When Santana wakes up, late in the morning after she sleeps over Brittany's, she's mortified. Not only had she gone over there uninvited, and fell asleep in Brittany's bed without any of the precursors that usually lead up to a first sleepover, but also, Brittany has long left for work, while she remained completely cut off from the world. All she can hope is that she didn't drool, or snore, or talk in her sleep.
She's never experienced something like this, being alone in someone's house, and she sits upright, as soon as she realizes the time. She should leave. She doesn't belong here. She's not even Brittany's girlfriend. She's just someone that she's maybe-kinda-sorta dating. She just…feels like an intruder. But then, then she notices a page torn from a notebook, sitting on the nightstand. Then, she has to take a breath, before she can even pick up the torn sheet.
Hey!
Didn't want to wake you—you really needed the sleep!
Feel free to hang out as long as you want. Coffee is in the pot, there's a plate in the microwave, and I left the remote out, in case you wanted to watch TV.
We'll be home by seven, but I'm sure you're working tonight. Text me, let me know you're okay.
—B
Like she's been burned, Santana drops the note. Then she picks it up again. She turns it over in her hands, and she wonders if it would be weird if she saved it. Probably. But that doesn't stop her from folding it up, from slipping it into her bag, when she gets up from Brittany's bed.
She doesn't stay long. Despite Brittany's invitation, she feels strange doing it. Instead, she makes the bed. She smooths down the comforter, slowly, carefully. She fluffs the pillows, and tugs at the shams. She folds the blanket that was kicked off the foot of the bed. She steps back, and then she makes it all up again, dissatisfied with how it looks.
After the fourth try, she accepts it for how it is, and she goes into the bathroom. She changes back into her clothes from the night before, though she feels like they still reek with the trauma of her day. She splashes water on her face, and she brushes her teeth. She's not sure what to do with the toothbrush Brittany gave her, or the clothes she wore, so she leaves them on the bathroom counter. Brush parallel to the sink, and clothes neatly folded beside it.
Downstairs, she finds the coffee in the pot. When she sees the mug that Brittany left out for her, it takes her a minute to process. On it, there's a picture of Liam, just born, and swaddled in yellow. Number One Aunt, it reads, and something about that jars Santana. She forgets that Liam wasn't born with Brittany as his mother. She forgets the great loss Brittany suffered. She forgets, because Brittany is natural with her son. She forgets, because Brittany dwells on her personal tragedy less than anyone she's ever met.
While she drinks her coffee, Santana peers into the microwave. It's after one, but the pancakes that were left for her still make her mouth water. She remembers what Brittany said, about wanting to make her breakfast, and it chokes her up. Brittany might not be here to share it with her, but she left it. That tenderness is something she needs. She's fragile today. Or, she's fragile, perhaps always, and Brittany wants to take care of her. Brittany wants to make her feel different than anyone else ever has.
She washes her dishes, and she leaves. The door locks behind her, and she stands on the stoop for a minute. There's a strange twisting in the pit of her stomach. A twisting different than her usual anxiety, her usual hesitation. This one, she can't place, this one, it doesn't come from any sort of feeling that she's familiar with. This one, it should terrify her, but it doesn't.
At six o'clock, she goes to work. She hopes she might run into Brittany, but she doesn't. She hopes to tell her that last night, she slept better than she ever has, but she can't. She can't, both because she doesn't see her, and because she knows that even if she did, her words would twist and garble, her words would never say what it was that she meant.
Santana's attention is mainly on Samantha Franklin. She has a tonsillectomy and a splenectomy that she gives to Rose and Adams. The adrenal tumor she had to remove has to be done by her, but before and after, she's focused on her patient in the most critical condition. The interns can handle post-op, the residents can handle the pit, she needs to figure out how best to save this child, now that she's made it through first of what may be many surgeries.
She researches. It's the hardest way to spend the night. Even with cup after cup after cup of coffee, Santana feels herself fading. She looks at her phone, and sees that she missed a call from Brittany three hours ago. Now, it's nearly two-am. Now, it's way too late to call her back. But there's a voicemail. A voicemail that makes her heart flutter, and her droopy eyes perk up.
Pushing aside the stack of articles she'd printed, she leans back in her chair. She's careful, always, not to wipe the smudge from her pen from the site of her hand to her face, and she dials in, listening to Brittany say she was just checking in. Listening to Brittany say that she hopes she's feeling a little better. Listening to Brittany say that she hopes her night hasn't been too long. They're off tomorrow, both of them, and she listens, smile spreading across her face, when Brittany asks if Santana would let her take her to breakfast before she goes home to sleep.
Santana sends a text, just saying Yeah, totally. Breakfast is good, before she goes back to work. The good news is, Samantha is sleeping. Santana checks her anyway, twice an hour, just because that's how she is. Every time, she sees her grandmother, sound asleep on the cot. Every time, she says a few silent words of thanks to her. Thanks for saving a child Santana doesn't even know. Thanks for standing up for what she believed was right. Thanks for being unafraid to remove her from a dangerous environment, without fear of consequences.
When the sun comes up, Santana is just about finished writing her out her treatment plan. So much of it involves bringing Samantha Franklin out of her emaciated state, before they can do much of anything to continue the treatment of her cancer. So at eight-am, Santana meets with a dietitian. She's exhausted, but she's excited too. As soon as this is done, she'll see Brittany.
