Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Part Fourteen]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8.7k
Notes: Honestly, I'm overwhelmed by the amount of feedback I got on the last chapter. I know some people aren't happy with the way this tale has been playing out, but it's the way I write and the only way I like to. Please appreciate that.
/
10 months later…
"You've got the Johnson family coming for a meeting at twelve" the secretary says, placing down a folder on the desk and sliding it toward her boss, then another following it, her eyes peering down to read the script on the front. "And tomorrow you've the car booked for three to take you to Kings Cross station to greet the Jenson's who are getting the train in from Scotland to discuss their daughters sweet sixteenth, where you're taking them for an early dinner at The Five Fields before you drop them at The Savoy."
Santana twists around in her chair, cocking her head to the side and looking over her glasses. "Thank you, Jessica," she smiles sweetly and reaches for the folders, pulling them into her lap, letting her chair turn again. Having a secretary really is the best thing that ever happened to her.
"You also had a call from Miss Fabray earlier, and she just asked you to call back when you get home," Jessica continues, pressing a few other folders to her thighs. "Can I do anything else?
Santana bobs her head, smiles again. "No, that's it, thanks."
The door to her office shuts, her secretary exiting without another word and Santana begins reading over the profiles of her potential clients for tomorrow, thinking about why Quinn's ringing her. It's not like it's totally out of the blue because ever since Santana up and left and came to London to start a new life, she and Quinn have been on better terms than ever. They've had weekly phone calls, email all the time and have even managed to Skype a couple of times. It's like this whole new life thing actually made things easier.
Well, some of it anyway.
But still, it's a little strange because they haven't talked about a phone call and usually they discuss it in length via email before staying on the phone for hours upon hours, just to talk about the same things. Santana doesn't really know why they do it, but it makes her feel like home. It makes her feel like they've got in a time travelling machine and headed back six years ago where they'd Skype, text, call, and a whole plethora of other ways of communicating, just because they were that close.
Although she doesn't wish for a second to go back six years ago. She's only where she is because of her past.
It's made her a better person.
See, the thing is, since she arrived in London, her whole path in life changed. She somehow managed to wash away the dirt on her shoulders, pick herself up off the floor and get a move on. A small company in Central London hired her, and she worked her way from the bottom sorting out the mail, to one of the top event managers in the country. Hell, she even met the Prime Minister a few months back because he heard of her work and hired the whole company to arrange his wife's 50th birthday party.
And that's another thing that changed.
Since moving here, she decided wedding's wasn't exactly her forte. So she took a super speed course in event management which basically taught her the layouts and applied for a three month internship which rapidly turned into a job she could quite literally kick ass at. Like really. There was some snobby chick from Kensington to clearly only worked for the company because her "daddy" was an investor and thought it'd be a good idea to throw a drink in Santana's face on a night out after Santana told her she was embarrassed to be hired under the same company as this girl considering her work.
To get to the point, it didn't go well for the poor girl. She was down on her ass in two seconds flat.
But anyway, Santana took up this new role in event management and shot to the top. Within six months she was on her fourth promotion and by the eighth month she was in her own damn office with her own damn gold name plate, a freaking secretary asking her what she'd like from Starbucks every morning and even hanging her freaking coat up.
Santana Lopez excelled in London.
And okay, no, maybe it wasn't easy emotionally for her to part from everything she'd known. No, it wasn't easy to be in a completely new place with completely new people, but it was a chance to reinvent herself. It was a chance to tell a new story, make a few face, and honestly, it was the best thing she'd ever done. Especially because British people really do dig the American accent and she was easily identifiable due to the rasp in her voice she wasn't even aware of until she came here.
Quinn pretty much bugged the crap out of her and she couldn't avoid that, so that made things easier, too, but just to repeat and confirm, it wasn't even a little easy. In fact, it was incredibly fucking tough. For the first month, she barely got anything done. She was living in a hotel and heading around the town at night, wondering whether she could pick some nameless blonde floozy and fuck the memories out of her head, but then she realized that wasn't her and she couldn't keep living in the past.
Fucking a random girl who had blue eyes would never erase the memory of her.
So she got shit done instead. She sorted out her life and made something out of herself. Her life back in the US was toxic. She had to get away from it to breathe, to get some space. She couldn't do it anymore and in years to come, Santana didn't want to be the person who moped around, drinking her life away and not doing anything. She wanted to prove that she could be a strong, independent woman and be the person she wanted to be.
So she did it.
It wasn't easy, but she did it anyway, and even now, she knows that moving to London and creating a whole new life will be nothing in comparison to the fact she's got to come to terms with invitation sitting by her window. Hell, she's read that thing so many damn times the words don't even seem real anymore, but she knows what it says. It's burned into her memory.
