Chapter 4

...

East Side LA – 3:09pm

One Year: One Week: Four Days: Seventeen Hours: Thirty-Nine Minutes

Ted McKinnon's Apartment

"Mm, fuck, Brittany."

A smirk escaped Brittany's lips as she kissed soft tanned skin, causing the female on top of her abs to tense at the touch. Her kisses started softly, sliding from the girl's thigh towards her folds, increasing in aggression the closer she got to her wetness. She parted her folds delicately, teasing the girl on top of her a little with the tip of her tongue – merely for her own amusement; she loved for them to beg for it – before she slid her tongue fully into the soft nectar. The female grabbed hold of the headboard as her legs closed in around Brittany's ears making it impossible to hear much of anything, but she knew not to worry much as the girl's body jolted as her tongue dug lustfully into the warm folds of her. Harder. Then faster. Then harder and faster. She compared her antics to that of a magician, her tongue being the magic and the moans erupting from the body that was spread on her face as the rabbit she attempted to pull out of the hat.

She spelled her name with her tongue – an old technique but a good one – Brittany could hear a small hint of a moan and she smiled underneath her. Her wetness increasing with every stroke and dig; Brittany was enjoying herself way too much to actually take note that the body on top of her had clenched tightly, but not in an arousing state but more of a scared one. Brittany stopped her movements as the girl jumped off of her face and she looked up to see why the female had stopped her magical ride.

Oh.

Her husband was home.

The two of them quickly scattered to either side of the room in silence as the girl's husband's rage boiled over in his face before he began to shout vulgar words at both ladies – mostly his wife. Brittany didn't want to stay around for the pleasantries and she quickly picked up her pace to get her belongings off the floor.

"How many times, Tiffany? How many damn times?" Her husband, a man of roughly thirty-two years with thickening oily white skin and a balding head, shouted at his wife who was moving away from his finger pointing, covering her body with the sheets.

"I'm sorry, Ted. You don't… You don't touch me anymore. Not the way you used to." She explained.

"So you go out and fuck a slut?"

"Hey!" Brittany shouted, stopping her process of picking up her clothes, "I am not a slut. I'm a bartender." Ted turned to her unimpressed.

"Don't make me hit a woman."

Brittany smirked, "Like I said, I'm just a bartender, Mr. McKinnon. Hit me if you want. Won't take away the sweet taste of your wife in my mouth." Ted moved to hit her, but Tiffany held his hand back as Brittany ran passed him and out of his apartment. Within the safety of the hallway – a good distance from the McKinnon door – she put on her clothes and sighed to herself. Nothing like good sex and an angry husband to start off the day. Her phone rang loudly in her jeans pocket as she slid them onto her frame; she clicked it on speaker phone as she put on her shoes.

"Talk to me."

"Brittany, where in the hell are you?"

"Tina, nice to hear from you too. How are you? How's the kids?"

"Don't be an ass. Rachel and I need your help at the restaurant tonight."

"I think I've said this like twice in the last ten minutes, but maybe a third time is needed: I'm a bartender. That's all I know."

"You realize you're talking to me, right? I've known you for 2 years and during those years you have been a dancer, a journalist, a…" Brittany let Tina continue onwards listing every odd job she ever did as she searched her pockets for her keys, finding them she clicked her off speaker phone and pressed the phone to her ear, "… a stripper, a gymnast, and not to mention a waitress."

"Are you done?" She questioned, sliding out of the apartment building still able to hear the loud shouts from the McKinnon's apartment.

"Are you coming to Doc's? Yes or no?"

"If it'll get you off my phone, yes."

"Good, see you in a few." Brittany rolled her eyes as she hung up her phone. She didn't get paid enough for this.

West Side LA – 4:23pm

One Year: One Week: Four Days: Eighteen Hours: Forty-Eight Minutes

The Chang's House

"Mike, Mercedes, let's go! We're going to be late." Quinn yelled up at the stairs of Mercedes and Mike's home.

"We'll be down in a minute, damn." Mercedes called back down, Quinn rolled her eyes and walked into the living room where Santana sat on the couch looking through an old photo album.

"Oh my God, I remember that. This was right after we won sectionals our junior year at McKinley." Quinn gasped, sitting down beside Santana.

"I was so nervous. It was my first solo and everything."

"But you sang the hell out of that song, no one sings Amy Winehouse like you do, San. Damn what was that song anyway? I swear I remember it, but…"

"Valerie." Santana said in a whisper, biting her bottom lip and sighing.

