A/N: Well guys, this is the end. While it is not marked as complete, Burn the Whore House to the Ground is now a completed fic. Why is it not marked complete, you may ask. Well, the answer is simple: I'm writing an alternate ending. So, if, for whatever reasons, you were not satisfied with the ending (or if you are just curious to see the other way I had wrestled with ending this), fear not, because I am writing another, and hopefully it will be more to your standards!
A couple of people have asked about a sequel. It's a possibility! I've got some loose ideas for one, but if it happens it'll be a while.
Also, a quick word of apology for my terrible, terrible Spanish later in this chapter. If I got any of it wrong, I sincerely apologize.
I want to thank all of you who took the time to read and review, follow, and/or favorite. You guys are amazing for sticking with me through this journey, and this has been one of my greatest fic writing experiences to date. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This is not the last you'll see of me, and if you want to keep up with updates you can follow me at the same username on tumblr.
(Warning: smut! And slight mentions of violence.)
Three Years Later
Matt Rutherford slams on the brakes a fraction of a second too late, and the front of his car collides with the back of the car in front of him. He narrowly avoids head butting his steering wheel, and he hears more than feels his slave crash into the back of his seat.
All that matters to him, though, is the sickening twist of metal that he hears. He cringes, and prays that the other car's occupants are unharmed.
The last thing he needs is another lawsuit.
He steps out of the car and slams the door. He leans down and pokes his head back in his open window and mumbles, "Stay in the fucking car."
Once he turns around, the slave rolls her eyes irritably. As if there were anywhere for her to go.
She watches as a man with a close-cut mohawk jumps from the passenger seat of the other car and inspects the damage to the back of the vehicle. When Matt approaches him, spouting apologies, the man shoves Matt's chest, sending him back a step.
"What the fuck, bro?" Mohawk man yells. Behind him, a blonde woman steps from the driver's seat. She looks just as angry, but decidedly more calm than her passenger. "My wife is four months pregnant, you mother-"
"Noah," the blonde warns, a hand on his bicep. The slave inspects her, then rolls her eyes again; in her tight tank top, it's obvious that blondie isn't four months pregnant, but she knows her Master is dumb enough to fall for the ruse.
"Dude, take a chill pill, it was an accident!" Matt yells. The slave exhales, suddenly nervous. He's getting angry; she'll probably get at least two beatings tonight so that he can relieve his frustrations. Matt turns to the blonde. "Are you okay?"
The blonde winces and uses a hand to cradle her lower back. "My back," she says simply. The man with the mohawk – Noah – jumps at Matt, but the woman's back is obviously not bothering her enough to keep her from holding her husband back. "Noah, no," she says. Noah immediately backs away, but not before jabbing a finger into Matt's chest.
"We'll see you in court, buddy," he threatens, baring his teeth and reaching into his pocket, presumably for a cell phone.
Uh-oh.
Her Master has been in enough trouble recently; judging by the color draining from his face, she guesses he'll end up doing just about anything to settle this out of court.
"Hold up, bro!" He confirms her suspicions in record time. "Can't we come to some sort of agreement? Surely insurance-" He breaks off when he notices what – or rather who – the blonde's eyes have zeroed in on.
The slave's breath hitches as crystal blue eyes bore into her own, wondering what she could have possibly done to offend the woman.
She doesn't want to earn an extra beating.
The woman tips her chin towards her, then addresses Matt. "Can I have a look at her?"
Matt, though clearly confused, steps aside, clearing the way and gesturing wildly for her to help herself while Noah pulls him further away, presumably to try to come to a consensus on how to handle the matter.
The woman sticks her hand into the open driver window and hits the unlock button. Once the back lock has popped up, she jerks the door open and bends over to poke her head into the car so she's eye-to-eye with the slave.
She cowers from the blonde's intense gaze.
"You ever had children?"
The question startles her, and her eyes snap briefly to the woman's flat stomach where a second trimester of pregnancy is most definitely not happening. The blonde snaps her fingers once to regain her attention and she jumps, swallowing nervously as she nods. The woman continues to stare at her, and she chances to speak. "One," she says, voice low and hoarse from underuse. "Only one."
"Boy? Girl?"
She narrows her eyes at the woman's strange line of questioning. Surely she can't be looking to take any of her children, can she? "Girl." Her eyes well up with long buried emotions. "But I lost her many years ago."
The woman's face twitches with an unreadable emotion for a second. "What's your name?" Her tone is more curious than demanding this time, but no less rushed, as if they have a limited amount of time for discussion.
She swallows, ashamed that she needs a second to remember her own goddamn name. "Maribel," she says finally. The woman is looking at her impatiently, as though she expects more, so she adds, "Lopez. Maribel Lopez."
The woman straightens so suddenly that she startles Maribel. "I want her," she demands, leaving absolutely no room for argument.
Matt sputters for a moment. "Excuse me?!"
"Your slave," she explains slowly, her eyes narrowed. "I want her." She locks eyes with her husband, and a silent conversation seems to pass between them.
"You heard my wife," Noah says after a moment. "We want the slave."
"You're not getting my slave!" Matt says indignantly. "Do you know how much I paid for it?"
They don't, but Maribel knows he'd only paid a few hundred dollars; being older, having birthed a child, and with a history of supposed illegal fraternization, Maribel had been handed over to a discount auction house. She'd been cheap, and Matt had still been her only bidder.
He'd needed a cheap punching bag that he could occasionally stick his dick into.
The blonde's voice pulls Maribel back to the present. "Whatever it was, I'm sure it wasn't enough," she growls, and Maribel can't help but raise her eyebrows. "Look at her, she's gorgeous!"
Well that's a first.
Matt's face scrunches in confusion. "Look, Miss…"
"Pierce," she adds helpfully. "But you can call me Brittany." She points to Maribel. "And I want her or we can take this to court. It's your choice." She cradles her back again for emphasis.
Matt breathes heavily through his nose for a few moments, weighing his options. On one hand, he could always get another slave. It wouldn't be hard to find a cheap one at the auction house.
But on the other hand, Maribel is submissive to him, and it had taken several weeks to get her to a point where he was happy with her. If he got another slave, all of that effort would be wasted, on top of having to do it all over again.
