Together we will rise

Author notes: This takes place post season five, as though season six did not happen.

Santana had experienced a lot of moments of happiness, both big and small, throughout her life, although not quite as many as she would have preferred. Nearly all of those moments that she could remember, Brittany Pierce was by her side. And the best, most perfect memory of her life was the day she stood across from her, smiling into her eyes, and proposed.

She had loved Brittany since their first day in Cheerios together freshman year, long before she could acknowledge her feelings to herself or others. She still loved Brittany. It seemed to her a fact of life that Santana Lopez would love Brittany Pierce for as long as they both lived, and maybe beyond that. And although she feared otherwise, a part of her still felt that Brittany was being honest when she told Santana that she still loved her too.

Santana couldn't pinpoint a specific incident or even time period when things started to change for the worse when it came to their relationship. It certainly hadn't helped when Brittany was hired as a backup dancer for Beyonce's opening act singer, shortly after she quit her college math genius job when they were both 20. Of course, Santana was insanely proud of her for her success, but things started to change quickly after that. Brittany was always on the road, keeping strange hours in different time zones. She was always taking lessons and learning and teaching routines, rehearsing and travelling and performing, and those were all things that Santana could not be involved in. She was not allowed to tour with her, and the time that Brittany had off to fly back to their apartment in New York, she was always exhausted and jet lagged.

Santana felt like they were living separate lives, and Brittany's was the better one. Here she was, back in school (again) and still trying to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up at the age of 22, and here Brittany was, traveling the world and performing for thousands and millions to see, living her dream. Santana didn't even know yet what her dream was, because it seemed to change from year to year.

The only thing she did know was she loved Brittany, and she wanted to be with her. But Brittany's schedule made that difficult indeed. It was hard, living alone in their shared apartment, waiting up all night in the hopes that Brittany, wherever her time zone, would have a few minutes to call. It was lonely and sometimes depressing to go to sleep alone every night with nothing but Kurt's stupid girlfriend pillow to snuggle up to. It sucked, working full time at the stupid diner with Kurt and Rachel and taking what classes she could fit in and afford. Her college plan was a six year rather than four year route, and between being older than most of her classmates and taking longer to get through, it could be frustrating. Sometimes Santana felt like she was watching all her friends and classmates getting further and further ahead of her, happier and more settled in her life, while she drifted, barely inching along without even knowing the direction she was headed towards.

She was able to get through it because Brittany's contract for the tour was only for two years, when Beyonce's tour, and the opening act along with it, came to its end. But then Brittany was approached with an offer to be a backup dancer for Beyonce herself- and of course, the offer was one she couldn't turn down.

That meant a minimum of another two years of traveling, this time with more routines, heavier choreography and focus, which meant even more time apart. And if all went well, and Brittany didn't become injured, she would have the potential to travel with Beyonce for as long as Beyonce continued her career as a performer

Brittany may never spend more than a few weeks, a month max, back with Santana. Brittany's life had taken a direction that Santana could not follow.

On the first opportunity that she had after signing the contract, Brittany took two days off to surprise Santana by flying home. At first Santana was thrilled, thinking she wanted to celebrate her newest success, but Brittany ended up sitting her down, taking Santana's hands in hers, and looking her in the eye as she explained seriously that as much as she loved her, she was breaking up with her.

Santana still felt cold and shaky when she thought about it. As much as she wanted to forget, she vividly remembered every word of Brittany's explanation- that as much as she loved her, she didn't want to hold Santana back from living a life of her own, a life where she could be happy and with someone who could be there in person with her, making her happy too. Brittany had told her that she felt all her time apart from Santana, without any clear idea of when or if it would ever cease, was making Santana lonely and unhappy, and that Santana would never figure out what she wanted out of her own life if she stayed on the sidelines, watching Brittany live her dream while not going in pursuit of her own.

"But Brittany, you're my dream," Santana had said desperately, clutching onto her hands. "I only dream of being with you, being yours. That's all that really matters to me."

"That's the problem, sweetie," Brittany had responded, stroking her cheek with a sad smile. "I can't be your dream. No person can be. You have to have a dream that's all your own."

Nearly two years had passed since then, and although the pain of the breakup had dulled, it still sometimes reared up again, nearly as sharp as the day she watched Brittany walk out the door. Somehow, Santana's life had only seemed to go backwards.

