"Hey," Santana walked into Quinn's room without so much as a knock.
The blonde looked up from the dresses laid out on her bed, raising a mildly annoyed eyebrow, "What can I do for you?"
Santana smiled, because that was exactly what she wanted to hear, "Actually, you could do me a huge favor and... not come home tonight."
Quinn's second eyebrow rose to match the first, "You're joking, right?"
"Um, no, I'm not," Santana smiled a bit wider, her eyes skimming over the choices Quinn was debating. "I like this one, you've only worn it once."
"Santana," Quinn picked up the dress Santana had suggested and went to her closet to find shoes to match, "you're really asking me to not come home, to my own house, tonight?"
"You shouldn't think of it like me barring you from the house," she took up the rejected dressed and headed over to hang them in the closet, "and think of it as an excuse to extend your date night with Rachel. I mean, you're already going out, you might as well stay out. I get time with Britt, you get time with Rachel, it's win-win."
"Why can't you go to her place tonight? Or out at all?" Quinn asked, for the sake of argument. She hadn't planned on coming home tonight but it was fun to watch Santana justify herself. "You guys are always in your stupid basement, I'm surprised she doesn't think you're ashamed of her."
"Shut up, it's not like that. We're just... low key, I don't need to take her to a fancy dinner and a show to let her know I care," Santana tired to reason, but suddenly she felt like she wasn't doing enough. She's taken Brittany out before, they've had dinner, went to that comedy club, did Brittany prefer to go out than to stay in? Santana would have to find that out.
While she was finishing hanging up the dresses, Quinn had slipped into the chosen one; black and off the shoulder, it was short enough to be fun, but the cut was classy. She looked at her friend, and Santana was already on her way over to zip her up.
"That works out really well then, because I don't think Brittany needs any more than you," Quinn sighed, giving the brunette a reassuring smile. "So what are your plans? Seduce her with your gaming prowess?"
Santana snorted, "No, I'm making her dinner, that's why we have to do it here. You know I'm particular about my cook wear."
"OCD you mean," Quinn sent over her shoulder. "Help me pick a pair of earrings."
"Whatever," Santana was willing to let that slide, looking over her choices, "I'm trying to treat her for the feature so you'll be cramping my style if I'm worried about you coming home."
Quinn took the pair of earrings Santana picked out without even looking at them, "I don't get why you have this ridiculous stigma against sleeping with someone when I'm in the house. You're a grown ass woman you're allowed to—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Santana stepped back, waving her hands, "cease and desist with that. What makes you think that, that I—"
She couldn't even finish the statement and that was a big clue.
"Uh, Brittany told me that," Quinn smirked at the embarrassed look in her friend's eyes, "she said it was against the rules, your rules."
"I never said that," Santana denied, looking at her nails because she couldn't hold Quinn's eyes.
"I don't think you really have to say anything," Quinn laughed quietly. "I've never seen someone get inside your head like she can. I'm almost worried that she knows you better than I do by now."
"Hardly," Santana joked, "you know me better than I do, I still can't remember most of our first two years at UCLA."
Quinn laughed, "I still can't believe we don't have chronic liver damage."
"We really lucked out on that one," Santana chuckled.
Quinn looked at herself in the vanity, her eyes were critical. Santana knew that look, she gave herself that look so many time before.
"You're beautiful, Q," Santana told her sincerely.
Quinn's eyes stayed on the mirror. She offered a small smile.
"She knew," she said quietly, one of her hands touching her lower stomach absently.
Santana wasn't sure what Quinn was talking about. After a moment Quinn continued.
"That week we spent in San Antonio. I... I know she noticed my stretch marks, the scar from the emergency C-section."
Santana leaned against the vanity, crossing her arms over her chest, "Did she... say anything?"
"Nothing more than a few... comments that gave me the opportunity to admit to having a child," Quinn sighed. "I never did."
"Is she holding that against you?" Santana's protective nature showed itself in her eyes and Quinn almost laughed.
"No, not at all," she tapped her fingers along the vanity as if she was playing a piano, Santana watched carefully, "she's been really understanding about everything, Santana."
"Are you telling me this because you want me to stop holding a grudge against her?"
"Yes," Quinn met her eyes, "there's a reason she's so hard on Brittany."
"I don't care—"
"Brittany cares," Quinn cut her off, "and I care. I'm not asking you to forgive and forget, I'm asking you to try a little harder to see her side of the story."
