Author's Note: So, I was a total dork for Roswell back in the day, and I've had this idea of Brittana in that type of situation for kind of a while now. If you watched the show, this first chapter stays pretty true to some of the events of the first episode, but it'll diverge from there, with some of the lore sticking around as the story progresses. If you didn't watch it, then good, you have no idea what I'm talking about and can take this as a blank slate. Updates will probably be every few weeks, because I have my plate kind of full with Beautiful Life, but I couldn't get this out of my head, and figured I'd put it out there to see what you all think. Enjoy?
If there's one thing about small towns, especially small towns like Roswell, New Mexico, where there is still speculation, even more than sixty-six years later, over the infamous alleged crash of a UFO in 1947, it is that secrets don't make friends. Brittany S. Pierce, unfortunately, had two secrets. Her first was relatively harmless, if not embarrassing. From the time she'd first laid eyes on Santana Lopez at six years old, she had fallen completely and undeniably in love with her. Despite the fact that Brittany was fairly certain that the Lopez family had like, founded the state or something, they'd been in Roswell so long (and she wasn't being racist, even though they were Mexican, and they were in New Mexico), Santana was the perfect, all American girl. With her raven hair, her stunning dark eyes, her skin that looked like it had been kissed all over by the sun (Brittany wished she could kiss her all over), and the cheerleading uniform that hugged her body in all the right places, Brittany wanted her more than anything. But that was off limits, she could never have her because of the other secret.
Brittany's second secret, that was the dangerous one, more dangerous than anything in the world, the universe maybe. It was a secret she shared with her brother, Sam and their best (or rather, only) friend Quinn Fabray. The secret that set them apart, even if no one knew it, in the smallest of small towns. They were, all three of them, even though they lacked gigantic black eyes, green skin or antennae, most definitely not of this Earth.
It was no secret in Roswell, that two blonde children, a boy and a girl, had been found wandering in the desert sometime past midnight in April of 2003. When the local sheriff, Burt Hummel had picked them up on the side of the dirt road he'd been patrolling, neither of them spoke, neither of them cried, they just stared at him with eyes wide, as if they'd never seen another human before (and the truth was, they hadn't). Severe trauma, the doctors in the hospital had chalked their silence up to, even if no signs of physical distress marked their bodies, and after the extensive search to find the monsters who would leave their children to fend for themselves out in the wild failed, a frantic search to find a new home for them ensued. Because not much happens in Roswell, it was basically headline news for two full weeks, until Evan and Susan Pierce, a real estate lawyer and a homemaker, made it their personal mission to adopt the Lost Children, as they'd come to be known.
Life was good for the pair, who'd been given, with all the love in the world, a place to call home and the names of their parents. Brittany Susan and Samuel Evan Pierce had the best of everything, tutors, therapists, toys, books, you name it, they were given it. The same could not be said for the sullen, angry little girl, who'd been handed over to social services, just days later, while frantically searching the hospital for her lost comrades, how she'd even come to know them, she couldn't be sure. The third blonde, who strangely no one thought to connect to the other two, was tossed almost immediately into the foster care system, given the name Lucy Fabray, although for some reason, unbeknownst to anyone else, decided to go by the name Quinn.
It was Brittany who had found Quinn first, and instinctively knew who she was, knew that she was the same girl who'd been out in the desert with them some six months earlier. Immediately upon reconnecting, in a second grade classroom at Roswell Elementary School, the two little girls sobbed into each other's arms, knowing that they shared a secret that could never be spoken to anyone outside of their triad. Flash forward ten years later, and Brittany, Sam and Quinn were sitting in a diner, more specifically, the diner owned by the father of one Santana Lopez, and once again, Brittany was attempting to discretely stare at the girl she wanted more than anything, but could never have.
"Britt!" Sam called out, blowing a straw wrapper and hitting her directly between the eyes. "Could you be any more obvious right now?"
"I don't see the problem." She protested. "With just appreciating the natural beauty of the world. I mean look at her. Actually, don't, I don't want you to think she's material for any of that hand action you get."
"What? She's only public domain for your hand action?" Sam countered, and Brittany made to toss a salt shaker in his direction before Quinn grabbed her arm angrily.
"How many times do I have to tell you two, no drawing attention? No staring at Roswell's Sweetheart, no throwing shit in her father's diner, no anything. I swear, sometimes the two of you shouldn't even be allowed to speak."