Matt sighs. As much as he doesn't want to break another slave, court costs could get outrageous, and he's barely recovered financially from his last run in with the law. He runs his hand over his short hair and mumbles, "Shit."
Still staring at Brittany's face, Maribel catches the small victorious smirk that settles on her lips.
"I take it we have a deal, Mr. Rutherford?" Brittany asks icily, and Maribel frowns, wondering how these people know her Master's name when he hadn't even said it.
But he's never been the brightest bulb, so he merely nods, swallowing hard and not questioning anything further.
"Great!" Brittany slams the door and returns to her husband and Matt. They converse for a few more moments, with Matt giving directions for them to just follow him to the courthouse to get the ownership changed over.
Maribel's head spins, baffled at how fast this is all happening. She had thought she was stuck with Matt for the rest of her miserable life, but in the space of five minutes she suddenly belongs to someone else.
Matt doesn't seem too terribly torn up about losing her so suddenly, Maribel notices as he returns to the driver's seat, mumbling to himself. She's obviously not upset about being taken from him either; sure this Noah character looks like he may have a bit of a temper, but he seems to be easily calmed by Brittany, who seems decent enough. And since they have each other, maybe they only want her as a maid. She's heard of that happening to slaves, and she knows it's probably preferable to being used for sex.
Maybe together, Brittany and Noah will be kind of okay owners.
Once they arrive at the courthouse, Maribel is locked in the car as the paperwork is handled inside. It only takes ten minutes of Maribel nervously twiddling her thumbs for Matt, Brittany, and Noah to emerge from the building. Brittany skips over to Maribel's door as Noah and Matt shake hands.
Brittany opens the door and holds her hand out for Maribel to take. Maribel hesitates only a second, mentally preparing herself to be yanked out and left to fall on her face. Instead, Brittany holds her hand softly and pulls her to her feet, making sure she's balanced before letting her go. Maribel's leash dangles down her front, and Brittany eyes it with disdain.
"You might want to be careful," Matt warns. "She can be really feisty."
Brittany frowns, a look of disgust crossing her features. She reaches up slowly, so as not to startle Maribel, and unsnaps the tight collar. She takes Maribel's hand again and tosses the collar and leash to Matt. Maribel's eyes widen.
Brittany leans closer, so her next whispered words exist only in the space between them. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you, but you have to trust us."
Great. Brittany and Noah must be into some really kinky shit for Brittany to be asking a slave to trust them.
Brittany tugs her hand lightly, leading her to her car. Once she's in the backseat and the door is closed, Brittany shakes Matt's hand and they all go their separate ways.
Maribel feels a strange sense of relief as she watches him drive off, knowing that she won't belong to him anymore.
Maribel chances a look at her new owners as they enter the car. Brittany's face is no longer a hard mask. Instead, she is a happy, grinning mess. And Noah? Well, he just looks…oddly impressed with something.
"I can't believe that actually worked," Brittany breathes, and Maribel frowns.
Why does she suddenly feel like she's been tricked?
"Holy shit, Brittany," Noah says, his hand clasping Brittany's tightly for a few seconds. "Was that dumb luck or what?"
Brittany grins and taps her chin thoughtfully. "I prefer to call it 'Plan B'."
"Well, what the fuck was Plan A?"
Brittany waves a hand dismissively, and Maribel listens with rapt attention; it seems as though they've forgotten about her. "It involved a stapler and a bucket of cheese, and that's all you need to know."
Noah seems to sink into his seat for a moment, and even Maribel can feel an unexplained tension leave his body. "Can we turn this stupid rental car in and go home now?" He whines. "I miss Kurt."
If possible, Brittany face brightens even more. "Puck. We found her! Finally! You never have to leave Kurt again, and we don't need to go on any more of these stupid 'business trips'," she says excitedly, her words accentuated by air quotes. She turns in her seat and thrusts her hand towards Maribel's face, making her flinch at the sudden, quick movements. "Hi. I'm Brittany S. Pierce, and this is Noah Puckerman, but you can just call us Brittany and Puck."
Maribel stares blankly at Brittany, thoroughly confused by every word she's just said, until Brittany retracts her hand, looking completely disappointed.
Puck turns and offers her a charming smile. Maribel doesn't want to like either of them, but they have a strange, comforting air, and she can't help but relax into her seat a bit. "There's just one rule," he says. He gestures to the manila envelope in the seat beside of her and produces a pen from his pocket. When she merely glances between his face and the envelope, he says, "Open it."
She startles at his voice, but rushes to comply, not wanting to anger her new owners. She pulls a handful of papers from the envelope and reads the bold words printed at the top of the first page.
Freedom Contract.
Her eyes snap up, jumping first to Puck's face, then to Brittany's. "What is this?" She demands without thinking.
Puck smiles and moves the pen closer to her. "That is your future."
Maribel scowls, burning anger flaring in her chest. "Is this some sort of joke?" She spits, not finding it in herself to regret her tone.
"It's not a joke, Ms. Lopez." Maribel's eyes widen at the formal name, uttered with such respect that it squeezes her heart painfully. She immediately feels her anger subside. Brittany starts the car and pulls away from the curb. "And it's not a test. You don't have to sign that right away, but it would mean a lot if you'd hear us out."
When it becomes apparent that Puck isn't going to take his hand back, she plucks the pen from his fingers and holds it loosely in her own. "What are you talking about? What is all of this?" Her fingers play with the edges of the Freedom Contract; she's heard of them, sure, but she was never really sure that they actually existed. After all, who would want to free a slave?
"We can't tell you everything. Yet," Puck says cryptically. "But we've been searching for you for a really long time."
Brittany catches Maribel's eyes in the rearview mirror and she smiles widely, her blue eyes large, shining, and honest. "We've got a surprise for you."
Santana leans back in her office chair and rubs her tired eyes. Her boss, Holly, appointed her leader of her team for their latest ad campaign project, leaving her with a hint that success on Santana's part could result in a major promotion plus a pretty sweet pay raise.
But this is the biggest project her team has ever taken on. They've been working relentlessly on it for nearly two weeks, and it's barely half finished. There's only three days left before it needs to be put into production, and there is absolutely no way they're getting it done on time.
It's impossible.
She knows she can kiss her possible raise and promotion goodbye.
