TITLE – Fight For Her
RATING – M for language
PAIRING – Brittany/Santana
SYNOPSIS – Post "Sexy" episode. Santana, still reeling from her encounter with Brittany, gets a sound piece of advice from the last person she expects. From there, new friendships are forged and more songs are sung. However, will Santana get Brittany back?
A/N – The stream of fan fiction that bombarded the internet after this week's episode is totally unsurprising. Writing is an outlet for many to vent and deal with emotions that are sometimes simply too overwhelming. The last Santittany/Brittana scene in the episode "Sexy" was just goddamn painful and I still wince just thinking about it. Hence, I'm going to deal with it by writing this story. Like it or hate it, it's up to you. A word of caution though, I like writing angst so this is not going to be an easy read. You have been warned. Enjoy.
Chapter 1 - Broken
"Please say you love me back. Please."
"Of course I love you, I do. And I would totally be with you if it weren't for Artie."
"Artie?"
"I love him too...I don't' want to hurt him! It's not right; I can't break up with him…"
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Santana bolted down the halls of McKinley High, tears streaming down her face. Brittany's words chased after her, personal demons that now hounded her, nipping at her heels as she tried so desperately to evade them. Her vision swam and her eyes burned with the torrents of salty tears that welled and spilled wetly onto pale taut cheeks. Oblivious to the curious stares she was attracting from the small company of students that still littered the hallway, Santana continued running until she encountered the girls' bathroom. Throwing open the door viciously, it slammed against the wall so hard, the sound that reverberated around the small bathroom was akin to a gunshot. It was just as quickly kicked shut again by the Latina who then barely managed to shoulder her way into the nearest cubicle before her stomach rebelled and twisted in on itself, forcing up its contents up Santana's throat.
It hurt. The bile felt like acid as it flooded her throat, scorching it with cruel intent and her gag reflex joined in sadistically by pushing up seemingly undigested portions of her meager lunch in a manner that caused each one to scrape violently against her windpipe. Almost choking, Santana reached up to grip either side of the toilet in an attempt to curb the spasms that wracked her body even as her stomach continued to empty itself. So lost in her emotional and physical misery, the Latina failed to notice a figure slip into the cubicle with her, kneel down slightly behind her and gather back clumps of matted hair that stuck to her face.
A few minutes ticked by with neither person speaking nor acknowledging the other as Santana continued to dry heave. Finally, a tired hand reached up to gather a wad of toilet paper. Wiping her mouth, Santana then tossed it into the toilet before dropping down the toilet lid and depressing the flush. For the first time she noticed that she wasn't alone and turned around.
Rachel Berry knelt behind her, a pensive look on her normally cheerful face. Santana growled instinctively, a sub-vocal noise that vibrated in the back of her throat. She immediately regretted it as the action caused her abused throat to protest. Massaging it, she swallowed experimentally and was surprised when Rachel reached behind her to produce a bottle of water.
"Thanks," Santana muttered. Unscrewing the cap, she paused to lift up the toilet lid again before using the first few mouthfuls to rinse out the sour taste in her mouth. Flushing the toilet for the second time, she took a few tentative sips from the bottle. The water that slid down her throat was cold and crisp; it soothed out the stinging generated by her body's actions early and for that, she was grateful.
"What are you doing here, Berry?" Santana's voice was hoarse, raspy from the damage her vomiting had inflicted on it. The Latina eyed the petite diva, wariness staining the brown of her eyes.
"I saw what happened," Rachel replied. Her voice was soft though it held an indecipherable tone that Santana immediately disliked.
"So what? Have you come here to gloat? You want to see the great Santana Lopez all broken and sniveling in the bathroom? Is this payback for all the times I've slushied you, insulted you?" Santana was on a rant and despite the fact that it was Rachel who had come to her aid not mere seconds ago, the Latina reverted back to what she always did when she felt threatened or exposed: she lashed out. "Well, go ahead! Do your worst. Hit me, insult me, I could give a flying fuck! Because you can't hurt me anymore than she already has."
The last words were clearly the finally straw because the instant they were spat out of her mouth, Santana broke down. Dropping the water bottle on the floor, she crumbled in on herself and drew her knees up to her chest before wrapping her arms around her legs. Sobs shook her lanky frame as the Latina dissolved into gut wrenching tears.