"Relax, Quinn." Sam shook his head, and then lowered his voice significantly. "If we all acted as uptight as you, no one would actually believe we're normal teenagers."
"And I still don't see why I can't stare at Santana. Everyone stares at her, and it's not like she isn't a total out and proud lesbian."
"That is precisely why you can't, Brittany." Quinn snapped. "I know you don't realize it, but I'm not even into girls and I know how attractive you are. And this entire town knows just how into beautiful blondes Santana Lopez is. One wrong move, and we all end up in some laboratory being probed."
"Number one, you apparently watch too many science fiction movies. Number two, isn't it usually the aliens doing the probing of the humans, and not the other way around?" Sam tried to joke, but was met with Quinn's icy glare.
"And number three." Brittany added. "Just what kind if probing are we talking about, because-"
"Don't even finish the sentence." Quinn cut her off with a raised hand a huff. "This isn't a joke."
"I'm well aware it's not a joke." A twinge of anger rose in Brittany's voice. "I'm not stupid. And if I thought it was a joke, I would be pressing Santana up against that counter right now and doing exactly what any normal teenager wants to do to her. But I'm not normal, I get it. I'm just so sick off talking about it oh, I don't know, all the time."
"I'm just trying to-"
"Keep us safe, I know Quinn." Brittany sighed. "It's just sometimes I wish-"
"We could be a little more human." Sam finished, his glance at Santana's best friend Mercedes Jones not missed by either of the blonde girls.
Before Quinn could speak another word, the two men at the table beside them stood up, and suddenly, with the sound of a cocked pistol, everything the three knew, in the world that wasn't truly theirs, began to splinter apart.
Although her life seemed to be an open book, and it kind of had to be, because everyone in Roswell knew her, knew her family, knew about ninety-nine-point-nine percent of her business, Santana Lopez had a secret. No, it wasn't that she liked girls, that secret had been effectively dealt with when she was fourteen years old and kissed Alyssa, a girl on her cheerleading squad, and promptly ran home to tell her parents before a rumor started to spread. Javier Lopez panicked at first, the Lopez family has a name to protect, after all, but once Santana's mother Maribel got through to him, and the whole town nearly threw a parade in honor of their now openly sapphic princess, Javier calmed down significantly, and apologized profusely to his only daughter. Santana's second secret though, the one she kept hidden deep inside of her, was the one that might eventually break her father. Unlike every Lopez in seven generations, Santana had no desire to remain in the one horse town of Roswell, no desire to be the next in line to own the same diner than had been in her family since five years after New Mexico had been granted statehood. No, Santana wanted bigger, she wanted something, anything other than the excruciatingly painful normalcy that had been thrust upon her. That secret though, she kept hidden under a cheerleading uniform (Go Titans!), impeccable grades, and seemingly endless shifts waiting tables in the stifling alien themed diner.
Donning a lime green button up dress, antennae ("Seriously, Papi." She'd begged. "Can't we just change the theme to anything else?") and the most comfortable of sneakers, the brunette moved effortlessly from table to table, flashing her small town girl charm and an impressive set of dimples, trying to hide from the world just how crippling all the normalcy was to her spirit. As she leaned against the counter, waiting for Noah Puckerman, her cousin, somehow, by marriage, to shove her burgers through the window, Santana sighed, glancing over at the table where a certain beautiful blonde and her equally blonde brother and friend sat, desperate to know just who Brittany Pierce was, and why, unlike most everyone else in Roswell, the girl barely appeared to spare her a passing look.
"Girl, quit your staring and get your ass back out on the floor. These tables aren't going to wait themselves." Santana's best friend since before birth, Mercedes Jones interrupted her, smacking her on the arm. "If you want blondie so bad, just go over there and talk to her."
"Puh-lease, 'Cedes, like her brother and Quinn Fabitch would even let me within a hundred yards of her. I just don't get them. They're all weird and withdrawn, but on Brittany, it kind of looks crazy hot."
"Here, switch tables with me. Because I'm such a good friend, I'll take ugly and uglier by the door and you can have the Hitler Youth."
"Stop calling them that. It was funny like, the first fifteen times you said it, now you just kind of sound like an asshole."
"Well they're just as untouchable." Mercedes smirked, grabbing the plates that Puck had set on the pass through for Santana and tossing an order slip in her general direction. "You'll thank me later, princess."
