Author's Note: Thank you all for all your awesomeness! Don't ever forget, keep calm, stay positive, and ship Brittana, because Brittana is always endgame!
Brittany could hardly hear Quinn's snicker over the sound of her racing thoughts. Of course she was in love with Santana, even if being in love with someone she'd barely exchanged words with until fate laid a nearly cruel hand in the diner seemed completely ridiculous. But somehow the situation didn't seem nearly as far fetched as it should. The tug at her heart, stronger every single time she looked at Santana, every time those dark eyes drew her in, every time unsure smiles were exchanged, was so much stronger than just some teenage crush. Brittany knew, somehow, deep with in her bones, that she was meant to love Santana, meant to love her and protect her with everything in her, even if she was unsure if she'd ever allow herself to feel the same love in return.
"Does she know?" Mercedes asked, Brittany's face giving away what she couldn't form into words.
"No." She wasn't sure if she even formed the word, but Mercedes nodded slowly, eyes full of an understanding that Brittany wouldn't have imagined possible only a few minutes prior.
"It looks like I've missed a lot in two days."
"You didn't, I can't, she can't..." Brittany really tried to make words, but the fact that her feelings for Santana were actually spoken out loud, even if she hadn't been the one to say the words was a lot to take. She could feel Quinn's eyes on her, but when she looked over, their expression was unreadable.
"Listen, I don't know what's going on, obviously, but if it's worth anything to you, Brittany, I'm the only one who Santana has ever given a shit about until now, but if everything that's just happened is any indication of what's in her head, she has some kind of strong feelings for you too." Mercedes told her, mistaking Brittany's hesitance toward admitting things as a fear that Santana didn't feel the same, as opposed to couldn't feel the same.
"As much as I hate to break up this little love fest-" Quinn rolled her eyes. "I actually value my life more than Brittany getting laid, or whatever, so maybe you two can pick this up after we deal with Hummel."
"Nothing to pick up later. It's not really a conversation for Brittany and me to have." Mercedes gave Brittany a meaningful look, and Brittany was glad she was being let off the hook. "So I'm part of your posse, or whatever, now, what do we do next?"
"We go back and let lover girl and Sammy boy know, since they're probably having a collective stroke over you being willing to betray seventeen years of friendship." Quinn glared at Mercedes, not really willing to let her off the hook so easy for nearly destroying their lives. Brittany's eyes shifted between the two of them, extremely concerned for how they would actually get along, now that they were supposedly on the same team, the same concern she had about Quinn and everyone on the planet.
"Fine." Mercedes bit her tongue, swallowing a retort, because whether she was on their side or not, something told her that challenging Quinn was unwise. "Let's go."
When the three girls arrived back at the Pierces, Santana and Sam were in exactly the same position Brittany and Sam had been earlier, pacing the floor. Santana looked like she was going to claw her own skin off, she felt like she was going to claw her own skin off, the cold fear of the unknown proving entirely too much for her to handle. When the door opened, and she caught sight of Mercedes entering behind the two blondes, the hammering of her heart tried to slow, but it wasn't until Brittany smiled and gave her a reassuring nod that she actually felt herself calm. The effect that the girl had on her should have scared her, would have scared her, had it been anyone else, but it didn't, it was the greatest comfort she'd ever felt. Part of her wondered if it was because Brittany had saved her life, so why wouldn't everything feel safer around her, but another part, a far stronger part knew it wasn't that, knew that it was something so much bigger, something Santana didn't know if she would ever understand.
"So the fearsome foursome is now the fearsome fivesome?" Sam asked hopefully, sending an awkward, ridiculous wink in Mercedes' direction that did absolutely nothing but make Santana, Brittany and Quinn feel completely uncomfortable.
"Shut up, Sam." Quinn spit. "We aren't having a party every time someone decides they don't want us dead."
"Don't know what kind of parties you go to, Quinn, but I'd say a dorky wink and a lame nickname is the furthest thing from a party I've ever seen." Santana teased, even though she knew she'd earn an eye full of daggers from the other girl.
"Says the one who came up with Alien Alliance." Brittany spoke low so that only Santana could hear her, having found her way to the brunette' side without a conscious thought.
"I swear." Quinn crossed her arms across her chest. "The last thing I need in my life are more people who don't take shit seriously. Santana and Mercedes are talking to the sheriff in less than a day, can you all save your disgusting flirting for after that? And preferably when I'm not around to puke up my lunch."
"What do we really have to talk about?" Mercedes asked. "Santana told the sheriff that she didn't know the girl who went up to her in the diner, and I didn't tell him otherwise. We just need to reiterate the same story, right?"
"Yes and no." Brittany sucked her lips into her mouth, considering for a moment before continuing. "When you first talked to him, it was in the heat of the moment, and he didn't ask for details. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I'm pretty sure he knows it was me, and he's using the gunman as an excuse to talk to you both. You need to be on exactly the same page about every detail of what happened that day."
"Other people saw you there though, Brittany." Mercedes shifted her weight between her feet, and looked around cautiously, afraid she was speaking out of turn.
"I know, but the two of you are the ones who would have gotten the closest look. He's going to believe what he wants to believe, I know that, but at least it's a start."
"We've got this, 'Ce." Santana smiled, and although she'd been trying to keep herself from getting obscenely excited over the fact that her best friend didn't suck, and was actually going to be a part of this whole mess, Brittany didn't miss the way Santana's eyes lit up at the words, like she'd said them a million times in her life, but just a few moments earlier, she feared that she might never say again, and Brittany found herself smiling too. "We've been playing off each other's stories for sixteen years."
"How sweet." Quinn rolled her eyes.
