against the pressure there, trying to ease it. Her other hand reaches for her packet of cigarettes and takes two and slips them between her lips. She lights them both with her grandpa's old Zippo and then holds one out for Artie.

"I don't..." he says and pushes her hand away. "It makes my throat hurt..."

"Take the damn cigarette, Abrams," she breathes out, exhausted. "Because a tickle in your throat will be the last of your worries once I've shoved it up your ass... take the damn cigarette because I'm not having this conversation unless you're calm."

He's timid, but he takes the cigarette from her and holds it between his fingers. She waits for him to smoke it but, after a few minutes, she figures that having something in his hands might preoccupy that panic in his mind.

"I don't know where she's getting it from," he whispers as she puffs steadily. "I think a lot of it used to be Puck, but even he's stopped giving it to her now."

Santana rests the end of the cigarette on her bottom lip and sighs. "If she wants it, she'll get it, Artie."

"And that's why I can't sleep," he says, his voice wavering into nothingness at the end of his words. She looks at him pointedly, their eyes burning into each other until he shakes his head and slips the cigarette between his lips. He breathes it in readily and she's surprised when he doesn't splutter and cough. Instead, his eyes gaze out the window. "Do you think it's serious?"

Santana rolls her eyes and can't believe they're having this conversation already. She thought she had a while yet, maybe until they got home, tops. It would be easy to pretend while they were supposed to be having fun but she can't believe it's that bad already. But, as she looks at Artie, she thinks that maybe he sees and knows stuff that she doesn't.

"Yeah," she says because there's no point in lying. She turns to him with steady eyes but nervous hands and watches as he breathes out unevenly. "But I don't know what or why yet."

/

It's a little while after, once they've drunk enough coffee to last a just a little longer, when he clears his throat and looks down at his lap.

"I don't want to hurt Quinn," he says unexpectedly and she stares at the wall in front of her before narrowing her eyes.

"Then don't."

"You don't understand," he whispers, looking around him to see if anyone's listening, even though none of them will be up for hours yet. Not even Berry. "I don't want to hurt Quinn but I'm worried that I've done it anyway..."

Santana's eyes soften a little.

"I slept with Tina," he says reluctantly. Santana's eyes widen despite any indifference or disinterest she might want to feign. "In Orlando. She... I slept with Tina," he shrugs. "And it wasn't what I thought it was going to be."

Past the shock, she's able to notice what he isn't saying through what leaves his mouth. She reads between the lines and smiles a little. "And why's that?" she asks carefully.

His sappy little smile and the pink of his cheeks makes her want to tease him. She doesn't, though, and takes the moment to smirk a little in triumph. She totally called it.

"Because..." he shrugs and clears his throat. "I would rather have kissed someone else a lot sooner."

Santana resists the urge to aww at him and instead shrugs in indifference which, by the sudden look of relief on his face, he didn't expect. "You should ask her out."

He leans back a little and laughs nervously. "You're being a lot cooler about this than I thought you would be."

"Well," she says, pouring them both another coffee. "You like her. And, God knows why, but she likes you, so... I see no reason why you shouldn't." She pauses mid-pour and looks at him. "But, just so we're clear, you mess her up or hurt her and I will go all Lima Heights on your ass, understood?"

He looks like someone just told him he won the lottery. She looks at him and suddenly feels a kindred spirit in him, an ally that she knows she's going to need. She knows that he understands that it's the little things that are important, that there are bigger things than who gets to pick where they eat dinner or whether someone pushed you in the pool. He gets it and, in this moment, she's never been more aware of that.

But, still, she can't stop herself from asking, if only to prepare for a shit-storm later on.

"So, does... Mike know?" Artie's smile instantly falls. "About you and Tina?"

Artie nods after a moment. Santana watches as his throat ripples with a gulp. "I wasn't the only one who had some revelations from the experience," he explains. "She told Mike and he took her back. She said that it made her realize how much she actually loved him."

Santana nods in understanding. "Are you..."

"I'm fine," he smiles and, feeling like she has someone on her side, Santana returns it.

/

They make a plan and, at breakfast, she gathers the others together to tell them.

"From now on," she says softly. "There's no alcohol in this house unless I say so. I'm instating a no drunks policy: if you're drinking or drunk, you can't be in this house." She shrugs and looks at Artie to see him watching Quinn carefully as her jaw tightens. "This house has seen enough damage and vomit for one month and there's not going to be anymore."

She looks no one in the eyes as she shrugs again and steps away from the table.

She's in her room before the bitching starts. She's glad for Artie in the midst of it, fighting in her corner.

/

She spends her morning at uncle Frank's, avoiding the others and their bitching. She sits at the bar and listens to the old stories she's heard a million times, that she can almost recite word for word, and laughs when he flicks at her with a towel.