Mercedes turned quickly, before Santana could say anything else, and the Latina let out another sigh. Talk to Brittany Pierce, right. It was ridiculous, she was the Santana Lopez, why did the idea of talking to a beautiful girl suddenly make her feel so weak in the knees? Her thoughts were interrupted though, when a pistol cocked and she snapped her eyes up an instant too late, and her entire world went black with the sickly smell of sulfur and copper, and an agonizing pain that hit just above her naval.
"Don't even think about it, Brittany." Quinn yelped, grabbing her friend roughly by the arm as the diner erupted into a panicked frenzy. "Don't. Even. Think. About. It."
"Get off of me!" Brittany shoved her away as Sam attempted to intervene between the two. "I need to see if she's okay."
"You don't even know her!"
"I don't care." Brittany managed to break free of both Quinn's hand, and her brother's that had latched on to her other arm. "I'm not going to let her die."
Without another word, she sprinted across the diner on her long legs, and hopped over the counter to where the girl she'd been dreaming about for so many years lay helpless on the floor. Hardly sparing a second glance at anything other than the rapidly growing pool of blood that surrounded Santana, Brittany put her hands on both sides of the other girl's face, forcing her to open her eyes.
"Santana, I need you to look at me."
"Brittany Pierce?" The fast fading girl rasped out. "It's this a dream."
"Yeah." Brittany let out a strangled laugh, not wanting the other girl to start panicking and make the situation worse. "It's all a dream. You're going to wake up soon and it will all be okay. But you've gotta look at me. Look in my eyes."
"They're beautiful. I could look into them forever." She sighed dreamily, but despite her words, Santana's eyes began to close, and Brittany felt herself start to panic.
Knowing she didn't have much more time to waste, Brittany tore the buttons from Santana's dress, and fought the urge to be sick at the gaping wound that ripped through Santana's perfectly toned stomach. It didn't matter what happened in the aftermath, she couldn't just sit there and let another human being bleed out in her arms, let alone the human that she just so happened to be in love with. Continuing to cup one of Santana's cheeks with her hand, forcing her not to break eye contact, Brittany pressed the other over the injury, a shuddering wince wracking the brunette's body at the contact. Not exactly the way the first physical contact with Santana Lopez ever went in Brittany's dream's. Pushing all other thoughts from her mind, Brittany's focused on the healing of organs, tissue, skin, carefully piecing everything back together with just the power of her touch. What the blonde didn't know though, was that without provocation, so much of Santana's mind would be open to her, and she couldn't what flowed from one mind to the other through their physical connection.
A five year old Santana sitting up on the counter in the very same diner, swinging her legs and patiently waiting for her father to make her a milkshake, her hair pulled back in two braids and dirty green Converse sneakers on her feet.
Santana a few years older, glaring across the playground at Quinn, and her eyes slightly softening when she caught sight of Brittany.
Santana beating the hell out of Noah Puckerman for taunting her.
The first day of high school, Santana's red and white uniform hugging every curve of her body and a seductive grin on her face.
Santana kissing that blonde cheerleader in the locker room.
Santana and Mercedes sitting on a bed, mooning over pictures in a yearbook that Brittany couldn't see.
Santana in the diner, laughing hard with Mercedes, rolling her eyes, being so beautifully, painfully normal.
There was so much Santana surrounding Brittany that it became too much to take. When she was finally able to pull away from the dark skinned girl, she assessed her work, and saw that the once destroyed flesh was whole again. Brittany breathed a sigh if relief, and then panic came at her like a freight train when she realized what she'd done, what she'd put at risk. Brittany was in love with Santana, Brittany saved Santana's life, and Brittany had a gigantic flashing sign over her head that read Alien Freak. When Santana's eyes opened, she stared at the girl still hovering above her, and just as she opened her mouth to scream out, something in Brittany's eyes stopped her.
"You fell. The gun went off and you got scared. You broke this bottle and spilled ketchup on yourself." Brittany shattered a bottle and poured it over the dried blood on Santana's dress. "Please, Santana. I'll explain everything later, just please."
Without waiting for a response, Brittany hopped back over the counter and into the hellfire that was burning in Quinn's eyes. Neither she, nor Sam said anything, but Quinn grabbed Brittany roughly by the arm and dragged her out to the car, shoving her into the backseat while Sam started the ignition.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Quinn roared, slapping at Brittany's shoulders. "How stupid can you be? It's over. It's fucking over Brittany."