"Noah 'Puck' Puckerman and Lucy Quinn Fabray request the honor of your presence at their marriage..."
God. They're getting married. She got that damn thing three months ago and it still makes her roll her eyes a little.
Still, of course she'll go, it's just the fact that she has to go back there, but she knows it'll be okay. She isn't the same person she was ten months ago, it's just that damn invitation that's freaking her out. It's literally been staring at her, sticking in her God damn mind and it's only reminding her that it's not going away and is rapidly fucking approaching. The date has been creeping up on her ever since she bought her damn flight tickets.
But it'll be fine. It'll be good.
Santana's not the same person she was ten months ago. She's not pathetic, or heart broken, or going to leap back into Brittany's arms if she sees her. It was never her fault and over time she's learnt that. She never did anything wrong because as she looks back at the situation, she realizes that she's so over it that it really doesn't even matter anymore. It isn't even worth thinking about.
Because when she goes back to London, when she goes to Quinn and Puck's wedding, she's going to be fine. Everything will be forgotten and in the past because the only reason she's going back is for her best friend, and her once friend Puck… Which actually, now she thinks about it, is going to be really awkward, too.
The only reason she's turning up is because Quinn begged her over Skype and did those damn puppy eyes which always got Santana. Jesus, she really has got soft. Plus she said she wanted her to be one of her bridesmaids and Santana already turned that down so she felt bad enough. There was no way in hell she could stand in front of that many people after disappearing almost a year ago.
That's a big no thank you.
So she's going to play it cool. She's going to turn up, look gorgeous, smile her way through the wedding and that's it. She'll live through those two weeks she's going there for and then she'll come back to her new life.
Hell, the only reason she booked two weeks was because that would give her enough time to settle in but not enough time to get comfortable.
There's suddenly a knock on her door and she spins around to see Jessica on the phone, her secretary, pointing at her watch. Heart racing a little–she may have got a little caught up in her thoughts–she looks down at the time on her laptop and nods her head, confirming she knows she needs to leave.
Gathering her stuff, she stands from her chair, brushes out her pant suit and lifts her head high, ready to take on another client and do what Santana Lopez does best, putting all thoughts of America behind her.
This is her life now.
/
Santana's thought a lot about her visit back home.
Even now, as she sits on the plane, looking out the window, listening to whatever's on her iPod instead of the fat guy snoring in the aisle across from her, all she can think about is how she's going to play it. Cool and collected, nonchalant, calm… Those seem the best ways to do it, but she also doesn't really know if that's going to be achievable.
The person she most worried about, bar Brittany obviously, is Puck. They were so close and then he decided to take the award for world's worst friend and become a complete asshole, but she guesses if she's going for the cool calm route she's going to have to just forgive him. Although she guesses she can't really know how she'll react until she gets there.
Oh well.
At least she's got another six hours to think about it.
/
Thank God for British Airways because they don't lose her bag when she lands into JFK airport. When she was flying over to the UK the last time, they completely screwed up her luggage and she had to stay in a hotel with none of her belongings for a good day or two before she could finally get some clean underwear.
What a trip that was.
But anyway, she collects her luggage and heads out through the gates, nervously glancing around until her eyes land on a grinning blonde, hazel eyes beaming as they lock on to Santana. She can't help but smile herself, and casually walks towards Quinn, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Well, well, well…" Quinn begins, arms crossed and foot tapping. "Long time no see."
Santana chuckles to herself but drops her bag, opening her arms. "Give me a hug then, asshole," she quips and giggles when her friend damn near jumps into her arms.
"It's good to have you home, S," Quinn whispers, holding her tight. She smells like almond and vanilla, and Santana has to admit, it gets to her a little bit. She didn't realize until right now, with her friend in her arms, just how much she's missed her old life despite having an incredible one all those thousands of miles away.
Like shit, what gets her more is how much she gasps when she sees Puckerman standing sheepishly behind Quinn, no longer donning a Mohawk but a full head of hair and a short beard. It's definitely a change, and she actually finds herself gasping again as she pulls away from Quinn because all the reasons Santana was worrying about, all the reasons that she intensely disliked him for when she left all those months ago just disappear. Just like that, and she's left standing there, tilting her head to the side and rolling her eyes at herself because fuck, she's missed the hell out of him.
It kind of feels like she's a little more put together than she was before.
(Maybe she really has grown up.)
"And Puckerman," she says, almost a little softly.
