LXXXVIII

Brittany wakes up; it's dark and she's alone. The bed is empty when she turns around and tries to grasp her surroundings. She's alone in the bedroom.

She leaves the bed and takes Santana's spare robe from her closet before she leaves, feeling the cold fabric against her skin as she dresses herself.

Santana is standing by the window, wearing a red robe wrapped loosely around her waist. She seems to be lost in thought, nestling a mug in her hands and staring at nothing in particular.

It's dark. There's only a lamp lit up by Santana's side.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, yawning. She stands behind the couch, her hands touching the fabric as she considers taking a few steps closer. "What time is it?"

"Around 3 am, maybe," Santana answers without looking at the clock. "I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep." She fiddles a bit with the mug, distracted. "Do you want some tea? I just made some."

Brittany shakes her head. "No, I'm fine." A tense silence falls. Was it the late hour or was it them? Brittany doesn't know. She takes a shaky breath – she has to know. "Are we breaking up, Santana?"

The mug shines under the glow of the lamp when Santana turns it in her hands, staring at its contents before looking at Brittany. Brittany watches Santana's jawline tensing, but says nothing.

"Do you want to?" Santana asks and sips her tea. "Be honest."

The window must be cracked open; she can hear the slow whisper of wind filling the silence around them. She wonders if Santana is always going to avoid her questions.

"I don't. Do you?" she asks, her mouth dry in anticipation.

Maybe the effort is not worth it, maybe it's too late—

"No." Santana looks right at Brittany. "I want us to work."

Brittany closes her eyes in relief, releasing the breath she had been holding. She realizes this is going to take a while, so she takes a seat on the couch. "I think we need an Honesty Hour."

LXXXIX

Santana sits on an armchair and takes a deep breath. "You start."

Brittany crosses her legs, swallowing dry before saying, "I resent you for closing me off and being evasive. I feel left out of everything, from your past to your present to your family to your feelings."

Santana doesn't say anything for a moment. She sets her mug aside and clears her throat, her posture stiffening. "I resent you for making me the villain in our relationship. I make mistakes."

Fair point. But Brittany has had a comeback ready for some time now and she has to say it, even if she feels paralyzed. "I resent you for making me feel unimportant. I feel like I'm second place in your life. I feel like I care more than you do."

Santana doesn't miss a beat. She doesn't try to argue, respecting the rules Brittany had set – she just looks sad and alone on the other side of the room. "I resent you for not telling the truth when I ask if you're mad or how you feel. I feel blindsided."

Fair point, Brittany has to concede once more. She frowns a bit and runs her tongue along her lower lip. "I resent you for not wanting to change anything for our relationship. I feel like I'm always the one to give in. I resent you for making me always take the first step."

Santana frowns in return, surprised. She runs the tips of her fingers on the armrest, nodding, immersed in thought. She finally looks back at Brittany. "I resent you for not being there for me when I needed you."

Brittany sighs and runs her clammy hands on her robe. There they were, in circles again, in circles as always – was there a way out? "I resent you for turning tables and making me feel like the bad guy. I had awful timing, but I couldn't have known about your grandma."

XC

Santana falls silent. It's her turn, but she seems to have said her piece. Brittany looks at her own hands and she is trembling, she is terrified of this conversation; she bites her lip and stares at the ground for a moment to recollect her thoughts.

Brittany knows she has to change directions. "I'm sorry I snapped at you over the phone."

The left corner of Santana's mouth lifts a bit as she nods in understanding. Brittany's glad for the silence, for once – every word in the living room seems to echo and she doesn't really know what to do with them.

Santana's hands grasp the armrest. "I'm sorry I snapped at you when you arrived." She gestures between them. "Pot, meet kettle."

Brittany clears her throat. She has another big apology to make, so she continues. "I'm sorry about your grandma. It must have been hard for you."

Santana nods again - barely perceptible, her eyes closing for a second too long in acceptance. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you didn't matter. It was never my intention." Her hands still hold the armrest so tight Brittany can see her knuckles turning white. "You're very important to me. I want you in my life."

Brittany feels warmth creep upon her cheeks. "I'm glad we are talking now."

"I'm glad you came to me today." Santana takes a moment to hesitate before standing up. She sits on the far end of the couch, closer to Brittany but not yet close enough. "I'm so glad you didn't just give up on us."

XCI

Santana falls silent one more time. She's soft and tentative, like Brittany's a bird she might scare away if she's too blunt. Brittany feels it's time to change directions again; she slides forward on the couch – it's in vain and Santana's still on the other side, but she can't help trying to be closer.