She hadn't been able to stand living alone in her apartment with Brittany after the breakup, although Brittany had offered to continue to pay her half of the rent. There were far too many reminders of her and no distraction from the knowledge that she would no longer return to it one day. Santana had found herself in the position of having to ask (she refused to think of it as begging) to move back into Kurt and Rachel's loft with them, which, to their credit (and perhaps their desire for lessened rent), they allowed.

Somehow, she settled back into a life without Brittany, a life as a nearly 25 year old who was still working her way through her junior year of college. Santana had declared a major of business not because she actually wanted to work in the field, but because she couldn't decide what it was she did want to do, and her parents had both said that would be the most practical. It turned out she was actually pretty good at the classwork, but still, it was hardly her dream. Santana was beginning to believe that she was never going to have one, let alone fulfill it.

Kurt and Rachel had both graduated and were busy making names for themselves in their chosen fields; Rachel had managed to land a few roles in off Broadway productions, though no starring ones yet, and regularly attended rehearsals and voice and dance lessons. Kurt's work in the fashion industry was steadily taking off, to the point that he had a line of clothing he had fully designed himself coming out within the next few months. Santana was proud of them both, and happy for them, truly. Most of the time. But she couldn't say it didn't also make her burn with jealousy and insecurity at times to watch them glow with pride and happiness in their accomplishments as she herself trudged along, hoping she happened to stumble across something that made her light up in the same way.

On the plus side, she had managed to get a somewhat better job with better tips than the diner. She now worked as a bartender at Above the Clouds, a three story bar with a rooftop lounge. The uniform and tips were better, and usually the customers were too.

Santana still couldn't look at Brittany's pictures on social media, and hearing any Beyonce song made her ache with probably unproportioned rage. But her life was manageable, if not satisfying. She was coping.

Until the day came where even coping was no longer possible.

88

The evening was no different than any other, at the start. Santana was working evening shift at Above the Clouds. It wasn't a very crowded night, really; although there was a football game on TV, like usual, it was a Thursday, and no more than fifteen to twenty patrons were present at the ground floor level, where Santana was stationed. There were a few loud, drunk idiots at the pool table area, a few girls out together having fun, and thankfully, no birthday parties or bachelor/bachelorette tables. Although they sometimes brought in good tips, depending on the group, it wasn't reliable enough for the irritation.

There was one guy who got a little pushy and handsy, a somewhat stocky asshole in a backwards baseball cap and sagging jeans who seemed to think he was far more irresistible than his appearance and lack of any charisma whatsoever lent itself to. He made several overtly flirtatious comments, which Santana ignored, and then started to make sexual ones, which she also overlooked, merely because she still hoped he would give a decent tip. But then he had the balls to actually reach across the bar and grab her breast, and that was when she had enough.

"Okay, let's straighten things up right here, right now," she had deadpanned, giving him her most intimidating stare as she drew herself up to her not that impressive height. "First off, straight is something I'm not, so you're wasting your breath and what I very much hope are your very worst pick up lines, because if that's the best you've got, it's gonna just be you and your meaty, sweaty man paw in a relationship for the rest of your life. Second, that life is gonna be real short if you don't take your mitts off my tits, because I'm's gonna pull out those tiny little balls you're proud of and stuff them down your throat until you choke to death. Third, I'm a bartender, not a whore. So's I suggest you pay up, tip well, and get the hell out of here before I call security."

The man's face had turned bright red, and he had sputtered a few insults and curses under his breath, but backed away, heading over to the group of girls to apparently try his luck there. Santana was amused to see that they too quickly sent him off before she was distracted by the pool table guys descending on her for another round.

About thirty minutes passed, and she was busy enough to entirely forget Handsy Henry. When one of her coworkers clocked in, she nodded towards her, saying, "Gonna check the bathrooms, you got things covered?"

When the girl nodded, Santana entered the women's room, quickly scanning to see that there was enough toilet paper, paper towels, no huge mess anywhere, and that there was no one passed out or shooting up inside. They were supposed to take turns checking that and signing off on that every hour. She scrawled her signature on the sheet on the back of the bathroom door and then went to the men's room, knocking and announcing that she was entering so she didn't walk in on someone at a urinal. Entering, she started her scan of the room, opening the two stalls to check.