Puck finally looks up from dipping his head, his face showing a little surprise like he wasn't expecting her even to greet him. His brows furrow and he looks a little wary but manages a light smile. "Welcome back Lopez," he bobs his head.
She chuckles and shrugs her shoulders, realizing how utterly over she is him being an asshole last year. That's just not something she wants to continue, especially because she's here for their wedding and to be super pissed at the groom would probably ruin it. Although she has to admit, it's slightly annoying that she's not even a little annoyed herself, but at the same time, she realizes that it's completely in the past. Once and for all, she can actually move the fuck on because she's just let it go.
That easily.
"Look, Santana, I'm really–"
The apology is obvious in his tone before the word "sorry" actually comes out, and so she quickly cuts in. "Just shut up and hug me, butthead," she laughs and blinks away the tears suddenly threatening to fall. "Or I'll be forced to kick your ass."
Puck hesitates for a long few seconds, possibly confused by the complete change in her attitude from the last time she saw him, but swiftly jumps straight in, stepping forward and throwing his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground. He swings her a little, breathing her in and he smells exactly the same, like menthol cigarettes and leather, making her tear up again.
But she's so stubborn that she refuses to cry and instead bats his shoulders a little, asking to be put down. Though it's only to find that he's welling up instead which fuck, really does set her off and she begins laughing through watery eyes as she sucker punches him in the bicep, enjoying the smile that comes across his face as he sniffs loudly.
"Not pissed at me anymore, then?"
Brown eyes roll. "Nah," she admits as Puck picks up her luggage and she links arms with Quinn. She takes in a deep breath and they begin walking out the airport. "I'm over it."
Quinn shoots her a strange look. "Wait what? You're just… Over it?" She repeats, disbelief in her tone. "Just like that?"
"Yeah," Santana shrugs her shoulders and they pull over, waiting for Puck to hail a cab. "I don't want to live in the past anymore."
"What about the…" The blonde dips her head, eyes trying to convey something her mouth doesn't want to. "Other situation?"
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what she's trying to say.
"You mean the Brittany situation?" Santana continues clearly, not even flinching. Puck whips his head around and Quinn's eyes widen. "I'm over it."
There's a long silence, but then the cab pulls up and Santana shoots them a small smile before taking her bag off Puck and opening up the boot of the car, throwing it in. "Shall we go?" She asks, eyes flickering between them before climbing into the back seat and disappearing out of her friend's sight.
Quinn and Puck just share a disbelieving look they think she doesn't see.
She does.
/
Instead of staying at a hotel, Quinn offered the spare room in her apartment as Santana's living space for two weeks. Santana thought it made more sense and would mean she saved money, and now as she knows it's completely fine between them all, she's glad because the place still looks exactly the same and it's homely.
There's still Puck's random high school football memorabilia lining the shelf in the corner. There's still half-drunken coffee mugs sitting on the kitchen island as always. There's even still her and Quinn's senior year promo photo on the coffee table, and Santana feels this warmth in her chest because sure, ten months isn't that long, but for Santana it feels like years. Especially because she hasn't had any of these memories darted around her in her apartment because she didn't take anything like that with her.
Damn. She really has missed this place. This city. These people.
"So you know where everything is," Quinn explains as Santana throws her bag on to the spare bed. "Puck's still living here and he doesn't exactly like change," she chuckles.
Santana turns around and looks at her friend, breathing in deeply. "Thanks for having me, Q," she says and ignores the thickness in her throat. "I didn't realize how much I missed this place," she glances around the room and out the window, seeing the city in all its glory. Quinn's place really is wonderful. Bought out of a company director and lawyer's salary. It's better than Santana could've ever afforded on her own.
Which suddenly brings this reminder of her old apartment and Brittany, and it makes her wonder whether or not Brittany even knows she's here yet.
"Well, we've missed you too." Quinn crosses her arms over her chest and rubs her arms. "But the building's heaters are a little broken which means it's gonna be cold at night, so I've put a throw extra covers in the wardrobe for you."
"Thanks," Santana perches on the end of the bed, nails picking at each other. She sucks in her lips, thoughts of whether or not to ask Quinn about Brittany cycling through her head, but when her friend comes to sit next to her and a pair of hazel eyes begin burning into her temple, she gets this funny feeling that Quinn already knows what she's thinking about.
So she takes a deep breath, unable to hold in the quiver it comes out with and looks at her friend. "Does she know I'm here?"
Quinn's face answers before her mouth does, but she still says, "No."
Strangely enough, it actually bothers Santana that Brittany doesn't know, but there's also a little piece of her that's relieved because she doesn't know how she feels. It's already a little overwhelming just seeing Quinn and Puck, and God knows if Brittany walked through the door she'd probably be climbing down the fire escape. Being back in America isn't what she thought it would be, mostly because it's not as bad as she imagined.