"Don't call me stupid." Brittany looked down, avoiding Quinn's eyes. "Stupid would be leaving her there to die when I was perfectly capable of saving her life. So just shut up."
"Shut up? Shut up? You just exposed yourself in front of half of the town, and you want me to shut up? Sam, back me up here."
"Sam, say you wouldn't have done it if it were Mercedes." Brittany challenged.
"Don't put me in the middle."
"Pick a side for once!" Quinn shrieked at him.
"There aren't sides!" Brittany screamed, banging her head against the window. "We are all on the same side, Quinn."
"The same screwed side. You took it upon yourself to put all of us at risk because of a stupid crush you have on a girl who isn't even worth it."
"Stop saying stupid." Sam spoke up. "Just stop fighting, both of you, for one goddamn second of your lives. We need to focus, we need to come up with a story to tell Santana, and we need to come up with it quick."
"I'm telling her the truth."
"Oh no you're not!"
"You're not my boss, Quinn. I'm sick of taking orders from you, I'm sick of you treating me like I'm incapable to making decisions."
"Obviously you just proved your point so well." Quinn rolled her eyes. "We are so fucked."
"She's not going to say anything."
"I'm glad you're so sure of that." Quinn spit sarcastically. "I give it until the end of the day before we are locked up in some kind of facility because your little girlfriend told the police that one of the little freaks magically healed her mortal wound. Tell me, Brittany, tell me that you're positive she won't do that."
"I...I can't." Brittany admitted defeat, and Quinn started punching her fists against the seat.
"Hey, chill out Quinn." Sam looked in the rear view mirror.
"Chill out? Seriously, you want me to chill out? We are completely fucked, I've earned the right to lose it! Why am I the only one who sees how bad this is?"
"You're not. We all know, but screaming and calling Brittany stupid isn't going to do anything."
"Fix this." Quinn hissed, and Brittany could do nothing but nod and swallow hard, hoping she hadn't been wrong about Santana Lopez.
Shakily getting back onto her feet, after what was clearly the most mind boggling thing that had ever happened to her, Santana looked around the diner, trying to make sense of everything that had happened to her. Before she could do anything else, Mercedes was running toward her, throwing her arms around her friend, looking like she was about three seconds from bursting into tears.
"Santana!" She shrieked, her mouth a gape at the giant red stain on her dress.
"Ketchup, it's ketchup." Santana managed, eyes blinking furiously as she tried to piece together the last six minutes of her life. "I'm fine. Fine. Just a broken bottle, that my dad will probably take out of my paycheck."
"I thought you got shot! So help me, Santana Lopez, you die and leave me alone in this cow town, I will dig up your body and kill you again."
"I'm fine." Santana repeated, feeling far less than fine as thoughts of pleading blue eyes consumed her mind. "Did anyone get hurt?"
"What was Brittany Pierce doing back here?" Mercedes demanded, ignoring Santana's question.
"Seeing if I was okay, since my best friend apparently left me to die." She managed to joke.
"Shut up, I was in shock, okay? Also, you know blood totally flips me out, if you were shot, I wouldn'a wanted to see that shit."
"Nice."
"Told you blondie had it bad for you. Jumping over counters to save the life of her damsel in distress."
"She didn't save my life." Santana lied again, her throat scratchy with tears as she tried not to think about the fact that Brittany did save her life. She had been dead, bleeding out on the floor and the ever mysterious Brittany Pierce touched her, and suddenly, she was alive again. What did that even mean? Who or what was that girl? "Unless I had been deathly allergic tomatoes. I'm fine, now stop touching me, I don't care if you want all up on this, you're freaking me out."
"God only knows why I was praying for you to live, bitch."
Thwacking Mercedes upside the head with an order pad and snatching the towel her friend held up, pressing it over the red splotch on her uniform, at least pretending that everything was completely normal and she hadn't just been revived from the dead by a gorgeous blonde, Santana braced herself against the counter as her father came running in, Sheriff Burt Hummel hot on his heels. She hadn't even thought about the police getting involved, but it was Roswell, the only remotely police worthy thing that had happened in the past year had been when Rachel Berry shattered her neighbor's window, for some reason thinking Barbra Streisand was in the house. An almost shooting (an almost shooting, Santana had to keep convincing herself of that) would be headline news for weeks. Headline news for weeks, Santana groaned inwardly, thinking of being the center of yet another story in Roswell. Shaking her head, her thoughts unwillingly went back to Brittany. Brittany. She'd hardly ever exchange words with the girl, and yet she'd saved her life. But how? How did she even do that? Santana's mind was reeling when her father's arms around her once again slapped her back to reality.