Santana expects Brittany to meet her at the diner across the street from the hospital at nine-thirty. That was the plan they'd made. So when Brittany is standing outside of the door to Santana's office, long cream sweater draped over dark jeans. She smiles, as Santana approaches her, and Santana can do nothing but shrug a little, and yank a hand through her hair. It's one of those things she doesn't understand. The way she can kiss Brittany, have sex with Brittany, fall asleep in Brittany's bed, but she can't manage to greet her without her body contorting into awkward positions.
"Pre-breakfast coffee?" Brittany holds out a cup to her. "I know you hate diner coffee."
"I do." Her mouth twists into a sort-of half smile. "Thanks. Lemme just…uh, grab my stuff."
Brittany nods, and Santana sweeps her papers up from her desk, trying to be quick, while keeping her research neat. Feeling the pressure, she decides not to take everything with her. She probably won't even have a chance to look over anything at home later. She usually doesn't, but, she always brings what she's working on. It's a thing, she guesses. Her work is important to her, so she guards it. It's a crazy thing, but in the scheme of things, it's one of her smallest idiosyncrasies.
"Okay. I'm ready." She looks up at Brittany, leaning up against the office door. It's the way she always stands, hip against the frame, arms across her chest, and it makes Santana smile. It puts her at ease in a way. It reminds her of the way Brittany shakes her hair out and props her head up on her hand in bed. It's a totally different stance, obviously, but the casual way she does both, they're similar. "Hey, where's Liam?"
"Oh? Liam? Hmm. Must have forgot him somewhere." Brittany looks around, wry grin on her mouth. "He's with Artie."
"Artie?" Alarm bells go off on Santana's head. Her neck sweats. Her heart races. Her stomach turns. She feels like she might be sick. Did she miss something so blatantly obvious? Is she just—
"Dr. Abrams. Neuro?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Totally." Her voice wavers as she speaks, and Brittany steps into the room, kicking the door closed behind her.
"Are you okay? Is there something wrong with him? Because if you tell me there is, I'll go get Liam right now."
"No. No. He's totally nice. Great. Awesome. Yeah. I mean, I'm totally happy for you."
"Santana. What are you talking about?"
"I didn't realize you were seeing someone, that's all."
"Oh my God." Brittany laughs, almost as if she can't help it. "Santana, are you oblivious to everything?"
"Apparently." She mutters, swallowing back tears.
"Hey, look at me." When Brittany steps into Santana's space, she cringes. She fights the urge to flee. But Brittany is between her and the door. Brittany is trapping her in her own mortification simply by being present. "Do you actually think I'm dating Artie Abrams?"
"Aren't you?"
"Santana Lopez, sometimes I wish I were a neurologist so I could look inside your brain, and see just how it works."
"Uh…thanks? I guess?"
"You're brilliant." Brittany takes her hands gently, and Santana is powerless to pull them away. "But you manage to get yourself so tangled up in knots, that I'm not sure how you get yourself from point A to point B. Especially given how fast you do it."
"You still haven't answered."
"You're right, I haven't. I'm not dating Artie. Artie is gay, and Liam plays with his daughter, so he offered to take them to the park for a few hours this morning. And even if he wasn't gay, I wouldn't be interested. I'm not sure you know this, but I'm dating someone else."
"Oh." Santana isn't sure an actual word. She's not sure she's capable of words. Stupid. She feels so stupid. She should never have let her guard down. She should have never done this. Stupid. So stupid.
"You. Santana, I'm dating you. At least I thought I was."
"Me? I mean…I told you, Brittany. I'm terrible at all of this. I have no idea what's going on with us. I'm an emotional infant. I bet Liam knows how to handle his feelings better than I do, and he threw a tantrum because you said he couldn't have cake and ice cream the last time I was over for dinner. And you being youjust makes me feel even more like that, because you're so…collected."
"What's going on with us is that my feelings for you get stronger every day. I think about you all the time. I feel like I'm thirteen, when I look at my phone, and I feel tachycardic when I see a new message from you. I don't want to come on too strong and freak you out, so I force myself not to come to your office when we're on the same shift and bring you lunch, and I force myself not to send you Insomnia Cookies or flowers now that you're working overnights. Being around you makes me feel really good, and really…I guess, to quote Phoebe Buffay, floopy. If I come off still collected on the outside, it's because I'm trying really hard not to be a total dork."
"Why…" Santana stops herself, before she asks the question that she keeps asking, and when Brittany laughs knowingly, she laughs too. "Why do you make me want to kiss you all the time?"
"I dunno." She shrugs, smile spreading further across her face. "Maybe 'cuz you really like me too?"
"I do. I used to be really irritated by it, but now…I don't know, you just make me feel safe. I don't think I've ever felt like that before, and then last night, in your bed, I was just…okay for once."
"So…if I asked you to be my girlfriend, what would you say?"
"Are you asking me that just so I don't have another near nervous breakdown when I think you might be dating someone else?"
"No." Brittany shakes her head, still laughing. "You opened up the window for me now, but it's kinda why I asked you to breakfast. I didn't want to wait until we had time for a dinner date to do it, and I wasn't going to send you a text about it."
"Okay." Santana scrubs her face with her hands, collecting herself, before she looks back in Brittany's eyes.
"Okay…"
"Okay, yes. Yeah. Uh huh. I want to be your girlfriend, kind of a lot."
"Good, because I want that a lot too."