She heard the bathroom door swing open behind her and turned around, about to tell the patron entering to wait a minute for her to finish up. But she quickly saw, to her rush of apprehension and dread, that the man was the same one who had tried to pick (and feel) her up earlier, and that he was pushing the somewhat heavy trashcan in front of the bathroom door. As though to give a temporary barricade from anyone else entering.

"What the hell are you doing?" Santana started to say, but the man was already lunging towards her, his thick hand pushed roughly against her mouth as his heavy arm locked around her waist. He lifted his knee, catching her hard in the sternum so that Santana gasped for breath, pain and shock briefly paralyzing her. Still holding his hand tightly over her mouth, even as Santana tried to regain breath long enough to be able to bite him, he used his larger body and greater strength to force her onto her back on the slightly sticky bathroom floor.

Santana tried to fight. She really did, as much as she could not seem to remember this later. Later, all she could recall was how helpless she had felt, how powerless, how very small and weak and frozen with terror and pain. She tried bucking and kicking, scratching and biting, but he was bigger, he was stronger, and when he held her body down with his and wrapped a hand around her throat, whispering in a savage hiss that he would kill her if she didn't shut up and lay still, Santana believed him, and she obeyed.

Months later, she could still vividly remember the faint smell of urine traces and chemical cleaner on the bathroom floor, clinging to her clothes and skin and hair. She could still remember the pain of his fist in her hair, pulling, of his fingers leaving bruises around her throat that made it hard to speak above a whisper days later. She could not let go of the memory of his crushing weight on her, every part of her body stripped bare and exposed under the harsh florescent lights. With time, bruising faded away, and even the stitches she needed from the tearing when he forced himself inside her dissolved and left her with less physical pain. But Santana was forever altered, and to her, it felt like she was always standing naked, vulnerable, bruised and bleeding for all to see, wherever she went, however much time had passed.

The worst of it, even beyond the pain, even beyond the mortification, was what his alcohol drenched breath murmured in her ear throughout it all. The man told her that he was showing her that she couldn't insult him and get away with it, that he would fuck the so-called gay out of her and make her normal, make her a real woman, the kind of woman who would be grateful for a man like him. He told her that he was showing her who and what she really was, that she was nothing, worse than a bitch or whore. The man told her that she was everything Santana had always privately feared might be true, and it was impossible to unhear.

When he had finished, he redressed, pushed the trash can aside, and exited without another word, confident that Santana would not follow, and he was correct. She couldn't have stood on her own, let alone chased after him to keep him from getting away, if her life had depended on it. She lay on the bathroom floor, devastated, destroyed, unable even to gather up enough breath to cry or enough voice to scream. It was another fifteen minutes before a patron stumbled in and found her, thankfully someone decent and concerned enough to call her coworker in to help, and those fifteen minutes of lying alone felt to Santana nearly as long as the five to ten minutes that she had been assaulted.

Kurt and Rachel had replaced Brittany as her emergency contacts when Brittany broke up with her, and that was the only positive thing that she could say about the experience, that she was not forced to tell Brittany what had happened. In the hospital, Santana was treated for her injuries but refused a rape kit, no matter how much Kurt and Rachel tried to reason or plead with her to have it done. She had become so hysterical at the idea that they had backed down, probably assuming that they could still convince her to go through the procedure and to press charges in a few hours, maybe in a day or two. But Santana did not change her mind. She didn't want to have to relive the experience, not for the nurses or doctors, not for the police, not for anyone or anything. She didn't care if that meant the person who did this to her would get away with it. All she cared about was trying to forget it.

It was ironic that this turned out to be completely impossible, despite her most fierce efforts. Santana could not forget. It seemed to her that her rapist could very possibly be anywhere and everywhere, and that he would still be ready and capable of hurting her, possibly even killing her. She was scared to be in crowded places, in case he might be among the people present, and she was even more afraid to be alone, where he might come upon her, unprotected. So many things would send her into flashbacks of that night, everything from public bathrooms to the smell of alcohol to men in baseball hats. She could not possibly go back to work in the bar again, and although she remained enrolled in school, she could not get herself to class consistently, and her grades began to fall. Panic attacks could strike her without always having known triggers, and Santana truly felt when they hit that she was going to lose her mind or die from them.