It was surprising to everyone involved that the five of them working together wasn't uncomfortable, even with Quinn remaining uninvolved in favor of standing off to the side, offering biting commentary, and Sam's increasingly awkward attempts to flirt with Mercedes. Brittany patiently answered more of the questions Mercedes had, and both she and Sam showed her a little bit of their abilities. Santana watched, eyes glazed over with something each time Brittany manipulated the molecular structure of an object, her breath catching in her throat for some unknown reason, each and every time. Once Mercedes was fully comfortable with the situation she'd agreed to be a part of, Sam offered to walk her home, doing some kind of impression in the process (Brittany whispered to Santana that Sam had trouble learning to speak when they were first found, so he used to mirror the voices he heard on television, as he got older, he maintained that habit, whenever he was nervous). As she turned to walk out the door, Mercedes mimed a call me, holding her hand like a phone, and Santana nodded quickly, breathing a final sigh of relief as the front door shut.
"I'm out of here too." Quinn grabbed her bag and slung it over one shoulder. "Later."
"Do you want a ride?" Brittany asked.
"Nope, I've got shit to do."
"Quinn-"
"I'll leave your new besties alone." Quinn looked pointedly at Santana. "But I'm not just going to sit back and hope it all goes well tomorrow. I still think we need a backup plan, and since I'm the only one who feels that way, I'll be working on it while you sit around all wide eyed and optimistic."
Before Brittany could say another word, Quinn was out the door. She couldn't exactly argue with her desire to have a backup plan, she knew that in reality, Quinn was right, but watching Santana, actually feeling how determined she was to solve the problem, Brittany truly didn't believe they were going to need one. Santana had some kind of effect on people, a different effect than she had on Brittany, she was charming (and she had to be, as a Lopez), and never, with the exception of Quinn, had Santana failed to win a person over. With that charisma, and Mercedes backing her story, Brittany felt like it was truly impossible for Hummel not to listen.
"Um, Brittany." Santana started, breaking Brittany from her thoughts. "Would you mind maybe taking me home? It's just that, I was supposed to be at the library, and if I'm gone much longer, my dad is going to ask questions, and…"
"You're dealing with enough questions?" Brittany finished for her, and the tiny smirk at the corner of Santana's mouth couldn't be missed.
"Yeah, and I'd just rather put my focus on the important ones."
They didn't linger much longer in the Pierce house, because as much as Brittany would have loved to have Santana stay, to put on a cheesy movie and just watch the other girl laugh, or to eat dinner with her, pretend like she was normal, if only for an hour, she knew that they couldn't. She couldn't kid herself in believing that allowing herself to be with Santana would ever be as simple as going on Friday night dates or trading kisses in front of lockers at school. If (when) she gave into the pull that seemed all consuming, it would be some sort of tangled mess of uncertainty, of danger, of spending every second of her life fearful of the risk she'd be putting that beautiful girl at. She wasn't ready for that, she wasn't sure either of them would ever be fully ready for that. Still though, as Santana buckled her seatbelt, Brittany looked over, and without really knowing why, the two of them just shared a smile.
"I don't know what you said, Brittany, but…thank you, for trusting me, for believing enough that Mercedes wasn't a bad person that you went over there to handle it."
"I trust you with my life, Santana. None of this makes any sense to me, because I've never trusted anyone, not even my own parents, who have given Sam and me everything, but there's just something about you."
"I-I don't know what to say." Brittany watched the blush creep over Santana's face, and it was a lot for her to take, combined with the pear scent of Santana's shampoo, and her fingers drumming oh-so-close to hers on the center console. "There has never been anyone who has just blindly trusted me like this, especially not with something so important."
"I guess I'm not just anyone then, huh?" Brittany teased a little, and felt her heart clench when Santana's dimples appeared.
"Oh no, Brittany Pierce, I think it's pretty clear that you're way more than just anyone." Santana laughed, and then turned serious again. "What did you say to Mercedes that made her trust you, when she wouldn't even trust me though?"
"Hey." Brittany's fingers itched to take Santana's hand in hers, but instead, she settled for resting the very tips on the outside of her wrist. "She actually didn't trust me, not until I offered to let her see inside of my mind."
"You-you can do that? You did that?" Santana felt an unexpected jealously pinch her hard and fast, and she fought the urge to pull her hand away from Brittany (even though the sensation of those fingers was causing tingles to run down her spine) and look completely ridiculous.
"I can. But I didn't. She said it was enough that I was willing to do it."
"Oh, okay." The green-eyed monster within her slowly withdrew it's head, and Santana let out an involuntary sigh.
"I'm glad I didn't have to, letting someone see all of me like that, it's not something I really wanted to do with just anyone. Especially not for the purpose of making someone trust me. I mean, I've never even initiated the connection on purpose, so I wasn't even sure if it was going to work, it usually only happens when I heal-" Brittany stopped, and her eyes went wide, realizing that she'd never even thought to tell Santana that she'd already seen deep into her soul.
"You-you've seen me…like that?"
"Santana, I'm sorry! I should have told you, I just…there's been so much going on, and sometimes my mind gets jumbled, and I forget about important things."
They were both silent, and Brittany worried her bottom lip between her teeth, wanting to say more, wanting Santana to say something. Instead, Santana just stared straight out through the windshield, considering. She wasn't mad, how could she be mad, when the reason Brittany had been able to see inside of her was because she was saving her life? But she was confused, and, admittedly, scared at what deep, repressed memories Brittany had pulled forth from within her, what embarrassing things the beautiful, damn near perfect alien girl sitting beside her had seen. She turned her head slightly, so she was looking at Brittany, and when she saw the genuine worry and concern on the blonde's face, she felt the guilt for not speaking sooner punch her low in the gut.
"I'm not mad, Britt." She said softly, the nickname slipping out without either of them even realizing it was said. "I'm honestly a little weirded out though. I mean, no one wants anyone poking around inside of their head, seeing things that they keep hidden from the world."