She doesn't necessarily need the raise – she and Brittany are financially secure, with the inheritance that Susan Pierce had left for Brittany. And she doesn't need the promotion – she's perfectly fine with her little corner cubicle.
But getting at least one of those would have been a big confidence booster, knowing she's only been working at the company for two years.
Knowing that she's a former slave who had only learned to read and write a little over three years ago.
And again, she's fine with her corner cubicle.
But having her own office would have been fucking magnificent.
"Knock, knock." Santana pulls her hands from her face and swivels to greet her teammate, resisting the urge to roll her eyes; she loves Dave, really she does – he's a hard worker, and she knows that, out of the four people on her team, he's the one that she can rely on the most – but his habit of saying knock, knock every time he comes to her cubicle is one of the most annoying things in the world.
"Dave," she says softly, noting his obvious excitement, a far cry from the down trodden attitude he'd been sporting at the end of their team meeting earlier in the morning – the meeting where they had come to the realization that the project wouldn't be finished on time. "What's up?"
"I just walked by Ms. Holliday's office," he says quietly, bouncing in place. "She was on a conference call with the suits upstairs, and I heard her mention that the production deadline is being extended!"
Santana uncrosses her legs and jumps up, her excitement mirroring Dave's. "Are you kidding me? How long?"
"A week and a half!"
Santana throws her arms over her head. "Yes!" She enthuses as quietly as possible. "That should give us time if we step it up a bit."
"I know!"
"Well, I see that you've heard the good news." Dave and Santana sober immediately as the voice of Holly Holliday fills the cubicle. She leans her shoulder against the entryway and folds her arms over her chest. "Word travels fast, huh, Karofsky?"
Dave's face reddens, and Santana cracks a grin. He's always been a bit intimidated by Holly's colorful personality, and Santana gets it, really she does, but Santana fucking adores Holly; she couldn't ask for a better boss.
"Why the extension, Holly?" She asks curiously.
Holly sighs irritably, but when she opens her mouth to speak, Santana's cell phone vibrates loudly on her desk. Holly quirks an eyebrow at the offending device, and Santana pointedly ignores the sound. She hopes her blush doesn't show as she remembers the very naughty pictures that she's been on the receiving end of all day.
"It's not important," she assures when Holly doesn't continue.
Holly smirks like she knows exactly what the nature of the interruption is, but she doesn't comment. "Another team fell behind," she finally says, very clearly agitated. Her eyes find Sebastian's across the room and he scowls at her before turning his eyes back to his monitor. Santana shakes her head. She should have known; Sebastian is always causing problems, one way or another. "Anyways, enjoy the extension, but don't get too comfortable, sweet cheeks. This won't happen every time." She winks at Santana and Dave, then crooks a finger at the latter. "Karofsky, my office please."
Dave obediently follows Holly, and as soon as they're gone, Santana dives for her phone, eager to see what her girlfriend has sent her this time.
Britt-Britt (1:38 pm): emergency come home asap
Santana frowns at the screen. Brittany's been away with Puck on yet another business trip – hence the influx of pictures over the last several days – and had hinted that she'd be home early, but Santana had assumed she still had at least another night to wait until her girl was home.
And emergency? Brittany surely hasn't been home long enough for something to go wrong.
This is either a very poorly disguised way to get Santana home for sweet lady kisses…or Brittany put tin foil in the microwave again.
What if she's severely burned herself like last year, when the two of them had attempted to make Shannon a special Mother's Day breakfast?
Oh god, what if Brittany burned the apartment complex down?
Santana sighs, completely torn.
On one hand, she cannot afford to waste any more time on this project. She knows she should text back, ask Brittany to get Shannon or Quinn if it's that big of an emergency.
But on the other hand, if this is a veiled request for sweet lady kisses, Brittany will be upset, and Santana will regret missing the opportunity; Brittany's gone a lot – especially recently – and Santana likes to cherish the time they do have together. As it is, she hasn't seen Brittany in almost a week, and while this project and the benefits that will come with its completion are super important and have been keeping her occupied during the day, her nights have been terribly lonely, even with Shannon and Kurt – who has been equally lonely – hanging around.
(There's only so many times that Kurt can ask her if she thinks that Puck and Brittany are sleeping together behind their backs before she cracks and forbids him from contacting her ever again. He may have his doubts about Puck, but Santana has complete faith that their numerous business trips are just that – business trips.
And there are only so many nights that Santana can fall asleep hugging Brittany's pillow before the familiar scent completely wears away, leaving her with nothing to comfort her.)
And goddammit what if something is actually wrong?
She'll never be able to live with herself if anything happens to Brittany. Or Shannon.
Panic clutches at her chest and fuels her to grab her coat and rush from the cubicle. She only pauses long enough to let Holly know that she's leaving, and she knows that the look on her face is enough to convince Holly that something is wrong.
Her heels clip noisily on the sidewalk as she rushes from the building and begins her three block trek home. The New York air is frigid, and she pulls her coat closer to her body. She really likes New York, but it's almost too cold for her tastes.
Mercedes and Sam had had the right idea, venturing out to Los Angeles. Sam had been super excited; he hadn't really said anything, but something had told Santana that he was a West Coast guy and had been eager to return.
The rest of them, on the other hand, had taken an instant liking to New York.
Rachel fit right in with the Broadway crowd, and her 'crazy ass Broadway dream' was well on its way to becoming a reality. She still had a ways to go, but her talents were being recognized, and Santana knows it's only a matter of time before she hits the big time. Quinn – along with Mike – weaseled into a community college, both earning credits to hopefully one day move up to tackle law school. They both want to work up to someday, hopefully, help with the abolishment of sex slavery.
(There's also the matter of Quinn and Rachel's constant bickering that leads them to break up and make up every other month, but Santana likes to ignore that mess of a soap opera. Kurt and Mercedes are more equipped to deal with it than she is.
Plus she just doesn't care that much.)
Kurt managed to make a niche for himself as a fashion journalist, and Tina works with him, but Santana has no idea what she does (maybe some sort of Asian advice column? Who knows.)
She thinks that Puck might be a hitman. Or a bounty hunter.
Or maybe he's Brittany's bodyguard? (Why else would they go on so many business trips together?)
Again, Santana has no idea what the fuck Puckerman gets up to, but she thinks it might be a if I told you I'd have to kill you situation.