When Brittany wanders in early afternoon and pauses a little before she steps up to the bar, Uncle Frank notices the change in the air instantly.

"The others..." Brittany starts, hands in the backs of her jeans and feet turned inwards. "I was trying to dance but they wouldn't leave me alone. They said I had to get you to change your mind."

Santana gulps down a mouthful of her drink. "I'm not changing my mind."

"I know," Brittany nods. "I just... I figured that if I told them I was coming here that they'd leave me alone and, maybe, Uncle Frank would let me borrow his dance floor while it's empty?"

Frank laughs at her but nods anyway. He pats the stool next to Santana first. "In a while," he says. "I just made burgers and you need to eat."

/

"She was born to move, that girl," he says a little while later.

Santana nods as she watches her glide across the floor to the applause of the old patrons at the other side of the bar. "She's practicing for when school's over and she gets into dance school."

"Is that what she wants to do?"

Santana shrugs and looks up at him. "I don't know..." she admits honestly. "I think she just doesn't want to be left behind. She doesn't think she can get into college."

Frank lifts the empty plates and glasses from in front of her. "Sounds like she needs someone to believe in her," he says. "Isn't there anything else she wants to do?"

Santana opens her mouth but then something sparks in her memory. She narrows her eyes at Brittany. "Hey, Frank?" She mutters. "Do you still know that guy that works at that aquarium?"

Frank looks at her and laughs. She ignores it though, her mind working a hundred miles a minute. "You got an idea, Cookie?" he asks gently.

When she smiles mischievously, he laughs again.

/

They're kind of lucky to have such a privilege at such short notice, but everyone sorta loves Uncle Frank. Brittany looks reluctant to follow her but with an encouraging shove from Frank, she lets Santana lead her back to the house, where they bypass the still-arguing others and head straight for her Grandma's Cadillac.

"I... thought you wanted to go for a drive in it," Santana says nervously, toying with the keys in her hands. When she sees the first hint of Brittany's smile, she thinks that, maybe, today might be okay.

/

She drives them the long way and gets there just as the park owners are closing the gates. Brittany's eyes narrow and brighten when she sees where they are.

"Santana," she says when Santana reels off her name and the name of the person Uncle Frank spoke to on the phone earlier. "What is this?"

Santana drives into the aquarium and hits the breaks in the middle of the empty parking lot. She turns to Brittany and shrugs. "You're here to swim with dolphins," Santana explains to her gently. "Like you always wanted..."

Santana feels tears prick at her eyes when Brittany's eyes widen in surprise and her face drops with shock. Her mouth opens to speak but she can't quite manage to form the words, so Santana laughs a little and shrugs like it's nothing. If she pretends like it's nothing, then it's easier to ignore the fact that Brittany's looking at her like she's the best thing in the world.

"I just..." she shrugs and looks at Brittany honestly. "I wanted you to remember that there's more things you can do than dance..."

With a dart of her eyes around them to see if anyone's watching, Brittany's hands are on her cheeks and her lips are pressed against hers.

/

She sits at the sidelines as Uncle Frank's old boating buddy leads Brittany to the pool and urges her to jump in. She snaps pictures of Brittany as she wades through the water, eyes wide with awe as beautiful bottle-nosed dolphins swim around her waist and attempt to get her attention.

"You're a natural," she hears the trainers say as Brittany dances with the dolphins and makes them do flips. She watches them jump into the air under Brittany's signal, collects Brittany's beaming smiles like they're made of gold. She snaps pictures with her camera and takes videos that will no doubt make it onto the internet at some point. She laughs when Brittany giggles and tries her hardest not to cry when Brittany keeps looking for her as if to make sure everything's really happening.

When Brittany cocks her head to the side and gives her the softest of smiles, Santana laughs and rolls her eyes, noticing the tears are flowing anyway.

/

They sit on the hood of her grandma's car once they've left, Brittany still wrapped in a blanket to try and get warm from the cold water of the pool. The temperature has dropped and the gray storm clouds roll on up ahead. Brittany shuffles closer, shivering from the cold and Santana finds it easy to wrap her arm around Brittany's back and pull her in.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers, head resting on Santana's shoulder.

Santana smiles a little. "For what?"

"Today," Brittany says, turning to look at her. Santana takes a deep breath in when she realizes how close they are. She can see every single one of Brittany's eyelashes and notices how pretty they are without mascara tainting them. She watches them flutter against Brittany's cheek bones and, even further than that, watches the way that Brittany stares at her lips.

The sun is down and the beach is deserted. Santana tightens her arm around Brittany and holds her breath until she feels cold lips against hers. It's okay; this she can handle. So, she keeps kissing her until the first drops of rain begin to fall steadily around them.

