A/N: Surprise! I'm not dead! But my computer is (*cries*). I've been in internet withdrawal for the last two weeks so tonight I decided to make home in one of my school's computer lab so I could finally get some writing done. Anyways, just a quick reminder, we're winding down now, just two or three chapters left. I'm not entirely sure exactly how many because I lost all my outlines and plans in "the great crash", but, either way, we're still almost done. Although, at the rate I've been going, who knows, I might not finish until Christmas... so, for anyone still hanging with me, I'm very, incredibly, sorry, and thank you!
Chapter Twenty-One:
Brittany and Emily were sitting on the stairs and watching their uncle strip the old, still stained, carpet off the living room floor for almost an hour on Sunday night while sharing a bowl of popcorn and chattering nonsense about their cousins, their uncle's children. When conversation died down and their uncle rolled out the new carpet, Emily declared that she was bored and returned to her room to watch a movie, leaving Brittany alone in silence. As she watched her sister go, Brittany sighed, her shoulders drooping as she leaned her head against the handrail.
She contemplated following Emily, to join her watching whatever little kid movie she'd picked out that Brittany probably already knew all the words to, but ultimately decided against it. It would probably just lead to another argument like the one the night before, where Emily yelled at her for hanging around too much and being hover-y. Brittany wasn't worried about her or anything, not like the adults in their life were anyway, she just wasn't used to being left on her own so much and clung to whoever was closest to her. Plus, the house had become far too quiet, even Emily's complaining was better than the quiet.
Normally, though, the house was noisy and full of happy sounds. She and Santana would be running up and down the stairs, shouting and goofing off while her mother laughed at them from the kitchen. Emily would be on their heels, begging to join in whatever game they were playing, and her father would be yelling for them all to be quest so he could hear the news. But things weren't like that anymore. And she wasn't entirely sure if things were ever going to be like they used to be again either.
Lately, her father hadn't done much but hole up in his room all day while his shoulder healed, which were his doctor's older, but even Brittany could see that he was depressed and using his injury as an excuse to avoid the world. She also knew that Emily missed him terribly, because she checked on him at least twice every hour. Brittany wished the television downstairs hadn't been broken, so he could at least lay there and watch old reruns instead of in his room. But he was going to start physical therapy in a few days, since the muscle had been torn, so that would give him a reason to get out of bed and move around the house again, even though it was still going to be a while until he was able to go back to work, which was what was really upsetting him, at least it would be an improvement. To make up for the slack, and to pay for the medical bills and repairs to the house, her mom was taking double shifts at work. They brought her home later and later every night, and they sometimes wouldn't see her before bed. That also left Brittany to do the majority of the cooking, which Emily wasn't pleased about in the least bit. To Emily's pleasure, however, their uncle had bought them pizza that night.
Minus the pineapple-pepperoni pizza, all of it sucked. But, mostly, Brittany just really missed Santana. She hadn't seen her best friend since Friday at school, and it'd been even longer than that since they'd actually talked. If Santana had been around for the last week, like she would normally be, cooking wouldn't be so hard, the house wouldn't be so quiet, and she wouldn't be so lonely. Sighing for probably the hundredth time, she stood up, said goodbye to her uncle, and went upstairs to her own room to get ready for bed; there was early Cheerios practice in the morning.
What Brittany discovered an hour before school started the next day, was that they didn't actually have morning practice. And apparently never did. At least according to the schedule hanging on Coach Sylvester's door, anyway. Glancing around the empty hallways, she briefly wondered what to do before bring her attention back to the offending piece of paper, fixing it with her best mock-Santana glare. Maybe if she stared at it long enough it would change and the others would show up and they could practice? Or it could just spontaneously catch on fire. Sometimes she was afraid things would do that when Santana glared at them. But, deciding that that most likely wasn't going to happen, she turned and sulked off in a random direction, she didn't even know which, her sneakers squeaking down the silent hallway.
