Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be [Interlude]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 19.1k
Notes: The feedback for the past couple of chapters have just been insane! And this chapter was unplanned, so do forgive me for it as it was highly requested and I felt like I needed to put a bit of Brittany into this somewhere. Enjoy! This thing was hella long to write!
/
Two weeks.
It's only two weeks until Quinn's wedding, and Brittany can't believe time has gone so fast.
Nine months ago, she got a call from Quinn asking if she could come over, and hoping that it might possibly be news about Santana, she went over straight away only to find a diamond ring on Quinn's finger, Puck grinning and both of them crying tears of joy. It was hardly a disappointment, but it did make her heart sink because she'd been waiting for month to hear anything about her… Well, Santana, who just up and disappeared, and honestly, she felt incomplete.
It was like someone had punched a hole through her heart when she found out, because it was one of those moments in her life when she realized just what she wanted, who she wanted, and how wrong she'd been. In some ways, she guesses it was karma coming back around again because she hadn't treated Santana the way she should've done. She shouldn't have put her as second choice because her heart didn't want that.
But she couldn't just leave Jason, not after they'd been together so long and for that she was wrong. There isn't a day she doesn't think about that, about what she should've done and honestly, she can't excuse herself. Even ten months on, there isn't a second she lives through that she doesn't regret her actions.
And even here, as she sits in her too large and too empty apartment, all alone, by the window, staring down at the city, all she can think about is the day Santana left.
/
Her head is all over the place.
She doesn't know what's going on or what Santana's saying. She feels betrayed, by Santana and Jason. The two people who she'd thought would never hurt her.
How could Jason cheat on her? How could Santana not tell her she knew?
Why does she feel so stupid all the God damn time?
She knows she's not the brightest crayon in the box, and sometimes her logic stretches far and confuses her, but she's not an idiot. She's not dumb, nor is she simple or anything else people have bullied her for over her lifetime; she has feelings and emotions and sometimes she thinks people take that for granted but they shouldn't. She's an adult.
So when Santana tells her she's always been there, knows everything about her and Jason's relationship, Brittany doesn't know what to do. She panics, knowing full well that Santana really does know but also not wanting to accept the fact that Santana would betray her trust like that, or that she herself has allowed it to get to this stage.
But seriously, how could Santana sleep with her knowing Jason fucked someone else? What was that for? Was it some type of fucked up revenge? Was that like a green light to Santana because since Jason could do it, so could Brittany? Seeing as she knew everything about their relationship, was it some sort of plan?
God. No. Santana wouldn't do that.
Brittany's head is just so full of everything she can't think straight and so after Santana goes on about just how deeply she knows about the ins and outs of Brittany's and Jason's relationship, and how oblivious Brittany's been completely oblivious to the pain and suffering she's put Santana through, Brittany recoils.
She sucks in her lips, lifting her shoulders and backing away. She can't believe she'd do this. She can't believe she'd hurt Santana like that, and it's only after she's began walking away whispering, "I've gotta go," that she realizes just how guilty she feels. How wrong she's been all along.
(It doesn't even register that she doesn't really give a crap about Jason.)
(But she doesn't notice that yet.)
/
The buzzer goes on her building and she peers over her shoulder toward the door, wondering who it is.
She lowers her cup to the ledge by the window and pushes back, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor and she shuffles over toward the door, pulling up her sweatpants up so they fall around her hips instead of down her ass. Taking a deep breath she pulls open the door and finds Quinn there, smiling with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of Chinese in the other.
"Girls night?" The hazel eyed blonde questions, already knowing the answer by the expression on her face.
Brittany can't but grin and roll her eyes, letting her best friend in.
/
There's nowhere to go.
Santana's at their apartment. She doesn't know nor does she care where Jason is. Puck and Quinn are probably comforting Santana and Brittany doesn't really have anyone else she trusts enough to go to.
She wanders the streets for a good few hours before someone stops her, about to ask for something when they notice the emptiness in her eyes, the paleness of her skin and the hollow expression on her face and tilt their head to the side. This is just a random person, no-one she knows; a porcelain looking man with perfect hair, wonderful lips and a soft kindness in his features, and the first and only thing he says is:
"You look like you need a mother's hug."
And well, Brittany doesn't need to think about anything else.