Santana frowned, it felt an awful lot like Quinn was asking her to let it go for her sake. She would probably have to do it.
"She means a lot to me," Quinn looked down to her fingers, still playing her imaginary piano. "I think... I'm about as serious about her as you are with Britt."
Santana took a deep breath, "You know that's real damn serious, right?"
"Like, seriously, so damn serious," Quinn smirked, catching Santana's eye in a sideways glance.
Santana rolled her eyes. Without thinking, because something in her wanted to prove to Quinn just how serious she was with Brittany, and maybe she needed help processing the idea, Santana said, "Holly told me I should marry her."
Quinn's fingers stopped moving, "What? Santana—"
She didn't realize how insane that sounded until she said it out loud. They had only been dating for a few months. There was still so much they had to learn about each other. Santana could feel a dull heat come to her face and she stomach knotted, embarrassed.
"It was a joke," Santana shook her head and stepped away from the vanity, "a stupid joke, forget I ever said anything—"
"Santana, come on," Quinn grabbed her arm before she could get too far away, "talk to me about this."
"We never talk about shit like this," Santana huffed, but didn't struggle against Quinn's grip, "lets keep it that way."
"I don't want to," Quinn's fingers tightened a little. " I want to talk about Brittany, just like I want to talk to you about Rachel. I want to tell you about her, and how she makes me feel, and about how happy she makes me, and I want you to know that."
Santana's eyes ran over the way Quinn's eyes were lighting up, the corners of her mouth quirking into a hopeless smile, despite how serious she was trying to be, "I want to come home after work and tell you about the silly pictures she sends me from her office, and about the way she's always so punctual—I'm talking on the dot punctual that puts my Googling obsession to shame and..."
She trailed off, releasing Santana's arm and replacing it with her own, hugging herself.
"There's not a single person, in the fucking world, that appreciates what you have with Brittany, more than I do, Santana. I haven't seen you this happy since... well in forever," Quinn said quietly, "but you're still so guarded about it, like if you let anyone see you smile they're going to rip it right off your face."
Santana swallowed, her eyes falling to the ground. It was true even if she didn't want to admit it. The only person that knew how happy she was with Brittany, was Brittany... and even then she might not be entirely expressive about her feelings for the blonde.
"And if she makes you as happy as Rachel makes me then," Quinn finished, her voice almost breaking, "don't you want to share that with me?"
"It's nothing against you, Quinn," Santana spoke in a mere whisper, "you gotta know it's nothing against you."
"No," Quinn rubbed her face, "you haven't been the same since UCLA, and I get that, please believe that I get that, but I... I don't even know."
"I miss you too."
Quinn stared at her for a moment before letting out a shaky breath, "Yeah."
Santana walked back to her original spot against the vanity and Quinn turned towards the mirror. Slowly, her fingers returned to the smooth surface as they got their barrings back, reeling in the loose emotions, and took matching steady breaths.
"It was a joke, what Holly said, I mean," Santana wanted to to explain. "She was gushing over the feature and said it as a joke because she was trying to get me realize what an epic job Britt did on the feature, like I didn't already know that."
"And you're doing... what, with this idea?" Quinn asked slowly, her fingers still poised along the vanity.
Santana moved her sock covered toe over Quinn's carpet, "Squinting at it?"
"Squinting at it?"
"Yeah, it's there," she rolled her eyes at herself, "in my head, but the way I see it, it's like I'm not wearing my glasses, you know like, way off in the distance kinda thing."
"You have only known each other for a few months," Quinn shrugged, "but is it something that could possibly... come into focus?"
"With Brittany, almost anythings statistically possible, Q," Santana mumbled. She knew this because the woman had already changed her life in so many ways.
"Fine," Quinn almost wanted to laugh, "then whats the probability?"
"Yeah, I don't know," Santana didn't want to commit to anything other than, "I was just... thinking about it at work, but like I said, way off in the distance and totally not even worth concerning myself with probabilities right now. I would have to think about something like that for a while, before it even started to come into focus."
"You do like to stew on things."
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Even then," Quinn smiled as her fingers moved along to a tune in her head, "it does mean you're pretty serious about her."
"That's just it," Santana tried to hide the smile sneaking onto her face, "I've never been able to picture that with anyone, blurry or not, it's never even been a possibility with anyone else. I've never, ever, even considered this with anyone before."