She wandered around for a long time, keeping her eyes focused on the linoleum tiles under her feet, counting them as she passed. She didn't mind that she lost count a few times and had to start over, and eventually just saying 'one, two, three' over and over like a dance. A few times she even caught herself spinning. But, eventually, even she gets tired, and looks up from the floor for the first time in almost 40 minutes. To her surprise, the halls have started to fill in, kids in other clubs have showed up, some sporting tubas and other big shiny instruments, and she even spots a few teachers. Looking around more carefully, she also realizes she close to her locker and sets off to find it. She hopes she'll have enough time to get it open before classes start.
As usual, Miss Pillsbury showed up to the school a prompt forty-five minutes before the first bell. She didn't generally make appointments during the first period, but she liked to be on campus, just in case she was needed for something. Or in case Will decided to drop by for an early morning talk. But she likes to think she's there mostly for the students. Which is why she jumps on the opportunity to help a very dejected looking Brittany, who she finds blankly staring at nothing with her forehead resting against her locker.
"Brittany?" she asks gently, placing a tentative hand on the girl's forearm.
It takes a second for the action to register, but eventually Brittany turns her head curiously, her eyes immediately going wide as she jerks back. "I'm not hiding anything!" she hurriedly exclaims.
Miss Pillsbury, taken aback, chances a quick suspicious look at the locker they're standing in front of before shaking her head, forcing her best cheerful smile. "I didn't say that you were," she insisted gently, but Brittany didn't look convinced that she wasn't in trouble. "Why don't you come into my office and we can talk for a little bit before class?" she offered after a moment, Brittany just shrugged, but followed her to the office at the end of the hallway.
After Emma had situated herself behind her desk, and fixed all the files neatly laid out, she turned her attention to Brittany, who was waiting expectantly in one of the chairs opposite her desk. "So," she began, Brittany blinked, "what are you doing here so early today?"
"I came for Cheerios practice," Brittany responded simply.
Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing down at her desk for a quick second before adjusting one of the files, "I didn't think the Cheerios had practice on Monday morning this year, because of the new rule the Board of Directors instated?"
Brittany nodded after a moment of thought, "that's what the note on Coach Sylvester's door said."
"There hasn't been practice all semester on Mondays, so why did you come in?" she pressed.
Brittany just shrugged her shoulders, "I forgot."
"Is that unusual?" Miss Pillsbury started tapping her fingers.
Brittany shrugged again, digging through her backpack before producing her cellphone as evidence, holding it out in front of her for Miss Pillsbury to see, "Usually my phone reminds me when we have, and don't have, practice, but I haven't been getting those text a lot lately, so I figured I'd better come in anyway," she mumbled, "just in case."
"You use your phone to set reminder alarms?" Emma didn't bother to hide the surprise in her voice, "Those are some very good organizational skills. That's very good," she smiled, Brittany just looked confused.
"I don't know how to set alarms on my phone," she explained.
"Oh," now Miss Pillsbury looked confused, she glanced around the tidy space for some hint of where to take the conversation next, "so," she recovered quickly, smiling again and straightening up slightly, "how have your classes been going lately?"
"I don't know," her reply is, again, immediately. Truthfully, she'd been skipping a lot. She couldn't even remember why either.
Miss Pillsbury nodded after a second, apparently accepting the response before asking another question, "Are you doing well?" Brittany just stared at her after that one. Fidgeting again, Miss Pillsbury glanced down at the pencils she had laid out along the side of her desk. She hurriedly straightened one that was lightly off. Brittany watched her movements closely and squinted. Miss Pillsbury was starting to seriously freak her out, she shifted in her seat and glanced towards the door, back to the pencils Miss Pillsbury was still touching.
"So, Brittany," Brittany looked up from the pencils, nodding slightly, "I was wondering if you wanted to talk about what happened a few weeks ago?"
Brittany thought about it for a moment before becoming confused again, "what happened a few weeks ago?"