"Why did you accept our breakup so easily?"

Santana sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "You're not the first to break up with me like that, to bottle it up and yell at me when you can't stand it anymore." She looks into Brittany's eyes, very serious. "I had already noticed you bottling up your frustration, and I didn't know what to do to fix it. I was hoping you'd come to me and we could talk about it. And honestly? I was tired and sad and confused – I didn't have the strength to argue."

The wind finally forces the window open - its rhythmic slams against the wall take over the room. Santana gets up to close it. When she walks back to the couch, Brittany pats the space right next to her and Santana takes the cue.

She settles next to Brittany, thigh against thigh, the familiar scent of her skin taking over, and it's like they are finally getting somewhere. "I respect you, Brittany. I respect the decisions you make. I won't try to convince you to be with me, because you are the only one who knows if it's good for you, if you want this. I won't negotiate."

Brittany holds Santana's stare. "I wish you had said something, anything at all. When you hung up I was as surprised as you," she says, clasping her hands together to stop their trembling. "I never meant for us to break up. I wanted us to be better together."

Santana looks away and sighs. "I just wanted to run away from it. I didn't know what to do. I told myself I needed to focus on my family and think about us later, when I had cooled down." She stops and frets with her robe, staring at the window. "My family – it can be overwhelming."

Brittany presses. "I wish you'd told me."

Santana turns to look at Brittany again; their thighs brush harder against one another. "I was hurting. I was so tired and confused… I couldn't stop thinking about that phone call. It was driving me crazy." She turns on another lamp by the couch; Brittany can see her clearly now, without shadows. "I felt really afraid. How we met… it's unusual. We have different jobs and we move in different circles. We might as well have never met. We could just as well never meet again. You would never have to see me if you didn't want to." She wraps the robe around herself a bit tighter; her voice barely above a whisper. "I was so scared. I didn't know what to do."

Brittany bites her lip; her heart beats quickly in her chest.

Santana continues in a small voice, "Why didn't you just talk to me before? I told you: tell me when it stops being fun."

"I don't know," Brittany confesses. "I feel guilty because you have a job to get to, and when we meet you always look like you're sorry and you apologize." Her eyes scan Santana's face before dropping to her own hands. "I didn't feel like there was a good moment. I didn't feel like I could talk to you. Sometimes you're hard to get to."

"I know." Santana looks so beaten, so tired. She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. It's a hard habit to break."

Brittany presses. "Are you willing to?"

Santana's answer is surprisingly fast. "Yes. Anything you want."

XCII

"I want to say something – something I should have made clear a long time ago," Santana says. She takes a few deep breaths; Brittany gives her time. "I'm happier when I'm with you. I – I feel light, like I have something to look forward to." Her eyes quietly meet Brittany's. "You're so free, Britt, and so fulfilled – like I wish I could be."

Brittany can feel herself blushing, the warmth on her face spreading to her ears and her neck.

Santana places her hand between them, palm up. "I like who I am when I'm with you. I'm at my best." Brittany understands the offer and intertwines their fingers tightly. Santana's entire body seems to loosen in relief. "Much better."

XCIII

The sky begins to turn into a lighter blue. How much time had passed? Brittany uses her free hand to draw patterns on Santana's arm. She feels calmer and braver; on an impulse, she pulls Santana closer, lying back against the couch.

Santana complies and lies on top of her, head on Brittany's collarbone; Brittany lets out a breathy sigh of relief. She nuzzles the top of Santana's head, taking in the scent of her shampoo as she wraps one arm around Santana's waist. Santana sighs and nestles herself more against Brittany.

"Quinn is harsh, by the way."

Santana nods and laughs a bit before yawning, her nose scrunching up a bit. "She can be. She said both of us need a good slap in the face."

Brittany raises her eyebrows when she remembers Quinn's face. "She is scary. Did she talk to you?"

Santana shakes her head and plays with Brittany's hand. "Not yet. She is torn between defending me and wanting to bitch slap me back to my senses," she says with a hint of a smile.

"I don't want her to be mad at me."

"It's not like anyone has the heart to." Santana kisses Brittany's pulse point. Brittany wonders if she can feel her heartbeat, erratic under her lips. "You're the type of person who makes funny faces at children on the subway."

Brittany's blush sets in again, stronger; she feels her entire body hot and she wonders if she has turned into a tomato for good by now. "I was hoping you hadn't noticed."

Santana laughs. "Who doesn't notice a tall blonde on the subway? There wasn't much to look at but you."

