I'm just gonna say it. Hollywood's version of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is really disappointing.

Haha. Anyway, once again thanks for the response for the previous chapter. I'm beginning to have difficulty with the pacing of the story – I know you guys must be frustrated that at Chapter 12, they're still starting at "Hi." I know, the set-up seems to be taking so, so long. But I'm working on it.

Forgot to mention that the previous chapter was titled after the Metric song.

This is tragically short, but I wanted to update before I got swamped by schoolwork.

Guns Out

"Hi."

Brittany waited, almost breathlessly, for it to come: a faint flicker of fury, a pang of painful heartache, a burst of bitter regret in her mouth. Head bent down and lips silent, she waited for her body's reaction, half-expecting strong surges of anger, or hatred, or misery. Something. Anything.

But nothing came. All that existed was the lingering silence of the empty choir room, and the two people sitting a few meters away from each other, divided by a universe of unspoken words.

Brittany cleared her throat, raising her head and fixing her gaze on a point on the whiteboard of the room, where the words Young Folks were written in barely legible hand-writing.

She didn't really know what it was she wanted to say. In fact, she wasn't even sure why she was still here. The other girl's behavior during the entire duration of the club meeting was more than enough to make her realize that Santana's harsh, merciless and demeaning attitude made her the kind of person people didn't wanted to be around – and, less obviously, that Santana just wasn't the kind of person who wanted to keep people around.

Old Brittany would have taken the hint, bowed her head in willing surrender, and disappeared off with Mike Chang. She would have gotten into Finn Hudson's car without any worries, and thrown herself willingly into a mindless conversation of silk and taffetas with Quinn Fabray.

But New Brittany couldn't do any of that. The entire illusion of a carefree youth had been shattered beyond repair. That seemed to be one thing she and Santana Lopez had in common, and whether it was sane or not, Brittany couldn't help but wonder what it had taken for the other girl to become the way she was. If, for Brittany, the change happened after something as horrible as losing her family, what was it for Santana?

"So…" Brittany trailed off. Run, the last sane bit of her mind pleaded. "We… never actually really met." She said instead, the words sounding weak and altogether rather anticlimactic to her own ears.

The sentence hung heavily in the air between them, like a sword dangling by the finest of threads. The urge to turn around and look the other girl in the eye was beginning to creep into Brittany's body, but she resisted. It might be easier to talk if they didn't really see each other.

The other girl sighed. It sounded like resignation. "Santana Lopez."

Brittany nodded slowly to herself, feeling oddly relieved. She didn't realize part of her expected Santana to scoff and walk away. "Brittany Pierce." There was another beat in the conversation, and Brittany swallowed to moisten her dry throat. Then she added, in a low, hoarse voice, "You know… you never did answer my question."

"What question?"

Brittany closed her eyes momentarily, and inhaled slowly. For a moment that was so crucial, the entire thing felt so simple. Too simple. "Why did you save me?"

Santana's breath hitched, and in the slow silence of the choir room, the sound was especially sharp and clear. Brittany opened her eyes and waited. It was another long moment before the other girl murmured something that sounded distinctly like "screaming."

"What?" Brittany turned her head slightly to the side.

"I…" It sounded like Santana was shaking her head. Then she sighed again, frustrated. "I just. I needed to." She said it almost soundlessly, and in an odd way Brittany felt the words more than she heard them.

Brittany furrows her brows. Needed to? "What's that supposed to mean?"

There was another silence, before Santana sighed and replied in a hard voice, "Look, I don't know, okay? I can't really… explain… what happened. I just… you were screaming. I couldn't… do nothing."

She didn't even realize that she'd curled her fingers into fists, until her nails were leaving deep indents into the skin of her palm. The atmosphere felt different all of a sudden, like all the quiet had been sucked out, to be replaced by tension so heavy Brittany could feel it weighing down on her body. "Well." Brittany said, her voice low and even. The words were leaving her mouth before she could stop them. "I hope you don't mind if I'm not going to thank you."

"Fuck." Santana's response was automatic, her voice almost harsh. "I don't want you to, okay?" Her sudden anger was surprising. "I get that I'm the fucking villain here." Brittany raised her eyebrows. That certainly wasn't what she meant – at least, not really. "But it's not like I'm looking for your gratitude here." She stopped and inhaled deeply. When she spoke again, her voice was softened. "I don't want you to thank me. I wouldn't either if I were you."

Brittany breathed in slowly, staying silent.

"And…" Santana sounded surprisingly tiny and broken. It was almost amazing, how the emotions in her voice were shifting so rapidly from one to another. Now her voice was lowered to a whisper. "I meant it." She swallowed. "What I said. I meant it. I am sorry."