She just hails a cab, walking away from the man without anything more.
/
It's childish, but she doesn't care.
The last thing she really gives a damn about right now is how childish she looks, turning up to her mother's house on Long Island, head buried in her hands and tears streaming down her cheeks. She sobs her heart out, and falls into her mother's arms who says nothing, just pulls her inside and holds her close, whispering that everything will be okay into her ear.
In the back of her mind, she mentally thanks the strange man from earlier because yes, this is exactly what she needs.
/
Quinn makes herself comfortable, and Brittany heads into the kitchen to grab the glasses and cutlery.
Since Santana's been gone, there's been a strong bond between them. It's almost like they both managed to find balance in each other that they lost when she left. It's like they tied their weak limbs together to be stronger. Like in a three legged race. Strange analogy, she knows. But that's the only way to explain it.
She heads back into the living room, placing everything on the coffee table and Quinn begins handing out the food between them, and as lovely as this is, Brittany's not entirely sure what the purpose is. She knows Puck isn't out watching a game or drinking with his boys because they were texting earlier, and so she can't resist.
"What's with the girl's night?"
Hazel eyes flash to her but they're not caught off guard. "I just fancied it," she shrugs, getting back to the food. She hands Brittany some Chicken Lo Mein and Hoi Sin sauce and sits back again, tucking her legs beneath her. "I'm getting married in two weeks and we haven't had a girl's night in a while."
Brittany smiles acceptingly and nods, poking her fork around the noodles. She feels like there's something Quinn isn't telling her but she guesses she won't force her to.
"Wine?" Quinn asks a few seconds and blue eyes flash over to the window ledge where her cup of tea sits before going back to her friend. She shakes her head, politely declining the offer and slides her Chinese on to the table before heading over to it.
"I'll finish this and then I'll have some," she replies, looking over her shoulder and reaches for the mug.
Girls night will start after this.
/
Brittany's hands shake as she wraps them around her cup of tea, blowing off the steam steadily through lips pursed into an 'o'.
She's managed to calm down somehow. The tears stopped about an hour ago, and her mother hasn't actually asked anything about her sudden appearance. She's just made her a cup of tea and busied herself with the dirty dishes, waiting patiently for Brittany to explain, or not. Regardless of what she says, she knows her mom isn't going to judge her or kick her out. She'll just love her.
God, that's exactly what she needs right now.
"Mom," she croaks, deciding that now's the time to speak. Now she feels like she actually can.
Her mom turns her head so blue eyes lock on to her profile. "You ready to talk, baby?" She asks, her Texan twang coming through.
Brittany nods and her mom dries her hands, throwing the cloth over her shoulder before pulling a chair toward her daughter, her hands coming down on top of Brittany's, sliding around the cup, too. She smiles softly, the crinkles surrounding her fading blue eyes more obvious now than ever and Brittany frowns, swallowing thickly because she swears this woman in front of her looks older. When was the last time she even saw her?
"Come on then, darlin'," her mother starts, voice soft and clear. "Talk to your momma."
It brings everything back and tears immediately form in Brittany's eyes, blurring her vision. She manages to push it back for a good few seconds before she says, "It's Santana and Jason."
A knowing smile comes across her mom's face, and that's all it takes for Brittany to break down again.
/
She doesn't have a strange tea addiction.
It's just the only thing Santana left here when she departed was a bag of memorabilia and a packet of tea.
So when she drinks it, it feels like she's still with Santana little bit. The smell, the taste, everything just flows around the room and it makes her feel like she's not alone, because when she used to come home to a cold and grumpy Santana, this stupid tea was one of the only things that would cheer her up.
It's small, but it means a hell of a lot, and so she doesn't waste a single drop of it. She wasted too much of Santana, wasted too much time and threw her away too many times, and the only way she can build herself back to be a person who deserves Santana, she's starting with finishing every cup of tea she ever makes.
(It makes no sense to anyone but her.)
(She doesn't care.)
/
It all spills out.
The whole story–no hold backs, just pure truth–comes pouring out her mouth and Brittany's mom sits there, nodding and urging Brittany on with a stroke of her thumb against the back of her quivering hand when necessary. The tears continue until she thinks she'll never be able to cry again, her throat gets so scratchy she can almost barely speak, and her head is pounding with so many different thoughts and memories she fears it may just explode.