"I understand that." Brittany kept one eye on the road, and one on Santana's face. "I never would have invaded your privacy like if I had another choice. But if it helps, I don't think I could have seen anything inside of you that you should be ashamed of."
"What did you see?" Santana's breath hitched as she asked, torn between wanting to know, and feeling like hearing Brittany tell her would make her crawl under the seat, even if the other girl said that there was nothing shameful.
"It was just random glimpses of you, at different points in your life. In the diner, in your bedroom, at school, with your family, Mercedes, your other friends. I don't know, Santana, it was the feelings that I felt stronger than what I saw. This love, this acceptance, this feeling of belonging, but then there was some kind of sadness underneath it all, like there's always been something missing for you."
"You must think I'm really selfish. Having all of those things, and still wanting more." Santana's cheeks burned hot, knowing without really understanding how, that the feelings Brittany described were exactly what she had always wanted to feel, and because of who she was, never really could.
"I don't. I think maybe everyone has something that they want, something that they don't know how they get. For you, it's getting out of here, right?"
Santana didn't answer, she felt like she couldn't, felt like in the past few days, everything she'd thought she wanted had changed so much. She was mortified to admit it, even to herself, but somehow, in that one split second in the diner, she'd found something that seemed so much bigger and more incredible than the entire universe right in the town she'd been trying to escape for as long as she could remember. Not trusting herself to speak, because even with the powerful feelings that seemed to accompany her every interaction with Brittany, Santana didn't know how to put into words what she was feeling, so she just shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know how to tell Brittany that if she'd have her, her dream would come true, without ever leaving Roswell at all. She'd only wanted to be something other than ordinary, a thing she never thought possible in the small desert town, but with Brittany (if that was even a remote possibility), she didn't have to go further than looking in a set of piercing blue eyes to know that she was so much more than ordinary, that they could be extraordinary together.
"I could try with you too, if that would make you feel better." Brittany spoke again, mistaking Santana's silence again for discomfort with the situation. This time though, unlike with Mercedes, Brittany didn't feel like she was making a concession. She would gladly bare herself to Santana, even if the thought of her knowing that big secret (or maybe not so big, considering Santana was the only one yet to figure it out) sort of terrified her.
"No. I want to know everything about you, because I'm not going to deny that I'm fascinated with you. I want to know your favorite color, what your dreams are, even if you think you can't have any, what makes you laugh, and what makes you cry, what you look like when you wake up first thing in the morning, and what your lips taste like at night." Santana confessed, before she realized what she was saying, but once she started, she felt like she couldn't stop. "But I don't want to know that by just touching your hand and having you telepathically tell me, I want to get to know you the human way, by talking, by going out for a burger, because looking at you, I know that you're an alien, but I also know that you've got a whole lot of human in you too."
"Santana-"
"I know, you think you can't get involved with me. But I can tell that you feel what I'm feeling, or at least, I hope that isn't all in my head. I'm not pushing you into anything, listen, it's been an insane few days, but I do think that something happening between us is more than inevitable at this point. I'm not saying it's going to happen today, or even next week, but I am sure that sooner than later, it will." Santana looked up, noticing that Brittany had pulled up in front of the diner, and she reached for the door handle, swinging it open and unbuckling her seatbelt quickly. "Good night, Brittany. I'll see you at school."
As Santana waked up towards the back entrance of the diner, to the Lopez residence on the second floor, Brittany sat staring, completely floored by what had just happened in the car, and more overwhelmed by her lingering scent, even in her absence. Santana had spoken so certainly, so determined, and in Brittany's utter shock at the bold words, she couldn't even formulate her own response. As much as she wanted to protest it, she knew Santana was right, she felt the inevitability, knew the magnetic force that drew them together grew stronger with each passing moment, and Brittany buried her face in her hands, feeling her stomach churn vigorously at the prospect of something (everything) more happening with that perfect human girl.
When Santana got to school the next morning, she was still reeling from the things she'd said to Brittany, and was more than a little embarrassed at how brazen she'd been in the heat of the moment. But she didn't regret what she'd said, couldn't regret it, because all of it was true, and she did want Brittany to know it. When she finally made her way to her locker, Mercedes was there, leaning up against it with a cocked eyebrow and an arm full of books.
"Hey. So, are we good?" Mercedes asked.
"Yeah, we're good. Sorry I didn't call you last night, I was just shot from the day and my mom wanted to talk to me for like four hours about that condiment conference, or whatever it was she went to last week."
"She talked to you about it for four hours and you don't even know what it was?"
"Would you listen to a person talking about ketchup for that long? I swear, she wasn't even born into this lame restaurant life and she takes it as seriously as the Lopezes." Santana rolled her eyes. "I do know that we can expect some kind of gigantic shipment of something later this week, so that's great news for us."
"Damn. Can't-" Mercedes lowered her voice significantly. "One of the, um, Germans, do a little nose twitch and deal with our inventory problems from your mother and her over ordering."
"I wish." Santana laughed, really laughed, not even chastising Mercedes for calling them Germans, since it was a better nickname than the Hitler Youth. "Hey, thank you, Mercedes. Brittany told me about what happened at your house, and just, thanks, for not making her do that."
"Well, I think someone else deserves to be the one who gets that privilege instead of me." Mercedes shot Santana a knowing look. "What's going on with you two anyway, you both looked like you were going to explode last night from all the sexual tension in the room."
"It wasn't sexual tension, it was- Okay, fine, it was sexual tension, at least for me. God, have you seen her, I mean-"
"Not really my type, you know."
"Oh, but her brother is, isn't he? What's going on with you?"
"Please, we spent all of five minutes together, he's sweet, but we'll see." She shrugged. "Is this normal? Talking about being attracted to them like it's no big deal?"