Rachel moved cautiously, aware that she was walking on a very fragile tightrope. Making a split second decision, Rachel reached over and pulled the Latina into her arms. She wasn't surprised when Santana fought her, pushing at her shoulders but her emotional state siphoned her of her energy and she could only flail against Rachel for scant seconds before she gave up and fell into the petite brunette's embrace.
Rachel held Santana as she cried. She managed to maneuver them until it was her back that was pressed against the cubicle divider and Santana was curled up between her legs. The petite diva bit her lip as Santana sobbed, her tears soaking the material of Rachel's argyle sweater. She wound one hand around the Latina's back, gently stroking it whilst the other found purchase in Santana's dark locks. Gently sifting her fingers through her teammate's hair, Rachel began humming under her breath. It was a Jewish lullaby, mean to soothe and calm an infant but the diva hoped it would blanket Santana and bring her obvious agony to a dull throb.
Santana had no idea how long they were in the bathroom together, sitting on the questionably sanitary bathroom floor but Rachel never said a word. She was silent against Santana, merely humming a strangely calming tune even as she rocked the Latina back and forth gently. The former cheerleader had managed to quell her crying to mere hiccups and the occasional sniffle when she gently but insistently wormed her way out of Rachel's embrace to sit opposite her. She stared at her fellow teammate through puffy red-rimmed eyes.
"Why?"
Rachel started, clearly not expecting the sudden noise. She looked up into Santana's face, her heart jerking in sympathy at the tear tracks, the bloodshot eyes and the broken look that was blatantly stamped across the girl's face. "Why, what?" Rachel asked.
Santana sniffed. "Why are you being so nice to me? After all the times I tormented you, teased you and instead of taking advantage of this situation, here you are comforting me." She looked hard into Rachel's chocolate eyes. "Why?"
Rachel ran a restless hand through her hair. "I've been bullied my entire life, Santana." She internally winced at the flash of guilt that flickered across the Latina's eyes. "I know firsthand how painful it is and I have no wish to retaliate the same way."
Santana nodded though she was still wary of the odd situation. She allowed the curtain of silence to drop over them as she struggled to reign in the overwhelming tide of emotions that were threatening to pull her under. However, just recalling her encounter with Brittany had her eyes filling up with tears again and despite her attempts to curb them, they dropped unbidden on her cheeks, scattering fresh droplets to cling onto her wet eyelashes.
Rachel sighed and scooted forward a little, frowning as Santana tensed up in reaction. "I won't hurt you, Santana." When the former cheerleader's shoulders relaxed again, she continued. "Look, I'm not even going to try to say that I know how you feel. I just want to give you some advice."
"I don't think you're in a position to give anyone advice, Berry." The words were out of Santana's mouth before she could help herself, a verbal volley of bullets that made Rachel flinch. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to force an apology from her lips but they remained silent and stubborn.
Rachel sighed again, a deep sigh that was increasingly uncharacteristic because it was not dramatic or impatient. Instead, there was an air of defeat about it and it was so tangible that Santana wanted to kick herself for hurting the one person that was offering her solace. However, her pride was a solid brick wall, preventing her from moving neither limb nor tongue. After a few seconds of now tense silence, Santana heard Rachel get up and swing open the cubicle door. The Latina heard the diva's penny loafers shuffle a few steps before stopping.
"Santana." Rachel's voice was heavy, drowning in something that the Latina could not place a finger on. There was also an unspoken command that came with the saying of the Latina's name that demanded Santana's attention. "Sometimes, when you love someone, the only thing you can do is to let them go."
Santana felt tears squeeze out from the corners of her tightly shut eyes and she balled her hands into fists, her manicured nails digging painfully into her palms. The pain was an anchor that Santana clutched onto with sheer desperation. "What if I can't, Rachel?" Saying the diva's first name sounded so foreign to her ears and it rolled quite uncomfortably off her tongue as her lips struggled to form the name. She forced her eyes open to see Rachel standing outside the cubicle, an unreadable expression on her face. "What if I can't let her go?" Santana's voice, raspy and bruised from the battery of feelings that had punched a solid hole through her heart, cracked at the at the last word.
Rachel looked at Santana sitting on the floor of a bathroom cubicle, appearing more broken and lost than she had ever seen the former cheerleader. A lone tear drifted lazily from Rachel's eye, meandering a slow path down the girl's cheek. Seeing a normally headstrong and seemingly invincible girl looking like she had lost her entire world was almost too much for the petite brunette. Her eyes sought the Latina's and twin pairs of similarly dark eyes locked onto each other with vivid intensity as Rachel finally said:
"Then fight for her, Santana."
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