"She knows you're back for the wedding, but not so early."
Santana nods her head. "Right, yeah," she shakes her head and stands up, wanting to get out of this weird atmosphere. So far it's been light and welcoming; she doesn't want it to turn deep. "So what are you wearing to the wedding rehearsal then?"
Hazel eyes widen, and Santana's confused by the shock that passes Quinn's expression. "You're coming to that?"
"What the hell else would I be here for so early?" She chuckles, shaking her head, not only laughing at Quinn's utter shock at her saying she's coming to the rehearsal, but also trying to get rid of blue eyes that keep flashing into her brain. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Quinn. Just like you're wedding."
Quinn grins widely, and Santana mirrors it before the blonde goes off on one about the rehearsal and the dress she's prepared which apparently, is just magnificent.
But Santana only hears half of it. Her mind's on the Tenerife Sea.
/
Puck and Quinn have work for the next couple of days so Santana takes the opportunity to reacquaint herself with the city.
She gets on one of those tour buses full of foreign people, grasping cameras and lugging around too large backpacks, and views the city. It passes the Empire State, Macy's, goes through Times Square and she looks around it in all its glory, wondering why she never took the time to appreciate all the things that were here when she lived here. Although she guesses it was always just a normal day for her here, and so she could never really see the importance.
Hell, maybe that's why she's missed Quinn and Puck so much. She's realized the importance of them due to the absence.
Funny how things work out like that.
Anyway, she tours around the city and gets off the bus at the end only to be bumped into by several people on their cell phones on the sidewalk, clearly not looking where they're going. They throw her looks and grunt under their breath, and she can only chuckle to herself because shit, she's even missed the grumpy bastards that roam the street regardless of time or weather.
The slice of pizza she gets is almost bigger than her head, and it's full of grease and cheese and burns her tongue when she eats it, but it's welcoming and makes her skin tingle because it's what she used to spend her pocket money on as a kid. She even takes a stroll through Central Park just to look at the joggers and almost get hit by a cyclist because this feels like home.
Santana really didn't think she'd miss this place that much.
But the hours tick on and shortly it's getting dark. She wanders around the city a little more to see the lights, making sure to not go anywhere too familiar and finally comes to the decision to head back to Quinn's after a call from her, wondering where she is. And when she gets back, she lets herself in to find Puck on the sofa, the armchair already set up with a blanket and a cup of coffee on the table in front of it, waiting for her, and Quinn coming in from the kitchen.
"Hurry up and sit your ass down," Puck grumbles. "The Walking Dead's about to start and I don't want to miss any of it."
Quinn rolls her eyes and sits beside him, making herself comfy as she snuggles into his side. "Yeah, God forbid we miss Rick running away from more zombies and worrying about his family again," she quips, earning a nudge from Puck before he kisses her on the forehead and trains his eyes on the television.
"How was your day anyway?" The blonde asks, turning her attention to Santana. "Missed The Big Apple?"
Santana tucks her legs beneath her and covers herself with a blanket, trying to find a way to tell Quinn she couldn't actually go to half the places she wanted to in case she bumped into… Anyone.
"I think I've missed it a little too much," she admits, not offering anything more.
Quinn smiles knowingly, but then the show begins and they settle down for the night.
/
"That'll be fourteen dollars please, Miss."
Santana shuffles to the edge of the seat, careful that her dress doesn't ride up and hands the cab driver a twenty. "Keep the change," she says, tapping him on the shoulder.
She climbs out the car, wiggling a little to ensure her dress is gripping all the right places and ignores the pair of eyes burning into her ass. That's one thing she hasn't missed: the lecherous taxi drivers. In London, they're all warm and friendly and okay, sure, there's okay cabbies like that here occasionally but the majority of them stare at her as she gets into the cab and climbs out, thinking it's their lucky day. If only they knew.
The wind blows against her hair but she hugs her shawl tighter, quickly scurrying into the hotel where Quinn and Puck are throwing their dress rehearsal. They're actually getting married in the Waldorf Astoria, and it's big and fancy and she just knows it's going to be beautiful. Tonight there won't be half as many people as their will be at their actual wedding, but she's glad she's attending because she's a big part of this. Mainly only the bridesmaids and groomsmen will be here, but she assumes the Fabray's will be attending, just like Puck's little sister, mum, and grandma.