"I don't know, but I don't care if it is." Santana turned her attention back to the door, where Brittany, Sam and Quinn were entering, and gave the smallest of waves to Brittany, trying to be discrete, and trying not to look like a desperate little puppy, after she laid it all on the table the night before.
"Damn, girl, you got it bad for her, don't you? You're blushing."
"I don't blush and you know it." Santana scoffed. "I can't explain it, I wish I could, but it doesn't make sense. I'm drawn to her, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to make a damn fool of myself, because I can't read how she really feels."
"Can I ask you something?" Mercedes wanted to tell Santana about her almost-conversation with Brittany, but given the way the blonde was staring, she really didn't think it was necessary to reveal her secret, it would be revealed soon enough, if the looks were any indication. Instead, Mercedes wanted to make sure she was looking out for her best friend, make sure that she actually had a handle on her feelings, instead of being wrapped up in the whirlwind of emotions surrounding the incident, finding out Brittany's secret, and worrying about Hummel.
"Is it about Sam? Because yes, I think he's actually a decent guy. If it were Quinn that you thought was sweet, I'd be taking you to get your head checked."
"No, it's not about Sam, why don't you shout that a little louder though? Make sure my grandma in Albuquerque can hear you. I wanted to ask you about Brittany. I've known you my whole life, Santana, and you've always been the love her and leave her type, you don't do complicated, you don't do feelings. Now you're talking about the most complicated situation possibly in all of the universe, and that's fine, but you saying you're drawn to her, do you think that's just a side effect of being saved by her?"
"What, like hero worship?" Santana narrowed her eyes. "No. It's not. Yeah, I'm grateful that she saved my life, but I feel like something changed inside of me when I looked in her eyes, like I've always known her, or something, and it feels like."
"Those are strong feelings for someone you've only really known for a few days. Listen, my mom always talks about love at first sight, and all that sappy stuff, but I just want you to be careful, okay? Nothing about this is typical, and I don't want you to end up hurt."
"I appreciate your concern, really, but if I'd can't explain this thing to myself, I can't explain it to you yet." Santana said softly, letting Mercedes know that she wasn't angry at her for speaking her mind (since she was likely to snap at her, but this wasn't one of those times), but that she wasn't going to change her own. "But quick, talk about something else, they're close, and, whatever."
"I'm actually going to head to class. Meet me by my car this afternoon so your sorry ass doesn't have to walk to the police station?"
"Unfortunately." Santana sighed.
"Don't worry about it, okay? Like you said yesterday, we've got this. She'll be fine, they all will be."
On more than one occasion, in more than one class, Brittany and Santana caught each other's eyes looking up at clocks, counting down in hours, in minutes, in seconds until what seemed to be the most important meeting in both of their lives. With each shared glance, Brittany felt herself burn, felt her body respond in ways she'd only ever dreamed about, and even with the anxiety that coursed through her veins about what could happen in that police station, she heard, louder than anything else, Santana's words from the night before you've got a whole lot of human in you, I want to get to know you, inevitable. It was the only thing getting her through the day, the only thing keeping her from packing a bag and fleeing somewhere with Quinn, away from questions, and the potential for harm, because there was something worth staying for, something that outweighed every single risk that came with it. Santana. She had managed to embed herself in every fiber of Brittany's being, without either of them meaning for it to happen, in in doing so, Brittany was rooted to Roswell in a way she had never been before.
"Ready to go?" Sam asked, snatching the car keys out of Brittany's hand at the last bell.
"Go without me, if mom and dad beat me home, just let them know I'm working on a project and I'll be late."
"Britt, whatever you're thinking, it's probably a bad idea. Stay away from the police station. I get that you feel the need to watch her and keep her safe, but all that can come from you being there is you putting all of us, Santana included, in danger."
"What am I supposed to do, Sam? I can't just sit around and do nothing."
"That's kind of our strategy right now, lay low and wait."
"Maybe Quinn's right, and this strategy sucks."
"You came up with it, and it doesn't suck, it's the only way. Why don't you go for a run? If you happen to run past the police station, don't stop and stare at the door, okay? You'll talk to Santana after, I'm sure she'll be dying to talk to you, especially after last night."
"We still didn't figure that out." Brittany groaned, hating that Sam was probably going to perpetually tease her after her complete inability to make some kind of move, and her ridiculously unnecessary over-cautiousness, as he'd called it.
"I know what you should do, you know what you should do, let's just hope this afternoon goes well enough that you can actually light a fire under your own ass and do it."
"I haven't decided anything, Sam."
"Okay, sure you haven't. Just keep pining after the girl who wants you from afar, because that makes all kinds of sense."
"To keep her safe."
"Just shut up, she's right you know, it's going to happen, because you're in love with her, and you can barely control yourself. She's on our team now, what are you going to do when you two are stuck in the backseat of the car and her skin is pressed up against you every time I hit a sharp turn, or-"
"Stop. Stop whatever weird action movie fantasies you're having about her right now."
"Make a damn move, Brittany. She's obviously no dummy and knows what she's getting into. Stop the excuses, I've been hearing about how perfect she is for ten years. You've got your shot, take it, before it's too late."
"Quinn would kill us both right now, if she knew we were talking about my love life, instead of what we are really supposed to be concerned with."
"Acting like normal teenagers." Sam shrugged. "It's all part of the plan."
Seated inside of the police station beside Mercedes, Santana crossed and uncrossed her legs about three dozen times, before Mercedes kicked her on the ankle to try and get her to relax. Of course Burt was stuck at an accident investigation, of course her agony had to be prolonged, it was the universe conspiring against her in an effort to make her spontaneously combust. They'd been there close to forty-five minutes (most of which, Santana had internally worried about what Brittany was thinking, if she was sitting there paralyzed with fear that something had gone wrong, or if Quinn was up on the roof, reporting back to base about the hold up) when Sheriff Hummel walked in and led both girls to a conference room in the back of the station. Santana breathed a sigh of relief that they weren't being questioned separately, that Mercedes was right beside her. It wasn't that she didn't trust her best friend, because she did, it was just that she refused to take any chances, not where Brittany's life was concerned.