And Brittany. Santana smiles as she thinks of her girlfriend. Her math genius girlfriend. Brittany was in high demand these days, everyone wanting to get a taste of the mathematical brain lurking in her beautiful skull. Her talents had been almost as surprising to them as Santana's severe peanut allergy.
(Santana pats the pocket of her jacket to ensure she still has her EpiPen – one near death experience and a frantic trip to the emergency room is enough for one life time.)
Her building comes into view, and Santana breaks into a light jog, thankful that the building is still standing – and not on fire, like she'd feared.
The warmth of the lobby envelopes her, and she sighs in relief when she hits the elevator bank to make her way to the ninth floor.
She leans against the back wall of the elevator car and closes her eyes.
The first few months in New York had been rough and scary. They'd all had to learn how to make it on their own, and sure, they had each other, but none of them – including Shannon – really knew how to be an independent adult. And the added factor of always feeling like someone was after them didn't help much. Every bump in the night had left Brittany and Santana scrambling for anything to use as weapons, thinking that surely Pierce had finally sent someone after them.
It had taken them well over a year to fully feel safe, and longer than that before Shannon would allow them to go anywhere by themselves.
The doors slide open in front of her and she rushes out, passing Quinn and Rachel's door, and digging her key out of her pocket.
"Britt?" She calls out once her door is open. She closes the door behind her and takes a tentative whiff of the air; okay, so nothing is burning. That's good.
So Brittany just wants sweet lady kisses. Santana huffs; she's fine with that, but they seriously need to work out a code word or something.
But okay awesome. She can't really be angry. She's about to get all kinds of sexed up. Who could be angry?
Definitely not Santana Lopez.
Santana sheds her coat and heels in the entry hall, leaving her in only her tight purple dress. "Brittany?" She calls out again.
She steps further into the apartment and leans into the kitchen. "Shannon?" She tries, just in case; Shannon has walked in on them before, and Santana wants to be absolutely sure she's not home before proceeding to the bedroom. When she gets no answer from her mother figure, Santana does an internal happy dance; Shannon must be at the rec center, interacting and playing with the kids.
She gets her girl all to herself for the afternoon. And not a moment too soon; even with her despair over work distracting her, the ache between her legs has been constantly growing since Brittany had sent her first picture earlier in the day.
But when she peeks into the living room, she pauses.
The woman standing before her, nervously wringing her hands together, is most definitely not Brittany. Wearing Santana's sweatpants and t-shirt, the woman looks emaciated, but other than obviously being scared, she seems to have nothing else wrong with her.
Santana's heart hammers in her chest painfully and she blinks, ashamed that it's taken her a second to recognize the woman.
"Mami?"
She used to pray every night for this moment to come, but after almost seven years without it happening, she's started praying for her to be in a good, loving home.
On dark nights, when Brittany was gone and she was lonely and her emotions were running high, she'd prayed that the woman was dead, for she feared that the alternative was much, much worse.
Santana blinks again, expecting the figure of Maribel Lopez to disappear.
But she doesn't.
She's just staring at Santana, looking just as disbelieving as Santana feels.
Santana takes a hesitant step forward, afraid that any sudden movements will actually make her mother disappear. "Mami?" She whimpers again.
Maribel seems at a loss for words, and when her knees wobble, Santana rushes forward, wrapping her arms around Maribel's waist tightly, holding her close. Maribel's arms wind around her shoulders, fingers digging almost painfully into Santana's back, holding her closer than Santana had ever thought was possible.
"Santana," Maribel chokes out. She presses a kiss to Santana's head, then her ear before crying out, "Oh my…Mija. You're alive! You're okay!"
Santana wants to tell her mother that she's been okay for a really long time, but she can't speak. Every time she opens her mouth, the only thing that falls from her lips is broken sobs.
Together, arms still tangled, Santana and Maribel sink to the floor, their legs no longer able to support them.
Santana quickly loses track of how long they sit together, rocking, sobbing, Maribel pressing kisses wet with tears to Santana's hair.
When she finally pulls away from her mother, eyes red, makeup smeared, she takes several deep breaths before she speaks. "How did you get here? How did you find me?" If there had been any way for her to find her mother, she would have done it in a heartbeat; she had been sure that it was impossible, though, and even if it hadn't been, she would have never known where to start. A fresh wave of tears hits her and she laughs without even knowing why. "God, did I fall and hit my head? Is this a dream?"
Maribel reaches forward and cups Santana's cheeks tenderly, wiping her tears with her thumbs, and Santana whimpers and leans into her touch. "If it's a dream, Mija, I hope I never wake up," she whispers. "My Santana. You're all grown up. You're…so beautiful."
Santana covers her mother's hands with her own and pulls them away from her face, but doesn't release them, instead holding them tightly between their laps. "How did you find me?" She asks again.
Maribel shakes her head and smiles. "I didn't," she says, almost sounding regretful that she hadn't found Santana on her own. "This man and woman…they were posing as husband and wife. My Master rear-ended their car in a parking lot in Kentucky, and they took me from him."
Santana shakes her head, now thoroughly confused. "Man and woman? Husband and wife? But who-" She stops for a moment when it hits her. "Brittany and Puck," she breathes.
Maribel nods quickly; she hadn't been able to remember their names, but she's glad that Santana at least knows them. "Yes! They never would tell me what was going on, only that they've been looking for me for a long time. The woman, Brittany, brought me here, gave me these clothes, and asked me to wait. She said she had a surprise for me." She sniffles as she begins to tear up again. "Ay dios, it's the best surprise…"
Santana wonders briefly if this is what all of Brittany and Puck's business trips had been about. She wonders where Brittany is now, but she's thankful for the time alone with her mother.
Her mother.
Who is alive and in front of her and holding her.
Santana takes a shaky breath. "I've missed you so much," she whispers, scared that an octave higher will result in another uncontrollable bought of tears.
"Oh, Mija," Maribel whispers just as quietly. "I love you, Santana."
Santana knows that if she opens her mouth to respond, her voice will break, rendering her words indiscernible, but she has to try. Memories of the last time she'd seen her mother flash through her mind, of Maribel screaming to Santana that she loves her, to never, ever forget that she loves her, of Santana being too panicked, too upset, to say the words back.