Santana could not sleep more than a few hours at a time; her anxiety would not allow it. When she did fall asleep, nightmares often struck, vivid and intense enough for her to wake up thrashing and screaming in genuine belief that she was in danger again. Her weight fell until her clothes hung off of her and her bones began to show in her face and ribs. She could not take a shower without the reassurance of another person on the other side of the curtain, and she felt dirty, so completely filthy and contaminated, that she sometimes could not look in the mirror without bursting into tears.

She had mandated to Kurt and Rachel that they could not tell anyone else what had happened. Not any of their friends, not anyone at school, not even her parents. They had agreed, given how badly she wanted this, and she had to give them credit, they had done everything they could to try to help her.

They had not harassed her about finding another job, even though they suddenly both had to pay half her share of rent in addition to their own. Kurt had learned to make himself scarce on the days when panic attacks were especially bad, because even though he was the least threatening man (and the gayest) Santana had ever met, even though she knew he would never hurt her, the very fact that he was a man was still something she could not deal with when fear overwhelmed her brain. Rachel had allowed her to begin sharing her bed with her at night, suffering through her nightmares and insomnia with minimal voiced complaint, and she did her best to try to calm her, but Santana knew that she was a huge stress to them both, that she was overwhelming and exasperating and slowly wearing them down. It was their pity, sympathy, and friendship that was causing them to stick her out, and she didn't know how much longer even that could last. And yet, she was desperate enough that she could not help but cling to their awkward efforts at help, however uncomfortable she knew they were.

But one night, even their efforts at help and tolerance reached its peak. When Santana woke up from the second nightmare in one night two nights before Rachel was to begin daily rehearsals for her newest role and Kurt was set to launch his first showing of his clothing line, Kurt's concern for her and his own desire for peace and sleep caused him to finally call a number for someone none of them had spoken to in over a year. As Brittany's confused voice picked up, Kurt held the phone towards the thin barrier of the curtain separating his room from Rachel's, so Brittany could plainly hear Santana's frantic, sobbing gasps for breath and Rachel's desperate, overly excited efforts to comfort her.

"Something happened to Santana, Brittany," he said softly, returning the phone to his ear. "Please come, as soon as you can. She needs you. We all do."

When Brittany pictured her future as a dancer, it was always big and bright and exciting and endless. Right after she and Santana moved to New York, she tried her hand at Broadway, going through the audition cycles and even landing an ensemble role or two. She taught classes at studios in between, went on other auditions for a one off music video appearance - everything she could get her hands on. Of course, as a dancer, she'd thought about touring, but in her naïve, starstruck eyes, touring was fun. She could see herself jetting to different cities, bringing Santana with her sometimes, optimistic that Santana could do her school work online. And then she actually booked a tour. The excitement of booking a tour quickly came and went and reality set in, curdling the idealistic dreams she had about touring, turning Brittany's life - and relationship - on its head. Not only was touring mentally and physically exhausting, it also put a massive strain on her relationship with her fiancee, a hardship Brittany was blindsided by.

She could hear it in Santana's voice and see it in her eyes when Brittany was able to squeeze in trips back home - this wasn't working. Santana would stay up deep into the night, depending on where Brittany was in the world, just to have a few minutes on the phone and, despite Brittany's urges that Santana should go to bed and not wait up for her, Brittany knew she'd be waiting up the very next night and all the ones after. Reuniting in person, although a treasure, was nearly more painful. Santana would get visibly upset when Brittany had to leave again, their time together full of kisses and quality time but somehow leaving them both missing one another even more. By the end of her two year contract they were both emotionally exhausted, but she could hear Santana's voice grow increasingly excited as the tour came closer to its end, happy to have her back. Until she got another offer - a longer offer, one with more promise and more money and more weight. At that point, the first tour had been so incredibly rough that Brittany actually contemplated turning the offer down but ultimately accepted, although a little voice in the back of her mind still questioned if it was the right decision.

Ultimately, it was the right decision for her career but a fatal decision for her relationship. Although Brittany was the one living in a different timezone every week and constantly straining her body, Santana was the one who was having a worse time handling the tour. Her bright, beautiful, fearless Santana. Brittany wasn't being a good partner, fiancee or friend and she, through her heartbreak, knew that. She couldn't confine Santana to a life spent waiting for her, a life where Santana squeezed into the gaps in Brittany's days and nights without building a life for herself. She loved Santana more than anything and anyone, and because of that, she had to set her free. Santana deserved better. She needed constant companionship and love and attention in so many different ways that Brittany couldn't give her. She was failing her fiancee, and Santana deserved so much more.

