It's painful how slowly time passes when you're desperately waiting for something. Or someone.
The time between last being with Santana and getting to see her again is almost exactly five weeks. Specifically it's 37 days, not that you're counting, and it feels pretty much like forever. You probably shouldn't even be counting – it's counterproductive and it's not like it will carry you through your calendar any quicker, but with the promise of getting to see Santana again you feel particularly impatient.
You want to curl up and sleep through it; just until she gets here, so you can bypass the distractions of school and cheerleading and Glee. She doesn't approve of that though, and she chastises you on the phone for not making more of an effort to enjoy your last days at High School.
She tells you not to let it pass you by in a blur of rehearsals and classes and you get her point but you've already had one near perfect senior year (minus the whole, you know, failing it aspect) and you don't feel the need to try and top it. But you humor her, and she's right, because as much as you miss the friends who've already left, you're gonna miss this bunch of misfits too. Even Kitty. Probably.
You know she's sitting there secretly smug on the other end of the phone when you tell her about how much fun you had on ditch day, or when you enthusiastically recount funny things that happened to you on any particular day. Months ago she would have been disinterested, or she might have placated you with barely sincere words though you knew she didn't really want to hear about the things you got up to at school. But now she laughs and asks questions and sometimes you're on the phone for hours at a time, like you used to be.
Well, it's not quite the same. The silences that once were peaceful and allowed you to just enjoy one another's time and attention are now a little stilted and awkward, and you both feel pressured to fill them. Sometimes she'll ask the same question twice, and sometimes you'll pretend you have to go for dinner when the pauses start to stretch further. Maybe it's not as easy as it once was, but for now it's enough to just to have that line to her, and to know that it's open. It's enough to know that she wants to talk to you.
And you talk most days. You take turns in phoning, and it's okay when she texts to say it's late and she's tired and she'll call the day after instead. It's okay when Rachel hijacks the phone because you reluctantly miss her too, and it's okay when Kurt serenades you in the background while Santana grumpily tries to make herself heard.
She doesn't call as much on the weekends, though she texts often, and that doesn't feel quite as okay. Because you don't need the confirmation of Rachel's texts telling you when she's been shopping with Quinn on a Saturday, to know that the other girl still visits. You don't ask, and Santana doesn't tell, and maybe it's better that way. You try your best not to think of Quinn at all; because it's confusing and terrifying and burying your head in the sand suits you just fine for now. Santana seems happy, and you're determined to think it might be because of you as much as it is because of her. Maybe even more so.
And anyway, tomorrow afternoon at 4:35pm when her plane touches the tarmac at Port Columbus, she's all yours for a whole 3 days, and that's really all that matters.
You fidget awkwardly as you wait for her, and you're nervous. It's silly, because it's Santana; it's the girl you've known since you were 11 and the one person you have loved for as long as you can remember. It's the girl who has kissed you and held you as you laid in the dark; she's your best friend - the girl with whom you have shared every single secret you possess.
It's not really new as such – the feeling of nervous excitement that floods your stomach, because Santana just has that effect on you sometimes, and it's a good feeling. But there is something new about these nerves, something that leaves you a little more anxious than usual, a little less sure.
It melts away to nothing when you see her though. She's dressed in impossibly tight skinny jeans and a button-down shirt, and only Santana would shun comfortable attire for 3 inch heels to catch a flight. She's glancing around the arrivals area, and there's something about knowing that she's looking for you that feels strangely satisfying. Her eyes lock onto yours, and it feels like one of those big moments that only come by once in a while.
When you spot a smile just gracing the corners of her lips it honestly feels like you've been kicked in the stomach; like the relief of seeing her actually hits you like a train. She pauses for a moment, just to really look at you, and it's almost as if you're having some great meaningful conversation with your eyes.
You lift the piece of paper hanging limply at your side and hold it up for her to see, and she takes a moment to tear her eyes away from yours. When she spots the Welcome Home Momma Tubbington scribbled across the paper surrounded by hearts and unicorns she tilts her head back and laughs, and it's possibly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Even though the airport is noisy and she's still standing too far away from you, you can hear the sound of her laugh playing in your brain like it's imprinted there, and it probably is.
She's shaking her head at you as she makes her way across and you chew your lip as you grin unabashedly at her. It feels like everything is happening in slow-motion as she closes the distance, and even as people walk across and in front of her she never once allows her gaze to stray from you.