"Thank you very much for coming in, ladies." Burt tipped his hat, before removing it and setting it down on the desk. "Seems like we're reaching nothing but dead ends in this investigation. No bullet holes, no suspects, but yet everyone in the diner heard a gun go off."
"Isn't it possible that a blank was fired, Sheriff?" Santana smiled sweetly, and was met with the vigorous shaking of Hummel's head.
"Not with the shell casings we found on the floor, Miss Lopez. There is no question those are consistent with a gun that actually fired live ammunition, and judging by the position everyone has claimed the gunman was in, we'd expect to find the bullet somewhere in the wall behind where you had been standing."
Santana shivered, again at the description of how close she'd really come to dying, and she felt Mercedes reach over and take her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Hummel made her nervous, even more than the bullet, he made her feel like he knew things he wasn't supposed to know, or he thought he knew things, which was, in a lot of ways, infinitely worse. In thinking he knew things, he could fill in gaps with fiction, he could make that beautiful, lifesaving, special girl a monster, and that would only happen over Santana Lopez's dead body.
"The real question that's left though is where that bullet went."
"Sheriff Hummel, aren't we here to tell you what we know about the man who fired the gun?" Mercedes tried her best to sound respectful, she'd been raised to respect the law, she (and Santana both) had been friendly with Burt's son since Miss Tompkins' kindergarten class, and liked Burt, even, but what she didn't like was that borderline accusatory tone in his voice, before he'd even asked them any real questions.
"Of course, Miss Jones. Why don't we go ahead and go over that again?"
Sparing no detail, the two of them gave virtually the same description of the man in question and his companion, never varying from exactly what they'd told Sheriff Hummel in his initial investigation. Santana had to work impossibly hard to keep her eyes from trailing over to Mercedes, and to keep her mind from wandering off to the one person she couldn't think about while she was in that room, lest she mistakenly give away everything. When the initial questioning was over, Santana inhaled possibly the deepest breath she ever took, knowing what was coming, dreading having to answer questions about it.
"Before you go, ladies, I wanted to talk to you about another thing. A sort of, off the record investigation I'm working on." The sheriff pulled out a folder, and the girls exchanged a look, silently agreeing not to question him on the ethics of that, figuring the less they antagonize him, the better. "It seems to me that there might be some kind of supernatural elements at play in this case. A missing bullet, a girl about your age that neither of you recognize, and my son, he told me, Santana, about a mark he saw on your stomach at cheerleading practice the other day."
"I mean no disrespect, sir, but all of that sounds a little far fetched to me. I'm sure you'll find the bullet hole somewhere, and Mercedes and I see plenty of people all the time that neither of us recognize. The only thing remarkable about the girl that day is that she left without paying her bill, but I guess anyone would run after something like that."
"And what about the mark, Santana?" Sheriff Hummel's voice sounded harsher somehow, and Santana stood immediately, playing with the hem of her shirt, hands shaking, even though she knew full well that the only remnants of Brittany's handiwork were internal, the handprint had fully faded in her sleep the night before. "Kurt said he saw something that looked like it was glittering, or glowing when you were up on top of the pyramid yesterday."
"I'm not sure what he's talking about." Santana lifted her shirt, revealing a clear expanse of olive colored skin. She felt Mercedes exhale beside her, forgetting she hadn't known it had faded, and Santana hoped to every higher being in the universe that the sheriff didn't hear that breath. "It must have been a reflection, or something."
"Hmm. I'm going to show you something, and I hope it doesn't unsettle you too much, but I feel it's necessary that you see this."
Neither Santana nor Mercedes believed for a second that he hoped he wouldn't unsettle them, in the contrary, unsettling them might give him exactly the answers he was searching for. Letting her eyes flicker closed for the briefest second as the sheriff opened his unremarkable manila folder, Santana hoped that Mercedes had enough faith in their newfound friends not to let anything inside change her loyalties. She opened her eyes again at the gasp from her best friend, and felt sick to her stomach at the image of a woman, or rather, a corpse, with the same mark that had faded from Santana's stomach displayed prominently at the base of her throat.
"Why are you showing us this?" Santana fought the urge to be sick. "What does this have to do with a gun going on in a diner, Sheriff?"
"I'm not really sure, I was hoping you'd be able to tell me. I have known both of you since before you were born, I grew up with your parents, if you're involved in anything that isn't safe, it's my obligation to protect you, and all the citizens of Roswell. This woman, and six others like her died, and the official cause of death? Melted internal organs. That's a pretty awful way to go, isn't it?" Burt Hummel eyed both of the girls carefully, watching for a reaction. Mercedes simply clasped her hands together and averted her eyes from the autopsy photograph, but Santana studied it closely, looking for any indication that it was fabricated.
"This is dated 1947. That was almost seventy years ago. I still don't see your point in showing us this." Santana tried her hardest to keep her voice steady, to sound sure as she spoke.
"And the being who did this has never been found." Hummel let his words settled in for several moments before he spoke again. "You've never seen a mark like this before, you're sure? Not even one that faded away after a few days?"
"No." Santana lied, sincerity in crystal blue eyes playing in her mind, reminding her that even if the picture was real, it wasn't Brittany, couldn't be Brittany. Her alien saved her life, her alien was tucked away in some incubation pod in 1947, and even if the being that had killed those seven people hadn't acted in self defense (which, given all Santana had read on the internet, she was nearly certain that they had), it was no reflection in Brittany, or Sam, or even Quinn. "And I'd really like if I didn't have to look at that anymore."