"It feels good to talk about it," Quinn nudged her shoulder lightly, "doesn't it?"
Santana rolled her eyes with a smirk, "Yeah, I guess."
The doorbell chimed and Santana caught the way Quinn's eyes light up.
"Let me get the door," Santana offered, starting towards the hallway.
"S," Quinn warned lightly, but she was already putting all of her importants into her purse of the evening, and giving herself a reason to delay, and an excuse for Santana to open the door.
"I'll be nice," Santana promised. "I've actually been meaning to thank her for the feature... and let her know that there's no hard feelings for planning the celebration at a restaurant that could kill me."
Quinn laughed despite herself, "I did tell her that it wasn't the most considerate thing she could have done."
"Britts has been wanting me to smooth things over anyway," Santana shrugged, "so give me five minutes before you come down?"
"Promise you wont ruin my night?"
"After I just spent so much time getting you dressed?" she teased as she walked out, "not a chance."
Santana made the short journey down the stairs and to the door, secretly she hoped it was Brittany and hour early, but she knew better. Quinn had just mentioned the woman's ability to be effortlessly punctual. Passing a clock on the wall Santana snorted when she found that Rachel was here precisely on time. She opened the door and it was obvious the woman had been expecting her friend.
"Oh—Santana," Rachel picked up her composure, giving the Latina small, shy smile, "how are you?"
"I'm doing alright," Santana opened the door a little further, "Quinn will be right down, come inside."
"Thank you," Rachel stepped into the house and Santana wondered if this was the first time she had been inside it. Her eyes were moving around like it was. "So, I'll assume that you've read Brittany's work?"
"Yeah," Santana leaned casually against the wall, enjoying the way Rachel was trying to keep herself from appearing awkward, "I loved it."
Rachel met her eyes with a more genuine smile, "That's great, Brittany never did tell me what you thought of it."
"Well, I would have told you the other night," Santana frowned with only a touch of sarcasm, "but you know, I have this thing against peanuts, we don't really get along."
Rachel's smile faded and she looked honestly apologetic, "Can I just say that the planning of that event was in no means an attempt to exclude you from—"
"I'm messing with you Berry," Santana chuckled dryly, "really, I was glad that Brittany got a night that was all about her. She deserved it, and I probably wouldn't have been very good dinner company anyway."
The editor bit her lip, her eyes studying Santana for a moment, "You're still angry about the way I treated Brittany after that debacle with the marketing executive."
"Yeah, I am," Santana confessed unabashed. "It was totally uncalled for."
"It was," Rachel nodded, "and I've made amends with Brittany, and I'm also very sorry about the things I said to you in that argument as well."
"I honestly can't even remember what you said, I was a bitch too, and that's my bad," Santana brushed it off, because her real focus was Brittany, "but I'm not going stand here and pretend watching you dangle her career on a thread didn't bug the shit out of me. You're her friend, right? You know how hard she's worked for this shit."
"Perhaps..." Rachel shuffled a little, "if you understood my motives, you might see it in a different light."
Santana didn't say anything, she just waited for Rachel to continue.
"As you know," Rachel started with a bitter chuckle, "before I went into journalism I had a small, short lived, stint in the world of musical theater... and I don't want to paint a bad picture of the industry, because this was a rare but... memorable situation."
Santana quirked an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point.
"I had a friend, a fellow up and coming," Rachel licked her lips and kept her eyes on her hands. "He had such potential, such promise, and... well... he overdosed on something, I'm not sure what. I never—I never asked about what he was into. I knew, of course, that there was something but it was one of those things that you're not supposed to talk about, you're not supposed to acknowledge. I never thought it was my place... maybe you know what I mean?"
She looked up to Santana and implored her to understand.
"When are you supposed to tell your friend that they're starting to cross that line? When are you supposed to say that? When they've started getting their fixes in dressing rooms? When they're so strung out they can't follow simple stage direction?" she dropped her eyes again. "Of course, after that he was thrown out and things just got worse but... I've failed to intervene once, you can't fault me for trying to not make that mistake again."
Santana still didn't know a lot about Brittany's own recreational drug use, but she did know, "Brittany's not an idiot, you should give her more credit than that."
"I know that," Rachel spoke firmly, "I also know that she would stop if I truly gave her the ultimatum."
"So why are you always on her case about it?" Santana didn't understand that part. "If you're not ever going to do anything about it?"