Santana had wished every day that she could go back to that day, if only to tell her Mami that she loves her too.
Santana doesn't know the circumstances of Maribel being with her – did Brittany steal her?! The thought makes panic seize her momentarily again – so she knows that she needs to make every moment count.
"I love you too, Mami." The words are thick, but uttered with as much conviction as she can muster, and she knows that Maribel heard, that she understands.
For several hours they talk, first in their places on the living room floor, then in the kitchen.
Santana talks briefly about her life before Pierce bought her, but doesn't go into much detail; she will, later, if she gets the chance, if her mother wants to hear it, but right now she doesn't want to waste the opportunity that she has been given.
It's when she comes to the day that Brian Pierce bought her that Santana finds herself unable to slow her words or force the smile from her face. She tells her mother about Shannon and Pierce and all of her friends. About the Lima Bean and the duck pond and the fair. She tells about learning to read and write, about dancing and Sir Waddlesworth and Lord Tubbington and the most amazing breadsticks she's ever had.
But mostly, Santana tells her mother about Brittany, about the love and care and respect that she had received – that she continues to receive. She tells her mother about running from Brittany's psycho father and making a life for themselves here, in New York, with Shannon and their friends.
For some reason, though, Santana can't bring herself to tell her about being free. It doesn't feel like the right time, though she's not quite sure why, and she decides to listen to her gut.
The last six years have been uneventful for Maribel, the typical life of a slave, locked in basements and closets, and it's obvious to Santana; her mother is pale, and had long since finished the two plates of food that Santana had given her. Her mother mostly focuses on the last couple of days, driving across a handful of states with Brittany and Puck, sharing a hotel room with them – but getting her own bed while Brittany took the other and Puck took the couch – and being allowed to eat whenever and whatever she wanted. They'd never laid a finger on her, Maribel marvels, and had respected her wish to remain mostly silent through the trip. She'd observed them, trying to find their angle, trying to calculate when they'd turn on her, but through the entire trip back, they'd acted more like teenagers on a road trip than the ruthless Masters she'd pegged them for. They didn't even seem like the two people who had taken her from her Master.
Santana giggles softly. "Yeah, when they get together, they pretty much need a chaperone at all times."
It's nearly eight, and Santana is just about to text Brittany and ask her to come home when she hears the door open. Santana keeps her seat by her mother, who has suddenly frozen, having heard the door. It would seem that no matter how much Santana talked Brittany up, and how much time Maribel spent with her over the last couple of days, she's still mistrustful.
Santana's patience is soon rewarded; a blonde head pokes around the corner, looking around curiously.
"Mami, it's okay," she says quietly, willing her mother to relax while never taking her eyes off of her grinning girlfriend. "It's just Brittany."
Brittany's entire body comes into view and she looks entirely affronted. "Just Brittany?" She balks. "Is that what I am now?" She's holding something in her left hand, and Santana's eyes immediately snap to it.
A thick manila envelope.
Santana stares at Brittany, her eyes wide with wonder over how amazing she is, and Brittany merely offers a small smile at the attention she's receiving.
Santana pulls her mother to her feet, her stiff posture not going unnoticed. "Mami, please," she pleads softly. "You don't have to be afraid of Brittany. And I know you've met, but I want to officially introduce you to Brittany Pierce. My girlfriend."
Brittany smiles brightly and sticks her hand out. "I've wanted to meet you for so long, Ms. Lopez," she gushes slightly.
Maribel eyes the hand warily, but instead of shaking it, she turns back to Santana. "Mija, I don't understand. Your girlfriend…she's our Master?"
Over Maribel's shoulder, Santana sees Brittany tense and cringe at the word, but she can't get past what her mother said.
"Master?" She asks, her question more directed at Brittany.
Brittany steps towards Santana and hands her the envelope. She presses a kiss to Santana's cheek and whispers, "I'll explain later." Then, she disappears around the corner again.
Santana waits until she hears the bathroom door close before gesturing for Maribel to sit again. She slides the envelope across the table, but Maribel leans away from it, as if it's a snake, coiled and ready to launch at her.
"I've already seen this," she mumbles. Santana can tell that she's struggling with something, so she remains quiet, waiting for her mother to speak again. "Freedom Contract? How can they do this to me?"
Santana draws her eyebrows together. "Mami?"
"It's cruel," Maribel adds, as if that explains her turmoil. She gestures wildly at the envelope. "They dangle this in front of me. In front of us. The promise of freedom…but it's all a lie. I'm a slave. It's what I am, what I'll always be. The world will never look at me any differently. How can a piece of paper change anything?"
Santana shakes her head, understanding where her mother's confusion is coming from. This life is all the Maribel has ever known, and Santana knows she's going to have to probably explain things more than once. "Mami," she begins. She reaches forward for Maribel's hands. "It's not a lie. It's not a test or a joke or anything else that you're thinking. Three years ago, Brittany brought me these papers, Mami. She did this for me. Mami…I'm not a slave anymore."
Maribel's eyes widen and she takes her hands back; Santana is disappointed, but not entirely shocked. "Mija…you're…you're…"
"I'm free, Mami," Santana whispers, feeling tears well up again; she'll never tire of hearing or saying those words. "I've been free for three years."
Maribel shakes her head, still not fully comprehending. "But…surely nothing has changed?"
Santana grins. "Everything has changed," she admits. She gestures around her. "I have a job, with a promotion around the corner. I have an apartment and a girlfriend. No one lays a finger on me if I don't want them to. Mami…everything changes. For the better."
Maribel shakes her head again, but Santana knows that, this time, she's only trying to piece everything together. "So…this isn't a joke?"
Santana laughs lightly and pushes the envelope closer to Maribel. "No, Mami. It is legitimate freedom. No strings attached."
Maribel stares in wonder as Santana removes the papers from the envelope for her. "How does this even work, Santana? I mean, I've heard of Freedom Contracts but…I never thought they could actually exist."
Santana rises from her chair to retrieve a pen. When she returns, she lays the pen on top of the papers, not wanting to rush Maribel. "All you need to do is sign it," Santana says. "Brittany and I will do the rest. There's a lot of legal stuff attached – like getting you a social security number – but you don't have to worry with any of it. Brittany and I have done it before, and so have our friends, so we can take care of all of it."