It goes on for hours, and hours, and by the time she finishes the very last sentence, Brittany's eyes are already closing and she's being pulled up and dragged through the house until her head hits something soft and sleep takes over.
/
It's dark when she wakes up and she rubs at her eyes, a little dazed and confused.
For a second she forgets where she is, and everything is okay. She just stares up at her childhood bedroom ceiling and feels this warmth summon in her chest, but the moment is fleeting because all the memories of the twisted situation going on in her life comes flooding back and suddenly she's fighting the lump in her throat and the heat prickling her eyelids.
The need to bypass these emotions sparks through her and she sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and standing up. Her hair's a mess, her make-up is dried and flaking at the corner of her eyes and she looks terrible, but it's nothing in comparison to what she's feeling inside and so she doesn't even try and change it, just changes into tracksuit bottoms and a baggy sweatshirt and heads downstairs to find her mom cooking at the stove.
"Mom?"
The older blonde turns around and smiles softly, revealing the eggs and bacon she's currently cooking. "I made you breakfast food, baby."
Brittany watches her mom dish it out on to a plate and there's an ache in her cheek as she tries to smile. There really is nothing like coming home, and her heart warms at the sight. "You didn't have to, momma," she replies and takes a seat in front of her dish, piled up with eggs and bacon. Her eyes flicker out the dark window and back again. "And thank you but, it's night time?"
"Breakfast food is your favorite and if it can cheer people up in the morning when they're grumpy and tired, it must have some time of pick-me-up in," her mom explains, putting the pan inside the sink and coming to join Brittany, hand resting on her forearm. "So eat up, I bet you're hungry with all that sleep."
Stomach rumbling, Brittany doesn't resist when her mom tells her to tuck in and she quickly makes a meal of her food. Eggs and bacon has been her favorite since she was seven years old and discovered despite bacon coming from pigs, it's quite possibly the best thing that's ever happened to her.
So she eats through the whole thing, and by the end, she's grinning like a little kid.
/
Quinn bugs her for days about the rehearsal dinner, asking her what she's going to wear and what time she's going to be there.
It's weird, but it's also Quinn and so the combination of the event and that woman makes sense. Ever since she and Puck announced their engagement, Quinn's been a little more… High maintenance, Brittany would say. She's been constantly calling. She's been wondering when she's going to pick up the shoes, and she's been texting her asking if it's still okay for Santana to come to the wedding.
Which of course it is.
Why wouldn't it be?
But anyway, she doesn't see Quinn for a good few days, but she gets texts and missed calls and even emails, and she just knows that Quinn's getting more and more anxious about the whole rehearsal dinner going right and so Quinn's probably trying to get some comfort from her. Of course, Brittany answers them but they're always along the same lines because she's kind of run out of things to say. Or rather, her mind is somewhere else.
Because the thing is…
Well, it's not exactly like–
No.
Okay, her mind is one hundred percent completely and totally on the fact that within a week she'll be breathing the same air as Santana and it's not like she's… Scared… of seeing Santana again on the wedding day… She's just…
Damn it.
Yes.
Yes, she is utterly terrified of seeing Santana again, and she just doesn't know how she's going to handle it.
Because is Santana going to even acknowledge her? If she were Santana she wouldn't. Well, she would because she is always nice to everyone, regardless of what they've done. Not that Santana nice to everyone but Santana is more cut-throat then Brittany. She was always better at keeping grudges which sometimes was good, but at this current point in time–or rather in a week–it'll a bad thing. The last thing Brittany wants to do is to cause any more tension, especially because its Quinn's wedding, and honestly, she's been dying to talk to Santana but since Puck and Quinn had their little talk with her all those months ago, Brittany just felt like she shouldn't.
She didn't and still doesn't want to do any more damage. Like damn, Santana moved out the country because enough damage was done and really, that says enough.
Still, it doesn't quell that burning urge to talk to Santana. It doesn't quell the burning urge to hear her voice, to touch her skin and inhale her scent just one more time. Even if it only for one day before she disappears again.
The worst part about all of this though is that before Santana left… Brittany didn't get the opportunity to explain herself or tell her anything and honestly, that's probably the one part that's screwing up Brittany's mind even more. If Santana had known everything… Brittany can't help but ask herself if Santana would've stayed, or if it would've changed her mind.