"I'd like to discourage the behavior as much as I can," Rachel's eyes narrowed slightly and Santana knew that Rachel was going to continue to do that. "I did, however, get rid of all incriminating evidence against her, like you asked. I realize now that it was stupid to keep those records around."
"That's the truth," Santana pushed herself off the wall and took a step closer to the editor. "Look, I'm not going to try and downplay what you did for me, that feature was seriously the best thing that's happened to me since I walked into my first computer class at UCLA. It was amazing, Rachel. I am so thankful for that."
Rachel smiled a little, but she knew there was more to come.
"And while I don't agree with the way you're managing Britt's situation, I have no right to tell you how to be her boss," Santana gave her a half shrug and took another step closer, "but if you ever call her a pothead again; see, that's where we cross from professional to personal, and I will personally beat the shit out of you."
"I—I understand, Santana," Rachel nodded shortly, "I will refrain from using that terminology ever again."
"Good, and I'll turn the other cheek when you have to be a boss, or organize company functions in a pile of peanut shells," Santana looked over her outfit and the threatening quality in her body language faded. "You look really nice by the way, Quinn's gonna love it."
"Thank you," Rachel smoothed down her skirt nervously.
"And we should all go out to dinner again," Santana suggested, with a smile that could be interpreted as friendly, if she hadn't just threatened bodily harm to the editor. "I had a lot of fun last time. Quinn and Brittany would enjoy it."
"They would," Rachel agreed and it was decided. They had said their parts, and both women knew that they would just have to agree to disagree and move on for the sake of their blondes. "That sounds like a great idea."
Santana could hear Quinn coming down the stairs, she had probably been listening to the entire conversation and Santana didn't blame her at all.
Rachel's look of relief at finally being rescued, quickly turned into adoration, "You look beautiful, Quinn."
"Thanks," Quinn smiled softly, her eyes appreciating Rachel in the same way, "you too, that dress is gorgeous on you."
Rachel ducked her head in a flattered manner and Santana rolled her eyes at the both of them, opening the door, "You two have fun."
"Tell Brittany we said—" Quinn stopped, because the woman in question was making her way up the steps at that very moment.
She looked startled that the door had opened, and paused on the steps. No one missed the way she swung whatever was in her hands behind her back.
"Oh, hey guys," she started slowly, looking them over with a quick glance, her eyes lingered on Santana and she sent the woman a private smile to match her curious look. "Going out?"
"Yes," Quinn glanced over to Rachel, taking her hand as they walked over the threshold, "Rachel's taking me to dinner."
"And a show?" Brittany quipped, making it to the top of the stoop. "If it's dinner by Rachel Berry, there has to be some Broadway in there somewhere. It just wouldn't be right."
"Is that your way of telling me I'm predictable?" Rachel walked onto the porch and swatted her friend's arm.
Brittany gave her a small grin and said, "You both look very pretty."
"Thank you, Brittany," Quinn said as she shrugged on her light jacket. "I tried to get Santana to bust out a table cloth for your dinner but she insisted on keeping things simple."
"That's actually a great idea," Brittany glanced to Santana who was leaning against the door frame, just waiting for the others to leave so they could be alone, "I have horrible luck with those things. I usually spill something on them or... something."
"And by something, you mean set them on fire," Rachel mumbled under her breath.
"Or that," Brittany sent her a warning look, blushing a little and hoping Santana didn't hear.
"What?" Santana asked, moving out of the doorway as the other couple started towards the stairs.
Brittany was keeping to the outside of them, walking sideways so that no one could see what was behind her back.
"It's a long story," Brittany brushed it off, licking her lips as Santana moved closer, "I'll tell you later. You look very pretty yourself, Santana."
Santana laughed, knowing that her jeans and tee shirt we nothing to be impressed by but she was flattered because Brittany was being sincere. She tilted her head and Brittany was happy to kiss her in way of greeting. As she pulled away she asked, "What are you hiding?"
Brittany opened her mouth to answer but Quinn beat her to it.
"Whatever it is, it's beautiful."
Somewhere, lost in Santana, she hadn't seen Quinn and Rachel's angle change so that they could see behind her back.
"She's been working on it for the last week," Rachel whispered in a way that wasn't really a whisper. She wanted Santana to know that Brittany had put time into it.
"She made that?"
Santana watched her girlfriend's cheeks color. With an amused smile and a curious expression she asked, "You made something?"