"What about you, Mercedes?" He ignored Santana's request and turned to her friend, who was wringing her hands furiously. Santana couldn't breathe, waiting for Mercedes to answer, fearing that she couldn't believe in Brittany the way Santana could, fearing that even after everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours, it could all still fall out from beneath them.
"No, sir." Mercedes' voice shook when she finally spoke, and Santana realized that she wasn't even lying, she hadn't ever seen the handprint on Santana's stomach, just the shimmering remnants of it. "And I have to agree with Santana. Please, can you put it away, please? I feel like I'm going to bring back up the tater tots I had for lunch if you keep that out any longer."
"I will, just give me one more minute. Are you sure you didn't recognize the girl in the diner? Are you sure she isn't someone you go to school with?"
"Sheriff, why do I feel like you're accusing us of something?" Santana bit her tongue hard, feeling like it was very possible she could lose her temper at any given second. "All I did was go to work, and then someone shot a gun in my father's diner, a gun that could have killed me, if I wasn't lucky enough that the bullet missed me. Why do I feel like I'm on trial here?"
"Like I said, Miss Lopez, I'm just trying to make sure everyone's safe. If you feel like you're in some kind of danger, you don't have to be afraid to tell me."
"I'm not in danger! I'm alive, I'm fine, and I'm really shocked that you're buying into some conspiracy theory about creatures who melt organs. Sheriff, please, you're scaring us both. I want to go home now."
"My intention isn't to scare you." He spoke calmly, and Santana felt the urge to vomit for an entirely different reasons than the one she felt looking at the dead woman. "I just want you to be aware that things aren't always what they seem, it's important that you remember that."
"Well, Sheriff Hummel, I hate to be rude to you, because like you said, I've known you my entire life, but right now, it seems to me like you are the one who isn't what they've always seemed. I don't know what you're getting at here, because nothing happened, and you're showing two minors pictures of a dead body and trying to tell us about some murdering creature seventy years ago, before we were born, before you were born, is somehow connected to a gun going off a few days ago. This makes no sense to me. You may as well just come out and say trust no one."
"You aren't children anymore, unfortunately. The world won't coddle you from the harsh realities, my father didn't do it to me-" Both girls heard the almost imperceptible hitch in the sheriff's voice at the mention of his father, and Santana couldn't help but wonder if he really had any inclinations of supernatural play, or if he'd fabricate them regardless, simply to vindicate the man who was locked away for the theories people called him crazy for.
"But you're not either of our father." Mercedes finally spoke, knowing that if Santana did, she was going to completely lose her cool.
"No, I'm not, but to keep my own son safe, I need to know if there's something going on in his own town, in his own school that could put him in danger."
"What are you implying, Sheriff?" Santana nearly spit, the disdain ringing sure as she spoke his title. "That there are aliens in our high school?"
"You tell me, Miss Lopez. Are there? Was it Brittany Pierce who went up to you in the diner that day? Did she do something to you?"
The room suddenly felt small and claustrophobic at the direct mention of Brittany, even though the preparations by both Pierces and Quinn had prepared both Santana and Mercedes about Burt Hummel's suspicious interest in them, ever since that night so long ago in the desert. Santana knew she had to breathe, she had to keep herself from completely melting down, or else she'd give it all away, she'd put Brittany in danger (and earnest blue eyes, pleading, full of unspoken words, was all Santana could picture to keep her from shattering). Hardening her features, Santana looked to Mercedes, who kept a blank look on her face, then back to Hummel, who was studying her cautiously, before pushing herself up out of her seat.
"Brittany Pierce? You think Brittany Pierce is the escaped alien murderer from 1947? She's sixteen years old! And have you met her? I mean, I don't know her all that well, but I know that she wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone kill seven people, even if it wasn't sixty years before she was born!"
"Like I said, things aren't always what they seem. Don't forget that I'm the one who found her and the boy ten years ago, and where they were before that, no one knows."
"So that's grounds for suspect?" Santana felt like she was on one of those ridiculous law shows that her mother so loved to watch, like Brittany was on trial, and she was her counsel, and she fought the urge to yell out things like objection, speculation! "If you're going with that, what's to stop you tomorrow from saying that you think I am some kind of supernatural creature? Or Mercedes? Or anyone else? This off the record investigation that involves looking at pictures of dead bodies, and you thinking some quiet, pretty girl in my school is actually someone from the '47 crash in a sixteen year old's body is freaking me out. It wasn't her in the diner, We both told you we didn't recognize the person who is basically irrelevant anyway, because all she did was ask me if I was okay when I fell. I've given you no reason not to believe me. You know me, you know I've never had a reason to lie. Mercedes, I want to go now, I think we've given all the information we have, the information that's actually relevant to what happened the other day. Come on."
"Sheriff." Mercedes stood up, and Santana felt her heart drop in fear, again, sick with fear for what she'd say. "Santana is right. Brittany's just a girl, and it's not right for you to say things that sound like you're accusing her of murder, for no reason other than that her and Sam had crappy parents who dumped them off in the desert."
"Ladies-"
"No." Santana shook her head, sucking her lips into her mouth angrily. "I'll answer all the questions you want about what the man who pulled the gun looked like, but the rest of it has nothing to do with us. So can we leave?"
"Yes." Hummel conceded, knowing he wouldn't push them to speak any further, knowing that if he did, he'd end up sounding like a lunatic, that he had to tread lightly, or else he'd end up like his father. As he watched them walk out of the room, he knew he was safe from that fate, for now, knew that their loyalty to Brittany Pierce would keep them from ever again discussing what happened in that room, lest they draw attention to her. More importantly though, he knew that though their words spoke the contrary, every action, every ounce of defensiveness that oozed out of both girls, especially Santana Lopez affirmed what he had already suspected, he was on the right track in his theories, and he would do whatever it took to get to the truth, do whatever it took to vindicate his father, to make right the deaths of the seven innocent people that he'd never known.