"Oh… yeah…"

"Yeah."

"You ever sing that for her?"

"Only once. Our one year anniversary. I was so damn corny. I had this entire set up. With my dad's help we bought out her favorite restaurant and we ate and danced and I sang for her." Santana smiled thinking back on the memory, "One of the best nights of my life."

Quinn could feel her best friend was slipping away from her and it scared her to think about it. When Valerie – who she had grown to love like a sister – died, Santana completely broke down. She lost herself and it scared Quinn so much that she moved in with Santana to make sure she didn't harm herself, though it rarely did any good. The overdose, the cuts, and the near drowning in her bathtub were enough for her friends to band together and stick her in the hospital. Months passed and she came out seemingly better, until she went back to her apartment – their apartment, the one she shared with Valerie – and that's when the drinking began and Quinn feared it would never stop.

"I don't need a damn babysitter." Santana snarled at Quinn as she took another gulp from her beer bottle. She sat on the floor of her bathroom while Quinn leaned against the bathroom door frame, her arms crossed with a concerned expression on her face.

"You need something. You need to go to AA."

"I don't have a drinking problem!"

"Santana look at you! Look at your life! Look at your choices! I love you, you mean so damn much to me, but I just…" Quinn sighed and walked towards Santana, bending down to meet her at eye level, "…I can't… I can't stay here, Sam understands that I'm here for you but he's my husband and it's not fair to him."

"No one is asking you to stay." Santana mumbled.

"I can't leave here knowing I allowed you to drink yourself into a coma." She grabbed the bottle – a small grunt from Santana was heard – and she turned Santana's face to her, "Promise me, Santana. Promise me that you won't try again."

"Try what?"

"Santana, please, promise me. Promise that you won't try again. I'll come here every day and bug you and make sure you're not drinking yourself to death because I can't lose you." Quinn rarely ever cried in front of Santana but right now she couldn't fight her tears. Santana noticed this and wiped Quinn's tears away and gave a weak smile.

"You won't lose me. I promise."

Quinn lightly bumped Santana's knee, "You never finished telling me about that bartender. What was her name?"

"Brittany. And there isn't much left to tell."

"Well, you stopped the story when you got to the bar."

"That's because I don't remember much else. I got to the bar. Me and her chatted, apparently I was really drunk, she took me home that's that." I also yelled at her for lying on Valerie's side of the bed and threw up afterwards, but you know. Same ol', same ol'.

"You're lying, there's more."

"I'm not lying and there's nothing more to tell."

Quinn opened her mouth to speak, but Mercedes and Mike came down the steps happy as can be interrupting her.

"You two just had sex, didn't you?" Santana questioned.

Mercedes and Mike turned to one another and smiled.

"Gross." Santana and Quinn said in unison.

"Come on, let's not talk about who had sex with whom, though you little missy have some explaining to do." Mercedes said, grabbing her purse and pointing it at Santana.

"What are you even talking about?"

"We heard you got it in with the bartender at Starlet Lounge." Mike piped in.

"Wait what? Who told you that?" Santana turned to Quinn who looked as shocked as she did.

"Oh it wasn't Quinn. It was Rachel. Rachel Berry? She's best friends with the bartender. I came by the other day to help daddy with inventory and she told me about your late night sleepover."

"We didn't have sex. I didn't get anything in with anyone. She lied to you."

"Whatever you say, S." Mercedes said in a tone that didn't sit well with the Latina. She didn't screw anyone and even if she did why was it any of their damn business? She was a grown ass woman. Her vagina was her business and no one else's.

"Alright, you guys ready? I think we missed the opening number."

"No, no, we still have time. Let's go before all the good seats are gone." Quinn said, grabbing her jacket.

"I hope they still have that cheesecake I love." Mike added with a smile as they all piled into his 2012 Nissan. Santana got in the back seat with Quinn, feeling the heat from all six eyes on her. She turned towards the window and sighed; this was going to be a long day.

West Side LA – 4:45pm

One Year: One Week: Four Days: Nineteen Hours: Ten Minutes

Doc's

"I just want to eat this really quickly so I can get to the cheesecake." Mike said happily as they were seated at a table in the back and their food was brought out to them.

"You will not. You're gonna get your damn cheesecake, baby, relax." Mike pouted at Mercedes words who just kissed his pout and smiled at him as she began to cut into her steak.