"In your house?" Miss Pillsbury prompted, Brittany shook her head, feeling uncomfortable, "with Mr. Sanders?"
Suddenly Brittany stood up, "Can I go now?" she asked quickly. Before Emma could response, Brittany was out the door.
Once she was safe in the hallway, away from Miss Pillbury's creepy big brown eyes and lemony-smelling office, Brittany took a big breath and immediately felt better. She also quickly noticed that the hallways had filled in a considerable amount since she went in to talk to Miss Pillsbury. She spotted Becky at the far end of the hallway and waved, Becky waved back, a smile on her face.
"Brittany?" she frowned then, hoping Miss Pillsbury hadn't followed her to ask more questions, but she found Rachel looking at her instead. And she was standing with Quinn, who flashed her a quick smile which she returned in full.
"Hey!" she grinned, walking over.
Rachel looked from Brittany, to the door she'd walked out of, and back again suspiciously. "Are you ok?" she asks suddenly, Brittany opens her mouth to respond that, of course she's ok, but then Rachel keeps talking. "Is something wrong? Why were you talking to Miss Pillsbury? Did something happen?" there are about eight more questions after those, but Brittany quickly loses track and forgets half of her answers.
Sensing that Brittany is being overwhelmed, Quinn takes pity on her and places a hand on Rachel's shoulder, pulling her close to whisper something in her ear. Brittany notices Rachel quickly glancing in her direction once more before she turns and hurries off down the hallway without a second word. "Where'd Rachel have to go to so fast?"
Quinn just shrugged, offering out her elbow for Brittany to take instead, "want to walk with me?" Brittany immediately loops their arms together. They're halfway down the science wing before either of them say anything, it's Quinn who speaks first, bringing Brittany back out of her head, "so, do you want to talk about why you've been down these last few days?" For a moment, Brittany doesn't answer, she just continues to stare at the wall. "Britt, it's ok, you can talk to me."
"But you're sad too," she insists. Quinn just smiles slightly, shaking her head, it figures. Nudging her shoulder slightly with her own, Quinn tries again.
"Don't worry about that right now, what's up with you? You're usually cheerful," she points out, but Brittany remains silent. Quinn reaches out and touches Brittany's hand, "I miss the happy you."
"It's Santana," Brittany admits without hesitation, turning her worried blue eyes back to Quinn again. "She's not talking to me. Or texting me. Or… anything. So, I think I did something wrong, but I can't figure out what. I didn't mean to, whatever I did. I don't want her to be mad at me. I thought I was- I didn't- she said- I-" she begins to babble and Quinn's afraid she's about to lose it, so she quickly ushered her out of the hallway, and away from prying eyes, and into the closest bathroom. It's still early, so, thankfully, the room is empty. She takes a moment to lock the door behind them anyway, just in case.
"Britt, calm down," she sooths quietly, doing her best to bite her tongue about their missing third skirt. She knows bashing Santana now won't do Brittany any good. "What happened?" she asks once Brittany's calmed down again. Brittany's looking at the floor, staring forlornly at the scuff on her sneaker. She shrugs. "Come on," Quinn insists.
"After practice on Tuesday, we kind of had a fight. She was being moody, like," Brittany glanced over, "more than normal," she clarified, Quinn tried not to smirk. "I tried asking her about it, but she got all touchy and yelled at me. She didn't even go to practice, she just sat in the parking lot and waited for me, so I thought she might be sick, and I said we could go to my place, since her parents weren't going to be home. Because, you know, my mom makes really good soup when I'm sick, and I thought that might help. And then I mentioned Emily would like to play doctor with us again, and," her voice trailed off, and she just looked so broken and worried that Quinn couldn't stop the anger that flared up with Santana again.
"Then what happened?" she pressed gently, rubbing a hand up and down Brittany's back.
Brittany looked towards the door, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "She started crying, like, sobbing. And she wouldn't tell me why. Then she got out of the car and walked away. I tried to follow her, but she told me to stay. I waited and waited, but she didn't come back. Eventually my mom called and asked where I was. She came and picked me up."
