Santana doesn't stay the night. She knows her own limitations, and she knows that will put her over the edge. She's far past emotional as it is. The whole night was something else, and then, then Brittany kissing her at the door, in sweatpants and a long t-shirt, her hair a mess, it just pushes her past her comfort zone. She wants to stay. She hasn't felt that way before, not ever. But this time, she does. This time, she wants to wake up beside Brittany. This time, she wants to kiss her with morning breath. She wants to hurry to get ready for work beside her. She wants all of that, and it paralyzes her with fear.
The next day, she keeps her distance. As much as she wants to go to Brittany's office, to bring her lesbian lilies, or, ask her to go on a road trip to Waterloo, or some other movie sort of thing, she doesn't. Instead, she focuses on her patients. She has a surgical consult with the parents of a little boy from oncology in the morning, and she puts on her doctor face. The face that's sure and confident. The face that's in direct opposition to her other one. She talks to them, and she's in her element. She talks to them, and she knows she can save their son. It's a far cry from the women who tripped over her own underwear, getting out of Brittany's bed last night.
Kurt meets her for lunch. Or, rather, he stands outside her office door with his arms crossed, until she agrees to go for dim sum with him. She can't really explain why, but she's nervous about it. Maybe because he has this inexplicable way of figuring out exactly what is going on with her life. Or maybe because this whole thing with Brittany is so new, that she's afraid one single word about it will shatter everything that's happening.
"What's up with you?" Kurt asks, ten minutes into their meal. Santana wishes she had one of those jobs where she could drink with lunch. One of those jobs where doing so wouldn't put lives at risk.
"What? Nothing's up with me."
"Really?" He cocks an eyebrow. "Because there's totally something up. Mercedes thinks so too. Are you in a program?"
"A program? What?"
"I don't know. You drink a lot."
"You drink way more than me." Santana rolls are eyes. "Why the hell would I be in a program?"
"You haven't come out with us in like three weeks. That's weird."
"So because I don't feel like hanging out with you losers in the same bar every night, that means I'm in a program? Maybe I just have a life."
"Ha!" Kurt snickers, grabbing a pork bun. "That's hilarious. We both know you have no life."
"I have a life! I have—"
"Patients? Surgeries? Sleep?"
"People who I spend time with who aren't you."
"Who?" He scoffs. "Ken your doorman?"
"One time, I went for drinks with Ken. One."
"So who are these people then?"
"None of your business." Santana picks at her cuticles, then reaches over to pick up a piece of shrimp toast.
"Oh my God. You're dating someone! It's Dani, isn't it?"
"Who the hell is Dani?" She furrows her brow, trying to place the name to a face. Nothing comes, and Kurt looks at her like she has an extra pair of eyes.
"Dani Harper? Who you went on a date with? Ring a bell?"
"You actually think I'm dating her? No. Never. Not in a million years. You know I love Dave, but that was the worst date I've ever been on. She was intolerable. And thanks for reminding me that I'm still pissed at you. Asshole."
"Get over it. You love me, and you know I have your best interests at heart."
"Naturally, my best interests are shitty dates."
"Your best interests are doing something besides holing up in the hospital. Seriously, you sleep in an on call room more than any other attending in the whole place."
"Excuse me for caring about my patients." She stabs at a dumpling with her chopstick, and Kurt retracts his hand, lest she give it the same treatment.
"I'm not trying to fight with you."
"Then stop pissing me off. I have other things in my life, and I'll tell you about it when I feel like it."
"So you are seeing someone! Tell me her name! Tell me where you met her! Tell me everything!"
"No." Santana shakes her head, almost curling in on herself. "When I want to talk about it, you'll be the first to know. But for now, absolutely not."
The remainder of their lunch involves Kurt trying to get information out of Santana, but she mostly tunes him out. Instead, against her better judgement, she thinks of last night with Brittany. Instead, she remembers how it felt to settle between her thighs, how it felt to work her mouth against Brittany, to feel her writhe, to hear her moan her name. She remembers kissing her, the her own taste, lingering on Brittany's mouth, mingling with the taste of Brittany's on her own. She remembers that hollow ache in the pit of her stomach as she pulled her jeans back on, and covered her breasts back up with her t-shirt. She remembers how badly she wanted to stay, and yet, how deeply she felt like she didn't deserve it.
Because of that, she finds it so hard to concentrate on Kurt's whining that she doesn't tell him anything. Frankly, she doesn't really care how he feels about it. She loves him deeply, he's her best friend in the world, but he doesn't necessarily understand her. He doesn't get what it's like to measure every action the way Santana does. What she fears, versus what she wants. What she wants, versus what she believes she should. What she believes she should want, versus what she'll allow herself to have. It's an exhausting existence, truly, for her. It's a state of mind that makes her feel very, very alone, even among the people she cares the most about.