But Maribel still seems torn about something. "Mija…"
"Mami, please," Santana begs, growing desperate. "It opens a world of possibilities."
Maribel smiles sadly at Santana. "Mija…I've been a slave my entire life. It's all I know. How can I be anything else? What will I do? Where will I go?"
Santana's face falls, but before she can attempt to reassure Maribel, Brittany's voice behind her startles her. "Ms. Lopez, you can live here with us." Santana turns wide, hopeful eyes to her girlfriend; it's what she'd wanted, but she had known she'd have to discuss it with Brittany. Brittany places a hand on Santana's shoulder and squeezes. "I've already spoken with Shannon. She doesn't mind sharing her bedroom if you don't. We'll just have to get another bed."
Maribel is completely speechless, Santana notes, slightly amused at the sight; there was never a time during her childhood that her mother was speechless, and the fact that Brittany could bring her to that state in just a couple of seconds is amazing. Santana watches with baited breath as Maribel looks through the Freedom Contract carefully, reassuring herself that there are no hidden stipulations, no loopholes, and no strings attached – her mother is no lawyer, but Santana knows that even just scanning the documents briefly would be able to tell Maribel that there was nothing fishy about them.
When Maribel is finished and seems satisfied, she puts the pen to the beginning of the signature line.
And pauses.
Santana waits for a moment, but when her mother doesn't move, she mumbles, "Mami?" To her horror, Maribel drops the pen and looks up with tears in her eyes. Brittany's grip on Santana's shoulder tightens as Maribel gazes over Santana's shoulder to her. "Mami, what-"
She's cut off when Maribel stands abruptly. She approaches Brittany, standing almost chest-to-chest with her, and Brittany releases Santana's shoulder to take a fearful step back. Santana watches, confused – and a little afraid for Brittany's safety – and resists the urge to wrap her fingers around Maribel's wrist.
"Are you gonna beat me up?" Brittany asks, her voice small, and Santana is glad that she does, because she's starting to wonder the same thing.
What had Brittany done to upset Maribel? Surely her Freedom Contract is no different than Santana's had been.
Maribel swallows, then asks, "You would do all of this? For…for me?"
Brittany seems to relax a bit when she realizes that her girlfriend's seemingly angry mother is not going to hit her. She'd spent a lot of time with the woman on the journey home, and though Maribel had rarely spoken unless spoken to – and often in one word answers – Brittany had grown to really like her.
It would have sucked to be decked by her in her own kitchen.
Brittany nods confidently, her eyes never wavering from Maribel's. "Yes, ma'am," she says, delighted at how Maribel's eyes widen at the formal, respectful term, the way that it has every time Brittany has addressed her in similar matters over the past few days. "All of this. And more. You're family, and I want you to be happy, Ms. Lopez. Happy and free."
"And you love my daughter?"
Brittany is taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, but she doesn't hesitate to nod and say, "With all my heart."
The last word is barely out of her mouth before Maribel is launching herself at Brittany. Brittany panics for a moment, sure that she's said something to make the woman snap and hit her, but the sensation that she feels next is thankfully not a fist to the nose.
Maribel's arms are around her waist, hugging her tightly. Brittany's sure that the shocked look on Santana's face mirrors her own perfectly as she wraps her arms loosely around Maribel's shoulders; she's unsure if Maribel would be comfortable with any prolonged, affectionate squeezes, so she refrains from any of that.
Her suspicions are confirmed seconds later when Maribel begins to squirm and pull away. Maribel only holds her for a moment longer, giving herself enough time to leave a sincere whispered, "Thank you," in the small space between them.
Santana grabs Brittany's hand and pulls her closer, allowing Brittany's arm to slide around her shoulders as Maribel reclaims her chair and picks up the pen.
As Maribel signs her name to the Freedom Contract, Santana jams her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep her tears at bay.
Brittany, Santana, and Shannon have been a strong family; now, though, Santana knows they'll be even stronger.
With Shannon staying with Quinn for the night – apparently she and Rachel are semi-off-again – Maribel is free to use Shannon's bed for the night.
"We can go tomorrow so you can pick your own, if you want," Brittany offers as she and Santana help Maribel get situated.
Maribel smiles at Brittany and cups her cheek affectionately for a second. "I'd love that," she says.
Brittany smiles back, then leans over to kiss Santana's cheek. "I'm beat," she says. When Maribel turns away, she drags her fingertips down Santana's arm suggestively. "Don't be too long?" Santana winks, and Brittany pulls her hand away, grinning. "Goodnight, Ms. Lopez."
When Santana is sure that Brittany is out of earshot, she turns to watch her mother climb into Shannon's plush bed. "How long until you let her stop calling you 'Ms. Lopez'?" She asks with a smirk, knowing that Maribel is just reveling in all of the respect that Brittany is showering her with, especially now that she knows that Brittany is harmless.
"Let me have this, Santana," Maribel says, false sternness lacing her words. Santana raises an eyebrow, but is secretly elated to hear the tone of voice; she really had missed everything about her Mami. Maribel breaks into a mischievous grin and clasps her hands together in absolute delight. "Just a couple more times," she promises. She taps her chin thoughtfully, and Santana knows that whatever is about to come out of her mouth is going to be designed to absolutely mortify her. "Do you think she'd be okay with calling me 'Mami' too?"
Santana groans at the insinuation and throws her head back. "Mami," she whines, drawing the word out petulantly. She really hopes her mother doesn't ask Brittany to call her 'Mami'…not yet, at least.
Maribel shrugs innocently. "Can't a mother dream?" She asks, her words hinting at stubbornness, but her tone telling Santana that she's only joking.
Santana shakes her head. "Soon," she mumbles, hoping that her mother didn't hear, but knowing that she did by the way her eyes widen questioningly. She leans over and hugs Maribel before she can respond. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispers. She feels a kiss pressed to her temple and she pulls away.
"Ay dios mio if I wake up and this has all been a dream…" Maribel trails off, but Santana can still hear mumbled, colorful Spanish expletives falling from her mouth.
"Goodnight, Mami," she sing-songs.
"Te amo, nene."
Santana pauses at the door and smiles warmly at Maribel.
"I love you, too, Mami."