Quinn was shocked, "did Santana get home?"
Brittany nodded, "I saw her car in her driveway later that night. I tried to call her, but she didn't answer. She hasn't talked to me since."
"You didn't do anything wrong, B, don't worry," Quinn assured firmly, Brittany just shrugged. "Do you want me to try talking to her, though? To try and figure out what's bothering her?" she offered slowly after a minute. Brittany looked hopeful for a second, and then terrified.
"Don't tell her I told you! She'll be really mad, and I don't want her to hit you!" Quinn actually laughed out loud at that, and quickly assured Brittany she would be fine. "Really," Brittany begged, "don't tell her."
"I won't Britt, don't worry. Now, come on," she pushed away from the sink and lead the way towards the door, Brittany following close behind her, "we're going to be late for class if we don't' hurry up."
"I don't know what class I have first," Brittany admitted once they stepped back out into the hallway.
Quinn thought about it for a moment, there was a time where she knew Brittany and Santana's schedules better than her own, of course, that had been in eighth grade. But, still… "I think you have English, with Tina, right?"
Brittany's face brightened after a second, "oh yeah!" she gave Quinn a quick hug before saying thanks and hurrying off to a class she hadn't been to in a whole week. Quinn watched her go, making sure she didn't go in the completely wrong direction, before turning around and making her own way to class.
Taking her usual seat in the third row, thanks to alphabetical order- which, seriously? What is this, third grade? and looks around as the rest of the class starts to fill in. She's only mildly surprised when Santana's seat remains empty, she's borderline late on a good day. However, when Santana doesn't show up by the last bell, Quinn assumes she's home sick or skipping all together. That's why she's surprised when Santana shows up twenty minutes later, throwing the door open with a bang, leaving it rattling on its hinges. Their teacher lets out an annoyed huff and asks something about a pass, to which Santana just shrugs and takes her seat, two rows over from Quinn, in the second seat back.
Once she's sure the teacher has gone back to whatever their lesson is supposed to be out, Quinn's not really paying attention, she crumples up a piece of paper and aims for the back of Santana's head. Years of pelting Rachel with random found object lead her to being an expert shot, and the ball landed directly on target. Spinning around, Santana fixes her with a sharp glare, her lip curling up in close to a snarl. Quinn's almost worried, it's been a while since she's seen that face, and the last time she did they ended up in smack down. But that was also back in eighth grade.
'I need to talk to you' she mouths slowly, sure that Santana can figure out what she's saying. Santana rolls her eyes and turns back around with a dismissive flick of her risk, pulling out a notebook to pretend she's paying attention.
Since there was no indication given that she wasn't going to wait around after class, Quinn is shocked and more than a little pissed off that Santana packs up and stalks out of the room without a word or even a glance back, quickly disappearing from sight before Quinn's even out of her seat. She's long gone by the time Quinn stumbles into the hallway, half of her belongings clutched to her chest and unzipped back hanging halfway down her arm.
Quinn's about ready to scream until she spots a familiar tall football player on the other side of the hallway, rummaging through his locker. "Finn," she taps him on the back urgently, causing him to jump and spin around, eyeing her nervously, "have you seen Santana?" he immediately relaxes and shakes his head.
"Nope, sorry," she sighs and lets her shoulders droop, guessing she'll have to catch up with the other Cheerio at a later point in the day. "So," Finn rocks from foot to foot, causing her to give him a funny look, "how are you?" he asks after a minute.
Rolling her eyes she replied over her shoulder as she walks away, "fine."
She doesn't manage to find Santana before her next class, or after, or during lunch. It isn't until she's on her way to fourth period that she spot the other girl loitering suspiciously around one of the emergency exits like she's about ready to bolt. Weaving her way through the masses, she jogs up to Santana and grabs her around the arm, tugging her behind without giving her a chance to protest or fight back. She shoves her into an empty classroom and slams the door shut behind them, standing firmly in front of it with her arms crossed.