There's a concierge the second she walks in, coming up to her with a large smile. He's got a dark suit on and she smiles sweetly when he asks if she's here for the dress rehearsal. Of course, the second she goes to answer, Puck comes around the corner wearing a light grey suit and a black tie, looking entirely too grown up for the memories of him she has in her head. Little guy with a Mohawk smoking a cigarette outside the 24/7, waiting for some poor victim to come along offering to buy him a bottle of Jack.
Oh, the good old days.
"Lopez," he greets, grinning widely. He opens his arms and she hugs him, slightly unused to all this physical contact with him. Or people, actually. Since she's been in London she can literally count on one hand how many people she's hugged. That number would be zero. "It's great that you could come."
Santana looks at him curiously. Why are he and Quinn so surprised she's coming? "Me too," she says in lieu, slipping the shawl off her shoulders and folding it over the bag slung around her shoulder. "Where's Quinn?"
"They're all in the function room," he juts his thumb over his shoulder. "You ready?"
She nods her head and he guides her toward the room, his hand hovering at the base of her back, and within a second she becomes the center of attention. The bartender follows her with his eyes the entire way, and even a few guests at the hotel turn their heads, mouths a little agape because they know just as well as she does how hot she looks. Previous to getting in the perverted taxi, she spent a good three hours doing her make-up and choosing the right dress. After all, she couldn't go with the same color as her wedding day dress, and it couldn't look even remotely similar.
Because covering her body is a black, backless dress. The front of it dips low, enough to show off the ladies but not too much that's it is too revealing and she's wearing black stilettos that elongate her legs and give her a good few inches on her height. By the end of the night she knows she probably won't be able to walk properly but she looks so good she really doesn't care. Her make-up is light, but her eyes are smoky and mysterious and that new lip plumper she bought in London really is incredible.
Kate Moss would be proud.
Although it's after she's stopped smirking at the female bartender who's gazing far too much to be straight, that she realizes Puck's actually been talking to her the entire way, and she's been far too into her thoughts about how great her ass looks in her dress that she didn't hear a single word. So instead of being the brash, slightly rude but straight to the point Santana, she just nods along and perks up to the rest of his conversation.
"…So there's only a few people left to come but it'll start soon. Although watch out for Quinn too. She's been on the champagne since the poor waitress showed her the bottle and asked if she wanted to taste some three hours ago."
She manages a chuckle and they approach two large doors, with two men in long tailed suits pulling them open and grinning a little too widely. "I'll be sure to look after Quinn," she says, looking at her friend. "I've spent years and years managing her drunken ass."
Puck laughs and they step inside to the function room, finding probably about thirty or forty people. A little shocked by the amount of people, Santana widens her eyes but Puck's quickly pushing her further into the room after handing her shawl and bag and leaning down into her ear. "I hope this isn't too intense for you," he whispers and she's confused for about two seconds before something old, but too familiar shoots through her, stopping her in her very tracks.
Because she'd recognize that feeling anywhere. It's a warmth, but it's electric and it pulses through her like she just got struck by lightning. Her vision wavers but her lungs breathe clearer than they have done for months and months, and she barely gets to register the words Puck's saying before her eyes are searching the room for something she's been missing for too long.
"She's over there."
It's all she really needs, because the second her eyes find the Tenerife Sea… It's already staring straight back at her.
And it seems like everything negative just disappears.
It seems like the weight on her shoulders suddenly lifts and a tingle shoots down her spine as she takes in Brittany before her because for the past couple of weeks, this moment has been the only thing on her mind. For the past couple of weeks, she's been panicking and worrying and causing some serious stress lines, but none of it seems to matter now that Brittany's actually here, less than twenty meters away from her, with her long blonde hair in loose curls around her shoulders and a gorgeous white dress donning her body.
Never in all her life has she felt the breath in her lungs actually leave her body, and never has she actually felt her heart stop for a good few seconds. All because she's here. This is it. Brittany's really in front of her and Santana's brain runs wild, thoughts spinning her brain around inside her head but all she can do is stare because she doesn't feel capable of doing anything else.
Well, that's until a tipsy blonde stumbles in front of her, making her arms shoot out to catch Quinn.
"You're here!"
It's a little louder than necessary, but Santana can see the slight glaze in hazel eyes that lets her know Quinn's definitely had a couple. "Yeah, and so is the alcohol apparently."
Quinn scrunches her nose but quickly swipes two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter's tray and pushes one into Santana's stomach. "And that's for you," she comments, but it's a little slurred and Santana chuckles but removes the glass out of Quinn's hands.
"No, they're both for me because your parents are staring at me thinking how bad of an influence I am to their innocent little girl," she says, trying to ignore the stares Judy and Russell Fabray are giving her from across the room.