Santana enters their bedroom, closing and locking the door quietly behind her. She leans back against it and watches Brittany unpack the duffle bag on their bed.
"Can I ask you something?" Santana asks quietly. Having not heard her enter, Brittany jumps slightly and whips around, her arms full of clothes.
Her face softens when she realizes that it's Santana, and she continues to put her things away. "Anything," she replies, and though Santana can't see her face, she can hear the smile in Brittany's voice; it's obvious that she's as happy to be home as Santana is to have her.
"Is this what your…business trips have been about?"
Brittany halts her movements and turns so that she can speak directly to Santana. "Yes," she says quietly.
"For almost two years?" Santana raises an eyebrow; she has no doubts about Brittany's intentions, however she does feel a bit concerned about the lengths her girlfriend has obviously gone for this.
Brittany nods. She drops the handful of items she's holding and walks over to Santana. Santana pushes off of the door and meets Brittany halfway, sighing in contentment when Brittany's arms finally wind around her waist, holding their bodies close. She lays her head on Brittany's chest, directly over her heart, letting its gentle thrum soothe her.
"We didn't have much to go on," Brittany starts quietly, so that she doesn't disturb the peace surrounding them. "So the first couple of trips were hard. We had to let people know exactly what and who we were looking for, and to do that we had to make connections. But once we did the tips started coming in. And we started getting closer and closer. Finally we got a really solid lead that led us to Kentucky. We weren't exactly sure where to go when we got there. We had the guy's name and an old yearbook picture, but…Kentucky is a big place."
As Brittany grows more excited recalling her journey, Santana listens as her heart rate increases, and she hums to let Brittany know that she's still listening.
"We had given up on this trip," Brittany admits, sounding a bit guilty. "We had lunch before hitting the road. When we were leaving the restaurant parking lot, our rental car was rear-ended. When I looked in the mirror…when I saw his face looking back at me…" She trails off and exhales slowly.
Santana raises her head, looking into Brittany's eyes. "What if you hadn't been that lucky? What if you had found him under different circumstances?"
Brittany thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "The plan was to pay him off. Maybe offer to buy him another slave in her place. Everyone has a price," she says quietly, and Santana can hear the shame lurking in her words. She rubs Brittany's arms and nods. "So when I told Puck that that was the guy, Puck jumped at the opportunity to play dirty. Puck told him that we were married and I'm pregnant. I faked a back injury and we threatened to sue; with the guy's legal history, we figured we would have it in the bag. And we were right."
Santana takes a moment to smooth her hands across Brittany's shoulders, down her chest and sides, and then twisting them in the shirt at Brittany's hips, keeping her close. She bites her lip before asking, "So does this mean that you won't be leaving as much anymore?"
Brittany frowns adorably at the sadness creeping into Santana's tone. "I'm not going to leave ever again," she answers quietly. A slow smile splits Santana's lips, and she knows that her eyes are shining brilliantly. Regardless, Brittany looks troubled, and she strokes Santana's lower back through her dress as she asks, "Are you mad at me?"
Santana surges to her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to Brittany's hard and fast. She pulls away after only a second, until there is only a hairsbreadth between them, leaving Brittany panting with her eyes closed tightly. "Brittany," Santana says seriously, waiting until Brittany's eyes flutter open to look at her. "How could I be mad?"
Brittany takes a shuddering breath, and Santana can't help but wonder how long Brittany has been living with the fear that Santana is angry at her. "I mean, I've been gone a lot," Brittany mutters. She tries to pull away from Santana, but Santana opens her hands to hold Brittany's hips in place, anchoring her. Brittany swallows hard. "I know you've been mostly alone and stuff, and I've kinda been lying for a while. And…I didn't want you to think me and Puck…well, you know."
Santana shakes her head and smiles softly. "Britt, I would never. I trust you," she assures, her voice strong and steady. When Brittany's eyes light up, Santana's smile widens. "You've gone through…so much trouble-" Santana breaks off as a sudden surge of fondness and love threatens to bring her to tears and steal her voice. She breathes in and out deeply for a couple of seconds until she is certain she can speak without breaking down. "And I have no words, none at all, that would ever be able to express how thankful I am for you and for everything that you do. So please…let me show you."
Brittany whimpers at the insinuation, and Santana smirks when her hips jerk forward involuntarily. Santana presses a soft kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth before tracing her lips across Brittany's jaw. When she reaches Brittany's ear, she pulls the lobe between her teeth and tugs on it lightly.
Brittany moans and slides her hands down, palming Santana's ass roughly, and Santana gasps.
She's already so wet, and they haven't even done anything; it's a true testament to how long they've been apart.
Brittany presses a kiss just below her ear, and Santana can feel her smirk. She pushes Brittany away slightly and grabs for the hem of her t-shirt. She tugs it off and throws it to the side, wasting no time leaning in to pepper kisses across Brittany's collarbones.
Santana's fingers trace across Brittany's abs, making them tremble under her light touch. Her fingers dance up and her nails scrape across the bottom of Brittany's bra as she licks between Brittany's breasts.
Brittany moans and tugs impatiently at Santana's dress. "San," she pants. "Off."
Reluctantly, Santana pulls away from Brittany's chest. She gathers her hair up and turns around. After a moment, Brittany steps closer. She places one hand on Santana's hip. She presses a kiss to the nape of Santana's neck as she slowly glides the zipper of the dress down. She pushes the dress off of Santana's shoulders, letting it puddle at Santana's feet.
Before Santana can turn back around, Brittany deftly unclasps her lacy bra, pushes it off, and slides forward to press herself against Santana's back.
Santana groans when she feels Brittany's nipples grazing the muscles of her back, realizing that Brittany had removed her own bra at some point.
Brittany winds her arms around Santana, letting her hands drift lightly over Santana's stomach, relishing how they quiver under her fingertips. "I missed you," she husks in Santana's ear, making her shiver. She reaches up and brushes Santana's hair to the side, then she attacks Santana's neck, biting and sucking, and Santana groans again.
Brittany trails her hand up and cups Santana's breast, and Santana's knees nearly buckle when Brittany's thumb brushes across her nipple.
"Britt," she gasps, throwing an arm up and over her shoulder to grip the back of Brittany's neck and pull her into a bruising kiss, ignoring the awkward angle as their lips slide together, an act made simple by years of familiarity.