"Kinda?" Brittany bit her lip, she really didn't want an audience when she presented her gift, but what the heck. "You made the pot, I just added to it. I hope you don't mind."
She pulled the object out from behind her back and held it up to Santana.
Santana recognized the pot, crafted and painted with her own unpracticed hand. The surprise was the sculpture of a flower. Made from wire, twisted and threaded, sprouting from inside. Leaves, cut out from circuit boards, bloomed around a gleaming golden cog.
"I didn't think you would ever put a real plant in it," Brittany mumbled, "and this flower can live in your basement for like... ever. You don't even have to water it."
"Brittany," Santana took the pot, holding it close to see the details. It was simple and complex, decorative spirals of wire grew from the mesh wire base, mimicking grass growing from dirt. "How did you make this?"
"With pliers," she scratched her nose and glanced at the women who were looking on.
"We're going to be late for our reservation," Quinn whispered in a real whisper. She couldn't help the pleased smile on her face, and as much as she wanted to keep watching the cute moment, Quinn knew Santana wasn't going to be able to really thank Brittany unless they were alone. "We should get going."
"Right," Rachel followed her lead and with an encouraging glance back at Brittany, they stepped off the porch and out of earshot.
"Britt," Santana breathed, "this... this is incredible. You made this?"
"Yeah," she laughed softly, "um... do you like it?"
"This is my new favorite thing," Santana looked up at her with a lopsided grin, "ever. This is it, this is my new favorite thing."
Brittany flushed, pleased with the praise.
"I don't even know where I want to put it because I want to see it... everywhere."
Brittany leaned down to kiss the smiling woman's cheek, "I'm glad you like it."
"I love it," Santana turned so Brittany caught her lips instead of her cheek. Her hand reached up to keep Brittany close for a moment longer. Her thumb brushed along the woman's jaw, cherishing this feeling, the fact that she was here, for her.
She pulled away and Brittany was looking down at her with loving blue eyes and she was so happy to be able to admit, "I love you, Brittany. I am, so in love with you."
Maybe she knew Santana would like to hear it, because instead of saying just, me too, Brittany took her time to say, "I'm in love with you too, Santana."
"The food smells great."
Santana focused on her spatula as a pair of hands slipped around her waist. She leaned back into Brittany's chest and the blonde rested her chin on her shoulder. The wire flower was given a prized spot as the centerpiece at the table.
"I hate cooking," Brittany admitted, "it leads to dishes and that's like, my least favorite chore ever."
"I do most of the cooking around here," Santana chuckled, "Quinn can't cook to save her life and the few times she's tried she's ended up ruining my good cookware, so I've told her she's not allowed to anymore."
Brittany laughed, the sound warm in Santana's ears, "How come you never taught her?"
"She..." Santana fidgeted with the strips of meat in her pan, "I tried, it didn't work out."
"Hopeless?" Brittany kissed Santana's cheek and turned so she was leaning against the counter and facing her girlfriend.
"Nah," Santana shrugged her shoulders, "she has this insane aversion to anything that could be considered... maternal."
Brittany thought back to the drama Jesse St. James had pulled up about Quinn Fabray. The picture of her daughter.
"Learning to cook is one of those things you're supposed to do to because you plan to cook for someone, namely, your kid," Santana continued softly.
She hesitated, "I'm guessing that Quinn put her up for adoption?"
"Yeah," Santana nodded, "that's how it went down."
"Do they keep in touch or was it... what do they call that? A closed adoption?"
"It was pretty hands off until the fosters reached out to Q a few years ago," Santana explained, "they talked and talked, and made all sorts of arrangements. For the past couple summers Quinn has been a youth counselor at that camp St. James was talking about. Beth, her daughter, is one of the kids that goes every year and Beth's foster mom is a counselor too."
"Does Beth know that Quinn is her biological mom, and not just another camp counselor?"
"I don't know," Santana shrugged, she wondered if that would change now that they had their little heart to heart upstairs, "getting Quinn to talk about that stuff is like trying to break a brick wall with your forehead. All I know is that the camp is two weeks long and she always takes three off from work, because she needs that last week to... recover."
"So... if Jesse went through with getting her fired from that camp..." Brittany frowned and trailed off.
"She would have lost a lot more than a summer hobby," Santana finished for her.
"I hate that guy."
"I've been plotting his death for the better part of two years," Santana sent her playful look, trying to lighten the mood. "That's why I'm really on the computer all the time, I'm calculating the best way to do it."