Jesus. She's been back for less than a week and Quinn's falling over at her own dress rehearsal dinner due to her champagne addiction. This does not reflect well on Santana, especially when she's standing there grasping two flutes of the stuff and the Fabray's didn't look round in time to see their daughter grab them off the tray so now it looks like she's just offering them up their already drunk daughter.
Brilliant.
"No more champagne for you until you've had two glasses of water," she continues and Quinn pouts strongly at her but Santana's intolerance has been built up from years of practice so that won't do a single thing to her.
She glances to Puck who nods because they both know if he'd said it, Quinn would've laughed and chugged another glass of champagne, but because it's Santana, the blonde listens. After all, it's rare it's Santana sobering Quinn up; it always used to be the other way around. Oh, how things have changed.
"You're no fun." Quinn stands up straight, all slurring shooting out of her as she finally takes in Santana's comment about her parents. She knew that would take a swift effect. "But we've got to get going!"
Rolling her eyes and not really having a single clue what her friend's going on about, Santana sips on the champagne as Quinn zooms away, dragging Puckerman with her. They get up on to the little stage at the front and the blonde claps her hands together, but Puck stands behind, hands steadying her small waist because she may have thirty or forty people in here, but she's shouting like there's hundreds.
She can pretty much guarantee she's going to find Quinn face down in the coat closet in about half an hour before the rehearsal's even begun.
Still, she listens to Quinn and her slight slurring that she's more than trying to cover up by talking slowly but failing miserably, and laughs along with everyone to the faces Puck pulls behind her when she speaks about their soon-to-be married life. Of course she doesn't notice, but soon enough Puck's taking over and making a speech about how grateful he is for everyone being here tonight and how much he's looking forward to the actual day itself with all of the same people, and everyone's raising their glass.
But obviously, the second she goes to raise her glass, her eyes can't help but flash across the room to a pair so blue they'd put the ocean to shame, purely because they've been staring for so long and it's been physically draining to try and ignore them. Then she's locked, routed, and unable to look away.
And she doesn't know what to do, or if she should go over there, because she's still completely unsure of how to create their first interaction in ten months. So instead she lets the "London" Santana take over her body and only seconds later, she's lifting her glass, offering a light tipped smile and nodding her head at Brittany, silently hoping that they can put everything behind them, if only for two weeks for Quinn.
When Brittany lifts hers too, Santana releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
Because it's only two weeks before she gets to go back to London, back to her new apartment and new life, and it'll all be over.
Just two weeks.
/
As expected, Quinn goes missing.
Although somehow it's after the rehearsal and only just before dessert, which is actually quite an achievement for Quinn. The blonde was never able to get through a bottle of champagne without passing out in the cloak room, and by now she's at least been through a bottle and a half.
But Santana still finds her wrapped up beneath about ten coats in the clock room, fast asleep and snoring. She almost bursts out with laughter when she sees her because for someone as attractive as Quinn, she really does sleep very unattractively. Mouth open, drool below her lip and nose stuck up in the air, the most unhuman noise coming from her.
Boy is Puck is one lucky guy.
She's about to step inside when she smells a familiar perfume and all her sense heighten, making her freeze. She becomes increasingly aware of the rapid beat of her heart and the goosebumps forming on her skin, even the way her breathing hitches just a little and it makes her smile down at the ground. But she doesn't turn around, just waits for the first word to break this silence because there's so many things running through her head right now that she doesn't know where to start.
She doesn't know how to act.
"You found her then?" Brittany says, and it's like music to Santana's ears.
She lets out a long exhale through pursed lips and wets them, straightening up a little and twisting around. For the first time in ten months she sees her, like really sees her and it really does take her breath away. From afar, she was beautiful. When she saw her earlier this evening all she could think about was how gorgeous she was but how difficult this could be, but with her here, in front of Santana, she can't see any problems; she's just kind of stuck gazing at the girl because fuck, time has only done good things to her.
But still, past the severe attraction she's desperately trying to block out, all she can think is that everything that happened, happened for a reason, and honestly she just wants to put it in the past.
So she lifts her shoulders in a shrug and chuckles lightly. "Where else but the cloak room?"
It's funny because there's been many times where Santana and Brittany have found Quinn in the cloak room before. When they've been home alone, having a girls night in, just drinking bottle after bottle. When they've been out on the town, all dressed up in heels and tight dresses. Even when they've been at a wedding of someone they're all mutual friends with, in long gowns and in one case, a masquerade ball they all decided to crash.
The cloak room is common ground, something that brings back memories and when Brittany laughs, it sends a warmth through Santana she thought she'd forgotten.