Brittany rolls Santana's nipple between her thin fingers before reaching over to give the other the same attention. Santana pulls away from Brittany's lips and whines.
Suddenly, Brittany's free hand shoots downward and into Santana's underwear, her middle finger immediately finding Santana's slit and tracing up until she reaches Santana's clit. Santana cries out softly as she circles the bundle of nerves tightly.
She's thankful that Brittany thought to move her arm around her torso because she knows she wouldn't be able to stand without Brittany holding her up.
But then she remembers that this isn't how this is supposed to go. She's supposed to be thanking Brittany.
Santana's eyes pop open and she grips Brittany's wrist, keeping her from stroking her slit again. "Britt, wait," she says, her voice low. Brittany freezes against her, and Santana turns her head to give her a soft kiss, reassuring her that everything is fine. "I want…I want…"
Brittany smiles against her shoulder. She withdraws her hand, but doesn't step away. Instead, she reaches up to remove Santana's hand from her head. She maneuvers the hand so that only her index and middle fingers are sticking up, then moves them into Santana's underwear.
Santana gasps when she realizes what Brittany is doing, and when Brittany guides her fingers to slide through her own slick folds, her hips buck, searching for more friction. "Britt," she begs, suddenly wanting Brittany's fingers on her once again.
"You feel that, baby?" Brittany breathes out, and Santana feels a tug in her abdomen at the words. "Feel how wet you are?" Santana whimpers and nods. Brittany continues to guide her fingers, pushing them into her opening slightly a couple of times before circling her clit once. She pulls Santana's hand out of her underwear and spins Santana around, pressing the length of their bodies together.
Santana watches, jaw slack, as Brittany guides her fingers into her mouth, tongue twirling around the digits as she licks them clean. "Fuck," she chokes out, and Brittany releases her fingers with a wet pop, licking her lips.
Brittany leans in and attaches her mouth to Santana's, pushing her tongue through immediately to let Santana taste herself. When she pulls away, she says, "Let me take care of you, San. We have all night."
Santana smiles and slides her hands into Brittany's hair. "Okay," she whispers.
Brittany grins and quickly rids both of them of the rest of their clothes. When she's finally standing straight again, Santana takes the opportunity to lay her hands on Brittany's hips and lean in to suck Brittany's nipple into her mouth.
Brittany hisses and her hands fly to Santana's hair, holding her in place. She throws her head back and mutters, "Oh my god." Santana moves to the other breast. She nudges her cheek against Brittany's nipple, then laves her tongue against it lazily, swirling slightly before taking it into her mouth and biting down gently. "Ungh."
Brittany's hips jerk and her pelvis hits Santana's. Santana grunts, and Brittany's nipple slips from her mouth.
Brittany tugs on Santana's hair until she's standing upright again, then she pulls Santana forward. Their lips meet in a searing kiss, tongues caressing each other, and Brittany walks Santana backwards until her back hits the door.
Brittany pulls away and drops to her knees. "Fuck," Santana whimpers, and Brittany lays wet open-mouthed kisses along her hipbones and her lower stomach. She combs her fingers through Brittany's hair adoringly. "I love you."
Brittany's kisses stop and she looks up, her eyes connecting with Santana's. She holds Santana's gaze as she kisses down the inside of one thigh, and then up the inside of the other. She lifts Santana's leg and hooks it over her shoulder.
Santana's breath quickens, her anticipation rising.
Brittany tilts her head slightly and swipes her tongue through Santana's hot folds. Santana's mouth falls open and her head hits the door. She reaches blindly for Brittany's hand, and when she finds it, she clasps it tightly over her hip as Brittany continues to draw her tongue over her center, swirling and dipping and writing words that Santana can't make out until Santana is trembling and begging.
"Britt," she gasps, her stomach muscles clenching. She tightens her leg around Brittany's shoulders, pulling Brittany closer. "Please…I-I need-"
Brittany pulls away and Santana cries out in frustration. "I know, baby," she says softly. The hand that isn't holding Santana's sneaks around and Brittany prods at Santana's entrance with two fingers. Santana arches off of the door when they enter her, curling as they bottom before dragging out agonizingly slow.
"F-faster," Santana begs, her hips thrusting down as Brittany thrusts up. "God, Britt, harder." She thinks she hears Brittany chuckle, but suddenly Brittany twists her wrist, her fingers stroking just where Santana's wants her to be. Her eyes roll back as Brittany continues to thrust in, curl, and stroke.
"C'mon, San," Brittany coaxes. "Cum for me." She quickens her thrusts, and then her tongue is on Santana's clit and Santana stills as her orgasm hits her, stealing her breath. Her body goes rigid, and Brittany continues to thrust into her, slowly bringing her down.
Santana's leg falls from Brittany's shoulder, and Brittany kisses her way back up Santana's body. She wraps her arms around Santana and holds her. Santana leans against Brittany, thankful for the support while her legs stop trembling.
"You okay?" Brittany whispers into her hair.
Santana's tongue darts out, wetting her lips before she says, "You just wait. In five to ten minutes I am gonna rock your world."
Brittany laughs. She bends over and scoops Santana into her arms effortlessly, carrying her to the bed.
Later, as Brittany lies sleeping on Santana's chest, Santana thinks back to her earlier conversation with her mother.
Do you think she'd be okay with calling me 'Mami' too?
Soon.
She reaches over and pulls open the draw of her nightstand. She shifts her hand around blindly until her fingers graze the velvet exterior of the box she finds tucked in the back of the drawer.
Tomorrow, a new phase of their lives will begin.
Tomorrow, they'll file her mother's paper work.
Tomorrow, she'll ask Brittany to marry her.
A/N2: Again, thank you all for sticking with me through this; you'll never know how much it means to me.
If you happen to be from the HeYa fandom, and remember/liked the high school AU that I wrote a few years ago, keep an eye out for it here. I'm going to be converting it into a Brittana fic – one, because RPF isn't allowed here, and two, because I had a few people tell me that it was already basically a Brittana AU fic. It will probably have a shortened title, but I'll start posting in a few weeks, and it'll probably be on a bi-weekly posting schedule (maybe Tuesdays and Fridays?) since it is already fully written. Anyways, this will give me time to begin the next fic I have planned, and I hope you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.