By the time Santana and Mercedes made it out of the police station, Santana's false bravado crumbled, and she was left trembling, rapidly swallowing tears of anger, of fear, of the blood boiling protectiveness that her small frame could scarcely handle. Though it was odd for a New Mexico September, a steady rain fell from a grey sky (though Santana wasn't sure she could really find anything odd anymore, the clouds could open up and spill orange soda, and it still wouldn't be the strangest thing to her), and her t-shirt was soaked through by the time she'd walked ten feet. As they approached Mercedes' car, Santana realized she couldn't get in, she couldn't go from feeling smothered in the police station, to the small space of the car, to winding up in the diner filling salt shakers under her father's watchful eye, even if it was her day off. She felt the urge to run, to blow off steam, the scream into the damp air, to release the tightly coiled tension that threatened to strangle her before she had to go home and pretend she was normal, pretend that her greatest fear hadn't cone true, pretend that Sheriff Burt Hummel wasn't sitting in his office, believing that Brittany, her Brittany (whether she had real right to that claim or not, she certainly felt like her Brittany, deep in her bones) was both everything she was and everything she wasn't, all at the same time.
"'Cedes, I need to go for a run, I just can't go home right now."
"Okay." Mercedes nodded, understanding.
"Thank you, thank you for not taking it back, even after-" Santana didn't mean for the choked sob to claw it's way out of her throat, but it did, and she feared they'd never stop, not until she could know that Brittany was safe.
"I know she wasn't the one who...who did that. That none of them are, even crazy Quinn."
"How, how are you sure?"
"You're not?" Mercedes eyes widened.
"No, of course I am. I'm more sure of that than anything. But your stake in this is different."
"I know because you're alive. Only an idiot would blow sixty-seven years of cover to save your life, even if you are the self-proclaimed hottest bitch in town, especially if that idiot killed seven people in the past. And I know because Brittany was going to do her freaky mind meld, and because Sam is a huge dork, and even if I think he's cute, I don't think he could pull that off. And even Quinn, she's a scary bitch, but she's not evil." Santana just threw her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly, because she wasn't sure what else to do. "Even though I got off to a crappy start with this, I'm all in, okay? Trust me that it won't turn on you, on them."
"I do. I know you shouldn't have had to prove yourself, because I really did trust you from the beginning. I'm just scared, I'm so scared to lose this person I don't even know yet. Brittany is so worried about protecting me, and here I am, just as worried about protecting her."
"I get it. Whatever this weird thing that's happening between you is, you manage to make it seem like it all makes sense."
"Thanks for being supportive, or whatever. This whole thing is so uncharacteristically mushy for me, so I'm just going to go, before it gets really weird."
"Good idea, we just couldn't live if we had any weird in our lives." Mercedes teased a little bit, and Santana managed the smallest laugh.
Knowing that she needed to call Brittany at some point, to fill her in on whatever that was that happened with Burt Hummel, Santana slung her backpack over the back, not caring in the slightest about her books getting wet, and took off on a run that only veered slightly from her path home. She tried to convince herself that it was all okay, that she'd saved the day, that Hummel no longer had reason to suspect Brittany, but she knew it wasn't true, knew that he'd keep digging, knew that Brittany would have to be more careful than ever. On top of that, there was also this new information, this evidence of someone else out there, someone like the three aliens in Roswell (or maybe not at all, Santana couldn't really reconcile the idea that this person Hummel had painted as a cold-hearted killer could in any way be connected to beautiful, good Brittany), someone who could maybe help them find the answers to all the questions they could never ask. So deeply distracted by her own thoughts, Santana ceased paying attention to where she was going, until smack, she slammed right into another warm body. Before she even looked to see who she hit, tingles took over, and she gasped at the feeling, immediately finding Brittany's eyes with her own.
"Hey." Santana felt a smile grow on her lips, in spite of everything as she steadied herself on your feet.
"Hi. You're done?" Brittany asked, then mentally slapped herself on the forehead, because obviously she was done, if she was outside, and she knew, judging by her last lap past the police station twenty-minutes earlier, when Mercedes' car was still in the parking lot, that they hadn't been done very long.
"Yeah. I just needed a minute before I could go home and handle it. I'm sorry I didn't call you right away..."
"I don't have my phone anyway." Brittany gestured to her running shorts and wet tanktop (deliciously wet, Santana thought, then shook her head to quiet the wanky thoughts in her mind). "How bad was it?"
"Brittany." Santana stepped closer, the gap between them barely existent as she wrung her hands furiously. "He point blank asked me if it was you."
"Okay." Brittany sucked in breaths quickly, because even though she'd expected that, it didn't make it easier to hear.
"There's more, and I don't know how exactly to say it, so I'm just going to start from the beginning."
Slowly, Santana recounted the events to Brittany, her heart aching, breaking as she felt Brittany's clench from inside her separate body, felt every quick pulse of her heart, as if the bold was running through her own veins. She didn't look away from Brittany's face, she needed her to feel that Santana knew she wasn't that being from 1947, that she could feel every once of good that she was, that she was a healer, not a killer. When Santana was finished, she could feel her own hands shaking, but Brittany's were shaking even harder, and she grabbed them, squeezing them tightly, feeling the overwhelming urge to give her the simplest of human comforts.
"Is this where I come from, Santana?" Brittany squeaked, and even in the rain, Santana could see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "From killers?"