"So what are you thinking?" The blonde asks, and Santana panics for a second, knowing that Brittany used to read her mind and know everything that was going on just by looking at her for a split moment, so maybe she knows she's thinking about that warmth.
But then she realizes the blonde is actually asking about what she's going to be doing with Quinn, and she clears her throat. "Erm, I'm thinking maybe…" She narrows her eyes, studies the scene. "Pretend we never found her and go back to the party?"
Brittany laughs, but rolls her eyes as if she's so used to Santana's jokes. It hurts a little. That's the old them.
"Oh, c'mon," the blonde says and steps forward. "You know as well as I do if Quinn wakes up tomorrow morning, she'll be hung over and pissed as hell at us for finding her and leaving her."
Santana cocks her head to the side and smirks. "How will she know if we found her or not?"
Bending over, hands on Quinn and the coats, Brittany pauses to throw a look over her shoulder. "Really?"
"Good point," Santana replies without a second's hesitation. When have they ever not found Quinn? Plus Quinn's got this freaky sixth sense and there's no doubt in Santana's mind that if Quinn woke up, in the cloak room where she passed out the night before, she'd believe that at least one of them didn't find here in her. It's like her spot. Regardless of the location of the building, the cloak room inside it is always the Quinn room.
Santana actually wouldn't be surprised if when Quinn scouted out this place before the rehearsal, she went searching for this room. That's just very… Quinn.
But anyway, they manage to maneuver Quinn so her arms are looped over their shoulders and carry their friend out toward Puck waiting with a taxi by the foyer; and somehow Santana lets herself fit into this moment, into this strange peace between her and Brittany remaining blissfully unaware of the strange normality.
Maybe these two weeks won't be as bad as she thought.
/
The thing is…
Nothing will ever change what happened.
Nothing will ever be able to alter the way she felt, the way it affected her, and the way she feels and will always feel about Brittany.
But it's like it's just stopped hurting her. It's just like she's immune to the pain and to the old "Brittany effect" now. Maybe that's she needed; ten months away from the blonde. Maybe all she needed was space, and now she's got plenty of that and will have plenty of that from now on for a long time. Maybe that's what they needed to change an unhealthy relationship into a healthy one–time and space.
Maybe they can actually put everything behind them and just get along, actually be friends for once in their lives.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
/
After Quinn waking up and protesting to being put into a cab to be taken back to her apartment by her fiancée, Santana and Brittany finally manage to get Boozy Von Drunk-A-Ton in, with their other friend who is currently pleading with his eyes to help him out. Naturally, she winks at him, tells him good luck for the many years of happy marriage where he's got to do this, and shuts the door.
She taps the back of the cab, signaling for it to take off and steps back on to the sidewalk, shuddering a little as it pulls away. She forgot her shawl inside which is kind of the reason she didn't get in the cab with them. Plus she really feels like waiting until Quinn has got over her "out-of-control" horny stage that will hit probably in about three minutes–bless that cab driver for having to witness Quinn sucking on Puck's neck in the rearview mirror, he has no idea what he's getting into taking them home–before she goes back herself.
Ultimately, Quinn will pass out before she's even kicked her shoes off and God only knows Santana doesn't want to have to endure a cab ride with the sound of slobber and drunken moans. She'd rather pay the extra fourteen dollars and leave separately.
So after waving them off, she turns, only to find Brittany still standing there, a cautious smile on her face, arms wrapped around her own body. It's something Santana used to see all the time when Brittany was about to say something to her that she may not like, and it scares her. Which, really, is completely ridiculous because there's nothing Brittany could say now that could affect her that much.
Especially as she's so over it, it basically doesn't exist anymore.
"So," the blonde starts, getting a little closer and wetting her lips. The wind blows her hair and she blinks against it, and for a split second, Santana just stares. She drinks her in, golden curls, eyes the color of the Tenerife Sea, glowing pale skin she just craves to touch, one last–
No. Fuck.
Those thoughts need to stop.
"I need to get my shawl and bag," she interrupts, hoping walking back to the cloak room will stop her from gazing otherwise she'll have to slap herself out of it.
Brittany just nods, sucking in her lips and her words, and it's hard to miss the disappointment that flashes across her face, but Santana isn't here to make Brittany happy. She's here to make Quinn happy and be civil with Brittany. Plus, like she thinks she's said before, she's so over it she has no reason to not be civil with Brittany.
It's fine.
Everything is just fine.
"So, erm." They begin walking back into the hotel, rounding the corner toward the cloak room. When they approach it, Santana dips inside and grabs her stuff, coming out to find Brittany picking at her nails; a nervous habit the girl's had ever since Santana's known her. This isn't good. "Where are you staying?"