"How come Sam couldn't come, Q?" Mike asked, taking a bite out of his chicken wings.

"He had to work late. He's working on some comic book thing."

"Comic book thing?" Santana repeated, "Great communication skills you two have going on."

"Oh shut up, I listen. When it's important."

"Which is basically never." Mercedes piped in.

"Oh just eat your damn steak."

...

Brittany sat on a stool in the kitchen of Doc's, counting the dots on the ceiling as chaos broke out around her. Wrong orders were being filled, drinks weren't being delivered, and the show was behind fifteen minutes.

"Are you going to get off your ass and help us?" Tina questioned Brittany who turned to her and shrugged.

"I'm not getting paid for this. This was supposed to be my day off."

"Here." Tina handed her a twenty, "Now get your ass to helping." Brittany sighed, taking the twenty and stuffing it in her pocket as she grabbed a tray of drinks to take out. She made her way around the tables and froze up when she saw Santana sitting a few feet away from her. This isn't happening, she thought, I can't approach her. It'll be so damn awkward. Fuck, abort, abort. Brittany quickly turned to go the opposite direction but she was met with Rachel who helped to crash the trays together spilling water and cheesecake on one another.

Santana turned to see the situation and caught sight of Brittany who looked at her and ran in the opposite direction.

"No, not the cheesecake." Mike whined.

"I'll be right back." Santana said, taking the alternative route to find Brittany. She came to the women's bathroom and walked inside seeing Brittany coming out of the bathroom stall wiping away at her clothes and apron frantically with a piece of tissue.

"Are you okay?" Santana questioned.

"I spilled water, not gasoline; I think I'll be fine." She snapped.

"Fine. Just wanted to see if you were okay. Whatever." Santana turned to exit but Brittany's voice stopped her.

"Why do you even care? You practically threw me out of your apartment the other day."

Santana sighed turning back to face Brittany, folding her arms across her chest, "It's… complicated."

"Here I go thinking you were simple."

"My drink order is simple, not me." Brittany continued to wipe at her apron unimpressed, "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? You had no right…"

"I had no right? I had no right? What exactly did I not have a right of? Helping your drunken ass into your apartment? Holding your hair while you puked up $20 worth of beer? Or making sure you slept peacefully the remainder of the night by staying in your home? Which part didn't I have a right to do?"

"You told people we hooked up."

"I didn't tell anyone anything."

"Mercedes told me that's what Rachel said."

"I told Rachel I slept over at your place. She interpreted the way she wanted to. I know we didn't do anything and so do you, isn't that the most important thing here?"

"No."

"Then what is?"

Santana opened her mouth to speak but closed it, looking down at the ground. "You shouldn't have been in my bed in the first place."

"I wasn't going to try anything with you."

"That's not the point." Her eyes were still on the ground and her voice was barely above a whisper.

Brittany turned to her, tilting her head to look at the female opposite her, "Then what is the point?" She questioned, but Santana made no movements into speaking any further. "Fine." Brittany dropped her tissue into the trash can and placed her hand on the bathroom door but Santana stopped her.

"Can… Can we start over instead? Maybe?"

Brittany turned to her, her hands folded across her chest, "Why?"

Santana shrugged, "I just feel like if I let you walk out this bathroom without saying something useful I'll regret it or something."

"You still haven't said anything useful." Brittany said, forming a smile onto her lips. She sighed, damn her attraction for the hot and crazy. "Alright. We can start over. But… On my terms."

"Your terms?"

"Yes. If you really want us to start over meet me at Santa Monica Pier tomorrow afternoon at 5. I like promptness." Brittany smirked. "Think you can do that?"

"Yeah, yeah I think I can."

"Good, see you then, your highness."

"I thought I told you…"

"You said not to call you 'princess' you said nothing about 'your highness' See you tomorrow." She exited the bathroom and Santana let out a breath she wasn't even aware she was holding. She sighed; she was going to start over with Brittany. This made her feel both excited and guilty all at once. They were just going to be friends or something; Santana was sure of this. She couldn't bring herself to be with anyone else, no matter how beautiful or dazzling or intriguing they were.

Shit.

Here comes her lunch.

A/N: Let's not even talk about how hard it was to get this up because was having issues, but yay for it being fixed and all that jazz. Anyway, I consider this just a progression chapter because not much happened. It was just a chapter to move the story along to where I need it to be for chapter 5. Though I wonder how many thought the girl in the beginning was Santana or that it was a dream or something. Hee Hee. Review.