The tightening of her body made it difficult for her to breath. Brittany could feel her eyes watering, but she blinked them away. She shrugged once, trying not to choke on the overwhelming sadness. "Yeah, well. Me, too."

"I just..." Santana struggled with the words almost like she was wrestling with them, knocking them to the ground and forcing them out. "I didn't… I didn't know…"

The other girl fell silent, and Brittany wiped a lone tear away. She hesitated before saying sadly, "But it doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, it's done. It's over." They're dead.

Santana made an odd noise. "What…what can I do to make it easier?" Her voice was thick with emotion. "Do you want me to…? I mean…I could stay away." There was a pause. "If you want me to."

Brittany shook her head. "Wouldn't make a difference." There was nothing in this world that anyone could do to make anything feel even vaguely easier. She knew that much.

"I'm sorry."

She finally gave in to the urge, and turned her entire head around so she could see the other girl completely. Santana was already looking at her, and their gazes met and locked together. It was all in her eyes, Brittany realized, where you could really see her. Santana could walk around the entire world smirking and sneering and shooting people down with unrelentingly vicious, vicious words, but… her eyes told a different kind of story.

At the moment they were veiled by a thick curtain of unshed tears, but behind that Brittany could see the pained and haunted look. She wondered if that was what she looked like, too –tired and lost and lonely and sad.

They stared at each other unblinkingly for what seemed like an eternity. Then Brittany heard herself asking, "Why didn't you want to sing?"

Santana's eyebrows rose in surprise at the abrupt shift in subject. She blinked, the tears receding. "I-I… what?"

"Why didn't want to sing?"

"Why didn't you?" Santana sounded just as confused as Brittany felt. Truth be told, she didn't think that she really want to know, but the question had slipped out before she could even think twice.

Brittany shrugged in response, shifting her entire body around. "I didn't know we were supposed to."

Santana looked at her oddly for a moment, then admitted quietly, "I don't like singing." Brittany noticed that her eyes turned darker when she said it, narrowing ever so slightly.

"Why not?"

She hesitated. Her voice was distant when she spoke again. "Reminds me of someone."

It was obvious that she wasn't really willing to add anymore to that. Smiling mirthlessly, Brittany replied, "Well, I know what that feels like."

Santana shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"Yeah, I know. I just wish it could change things."

Santana looked away. "You should probably go." She whispered. "Before they… assume that I've done something to hurt you."

Brittany felt herself frowning. "You really think they'd think that?"

Black eyes snapped back to blue. "Manhands already refers to me as an inanimate object. Would it be so hard to believe they think the worse of me?"

"Well, maybe it wouldn't be that bad if you weren't so mean to them." Brittany pointed out softly.

Santana snorted. "Wow, unsolicited advice."

"You could call it that."

The other girl shook her head, sneering as she quoted, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "I hope you don't mind if I'm not going to thank you."

Brittany shrugged, looked away, and said nothing. After a long moment, she heard Santana
sigh, "I'm sorry. That was rude." Brittany looked back at her, watching black eyes soften apologetically. "It's just… reflex, I guess." She paused. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something." She cleared her throat. "Why didn't you–"

Footsteps began to echo from the hallway. Brittany turned around to face the door, just in time to see the mohawked boy from earlier stick his head into the choir room and call out, "Jesus, I heard a rumor going around that Santana Lopez finally lost it and decided to join the freaking Social Suicide Circle. Please tell me it was a fucking joke."

His eyes landed on Santana, a smirk on his face, before his gaze slipped and found Brittany. His eyes widened comically. "Oh shit." He muttered abruptly, standing straight as the expression slid off his face. "Sorry."

Brittany heard Santana sigh wearily. "Brittany," she began, "Puck. Puck, Brittany."

The mohawked boy gave a slight nod. "Hey." His voice was cautious.

"Hi." Brittany waved politely.

He swallowed awkwardly, glancing up at Santana. "Uhm…"

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, the blonde stood up, reaching for her bag. "Well, I should go." She turned to look back at Santana. "It's a long walk."

Santana frowned. "Are you sure? I'm sure Puck can drive you to–"

"Mr. Schuester's place?" Brittany interrupted, chuckling. She shook her head. "Nah, it's okay. I can walk. It will help clear my head out, anyway."

Santana's jaw tensed, but she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." Brittany echoed, swinging her bag over her shoulders and heading for the door. "I'll see you around, Santana." She glanced at the boy. "Puck."

"Bye." She heard Santana call out, her voice small.