XCIV

"Santana, dad said—" Quinn's sentence stops short when she looks up from her phone and spots Brittany. She soothes her black nightgown with her hand before speaking again, "Look who spent the night."

"Good morning," Santana says simply.

"Good morning," Quinn answers politely. "I take it you two are good now?"

"Trying to," Santana answers. "What do you say, Britt?"

"Getting there?" Brittany answers. She feels nervous under Quinn's stare.

Quinn smiles. "Welcome back, Brittany. Took you both long enough. Now, if you'll excuse me, Tony will be here in half an hour and I'm far from ready." She turns to Santana. "Or should I tell him to come by a bit later?"

Santana shakes her head. "No. I don't want to be late."

XCV

"Are you not going to sleep?" Brittany frowns.

Santana puts a lock of hair behind Brittany's ear. "No time. I'll take a nap on the plane."

"I have an idea," Brittany says, quietly leaning into Santana's ear. "You meet me tonight at eight and we continue. Can you?"

She sees the hairs on the back of Santana's neck stand as she shivers. It makes her smile. "Yes. We have a small trip to Washington, but we should be back by five." When she turns to look at Brittany, she seems to realize how close they are, and her eyes fall to Brittany's lips.

Brittany runs her tongue along her lower lip. Santana watches.

Quinn clears her throat, and Santana's little startled jump makes Brittany smile.

XCVI

Brittany gets dressed; she stands by the closet mirror, checking her hair and pulling on her crocheted scarf when Santana gently takes her wrist. Brittany turns to her – she looks gorgeous again, donning a long-sleeved black dress, impeccable makeup hiding every sign of tiredness.

"See you tonight?" Santana asks softly. Brittany understands she means will we see each other again?

She nods. "Yes. Tonight. Don't worry."

Santana's hand lets go of Brittany's wrist and she intertwines their fingers. Brittany pulls her closer until their bodies meet.

"I am going to ruin your makeup a little bit now, okay?" Brittany asks, inching her face closer. Santana nods and stands on her toes. She clings to Brittany's scarf as they join their lips, letting out a breathy sigh when Brittany wraps her arms around her, steadying her.

Brittany kisses her lower lip, pulling it between her own; she runs her teeth along Santana's inner lip, worrying the flesh, and Santana actually whimpers into the kiss, pressing her body against Brittany a little harder.

Quinn's voice breaks the spell from the living room. "Santana, are you ready? Time's up!"

Santana takes a small step back, licking her own lips as she stares at Brittany's. "Be out in a second!"

"Don't you have a meeting to go to?" Brittany asks, teasing, as she turns to the mirror to wipe off Santana's bright red lipstick from her own lips.

Santana rolls her eyes but doesn't answer, choosing to enter the bathroom and fix her makeup instead.

XCVII

Brittany looks forward to it all day. She texts Santana the address and tells her to show up in comfortable clothing, and Santana answers immediately that she will be there. She has breakfast with Rachel, she goes to work, she has lunch with Mike, and nothing sticks – the day passes through her as she waits and plans.

XCVIII

Santana enters the dance studio slowly, looking around. She's dressed in what are most likely her workout clothes, and her hair is in a tight ponytail. Brittany smiles at her tentative steps, trying to guess what's next.

The mirrors in every wall multiply their images infinite times.

Brittany is barefoot, wearing loose, comfortable clothing. Santana stands before her, expectant. "I thought we'd try some stretching," Brittany says. "Against the mirror."

Santana doesn't move for a moment, expecting an explanation. Brittany stares right back at her. She has to get Santana to give up control and just go with the flow.

She runs her hand along the back of Santana's arm, taking a step closer.

"Trust me on this," she says softly, looking into Santana's eyes.

Santana rests her hands on Brittany's waist.

"Let me lead, darling," Brittany asks.

Santana finally nods. Brittany joins their lips for a moment, gentle and encouraging. Santana sighs into the kiss; she breaks the contact and walks toward one of the mirrors. Brittany stops her when she's a few feet away, holding her by the waist, and runs her hand down the smooth skin of Santana's arm until Santana's hands are on the mirror.

Santana licks her lower lip.

"Place your weight on your forearms," Brittany puts some of her own weight into Santana, her front meeting Santana's back, her breath on Santana's ear. "Keep your heels on the ground."

Santana obeys. It's easy. Brittany counts in her head. She makes Santana stand a few inches further from the mirror, her calves stretching. She adds more weight to Santana. She sees Santana's biceps tensing.

She waits for Santana to begin to notice how she carries herself; time seems to become slower as she counts the seconds.