"Mija, dios mio! Estas bien? Qué paso?"
"I'm fine, Papí. Some idiotas were fighting, and a gun went off and I threw myself to the ground. Just ketchup." She pulled away, gesturing to her stomach and feeling like she would repeat that lie a million times in her life. A lie, for Brittany Pierce. Brittany who she hardly knew. Brittany who had saved her life, or brought her back to life, or something.
"Gracia de dio!"
"You sound like Mamí. I'm fine, I promise." Santana squeezed the towel in her hands tighter, hoping to stop their shaking. "Can we maybe not tell her about this?"
"Santanita! Your mother will kill me if we keep this from her. You were almost shot."
"But I wasn't." Lies, lies, lies, was all Santana could think, every time the words came out of her mouth. It was a good thing she was nothing if not an expert liar.
"Sorry to interrupt." Burt said as he approached from where he had been speaking to one of the customers who'd witnessed the scene, tipping his hat to Santana. Over his shoulder, she watched as Mercedes spoke to a deputy, wildly gesticulating as she described the man who'd pulled out a gun. Santana couldn't help but roll her eyes at the dramatics, and yet, she had the right to be dramatic, sort of. "But Miss Lopez, I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's alright."
"That's fine, Sheriff." Santana nodded, hopping up onto a stool at the counter. "But I didn't see much."
Never letting the towel leave where she'd pressed it up against her stomach, Santana described the men who were fighting, retold the story about the damn ketchup bottle, and pressed two fingers against her temple, trying to stave off the impending migraine from the ridiculousness of the day. Sheriff Hummel never wrote anything down, he just watched her, almost like he was expecting her to be lying. Santana tried to shake it off, because why would anyone lie about not being shot, but she couldn't help but squirm in her seat.
"Are you alright, Miss Lopez?"
"Just a little shaken up. I thought today would be a slow day." She attempted to joke.
"I only have a few more questions for you. There was a girl who came up to you after the gun went off, who was she?"
"I don't know." Santana tried to keep her breathing steady, and she didn't know why she hadn't just told Sheriff Hummel that it was Brittany, checking if she was okay, but something deep inside her told her that she shouldn't ever mention the other girl's name in association with the incident. It didn't take long before she felt Mercedes' eyes boring into her, and she hoped, prayed that her friend wouldn't reveal that she'd lied. "She must not have been from around here, but she was closest to the counter, so..."
"Well where did she go?"
"Honestly, Sheriff, like I said, I'm pretty shaken up, I didn't really pay attention to where she'd gone. She asked if I was okay, I told her I was, and then she left. That's all. Why does that matter?"
"Everything matters in an investigation, Miss Lopez." The officer told her, and Santana couldn't help but feel that there was something ominous behind his words.
"Is it alright if I go now? I'd really like to shower, you know, I'm a little sticky and all." She flashed him her flirtiest smile, and it didn't matter that the whole town knew she was a lesbian, she was still hot, and it worked, every single time.
"Yes, thank you. Go on and clean yourself up. But call me if you remember anything else from this afternoon. Pretty close call you had, and we'd like to make sure to keep Roswell as safe as possible."
"Definitely, sir. And thank you, you know, for keeping us all safe." Santana put on her best daughter of the oldest family in Roswell smile and turned to walk away.
"Santana." Her father get stopped her, and she tilted her head to look at him.
"Please, Papí, can we talk later?"
"I was just going to tell you again that I'm glad you're alright." Javier Lopez said with a soft smile, and Santana gave him another hug, clinging to him tightly.
When Santana had finally managed to separate herself from her father, she stepped through the door to the kitchen, bracing herself against the wall so she could finally have a second to catch her breath. In the span of forty-five minutes, she'd been shot, been extremely close to death, been revived by an extremely hot something that she'd secretly been admiring from a far since the blonde first developed that awesome body, and had lied to Sheriff Hummel, simply because Brittany had asked her to, giving her no further explanation to what had even occurred. Santana Lopez had been looking for something other than the mind numbing monotony of her day to day life for years, and somehow, she seemed to have stumbled across it in the most unexpected way possible.
"Santana!" Mercedes called out, just as Santana had taken the first step up to the second floor of the diner where she and her parents lived. "Want to tell me what the hell just happened out there?"