"What the hell?" Santana demands, throwing her bag down and fixing Quinn with another deadly glare.
"What's your problem?" Quinn demands, and, for a second, Santana is confused.
"My problem?" she asks, her voice raising, "you're the one shoving me into empty class rooms! I'm not going to make out with you, if that's what you want so get your crazy, hormonal, sex-deprived, ass out of my way!" she goes to take a step forward, but Quinn shoves her back.
Quinn shakes her head, wearily eyeing Santana's hands as they ball up into fists. "No," she insists firmly, looking her in the eye again, "you need some sense knocked into you, and if I have to hit you to do that, I will."
"Puh-lease, Fabray," Santana folded her arms across her chest, "Do you think you scare me?"
"Don't you see how you're acting?" Quinn demanded, Santana shook her head, "Pushing everyone away, lashing out, skipping class, getting into fights? Figgins isn't going to put up with much more of this, and Coach Sylvester can only get you out of so much, you're going to get suspended at this rate." When Santana still doesn't react, she continues, "everyone is worried about you!" still nothing, "especially Brittany."
Santana throws her hands up, "is that what this is about? Fuck you. Fuck 'everyone'! I'm fucking fine. I'm just sick of everyone hovering all over me all the god damn time! Is it too much to ask to be left alone? You get to be fine, why don't I?"
Quinn sighed, her anger failing. She could see the fear, the tiny quiver in Santana's lower lip, the way she couldn't quite pull of her signature glare right while she was arguing. "I'm not fine, Santana, that's the point," she explained quietly. "I can't even go into the math wing yet without having a panic attack. But I'm getting better, because I'm talking to people. I'm letting people help me.
Santana scoffed loudly at that, "I don't' need anybody's help."
"That's bull and you know it!" any pity she was feeling for the other girl jumped right out the window.
"Just because some psycho held a gun to my head doesn't mean I have to be a hot mess all of a sudden," then she shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head, "it's no big deal, ok?"
Quinn wanted to slap her upside the head, take her by the collar of her letterman jacket and shake her until her head spun. "You could've died, Santana. Don't you get that? The Sanders planned to kill me. He would've killed you, and Brittany too, if he had had the chance. It's ok to be upset over something like that."
"Well," there was a slight hesitation, "I'm not."
"Why not?" Quinn challenged. "I still break down into tears sometimes. I cried half of yesterday, if Rachel hadn't been-"
"Oh god!" Santana made a great show of slapping her hands over her ears, "I do not want to hear about how you and the midget are all buddy-buddy all of a sudden!"
Quinn rolled her eyes, speaking slowly through gritted teeth, "the point is-"
"The point is," Santana mocked, "that I just want to be left alone." She took a menacing step forward, jabbing a single finger into Quinn's chest, "so back the fuck off, Fabray, before I knock your teeth in."
Not exactly the conversation she'd planned on having, Quinn watched Santana storm out as Mr. Schuester walked in. It was only then she'd realized they'd stumbled into his classroom. "Hey, Quinn," he greeted, still watching Santana's retreating form, "is everything ok?" he asked, gesturing over his shoulder, towards the door, Quinn just shrugged. Mr. Schue sighed, nodding his head sadly. "How are you holding up?" Quinn bites her tongue, maybe Santana had been on to something after all.
"I'm managing," she replies evenly with a small smile, "thanks, I'll see you at Glee practice." She walks out of the room with the intent of hunting Santana down again. Finding her again proves to be rather difficult, and Quinn doesn't understand why until Puck lets her know he saw Santana shimmying out of one of the bathroom windows during fourth period. Santana skips the next day, and, on with no sign from her on Wednesday, Quinn's about ready to commit murder.
A/N: A super awesome secret surprise that I didn't even plan/realize until I upload this? This is the longest chapter yet... kind of by a lot. I don't know if I should say 'whoops' or 'yay' so I will say... 'whaay'?