Brittany laughed at her, "Somehow, I doubt it would take you two years to figure it out, you much too smart for that."
"Maybe I just like variety and I really have twenty different plots cooked up," Santana countered, "I need a lot of options before I choose the perfect one."
"Huh," Brittany fought back a smirk.
Santana eyed it, trying to figure out what was funny. When the thought came to her, Santana blushed deeply and pointed her spatula at the blonde, "I did not go through that many one nightstands before I picked you."
"I didn't say anything," Brittany laughed, playfully offended by the accusation.
"You didn't have to," Santana tried her best to look angry. She failed miserably and Brittany kissed the smile that was threatening to show.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend," Brittany said sincerely, even though she never did say anything.
"You're fine," Santana chuckled, "and if anything... you picked me, Britt."
"What do you mean?"
"I never would have made a move," Santana kept her eyes on the pan, embarrassed by the admission, "if you hadn't—in that dressing room, I would have let you just walk out of my life after the feature was published."
Brittany reached out to run her finger along the woman's bicep, "You think?"
"I know," Santana confirmed, "you had already gotten so far under my skin, it was scary to think about what would of happened if I had tried something and you... well, weren't interested."
"How could you not see that I was interested?" Brittany snorted, seriously not understanding. "I suck a subtle, remember?"
"I was totally in denial," Santana scoffed at herself, a shy smile on her face, "convincing myself that I was making it all up in my head."
"I'm sure you were scared to get burned again," Brittany said quietly.
"Yeah that too."
"I'm not about to burn you, Santana," Brittany promised.
"I know, Britt," she picked the pan off the burner and kissed the blonde one last time before smirking, "but if anyone is gonna burn right now, it's gonna be you."
Brittany blinked, watching the woman go to the fridge, "Why's that?"
"Say hello," she took a bell jar out of the door shelf, "to the Lopez Family secret salsa recipe. You can't have fajitas without it, it's just not done."
Brittany eyed the jar, then the playfully challenge in Santana's eye, "Hello?"
Santana had to admit that this movie wasn't as bad as she expected it to be. She honestly wasn't paying that much attention but every once in a while Brittany would laugh and that was the part she really enjoyed.
"Can I... can I talk to you about something kind of important?"
Santana's hand, which had been tracing mindless patterns into Brittany's ribcage, paused as she looked up to the blonde. They were laying on the couch, the computer enthusiast on top of the journalist; her head resting on Brittany's chest and her hips wedged between her legs.
"What do you mean, kind of important?"
"Okay, it's important," she snorted to herself, trying to keep her mood light but her worry was showing in her eyes.
"What's up, Britt?" Santana knew she should do it, but her mind always went to that place where to prepare herself for the worst.
"You know Sue Sylvester."
Brittany said it as more of a statement than a question, because of course Santana knew who that was.
Santana's response was a weary, but predictable, "If you mean the crazy widow that owns Clockwork, then yeah, I know of her."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she was able to say, "I met her today."
"You met Sue Sylvester," Santana said slowly, "the owner of Clockwork. My boss's boss's boss."
"Yeah," Brittany was watching her carefully, obviously unsure how she was going to take this news, "that's was the last minute thing I had to do for the feature today."
"What?" Santana asked it quietly, in a way Brittany understood to be trying to keep herself from overreacting, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I'm telling you now," Brittany made an awkward hand motion between them, "this is me telling you."
"I meant before you went to talk to her," Santana reached up and took Brittany's hand to still it, and to have something to ground herself. "If you were about to meet the owner of Clockwork, why wouldn't you have told me?"
"Because I didn't know until that Puckerman guy cornered me in the lobby," Brittany explained the entire thing.
Being confronted in the lobby, asked to stay off her phone, begging for the opportunity to send one text message, and finally escorted to the executive suite. She told Santana everything she had said to Sue Sylvester, and everything the CEO had disclosed to her. Brittany was as detailed as her memory could allow and Santana listened carefully. Her eyes kept that analytical, calculating quality that Brittany had fallen for in the beginning.
She was already seeing the pros and cons, what might come of this, the rewards and repercussions.
"She wants to know what's really going on," Brittany finished, "she wants to know about Jesse and the idiots in marketing, she wants to know who's making your life hard."
"Brittany," Santana's eyes shifted back and forth between hers, "you didn't..."