"Nothing happened, 'Cedes."
"Don't play games with me." Mercedes put her hands on her hips, giving Santana a state down that only she was capable of. "I just watched you completely lie to Sheriff Hummel."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, you don't? So if I go out there and tell him that it was Brittany Pierce who came up to you after the gun went off, he'd already have that information?"
"Don't!" Santana nearly shouted. "Don't you dare."
"I'm not one of your Cheerios, Lopez, in case you forgot. you don't get to order me around."
"Mercedes, please." Santana switched tactics, sounding desperate. "Just don't say anything, okay?"
"I don't know what the hell you got yourself into, but lying to the sheriff? That ain't gonna end pretty. And it doesn't even make sense. Why does it matter that Brittany went to see if you were okay?"
"Just give me some time, okay? I'll explain it all to you when I figure out myself why I just did that." Santana looked Mercedes in the eye, and sensing her best friend's desperation, she softened.
"Fine." Mercedes conceded. "But it's me, don't you forget that. We've basically got a sworn blood oath to each other."
"I kill them, you help hide the body, and vice versa." Santana tried again to joke, but the words kill and body hit a little too close to home, causing her to shiver. "I just...I need to shower, okay? This day has been totally fucked up."
"Yeah basically. But at least we can head out early, right?"
"Right." Santana choked out a laugh, and let Mercedes hug her again.
It was four hours after the incident, as Quinn had insisted upon calling it (well, after she'd changed the name from the moment Brittany acted like a fucking idiot and ruined all of our lives), and Brittany was sitting alone on her bed, debating the pros and cons of telling Santana the truth. So far, the con side seemed to be much bigger than the pro, with items such as Quinn will murder me in my sleep and Santana will never look at me like I'm not a mutant freak, weighing heavy on Brittany's mind. The thing was though, even though she'd shared very few actual conversations with Santana Lopez, Brittany was well aware that the girl was relentless, and knew that if she decided against telling her the truth, she needed to figure out a damn good story to tell her. Something that she was sure would be no easy feat.
Flopping herself back against the pillows in frustration, Brittany let out a heavy groan. This was why Quinn emotionally distanced herself from everyone, this was why Quinn never bothered to spare anyone, male or female, a second glance. Brittany though, she got too involved, even without trying. What Brittany had believed as a child to simply be jealousy for the normal life that Santana had, had turned out to be what she was nearly one-hundred-percent certain was total and complete unrequited love. Covering her face with a pillow and screaming into it, Brittany wished the day had never happened, wished that some Neanderthal looking man hadn't pulled out a gun, wished that Santana had never been shot, wished that she hadn't been forced to choose between keeping her secret and letting the girl who might never have spared her a second glance otherwise die. Because the truth was, even if Santana thought she was the biggest of freaks, even if Santana picked up the phone and called the FBI, even if she was poked and prodded and tortured, there was no way in any world that Brittany Pierce could have possibly sat there and let Santana Lopez die.
Deciding that her best bet was probably to just go to bed and go back to contemplating the future of her entire existence, despite the fact that it was barely after eight, Brittany closed her eyes, hoping that Sam wouldn't knock on her door to play video games (because really, even if the world was ending, her brother would still be playing Halo), her parents wouldn't want to go for ice cream, or Quinn wouldn't call to yell at her some more. Just when sleep was nearly a reality, there was a banging against the glass of Brittany's window, and jumped up, so startled that she rolled right off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. When she looked up from where she fell, there was Santana on the other side of the glass, wearing a completely unreadable expression.
"Hi." Brittany said quietly, opening the window. "You know where I live?"
"We've been in the same class since the third grade, obviously I know where you live."
"Oh, right."
"Can I come in?" Santana asked, and Brittany's heart fluttered. Santana Lopez, in her bedroom, it was the the dream come true. But once a millisecond passed, she remembered what had happened earlier in the day, and why her dream girl had come to her window. Time for decision making was up.
"Yeah, um, come on in." Brittany stepped to the side, and Santana climbed through the window. "Do you want a drink or something? Do you want to sit down? Are you hungry?"
"Let's just cut to the chase, Brittany." With those words, Santana began lifting up her tank top, and Brittany was pretty sure that she had died, or was in the midst of one of her many Latina head Cheerio sex dreams. She felt the blush creep up her neck, and then suddenly, her blood just about ran cold when she looked down at Santana's stomach. There, splayed against that perfect, perfect caramel colored skin was the silver mark of a handprint. And not just any handprint, Brittany's handprint.