Despite your plan to play the entire situation, you know, totally cool, you can't help but throw your arms round her neck the second she's within reach. She drops her bags to hug you back properly as she tries to lift and whirl you, but failing miserably and with a huff she gives up and rocks you back on forth on the spot instead. She pulls back and prods you in the stomach to create a little space before nodding to the piece of paper in your hand smiling.
"I hope that's not your way of telling me I'm getting fat," she jokes with an eyebrow raised, and you shake your head affectionately.
"You look amazing, like always," you inform her with a roll of your eyes. "I'd still love you even if you were as huge as Tubbs though," you say, and you're relieved when she doesn't seem perturbed by the ease with which the L-word falls from your tongue.
"Thanks? I think…" she replies, tilting her head in amusement, and you tell her with a wink that she's welcome.
"How was your flight?" you ask as you pick up one of her bags and begin to walk towards the exit, and she shoulders the other bag as she steps into stride beside you.
"Ugh, horrendous," she moans. "They wedged me between some pervy old man who kept looking down my shirt, and this heavy breathing kid who smelled like cheeseburgers. I couldn't even enjoy my complementary houmous snack pot."
She looks affronted and you snort because she sounds alarmingly like a certain Rachel Berry, who you guess has succeeded in getting Santana to try out some of her healthier foods. You feel a passing moment of solidarity with said pervy old man as you let your eyes briefly drift to her cleavage before you re-focus on her pout and then her eyes.
"Sounds awful," you tell her sympathetically and she shakes herself as if she's trying to rid herself of the memory.
"Anyway," she sighs before re-fixing you with a smile, "how are you?"
"Pretty great," you tell her, allowing your eyes to linger and convey the unspoken words you don't have the courage to say. Pretty great - now you're here. She meets your gaze head on and smiles softly, before looking away and concentrating on where she's walking, and oh, there are those butterflies you wanted.
You've reached the doors that let you out of the airport and she pauses once you're through them, stretching her body a little like a cat, basking in the late afternoon sunshine.
"Thanks for coming to pick me up," she says distractedly, rubbing the back of her neck and craning it from side to side.
"That's okay," you smile, because even though she offered to take the bus, you know Santana isn't really a public transport kinda gal. And anyway, you would have only been sitting at home counting the minutes till she arrived on your doorstep, and this way you get to dictate when you see her instead of waiting around for her to call. And she's actually here, so you grin stupidly as you lead her across the parking lot and towards your car.
You spend most of the drive home singing along to your car radio; Santana hitting the high notes while you attempt to rap along in various silly accents, and you have her grinning like an idiot and clutching her stomach in fits of giggles by the time you reach Lima.
"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" she asks around a yawn during a commercial break, and you feel that nervous excitement bubbling away again. Only this time, the excitement feels greater, and a little more profound. It's scary too, because tomorrow is effectively the first day of the rest of your life and the world suddenly feels a little bigger.
"The ceremony is at 10," you tell her, your eyes fixed on the road ahead of you. "I think you'll be sitting with my parents, I hope that's okay."
"Of course," she says brightly, "I'm looking forward to seeing them again. What about after?"
"My parents want to take us out for dinner, then Sugar is having a big party to celebrate," you say, and when she doesn't reply you glance across to where she sits in the passenger seat watching you carefully. You kind of expect her to look excited, because if Santana loves anything it's a party, but she mostly looks confused and a little torn.
"What's wrong?" you ask, eyes flicking between the road and her face. She pauses before sighing and looking away from you and out the passenger window.
"Nothing. I just… Shouldn't Sam be the one going out to dinner with you and your parents?" Her tone is casual, but you know better.
You still haven't told her about the break-up, and you're not really sure why. On some level you were sort of nervous; worried the revelation might change this new calm that has settled over the two of you, worried it might complicate further what is already complicated enough. And anyway, it never felt like a conversation you wanted to have over the phone, nor does it feel like one you want to have now, when you can't look her in the eye and watch her while you explain. You sense she needs some kind of answer though.
"No," you say simply, "it should be you."
You can feel her eyes upon you once more, and you don't dare to look across. She sighs again, but she's not annoyed and she doesn't argue with you. You can see her out of the corner of your eye, fiddling with the radio to change the station, and it's a decent enough distraction for now.
"Are you hungry? We could grab some dinner if you like?"