Santana swallows hard, enough of a genius to work out the direction of this conversation. She slings her bag over her shoulder and throws her shawl on. "With Quinn," she whispers and begins moving outside again.
The quicker this conversation ends the better. She wasn't actually expecting to be left alone with Brittany at all for these two weeks, but she guesses due to Quinn and her taste for champagne, she doesn't have a choice.
Fucking Quinn.
"You know, I've still got the–"
No.
"Britt," Santana interrupts, a little loudly. She spins around, standing in front of the blonde to stop them in their tracks, knowing exactly how the end of that sentence goes and wanting to stop it pronto. The thought of staying in an apartment where Brittany and her fucking husband have been staying happily for almost a year without her, doesn't exactly strike her as appealing. Shocking, she knows. "I don't think that's a good idea."
She lifts her hand, signaling a taxi and Brittany fidgets uncomfortably, blinking like Santana just shouted at her. Stupid really, because the offer was kind of idiotic and Santana really doesn't know why on Earth the blonde thought she would ever stay with her when the only way she could get away in the first place after all the crap that happened, was to move thousands of miles away to another freaking country, but then again, she's always known Brittany's mind has worked a little differently than others.
Maybe there's some logic there that Santana can't see.
"Oh, okay." Brittany continues like a wounded puppy, but within a second she springs back, lifting her head high and feigning a smile she'll know Santana can see straight through. "Well, it was nice seeing you. I wasn't expecting you to be here tonight, or even in this country until the wedding day itself."
It's strange because there hasn't been a time in a good five or six years where they haven't known exactly what each other are doing at what specific time and where, but this, right here, proves how much they've grown apart. And Santana knows in some ways that was a dig at her. That was Brittany's way of being pissed that she didn't tell her she was coming back so early, but she won't rise to it. There won't be any shit here, and frankly, it's none of Brittany's concern what Santana does anymore.
"Well, I didn't have a number to get you on," she lifts her shoulders, knowing the weakness of that lie. Well, partial lie. She could've text Quinn and asked for the number, and the only reason she didn't have it anymore was because she couldn't use her American cell in England otherwise it would've cost far too much, and it got washed in the launderette anyway.
But still. Why should she have had to text Brittany?
"Well, now you do." Brittany tries to shove a piece of paper into Santana's hand and it's the first time they've touched since she's been back, sparking a reaction. She springs back like she's just walked into glass and blue eyes flash to her, wide and sad like a puppy's, but Santana regains herself quickly, shaking her head and looking at the hand hanging between them.
"There's no point in that, Britt," she replies, honestly, and the weight of the words do get down on her a bit but she doesn't show it.
The thought that after these two weeks, she's going to have to go back to London and pretend like she hadn't seen Brittany again will be difficult, but she knows she can do it. As long as she cuts the ties whilst she's here. As long as she doesn't take a piece of her back, Santana will get by. No matter what.
The cab pulls up behind her and Brittany pulls her hand back, smiling sadly but accepting it with a small nod, and Santana's grateful for the maturity they're both showing. There's no pushing or pulling, but they're both so aware of the situation they've put behind them and how much they could say to each other and want to say to each other, that it's almost tempting. All this playfulness and ignorance is good for now, but she knows should she stay any longer, it wouldn't stay intact.
But that's not what she's here for. That's why she needs to not let go of the ignorance and playfulness, because it's not going to burn any bridges. It'll only repair the ones that are broken.
So instead of saying anything further, Santana nods her head once at the blonde and turns, opening the cab door and lifting a leg to climb in. Though it's at the last second Brittany puts her hand over the tanned one resting against the edge, and Santana has to take a minute to recollect herself after freezing, knowing she can't always leap away like she's touched an open flame when Brittany touches her, but also knowing she can't get drunk off the tingling and effect Brittany obviously still has on her if the goosebumps are anything to go by.
"Santana–"
"Brittany," Santana sighs, looking back at her.
Nothing follows it, but her eyes speak volumes her mouth can't and she slides her hand out from beneath the blondes, letting the corner of her lip curve because they both know this isn't a thing that will continue. This ignorance has an expiration date, and by then, Santana will already be flying back to London. Just like it should be.
"I'll see you at the wedding," she continues, sliding in completely and shutting the door behind her.
The cab pulls away from the sidewalk, and Santana makes sure not to look back at the blonde, biting her lip and fiddling with her nails as they head off down the street and back toward Quinn and Puck's apartment.
/
No cliffhanger this time… So hope you guys aren't too pissed. But also hope you've enjoyed this, and feel free to leave feedback as you were lovely enough to give me near 100 last time!