The breakup was still something that haunted her, something she thought about even a year later - Santana's pleading, broken voice - you're my dream. It was gut wrenching, knowing she'd broken the heart of the woman who needed her more than anything. Her only solace was the hope that Santana would, one day, find someone who loved her better than Brittany ever could. It was the only thing keeping Brittany sane, the belief that she'd done what she'd done for Santana's own good, that one day Santana would fall madly in love with someone and Brittany would just be a distant memory of Santana's past.

They didn't speak after the breakup and quickly unfollowed each other on social media - a clean break heals best, apparently - but that didn't stop Brittany from scouring their mutual friends' accounts for any pictures that Santana appeared in, analyzing her smile in the rare photos she saw, trying to see if she was happy, if her eyes looked truly happy from the pixelated iPhone images. Although she'd offered to keep paying rent at their apartment, not wanting to throw Santana's entire life into upheaval, she knew Santana declined and had moved back in with Rachel and Kurt, something that gave Brittany a small amount of peace knowing Santana was at least with their friends.

After the breakup, Brittany had also fallen out of touch with Kurt and Rachel. It wasn't like their friends had needed to choose "sides", but Rachel and Kurt, welcoming Santana in, were clearly closer with her than Brittany, something Brittany didn't mind at all. To make any hypothetical communication more difficult, Brittany was usually at least five hours ahead of New York time, if not infinitely more. She hardly kept in touch with anyone outside of her parents and, occasionally, Quinn.

Which was why, when her phone rang on the bathroom counter of her Munich hotel room at 10:00am, flashing "Kurt Hummel" across the screen, Brittany's heart stopped. She knew, before her already shaking fingers accepted the call, that something was wrong. Kurt would never just call her to chat, they didn't even text, and she knew without actually knowing the time conversion that it was the middle of the night in New York. Her stomach was in knots, and when she opened her mouth to speak, she found she had to swallow the lump in her through before continuing. "H-Hello?"

A million thoughts ran through her mind - it was always fascinating how the mind could move so much faster than reality. It happened to Brittany every time she got a call about an audition, thoughts popping up in the split second before she was given an answer. Her heart pounded, fearing Santana was injured, that their had been an accident, that someone else from Glee club had been hurt and Kurt was delivering the news to the rest of them. In the back of her mind though, she knew this phone call could only ever be about one person, her person.

Instead of Kurt's voice on the other end, she heard Santana - Santana's cries, a sound she recognized instantly, her blood turning cold. Santana wasn't just crying, she was borderline shrieking, her gasping breaths audible through the phone even though Brittany could tell she was at least a few feet away. Faintly, she heard Rachel's voice weaving through the sobs, babbling loud words of comfort, at Santana presumably. Brittany was frozen where she stood, stunned and trembling, wondering if something tragic had happened to Santana's parents. She was so lost in her own mind and the sounds she was hearing, that she jumped when she actually heard Kurt's voice, speaking directly into the receiver. Something happened to Santana. She needs you. We all do. The words pounded in her head as Kurt continued, explaining in simple terms the trauma that Santana had faced and the Hell the three of them had collectively endured over the past few months.

At some point, Brittany's wobbly legs had found her way to the bed, collapsing on it as she kept the phone pressed tight to her ear. She tasted salt and realized she was crying, not sure when she'd started. She desperately wanted to keep Kurt on the phone all day, asking a million questions about Santana and what had been happening but he promised more information once she got to New York, something she'd instantly agreed to. Reluctantly, she hung up the phone only to dial it again, this time - her tour manager. Wedging the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she opened her laptop, searching for the soonest flights from Munich to New York with shaking fingers. She mumbled - yes, it was a family emergency, yes, she had to leave immediately, no, she didn't know when she'd be returning and no, she couldn't stay for that night's show.