"Brittany. You weren't there. I wasn't there. Hummel wasn't there. You don't know why those people were killed. We've heard about..." Santana stopped, not wanting to recount the horror stories of experiments and labs that she'd read online, not wanting to breathe life into Brittany's fear that it could happen to her. "You don't know why they did what they did, okay? They were threatened, and maybe you, and Quinn, and Sam were threatened too. You don't know how you ended up nine miles from the crash site. Everyone does things they wouldn't ordinarily do if they're protecting themselves, or someone important to them."
"I couldn't kill." She whispered, two big tears falling from her eyes, tears that burned Santana's forearm as they landed there.
"Even if it meant dying yourself? Someone you love dying?"
Brittany cast her eyes down, because she knew they would betray the truth if Santana were to continue to look into them. Horrible, violent visions passed behind them, visions of the girl before her in a situation where she'd have to kill or watch her die, and she knew that Santana was right, that if the circumstances forced her, she would do anything to keep her alive. When she looked back at Santana, she saw this deep, unmistakeable understanding on her face, and her heart constricted, and then quickly swelled back, larger than it had been before at the feelings she had when looking at the other girl.
"What am I supposed to do? What would you do with this information?"
"Britt…I think this is a conversation you should have with Sam and Quinn, it's not my place."
"I will, before I do anything, of course I will. But when I talk to them, they're going to tell me what they want to do. I can't go in there without knowing how I feel first. Please, if you were me, tell me what you would do."
Hesitating, Santana looked into Brittany's pleading eyes. It wasn't what either of them had expected to come about from Santana and Mercedes meeting with Hummel, but the unexpected or not, this new possibility had come up, this possibility that there was someone out there that could have answers about who Brittany was, where she came from, why she was on Earth. Santana couldn't imagine going through a life with so much unknown, and although a deep part of her feared that Brittany searching for the being who'd caused the harm in Hummel's pictures could potentially put her in danger, she was sure that if the roles were reversed, she'd be the first one searching for them.
"I'd do everything to took to find them." Santana watched relief flood Brittany's face at her words, and she let out a stream of breath.
"Okay." Brittany nodded slowly. "I guess that's my answer then. I think it's what I want, I'm just glad I'm not totally crazy for wanting to go on a wild goose chase for someone who's killed, and someone who we have no evidence even exists past the year of the crash."
"Looks like we'll have to research then, I mean, if that's what the three of you decide together."
"Thank you, Santana. For Hummel, for talking me through this, for offering to help. Just, thank you. It means a lot to me."
"I didn't do much." Santana shrugged, face burning even in the cool rain under the intensity of Brittany's gaze. "But, I did my best, I guess."
"I should go." Brittany said softly, knowing that if she stayed much longer, if she felt the tug on her heart much longer, she was going to cave. "Sam and Quinn…"
"Will want to know what happened. Yeah. My dad probably needs help anyway."
Returning Santana's small smile, Brittany turned away, poised to run the rest of the way home, and think on everything she'd just heard, and plan her response to Quinn and Sam's expected reactions to the idea of another one of them. But even as she took her first steps away from Santana, Brittany could still feel the electric current that ran between their bodies, could feel that invisible, increasing pull. She wanted to walk away, wanted to do the right thing, the noble thing, even, especially as she processed how nothing was really settled with Hummel, and she was probably about to take steps toward making life even more dangerous, but as the space between her and Santana grew, the ache for her increased tenfold. Her mind was reeling with conflict, the conflict between wanting to know where she came from, and wanting to further assimilate into the human world. Conflict, it always seemed to be conflict. Conflict with her and Quinn, conflict with Hummel, a constant war between her alien DNA, and the human body that she so desperately wanted to fill, conflict between her head and her heart, conflict with what she wanted, and what she wouldn't let herself have.
"Santana." Brittany called out, whipping her head around at exactly the same time as the brunette, who'd turned in the other direction.
"Brittany." She took two large steps forward, until they were standing barely a breath apart and Santana could feel the same raindrops that fell on Brittany's face splash onto her own.
"Last night…I didn't say anything back to you."
"No. You didn't."
"You told me that you can see the human in me. All my life here, that's all I've wanted, to feel human, and I think…after hearing about this other being out there, I need to feel it even more. All my life, I've had to push it away, because I couldn't understand what it really meant to be that way. I'm an outsider, I'm always going to be an outsider, but when I'm around you, I don't feel like one, I don't feel like I'm not human anymore. I feel like I'm part of something that I can't explain, because something is pulling me in to you. When I saved you, I expected a lot of things, but I didn't expect this. I'm trying so hard to do what I'm pretty sure is the right thing, even if it's the last thing I want, but I don't know if I have the strength to keep fighting this pull I feel towards you."
"So don't." Santana breathed, her lips so full, so close, so tempting. "Please, don't fight it anymore, because I'm afraid if you do, the tug is going to tear me to bits."
Brittany almost walked away, her feet were poised to do it, poised to let her reflect, to think too hard (harder) about the consequences, to worry about Sheriff Hummel, and the fourth alien, the things she was supposed to be thinking about, but her heart, her heart that already loved Santana so wholly, her heart that recognized that even with her danger, her freakish parts, Santana just wanted her, no matter the risk, rooted her feet in place. Her heart brought her hand to Santana's cheek, where an unintentional surge from her fingers dried the wetness from the rain, her heart drew her lips closer, closer, until they pressed against Santana's. The instant they did, and Brittany felt Santana squeak against her in a sort of elated surprise, the rest of her being followed her heart's direction, and surrendered completely to the kiss. She wanted more, she wanted everything, and as her tongue slid against Santana's bottom lip, seeking access into her mouth, Brittany didn't see the stars people talk about in movies, instead, she saw the Earth, she felt herself rooted, tethered by the pull, that unmistakable bond forever fastening her to Santana, and with a single kiss in a New Mexico rainstorm, it was obvious to both of them that there was no turning back.