"I promised I'd have dinner with my parents, they're leaving tomorrow morning to go on a cruise," she says easily, and you turn to look at her while she fiddles with something on her phone. You thought part of her reason for coming here was to catch up with her parents but if they're not even going to be here…
"Oh," you say, not really sure what else to add, "should I take you straight home then?" You haven't quite managed to mask the disappointment in your voice and she probably notices.
"Yeah, if that's okay? I promise though, starting tomorrow you have my full attention." She's smiling that charming smile of hers; the one that graces her features ever so softly and makes your legs turn to jelly, which is frankly less than ideal while you're trying to drive.
"Tomorrow it is," you smile, turning your car to head in the direction of her house. When she thanks you for the ride and leans across to hug you, you're suddenly back in Senior year, and you almost forget yourself and just plant one on her. You catch yourself just at the last moment though, and awkwardly kiss her on the cheek instead, earning you a curious smile and a kiss on the cheek in return. You're blushing furiously by the time she reaches her front door and lets herself in, turning back to throw you a cute wave before disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.
You sing all the way back to your house, and head more or less straight up to your room after repeatedly assuring your Dad that you didn't get so much as a scratch on his car, and you're almost offended when he disappears outside to confirm it for himself. You pick up the CUNY Late Admissions brochure sitting on your bed, and pick up reading from where you left off this morning.
When your phone buzzes on the morning of your graduation it's turns out it's actually as a result of a series of messages rather than your alarm, and you fumble around your bedside table, grabbing a series of items before you actually locate your phone to check the time. It's probably just as well you did; you seem to have either failed to set your alarm or have slept through it, because it's already 8:00am, and it would be just like you to miss your second attempt at graduating by sleeping through the ceremony.
There's a knock on your door before your Mom shouts at you to get your lazy ass out of bed so you can make yourself presentable before you need to leave, and you yell back that you're awake before rolling out of bed and dragging yourself in the direction of the bathroom. When you're sat back on your bed, clean and wrapped up in a fluffy towel so large it could double as a blanket, you pick up your phone to flick through your messages.
There's a group text from Tina that reads simply 'GRADUATION BITCHES x' which you guess is pretty much straight to the point, and there is a 4 page text from Rachel that is considerably less to the point, though the overriding message seems to be congratulations – you think. Kurt texts you to tell you that you're a unicorn, and that he's learned to believe in your magic and while you're busy getting a little teary-eyed you almost miss the text from Quinn that simply reads 'well done britt x'. It's kind of unexpected, though pretty nice of her you suppose, and it crosses your mind that she must know that Santana is here.
Santana texts too, of course, and you only re-read the message like, 2 or 3 times. Or ten. Whatever.
even though I'm proud of you pretty much every single day, im particularly proud today. you deserve this britt. can't promise not to be horrifically embarrassing when I cheer u on later! I'll see u soon, break a leg :) xxx
It's funny how 39 little words can lift you and make you feel like you're walking on air, or clouds, or however it is that saying goes. It makes the daily routine of beautifying yourself a bit more fun than usual, and by the time you're dressed in your simple but elegant black dress, you feel like a million bucks.
There is a relentless hum of noise while you wait backstage with your fellow graduates and all anyone can talk about is the party later tonight, and it seems almost strange to you because it feels like there are bigger things still to play for here. Sure - unlike you, most of these guys have their plans for the future set already, but as appealing as a raging kegger at the Motta household seems, it's not quite the most exciting aspect of today for you.
You stand between Tina and Sugar who both primp and pout into the compact mirrors they sneaked in via their bras, and you can see Blaine fiddling nervously with his bow-tie and it's making you a little antsy. Sam is the one to snap and step in to fix it himself, and it means he's distracted from shooting rueful looks at you every few seconds so you breathe a quiet sigh of relief and turn to talk to Artie who's trying in vain to re-arrange his gown so it won't get caught in his wheels.
There's a shout into the crowd and you're told to arrange yourselves in name order before they check you (and seriously, you'd like to think that a group of people smart enough to graduate could put themselves in alphabetical order, but apparently you can't be trusted with that). When Mrs Matthews, the clipboard-wielding geography teacher who may actually be older than geography itself, has confirmed that you are all in fact able to arrange yourselves correctly, you are led out and into the hall to a rousing reception from the friends, family and students gathered there.
You can't see Santana or your parents yet, but you know your Mom will probably already be tearing up, and that's before you even get your name called out.