The next 24 hours were a blur of tears, messages to Kurt and travel - a flight from Munich, a connection in Frankfurt and a red eye across the Atlantic that put her in JFK at 7:00am. Although Kurt had promised more information when she got there, she'd taken to texting him incessantly whenever she had even the spottiest service, even texting him in her Uber to the loft even though she'd see him within the hour. When she finally had gotten off the plane, collected her bags and called a car to the loft it was nearing midmorning, although Kurt assured her Santana was still asleep. Rachel, who opened the door for her, was fully dressed but looked exhausted and Brittany - surprising both Rachel and herself, flung her arms around her without a word, doing the same to Kurt when he appeared a moment later. They both ushered her to the table and told her to be quiet as they took their seats on either side of her, Kurt beginning the account of Santana's life since the breakup and then since the assault, with commentary frequently interjected from Rachel about how stressful the entire experience was for the three of them. Brittany found that she couldn't even be annoyed at Rachel's insistences that Santana's lack of sleep and overall fear where straining her voice and their lives because, while she knew Rachel was overdramatic and self centered, both Rachel and Kurt had been there for Santana when she needed someone and for that, Brittany was wordlessly grateful.

Brittany broke down multiple times during their conversation, furiously wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and constantly staring at the curtain where she knew Santana slept. She wanted nothing more than to see her girl - even though Santana wasn't her girl anymore, because of Britany's own doing. She didn't even drink coffee, but she didn't object when Rachel got up and pushed a steaming mug into her hands minutes later in a surprisingly maternal gesture, probably in part to give Brittany's trembling hands something to hold.

She stifled a sob when they described the hospital, the stitches, the bruises that marred even Santana's tan skin. Her heart broke hearing them describe how Santana could only sleep with Rachel now, couldn't shower unless Rachel sat in the bathroom with her, couldn't be alone at all, and sometimes, couldn't even be around Kurt. That she had barely left the apartment and stopped going to class, the fact that nobody even knew what happened, not even her parents. How she barely ever slept and when she did, they tried their hardest not to wake her. The beautiful, bright girl that Brittany had wanted to set free was struggling, and Brittany hated more than anything that she'd had no idea, that she hadn't been there at the hospital and all the moments after.

As desperate as she was to see Santana, she was terrified. Everything she'd been telling herself about how the breakup was better for Santana and how Santana would be happier was unraveling, and Brittany didn't know how Santana would react to seeing her, if she'd be angry, if she'd be upset, if she'd refuse to see her at all. Regardless, Santana had the right to feel whatever she wanted toward Brittany - Brittany had been the one to break off the engagement, to rip their lives apart, and now, her she sat, just feet away from the love of her life who was suffering through an unbearable Hell. The anticipation was torture, even worse than hearing how badly Santana, Kurt and Rachel had all been suffering the past few months.

Santana had slept very badly the night before. She had pushed herself to attend classes in the day and it had drained her energy, yet she had found it impossible for hours to sleep. She had had a panic attack at school after forcing herself to go into the bathroom after reaching emergency levels of needing to pee, and she had been so embarrassed after she had gone home even without Rachel or Kurt. Then the hours waiting for them had gotten to her. It wasn't that she was never alone; that was impossible given their commitments and she couldn't demand that of them. But she tried as much as possible to limit those times by staying in a library or somewhere else public but quiet.

Today she hadn't been up even for that. By night Santana had thoroughly worn herself out and was sick of her own mind, but she could not stop her racing thoughts and peaked anxiety. Rachel convinced her to take maximum strength Tylenol pm to get some rest (and to let Rachel sleep too), and that had just meant it was harder to drag herself out of the nightmares that hit. Santana had felt utterly wretched, small and terrified and halfway stuck in dreams when the second came, and although Rachel tried to tell her it was okay, to pat her back and ask her if she could hug her, the other girl sounded so tired and anxious she could not break through to Santana. Santana had barely heard her. She sobbed until her body ached with the violence of her crying, until she couldn't summon the energy to even have tears left.

Eventually she had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. She slept hard, and by the time she finally started to rouse, she could see light coming through the curtains of Rachel's window. Santana felt sick and sore, as though suffering an emotional if not physical hangover. She didn't want to wake up. She didn't even want to move, but she could hear Rachel and Kurt's hushed voices and knew they would leave soon.

Slowly pulling herself up, she shuffled across the room, pushing back the curtain. Squinting, bleary eyed without her contacts, she rubbed at her face, swollen and mottled from her breakdown, and pushed up at the sagging, too large neckline of the t shirt that used to fit. Santana stilled when she saw not two but three people in the living room and rubbed at her face more fiercely, convinced she is seeing things. Eyes open wide, she stared, then abruptly turned and ran to her curtained off area, retrieving her glasses and putting them on hastily. Returning to the living room area with her vision now clear, she blinked rapidly, unable to process what she was seeing.