Though she supposes there's no point in thinking about it now. Santana did leave and Brittany made her.
The past is in the past.
She just has to let it go.
/
Flicking through photo after photo of her life before Santana, Brittany realizes that really, it wasn't much of a life at all.
She looks at herself when she was twenty, just a few months before she met Santana, with her blonde hair in braids, freckles dusting her face and a smile on her face… But there's something missing. Everything looks the same, in some sort of way, but only she can tell that there's just something that isn't there. Maybe something shorter than her and the best thing that ever happened to her.
She flicks to the next page, bringing up a picture of her and Santana; one of the first ones they ever took, and it's just so clear. She looks like a completely different person. Her hair is blonder, her skin has more color to it, and her grin is wider as she looks down at Santana. It's something she's always felt blind to, and she feels like a complete idiot for not seeing it sooner because really, it's been there all along.
There's a knock at her front door, but just like when she was a teenager she knows her mom will get it so she doesn't move, instead deciding to lose herself in the history that is her and Santana. She reads page over page, putting her head in her hand and shaking it because she knows now how much she fucked up. She knows that Santana's been there all along, right under her nose, but she's always been to damn ignorant and afraid to ruin what they had to do anything about it. Jason was clouding her mind and–
"There's my baby."
Every inch of her freezes. Her breathing stills, her back straightens and she swears her heart stops for a quick second. Slowly and carefully, she removes the album from her lap and places it on the bed in front of her and looks up, finding none other but the very man she was regretting inside her mind, standing there in front of her.
"Jason," she grits out, feeling nothing but displeasure at the sight of her fiancée.
He smirks at her, peers over his shoulder down the hallway once before sliding inside her bedroom, closing the door behind him. Annoyance and anger pulses through Brittany, but there's also a pinch of fear sprinkling itself through her veins and she's so shocked by his sudden appearance that she doesn't even register him coming to sit beside her on the bed until his breath is hitting her neck and his hands are holding her hair to the side, probably to press his lips against her skin.
"Hey, baby," he whispers.
Brittany holds back the shudder, instead letting her body react to him which ends up being in such a negative way that she recalls, just like she's walked into glass and jumps across the room and off the bed to face him there, a million thoughts buzzing through her brain. Her fists curl at her side and all she can think is, how can he come here and act like this? How dare he track her down, to her childhood home, and not even feel the slightest bit curious as to why she's here in the first place? How can he have the cheek to show up here and try to kiss her? All the mean while having slept with someone else?
God. She was so ignorant. So blissfully unaware of how much of a jackass this man is and has been.
He reaches out to her from the bed, just his arm raised and even that makes her turn her head and curl her lip in disgust. Ugh. Just the thought of him touching her makes her skin crawl.
(She completely forgets about how hurt she should be.)
(She instead thinks about Santana and how she made the wrong decision.)
"You need to leave, now," she states, her voice strangely calm. There's a hardness to it that only one person would be able to pick up on, and it's almost laughable when her fiancée plays the lost and confused puppy card. "Get out my house, Jason."
He furrows his brow, shakes his head and stands up, coming over to her without any extra care. He's not even noticing the anger radiating off her or the tone of her voice. Just the mere presence of him is irritating the hell out of Brittany and all she wants him to do is get the picture, get his stuff out her apartment, and get the hell out of her life. She really doesn't need him anymore.
"Don't be shy, baby girl," Jason continues, a smirk tugging at his lips. Brittany just holds her arms across her chest as tight as possible, tilting her head as she looks at him. "Little Jason's been missing you," he grabs his crotch lecherously and waggles his tongue at her.
And Brittany swears to God she almost throws up right then and there. There's nothing in this world that would get her to touch him, especially now she knows where he's been, or rather, who he's been in.
"Leave, Jason."
Apparently the request isn't clear enough. Apparently the anger in her eyes, her flared nostrils, her body language and the fact she's verbally telling him to fuck off without using those words, isn't clear enough, because he still reaches out to touch her when they're less than a meter apart. He still cups his hands like he's going to hold her shoulders like he always used to do before he kissed her and he's still got that twinkle in his eye that she knows is for sex.
Honestly? It really pisses her off.