/

They fight to get the top up on the Cadillac and laugh until they're collapsing together in the back seat, giggling and soaked from head to toe in Florida rain. Santana fumbles for the keys in her pocket and begins to climb into the front until Brittany's pulling her back, lips on hers again, ruthless and persistent in their kisses.

"Britt," she says, resisting. It may be dark and the beach may be deserted, but the fear of days before creeps on her until she feels frozen against the wall again, not knowing what to do. "Britt, no... we can't..."

Brittany presses their bodies together and shakes her head. "Yes, we can," she breathes against her lips. "I'll look after you..." she moans as her hands cup Santana's breasts and she guides Santana back onto the red leather seats. "I need you," she whispers and Santana's gone and giving in before she knows what she's doing.

She lets Brittany wrestle her out of her jacket and unbutton her plaid shirt until her bikini's on show. Santana pants, thighs straddling Brittany as her hands grip dangerously at the chair to stop herself from caving in. Brittany must notice, but she ignores it as she flattens herself to the backseat and bends her knees. Santana's body shakes as Brittany urges her up enough that she can fight with Santana's belt and drag her cut offs down her legs. She wriggles out of her own jeans and Santana closes her eyes to avoid watching them be carelessly thrown into the front seat.

She's been in this situation what feels like hundreds of detached times before. Their underwear is lost before Santana can even notice and, with her eyes closed, she can pretend that they're not in Florida. She can pretend that nothing's wrong and that it's a year ago in an empty school parking lot in Ohio after Cheerios practice.

It's easy to rearrange their bodies, shifting around awkwardly and quickly until their pelvises lock together and she can feel the familiar sensation of Brittany's center pressing against each other. She feels the friction of Brittany's clit against hers and presses closer to it out of sheer habit, moaning as she finds the rhythm that shouldn't be so easy to remember after so long. Her warmth thrusts against Brittany's and she groans in frustration as she concentrates on her release. She strives for what used to be the only thing that was important, even as Brittany gasps and grips at her waist, fingernails digging warningly into her skin.

"Santana... no..." she pants, even as Santana can feel the pleasure rushing through Brittany's body. She's wet and that's all Santana concentrates on. "Santana... please..." she ignores the rough timbre of her voice, the fear and the warning, and carries on pretending that Brittany wants the same thing as she does. "San... please..."

Santana moans and shudders, despite herself, emotion coursing through her. She tries to pretend that it feels the same, but it doesn't. All that's going through her mind is that it didn't hurt as much when they did it this way. It was easier when they did it this way. It wasn't so hard to not want Brittany when she was taking her so detached like this and she shakes her head into the cold air as she tries to pretend that she isn't lying to herself, to both of them.

"Santana!" Brittany whimpers. She feels hips wriggling and she tries to force her body down harder to keep going. Her knuckles go white with the struggle. It's easier to hurt Brittany this way, with detached and meaningless sex, than with the way she has been.

But, quickly, it all comes to a stop.

"Santana, no..." Brittany says again desperately in a way that unsettles Santana.

Her eyes flutter open and she takes a moment to brace herself before she looks down at Brittany. Tearful blue eyes break her heart and the despair and disappointment in them ruins her as she still cants her pelvis against Brittany's.

"It's not the same," Brittany chokes gently and Santana slows to a stop before collapsing on top of her, legs still tangled together. It doesn't take long until she realizes she's sobbing, too, that her body's shuddering with tears. Brittany flinches away from her but Santana wraps her arms around her, pulling them back together. Brittany steadies her heartbeat. "It's not the same," she says softly.

Santana sobs against her chest, into the moistness of her rain-soaked shirt. She clutches at her and sobs until Brittany reciprocates, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close enough that it starts to feel like they're one person. Santana sobs harder as she tries to work out how someone can feel so close and so far away at the same time. It doesn't make sense.

"It's okay," Brittany whispers. "It's okay." She nuzzles into Santana's cheek, strokes a hand down her back and tangles the other in her hair to steady her. "It doesn't matter," she whispers when Santana tries to explain and only breathless sobs leave her. "I just don't want to do that anymore... I can't have you like that... We're better than that now. I can't go back."

Santana hears her gulps where her ear presses to Brittany's throat. "I want all of you," Brittany admits quietly, like she's too afraid to say them out loud in case they make something break.

"I'm sorry," Santana manages to choke out when Brittany starts to press kisses into her hair, down her jaw. They kiss whatever they can reach until their mouths finally find each other, and Santana kisses her apologies into Brittany's mouth as deeply as she can. "I'm sorry," she shakes her head and has never felt so lost or ashamed in her life. "I'm so sorry."

Brittany sighs, but Santana can't tell if it's in relief or in fear of the inevitable.

"It doesn't matter," she repeats and Santana cries harder because she knows now, more than anything, that it does.