Brittany. There was no way. Brittany Pierce was not in her apartment, it wasn't possible.

"This is still a dream," she whispered, her voice rough, her body totally still. "I'm still sleeping. When am I going to fucking wake up?"

Rachel stood and took a step towards her. When Santana didn't back away or swing at her, she took another.

"It's not a dream, Santana," she said tentatively. "It's Brittany. She's here. Kurt...Kurt called her. He told her, Santana. You may be angry, and you certainly have a right to be as we did promise that we would keep your confidence, but he has come to believe that promise was a hasty and ill advised one and I must say I agree. But it's Brittany, she's here. Are you...are you upset?"

But Santana barely heard anything Rachel said past it was really Brittany, it was no dream. She kept staring, her eyes getting wider and wider, then slowly shook her head.

"No...it isn't real. She isn't real. This...this isn't real."

The entire time they spoke, Brittany felt sick to her stomach. Her mind was racing, mulling over all the information she'd abruptly received in the last 24 hours. She kept picturing everything Rachel and Kurt had described to her - Santana in the hospital, Santana making them swear to never tell a soul, Santana waking up screaming in the night. For one, fleeting moment, Brittany actually thought she might be sick when she made the mistake of asking if her attacker had been caught, only for both Kurt and Rachel to take turns explaining how hysterically Santana refused to move forward with charges or have a rape kit done. So much had happened in such a short time period - Santana had suffered so cruelly, and Brittany had had no idea. She wasn't upset with Kurt and Rachel for not telling her, she knew how stubborn Santana could be, and they were doing right by their friend. And, although it crushed Brittany to remind herself, she wasn't in Santana's life at the time, she had no right to know. She had left, and while she thought it was for the better, it couldn't have left Santana worse off.

Her tired, bleary eyes were focused on the table top, her hands still securely wrapped around the warm mug of coffee even though she hadn't even taken a sip. Their conversation had lulled, Brittany stunned at all the information she'd just been given, Kurt and Rachel murmuring in hushed voices about any details they may have missed that would be important for Brittany to know.

And then, above their whispers, Brittany heard the unmistakable sounds of Santana stirring. Snapping her head up, her eyes looked to the curtain before looking to both Rachel and Kurt, both who had fallen silent and, for a moment, looked as frightened as Brittany was sure she did. At the look on their faces, she remembered that Santana had given them both ironclad instructions not to contact her and here she was, sitting in their apartment at their invitation. As much as Brittany hoped and prayed Santana wouldn't react negatively to seeing her, she hoped that even if she did, she wouldn't feel as though she could no longer trust Kurt and Rachel, both of whom had been helping her through her pain.

Brittany had been staring straight at the curtain so, when Santana emerged, their eyes locked instantly and Brittany saw her for the first time in nearly two years. The silence in the apartment was deafening as the four of them remained frozen in their positions. If Rachel and Kurt's words broke Brittany's heart, the sight of Santana standing before her crushed the broken pieces into fissures. She looked awful. Brittany could instantly see that Santana, who had always been small and petite, had lost a drastic amount of weight and now looked hollow, fragile and gaunt, her once glowing skin almost pale, lifeless. Her face was swollen from crying but even through her squinting, Brittany could see an ocean of pain and exhaustion in her dull eyes. She felt her stomach drop, realizing this small, tragic girl standing before her was once the vivacious, confident love of her life.

In an instant, Santana disappeared. Brittany initially thought she wasn't coming out again, her stomach sinking in disappointment as much as she tried to have no expectation. But as quick as she'd gone she'd reemerged, wearing her glasses. It nearly made Brittany smile, an adorable little piece of Santana that she'd loved so much, and told Santana as much nearly every time she wore her glasses.

When Santana spoke, Brittany didn't move, not sure how to react. Did Santana truly not believe she was there? Whatever Santana's reaction, Brittany hadn't expected that, and was grateful Rachel stood up and spoke because she'd somehow lost her courage the second her eyes fell on her ex-fiancee. Brittany noticed that despite Rachel stepping toward her and speaking, Santana's eyes never left Brittany's face, the same way that Brittany's eyes never glanced away from hers. The four of them lapsed into silence again and Brittany was certain her heart was hammering loud enough for everyone to hear.