The ceremony is long. There are a bunch of stuffy old guys doing speeches, and some spotty kid you're not even sure you recognize does the valedictorian speech and manages to somehow be thoroughly uninspiring. You watch your friends get called out one by one, and watch their faces light up with joy (and in some cases, relief) as they're handed their diplomas.
When your turn arrives you find the grin you sport makes your cheeks ache, and there's a huge cheer when you step onto the stage. You're well-liked by your classmates, and the Glee Club cheer extra loud for you - you know Santana is in the crowd screaming her lungs out but you can't hear her over the claps and shouts. Even Figgins shoots you a wry smile as you collect your diploma from Miss Pillbury, and she looks on with total pride as you switch the tassel of your cap from right to left.
It feels even better than you thought it would. It feels like validation; like the ultimate reward for all the hard-work you've put in this year and it feels like redemption, for all the ways you messed up last year. All the things you missed out on and all the times you felt left behind – they just fade away into insignificance because this is your day, and you can do anything now. It's a clean slate, and while it's not often you feel proud of yourself, today is definitely one of those days.
When you toss your cap in the air and you wrap your fellow graduates in bear-hugs while the crowd cheers for you all, you think this must be what it feels like to actually succeed. Only you have big plans - though you're not quite sure of the details - and this is just the beginning, you know it.
When you finally see Santana for the first time that day, she's leaning casually against your old lockers and smiling as she flicks through something on her phone. The halls are half-empty though there are students and parents still milling about, and as you approach her she doesn't actually notice you at first. You see the thing that has her attention is an endless stream of photos she has taken during the ceremony; mostly of you, though some of the others too.
You smile as you reach out to touch her arm and break her from her reverie, and she jumps before looking up at you. Her eye make-up is smudged a little beneath her eyes, and the look on her face is one of unwavering pride, and you think, love. The phone is forgotten as she wordlessly pulls you into a long hug, and you feel an overwhelming mixture of emotions hit you abruptly, as you stand clutching to the back of her jacket.
This place, these hallways - they feel strange to you now all of a sudden. But she - she feels familiar and warm and a lot like home.
When she pulls back you use the pads of your fingers to wipe at the mascara underneath her eyelashes, and she lets out a strangled chuckle before pawing at her face to rid herself of the evidence that, really – she's just a big sap underneath it all.
"You killed it," she says, smiling at you and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"All I did was walk onto a stage," you say with a chuckle, and she shakes her head and shrugs.
"Whatever. You were awesome at it. Best walk ever."
You get the feeling she could argue her point till the sun goes down, so you relent and curtsy before leaning against the lockers like she had done a moment ago. She mirrors your position and looks around the hallways with a wistful look on her face.
"It's weird being back here again, I honestly didn't think I'd ever come back after the last time."
You watch her carefully and think back to the moment she means, when you were giving her up so she could have her dreams, and you were the one walking away. You know she wasn't as okay with the conversation as she'd tried to seem at the time, but you weren't really either, and you'd barely made it out of her sight before the mask you'd been wearing slipped and you'd faltered. But things are so different now, and you can see it in the way her brow isn't as wrinkled as you might expect as she regards her surroundings.
"Thank you," you say to bring her eyes back to your face. "For coming today."
She watches you quietly for a moment as something flashes briefly in her eyes, before she's pushing herself off of the lockers and straightening out her jacket.
"Well how else would I be able to give you your present?" she smirks, and you stand up straight yourself.
"My present? Santana, you didn't have to get me a gift…"
"I didn't have to, no. I just wanted to."
Her hands are tucked behind her back and she rocks back and forth, looking a little devilish and very tempting. You want to ask her what it is, and so you do. But she only grins knowingly, and taps her nose as she turns to walk away from you in the direction of the hall.
"Patience, Britt-Britt," she says and you can hear the smile in her words. "All in good time."
A.N.
So yeah, I'm rubbish at updating! I'm sorry this took quite so long, I re-wrote this chapter from scratch like 3 times because I wasn't happy with it, and I'm not the fastest writer at the best of times... I also definitely should not be up at this godforsaken hour trying to get this finished and put up, but whatcha gonna do! I've not actually checked it through so please forgive any mistakes!
The next chapter or two will hopefully see us kick this Brittana reunion up a gear, and I will say no more... :)
Oh and also, Glee sucks. Lord T knows who his real parents are. Like, seriously. Go away Sam.