She didn't finish the statement because she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
"I haven't told her anything," Brittany reassured her, "but I told her that I have that... other version of the feature, the one that didn't sensor anything out about Jesse and the marketing department. The one that talks about how you've had to resort to using a service elevator and how you have three pending sexual harassment complaints against men around your company that have yet to be addressed by corporate."
Santana dropped her eyes and Brittany caught the shame in them, still she was embarrassed that she had allowed this to happen to her. She always took her situation in the worst way, blaming herself for being too weak to fend off Jesse St. James or the unwanted advances of a few men.
Brittany wanted it to stop.
"I think she can help you," Brittany wanted Santana to see this as an opportunity. "I think she can change things."
"But at what cost Britt?" Santana squeezed her hand around Brittany's fingers. "If St. James even gets the idea that I sent Sylvester on him, who knows what he'll do?"
"Didn't you say that you were going to make sure he deleted all the stuff off his computers?"
"Yeah, and I have," Santana shook her head, "but it's no guarantee that he hasn't kept a copy on a external hard drive or something like that."
Brittany leaned her head back on the arm rest, she took a deep breath and tried to not get frustrated, "I want to say, fuck it, let him publish everything, but I'm probably the one that could lose the least out of all of you."
"None of us have to lose anything," Santana said quietly, "I've already been dealing with this for so long... and besides, I have some sort of handle on St. James now so..."
"So she still knows that I know what's really going on," Brittany sighed, "she might start sniffing around anyway and he could blame it on you and retaliate regardless."
Santana laid her head on Brittany's chest, mumbling, "God damn it."
"She knows that someone is blackmailing you," Brittany reasoned, "and she doesn't like it, she's going to figure it out."
Santana didn't respond and Brittany started stroking her hair softly.
Brittany wished this was easier, she had hoped that the feature would help Santana at work, but now it seemed to open another can of worms. That Sue Sylvester woman... she seemed to honestly want to help Santana. Yes, it was probably because Santana was one of the people that has helped keep her company afloat while she was out of the picture, and therefore, helping Santana was really helping herself, but she still wanted to help.
"I think..." Brittany hesitated, "do you want to know what I think?"
Santana lifted her head enough to look Brittany in the eye and say, "Always, Britt, I'll always want to know."
Brittany's chest warmed at the admission, the way Santana's eyes were soft and considering, like she trusted Brittany's judgement over her own.
"I think," Brittany started a little more confidently, "that you're going to have the most control over the situation if you follow Quinn's lead and try to get in cahoots with the boss lady. I think she can protect you."
"We don't know that for sure, Britt," Santana hesitated, but her mind was already changing. "Maybe if I talk to her myself, I'll be able to get a read on her, and figure out if she's just going to screw me over or not."
"But like," Brittany bit her lip, "I wasn't supposed to tell you about this."
"That doesn't make any sense," Santana scoffed, "if she's so interested in my business why can't she get the information from me?"
"I don't know," Brittany shrugged and the woman on top of her moved with her body, "but you can still help me edit that second version of the article so it only has what you want her to know in it."
Santana mulled the offer over in her head, "Let me think about it tonight?"
"Sure," Brittany leaned forward to kiss her girlfriend on the forehead, "I'm sorry to throw this at you when we're supposed to be relaxing, but I didn't want to keep it from you any longer."
"I get that, Britt," Santana moved her hand in Brittany's so that their fingers interlaced. "It means a lot to me that you're telling me about this."
"This is bigger than me," Brittany knew keeping it a secret had never been an option, "I'm not gonna mess around with your life behind your back like that, San."
"And that," Santana kissed Brittany's knuckles softly, "means the world to me."
"We're going to figure this all out, San," she brushed a strand of Santana's hair back behind her ear, "I have a good feeling about it, so don't worry yourself too much, okay?"
"You know I love to worry," Santana joked in a light breath, caught in the loving adoration of Brittany's eyes.
Brittany quirked a eyebrow, "More than you love me?"
Santana sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and shook her head a little, "Never."
She wasn't sure if she loved anything more than she loved Brittany.
"Good," Brittany kissed her, it was a comfort and a promise.
Brittany had every intention of helping Santana figure out the mess at Clockwork, she had every intention of being there every step of the way. She had every intention of making Santana feel as happy as she hoped the woman to be. As appreciated as she knew Santana deserved to feel. And as loved as she could possibly inspire through the journey.