By the time they walk back to the hospital, he's at least changed the subject. Something about him and Dave and a chandelier, she thinks. She can't really focus, honestly, and for Santana, who craves control of her emotions, it's maddening. She's never replayed a night in her head, over and over again. But here she is. Here she can't get through the day without a thousand images of her fingers splayed against Brittany's bare back. Dark on pale, thumb brushing a constellation of freckles over sacral vertebrae. Here, she can almost feel the tiny red bruise, where her chest meets her shoulder, a reminder of the tenderness Brittany had shown.
When she gets back to her office, she tries to turn off her mind. She buries her phone deep in the pocket of her scrubs, and she goes to the emergency room. It's possible that Santana is the only attending physician who will willingly do sutures in the pit, but she doesn't care. She occupies herself stitching up a four year old who fell of a park bench, an eleven year old who wiped out on his skateboard, whoever she can find to heal, just so her mind is busy. Just so she's not throwing herself at Brittany, and looking like a fool in the process.
At six o'clock, Santana starts to pack up. She's not sure what she's going to do at home, but she's so tired that it seems like the only option. She didn't get home until after one last night, and even for her, who rarely sleeps, her six-am alarm felt brutal. The too-good ache between her thighs of the morning has turned into a weariness, and she's pretty sure she could just pass out and sleep through the night the moment she walks in the door. She even considers the on call room, but after the sexcapdes of Hayward and Motta, she's sort of taken to avoiding it.
"Hey, you." Santana jerks her head up, hearing Brittany's voice in the doorway. She's already closed her blinds, and shut down her computer, and had she not stopped to pull a few files from her desk, she would have missed her. She would have had to wait until she found the courage to call her.
"Oh, hi." Her hands turn clammy almost instantly, and nervous excitement flutters in her chest. She wonders if anyone has ever had a heart attack from feelings like this. She's a doctor, she knows better, but something about this woman makes her believe the impossible is possible. Something about her… "I, uh, didn't think I'd see you today."
"Yeah." Brittany shoves her hands into the pockets of her scrubs, and for the first time, Santana realizes that she must have just come out of surgery. "I'm not trying to freak you out or anything. I just couldn't stop thinking about you all day."
"Why?" Heat flares at the back of Santana's neck.
"Last night…it was really good."
"Really? I mean, God, it was really good for me. Like, totally blow my kind good. I swear, in the cab on the way home, I was still like, pulsing or something, and…that second time was just…" She shakes her head, stopping her spew of words. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Of course really. I woke up this morning and my pillow smelled like you, and I really wished I was getting up to make you breakfast."
"Sorry, I didn't know if you wanted me to stay, with Liam, and stuff. And also, I just…I don't know. Sorry."
"You don't have to be." Brittany pushes the door closed behind her, and steps into Santana's space. "I know you're not comfortable having your business all over the hospital, but since it's just us in here, would it be okay if I kissed you?"
"Oh." Santana swallows, her throat dry. She didn't expect this. She'd really been bracing herself for Brittany to want nothing to do with her, and now, Brittany in her office, Brittany in close proximity to her, Brittany's perfume in her nostrils, and her breath just inches away, it's a lot. It's all she'd hoped for, it's all she never thought would happen. "Yeah. Yeah, you could definitely kiss me."
Brittany does. She leans in, and kisses her, slow and sweet, sucking, just a little on Santana's bottom lip. Santana never really knew what it meant to swoon, but she gets it, when Brittany kisses her like that. She gets it, when Brittany presses her hand to the small of her back, and holds her close, like she knows that her knees are weak, and she thinks she might faint. It's nerve wracking, and sickening, and perfect, all at once.
"Are you leaving?" Brittany murmurs against her lips, the vibrations thrumming through Santana's body and making her toes curl.
"Like ten minutes. I'm just trying to get some things together."
"Do you want to come with me? I can drop you off, or you could have dinner with Liam and I. I put a chicken in the crockpot this morning."
"That's…really domestic." Santana blurts out, then purses her lips and rolls her eyes at herself. "Sorry."
"It's okay." Brittany laughs. "I used to eat every meal out of takeout containers in my office. It still feels domestic for me too. But putting it in a pot in the morning is a lot easier than trying to cook dinner after six back to back surgeries."
"You did six today? I had two, and I feel like I might pass out."
"I can totally drop you home if you want. Don't feel like you have to come over. Last night was a late night."
"No. No, I'll come over and see if you're as good of a cook as you seem to be at everything else."
"Don't hold your breath on that." She shakes her head, still laughing. "So I'll get Li, and meet you downstairs?"
"Yeah." Santana nods, though really, her comment about the domesticity was a lotmore than just a statement on Brittany's own situation. It was twist in her stomach. A thump of her heart. A worry, still, that she's intruding in a place that she doesn't belong. But still, she hasn't stopped going against her better judgement when it comes to Brittany. Still, she puts herself at further risk of getting hurt. Still, she falls further for this woman who feels far too perfect, far too good for her. "I'll try and hurry."