"Nice. Now sit on the floor."

Santana silently does so. Brittany kneels by her side and touches Santana's thigh, palm warm against the fabric, so Santana crosses her right leg over her left. Santana looks into her eyes the whole time, breasts rising and falling faster.

She smells like honey and wood, like trees and something else – it's both familiar and distracting.

Brittany takes Santana's left hand and places it on Santana's right leg. Santana frowns a bit with the uncomfortable position, but doesn't question it. "Now rotate your upper body to the right, nice and slow."

She kneels behind Santana, running her hand slowly over Santana's shoulders, over her back, feeling the muscles responding to the exercise. "I get you, you know. The kind of person you are," she says to Santana's ear. "You think you are what you do – you're all about the brains, the actions, the plans. You get things done."

She sees the goose bumps on Santana's arms; she wonders if her heart is pounding strongly enough for Santana to feel against her skin.

"Switch sides," she instructs. Santana obeys. Brittany touches her again, pressing her palm against Santana's back, feeling the muscles and guiding the exercise.

It's incredibly silent again; all she can hear is their shaky breaths.

"Do you know which muscles you use the most, which ones are always tense?" She presses into a particular spot on Santana's lower back and earns a painful whine. "Are you aware of your posture?"

Her lower lip grazes the shell of Santana's ear – all she wants for a second is to attach her lips to Santana's neck. But she doesn't; she takes a red foam roll and gives it to Santana.

"Lie face down with one leg on this," she instructs. Santana obeys, her arms tensing with the effort to hold her upper body. "Roll over the foam between your hip and knee, darling," Brittany says.

She places her hand on the back of Santana's thigh, making sure Santana is shifting as much weight onto the foam roll as she can.

This exercise is much more difficult; Santana struggles with it a bit before she finds her balance among the slow, deliberate movements.

Brittany grins at Santana's effort before she continues softly, "You don't know your body or your limits. Your migraines, your insomnia, your pain: you need to understand it." She pauses for a moment and chooses a point of tension. "Hold."

She sees Santana's thighs tensing, trying to support her weight.

Santana breathes loudly through her mouth. Brittany counts, trying to ignore her own clammy hands. "Keep rolling," she says, letting go of Santana's legs and wiping the palm of her hand on her shirt.

"Repeat with the other leg," Brittany coaches, changing sides to follow the exercise. "Your body is not all aesthetics. It's not only how you look."

She sees the sweat on the back of Santana's neck. "Hold." Santana takes a few deep breaths. Brittany counts to thirty in her head. "Can you feel the effort your body puts into this?" Santana nods at the question.

"You are also how you move, how you carry your body and what you choose to do with it. Keep rolling," Brittany says. Santana bites her lower lip and nods one more time.

Brittany finally pushes the foam away. "Lie on your back." Santana does as told. Brittany raises Santana's left leg up and holds her ankle firmly, using her shoulder to support Santana's leg.

Santana looks straight at her, challenging and silent. Brittany holds her stare.

"Try to flex your knee." Santana does as she is told; Brittany counts to twenty. "Relax. I'm going to push your leg towards your head now. Tell me if I'm overstretching you."

Santana bites her lip with the effort, but doesn't stop Brittany.

Seeing Santana's frown, Brittany stops pushing and holds. "I love what I do, Santana. I have a hard time talking to you not because we are different – I love that about us – but because we are not balanced."

Santana nods.

"Let's switch." She lets Santana's leg go and they assume their previous position. Brittany holds Santana's right ankle and Santana tries to flex her knee. "What I do is important. I want you to be in my life. And I want to be in yours."

She counts in her head. "Relax." She proceeds to push Santana's leg once more, a little beyond Santana's limit. "Can we try again? Better, this time? With more talking and less hiding?"

Santana sits up, her chest falling and rising with the effort. "Better."

She pulls Brittany's hand; Brittany straddles her, taking a moment to get rid of Santana's ponytail and dive her fingers into black locks. "How about," Santana says, arms around Brittany, "we go on a date tomorrow and I tell you everything?"

"Only if you promise to get a good night's sleep tonight," Brittany answers, running her fingers through Santana's hair. "No energy drinks."

"Done," Santana says, tightening her hold and pulling Brittany closer.

Their bodies pressing against each other feel delicious; Brittany closes her eyes for a moment. Santana takes advantage of Brittany's closed eyes and kisses her, slow and determined. Brittany smiles into the kiss, grabbing a fistful of Santana's hair and taking control.

Santana moans, not bothered in the least.