"Oh. Shit."
"Yeah." Santana snorted bitterly. "Add a few more shits and a fuck or two and you've nailed my reaction. I want answers, and I want them now."
"I don't know what you want me to say." Brittany intentionally looked away from Santana's stomach, both because the mark there made her burn with shame that she was basically a freak, and the amount of flawless, flawless skin exposed made her burn in an entirely different way.
"How about you tell me the truth? How about you tell me why I went from being dead, from seeing black and then that cliche flash of light at the end of a tunnel to waking up completely alive and looking into your eyes? How about you tell me how I ended up with a glowing silver handprint, your glowing silver handprint branded into my skin?"
"It'll fade." Brittany mumbled.
"Not really the point, Brittany." Santana spit, anger flaring inside of her. She didn't like being kept in the dark, she didn't like losing control and having no idea what was going on around her, she didn't like anything about this one bit, you know, except for the not being dead part. "I died. And now I'm alive, and I want to know how that happened."
"Incredible stroke of luck?" She tried, but when brown eyes met blue, Brittany knew that there was no possible way she could attempt to get around the truth. "You're probably not going to believe what I'm about to tell you."
"Until a few hours ago, I didn't believe that people could die and be revived by some magic touch, so go ahead, try me." Santana crossed her arms across her chest, biting her lip and staring at Brittany expectantly. Taking a moment, Brittany caught her breath and hoped that she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life.
"So, you know the 1947 crash?" Brittany asked, and Santana gave her a face, asking if she was serious with that question. "Right. Sorry. So, I'm not really sure how it all worked, but I was a part of that crash."
"Do you really think I'm joking about wanting answers?"
"I told you that you weren't going to believe me."
"No, you're right. How am I supposed to believe that you're like a sixty something year old alien? You're not three feet tall and green, tell me the damn truth, Brittany."
"That's a stereotype, Santana." Brittany snipped, her /own/ anger beginning to rise. "Just because you're a lesbian doesn't mean I walk around thinking you wear flannel, eat jicama and play golf."
"Where did you even come up with half of those stereotypes?" Santana was completely appalled by Brittany's words.
"Bad television, same place I'm pretty sure you got yours. I'm telling you the truth. We were encased in some kind of incubation chamber, and then in 2003, we came out and looked like we were six years old."
"We?" Santana gasped, and Brittany covered her mouth, internally cursing herself for getting into deeper trouble.
"Sam and-"
"Quinn." Santana finished and Brittany simply nodded, playing with the strap of her bra and avoiding the other girl's eyes. "Fucking shit. I swear to God, if I'm on some episode of Punk'd right now, I'm going to fucking lose it."
"You're not." Brittany swore, starting to hold out her pinky, and then thinking better of it when she remembered the she was standing before the coolest girl in school, coolest girl in Roswell, maybe even the coolest girl on the entire planet, but she wasn't sure, since excepting whatever journey she'd taken, which she had absolutely no memory of, she'd never actually been outside of the small town.
"So you're some race of healing aliens from planet Vulcan or something? This isn't real, that bitch Kitty Wilde must have dropped me off the top of the pyramid at practice today. I never made it to the diner, I was never shot, this is all some kind of hallucination."
"Santana." Brittany reached out and touched her hand, causing Santana to jump at the contact, and the strange sparks she felt. "Your details are kind of off, but it's real. Trust me, it's real."
Santana Lopez wasn't the trusting type, she never had been, nor had her father before her, it was just par for the course of living in a town where everyone gossiped, and even being the oldest family (or maybe especially being the oldest family) didn't grant you immunity. But she also had never been the cover someone else's ass type, and apparently she'd already done that for Brittany, so that was strange even barring the fact that the girl in front of her was allegedly some type of extra terrestrial. When she raised her eyes back up to meet Brittany's, when she saw the sincerity there, when she realized that the blonde girl had quite possibly risked everything just to save her life, she once again found herself going completely out of character, and actually believing that she might actually be capable of trusting her.
"I really, really should have stayed home today." Santana pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling like everything had completely spiraled out of her control, and she was on the verge of some kind of complete breakdown that would probably end in padded walls and spoon feedings. "I need some help grasping this. I need you to tell me everything."
"I will." Brittany swore, not even feeling like she was making a wrong move. "I promise you, I'll tell you everything you want to know."