When Santana spoke again - she isn't real - Brittany finally moved, slowly, her eyes trained on Santana. She realized, with a stab of pain, that for the first time in her life, she was unsure of how Santana would react. When they were together, Brittany knew exactly how Santana would react to everything - it was something she'd always known, something she'd never had to question, but now, she had no idea. And so she mimicked Rachel, standing slowly and moving around the table, studying Santana's face for a hint of fear or discomfort, only taking a few more steps forward when she didn't see it, stepping closer than Rachel but not too close that she thought it would scare her. What she wanted, so badly, was to wrap Santana up in her arms and promise, swear on everything in her life, that she'd never let anyone hurt her again. But she didn't. She stood still, staring at Santana. Her tongue poked out and dampened her lips and she swallowed, trying to clear her throat enough to speak.

"Rachel's right," Brittany said in a whisper soft voice, sniffling and blinking away the tears that had filled her eyes. "Kurt called me the other night and I flew in from Munich," She explained, pressing her lips together. Slowly, she raised her hand, palm up, to Santana, her elbow slightly bent, holding out her hand to her. "I'm right here," She said quietly, nodding her head a little, encouraging Santana to touch her, to confirm that she was in fact the real thing and not just a wishful figment of Santana's imagination.

Santana remained wide-eyed, unblinking for several moments. Kurt and Rachel did not exist for her then; the world had shrunk to hold only her and Brittany. In that moment, all anger and grief over their break up did not matter, seemed unimportant and nonexistent. It hit her for the first time how deeply she had missed Brittany, how everything within her had been wanting, needing to hear her voice and look into her eyes from the first moment her rapist took a step in her direction.

Slowly Santana took one step forward, then another. She kept moving forward in the dazed gate of a zombie, never looking away from Brittany's face. She was afraid that if she did, Brittany would suddenly fade away. When she was close enough to touch her hand and her own shaking fingers drifted up, barely brushing Brittany's, she registered the warmth and solidity if her skin and sucked in her breath. Without warning her legs buckled beneath her, and she reached out for Brittany as she fell, trying to grasp onto her.

Brittany held her breath as Santana took a hesitant step forward, holding her hand out where it was, never take her eyes off of her to chance a look at Rachel and Kurt. She kept her gaze steady, open an encouraging, trying to tell Santana a million things with just her gaze alone. I'm here, I'm real, Touch me, I want to help you, I want to make it better, I still loved you and never for a moment stopped. It seemed important to Santana that she maintained their eye contact and so she did.

As Santana got closer to her, Brittany saw something in her eyes more than just her pain and exhaustion - she saw wanting, and maybe even hope. She realized then that Santana wanted so badly for her to be real, and that in turn gave Brittany hope, even if only in that moment. It was hard to stay still and not meet Santana halfway, but she stayed where she was, patient, letting Santana come to her.

When Santana lifted her hand, Brittany's blood rushed in her ears and her heart thumped wildly - Santana was going to touch her. For the first time in nearly two years they were going to touch and Santana was going to have confirmation that Brittany was exactly what she wanted, real. They barely brushed, fingertips dusting against each other, but a bolt of electricity shot of Brittany's arm, her entire body buzzing at the contact she'd been so desperate for.

She heard Santana suck in a breath in the same moment she reached for Brittany all in the same moment that her knees buckled under her. Brittany lunged forward instantly, moving without a second thought for the first time that morning, catching Santana under her arms, staggering as her legs caught up with her and she adjusted to supporting her weight along with Santana's, even though it wasn't much. "It's okay, I've got you" She promised and she righted them. Brittany heard a gasp somewhere behind her and remembered, fleetingly, that she and Santana weren't the only people in universe. They clung to each other, Brittany holding Santana up, her entire body buzzing from touching her after so long, something she'd been craving ever since Kurt called her in Germany.

Relief crashed over her in a tidal wave and in that moment, all that mattered was that Santana wanted her. She didn't care what happened after of if Santana would decide she didn't want her after all or be angry with her. Santana wanted her then, and that was more than Brittany had ever expected walking into the loft that morning. She was overcome with how relieved and happy she felt after the emotional warfare of discussing everything and barely trusted her own two legs to hold them both up so she shuffled slowly toward the couch with Santana, collapsing onto it and letting Santana fall back into her arms.