It pisses her off more than knowing his dick has been wandering in some ten dollar whore. It pisses her off more than knowing her relationship with Santana is probably doomed because her mind and decisions were clouded by this asshole, and it pisses her off more than knowing the only thing that really means something to her probably doesn't think she gives a crap anymore because she ran away from it due to fear.
So when she explodes at him, it really shouldn't come as a surprise.
But because it's Brittany; because it's sweet, innocent, slightly slow, blonde, Brittany, it does.
Although really, he should've seen it coming.
"I know you cheated on me, Jason!" She screams, her face going as red as a tomato. Jason really does jump back this time, the whole put on lost, confused, puppy look now disappearing, being replaced by a genuinely shocked expression, mouth open wide and eyes bulging out his head. Like a deer caught in the headlights. "I know you cheated on me and I really don't get how you have the balls to come to my childhood home," she thrusts her fist toward him and he flinches. She almost smirks at the reaction. "And try and lie to my face."
Jason barely lets her get a breath before he's spluttering out a forced laugh and it just ignites the flame within her. "You're not talking sense, babe. I would never cheat on you."
"The fact that you're lying to me about lying to me is really not okay, Jason," she spits back, shaking her head. The urge to pace around the room is burning through her legs but she knows if she does that, he'll probably touch her to stop her and that just runs the risk of her slapping him. "But I've heard from someone I trust far more than you that you did, so just admit it and leave."
Something in her words sparks something in his expression. Something she says clearly gets to him because the expression on his face turns from defensive and shocked to hard and pissed off. His top lip begins rising, his teeth grinding together and his eyebrows knit together in the middle of his forehead. The corners of his jaw tighten and his nostrils flare and God, she has no idea what she's just said to piss him off this much but he's definitely feeling something she is.
Anger.
"Oh yeah?" He starts. "Did Santana tell you that?"
Brittany's mouth drops open to protest the way he mocks her best friends name but Jason cuts her off.
"Did the woman who's been insanely jealous of me and you for going on five years tell you that I'd cheated on you?" He curls his fists, cracking his knuckles one by one. "Did the woman who you left behind after choosing me tell you I'd taken my needs elsewhere?"
The way he talks about Santana really begins grinding on her, and she knows it's because he's trying to do that. He's trying to make Santana seems like a bad person. He's trying to twist it and use reverse psychology to make her see the situation through his eyes; try and make him a good guy.
But she won't buy it. She's been blind for so long that now her vision is all too clear.
"Did the woman who's obviously in love with you tell you that the man you're marrying slept with some random stripper?" He chortles, like it's the stupidest idea in the world. But it makes Brittany smile. His words make Brittany smile in the weirdest way possible because he doesn't even realize what he's just said.
"Because seriously, Brittany," he steps toward her and stares down at her, demeaning her with a single look but she just holds her head high because she isn't buying any of his bullshit. "You don't have to be a genius to work out that she's fucking lying. And I know you're not the brightest crayon in the box but you're not thatstupid."
Until now, Brittany never quite saw Jason for what he really was. Sure, she saw the charming smile, strong jaw and the feigned kindness, but now she can see it. Now she can see the reason why Jason was always polite to her, but rude to waiters and waitresses. She can see why he never offered money to those homeless people, instead sneering. She can see the hardness in his features when children accidentally ran into him when they had their weekly walks through the park.
She can see all the cruelty and meanness in him now, and Jesus, now she can see why Santana disliked the guy so much.
How could she have been so blind? How could she have been so damn stupid?
Jason, as a whole, is actually a horrible person. He's not the guy she met all those years ago with a soft smile and heart of gold. He's actually the complete opposite and she doesn't know how the hell she fell for it all.
Actually, in some ways, Brittany thinks she does know. She thinks she wasn't seeing the bad in Jason on purpose because it would've shown all the good in Santana and she wasn't prepared for that. She wasn't ready or willing to fall in love with Santana because she didn't want to risk everything. Santana was her best friend, something that would always be there and to include feelings into their relationship could've run the risk of screwing everything up, and she just couldn't take that.
What if it didn't work out?
What if she lost it all?
Who would she be then?
She can only imagine that the sun wouldn't shine and the world would stop turning. A world without Santana isn't one she wants to live in.
So Jason was an option. He made her happy. He did make her smile. He wasn't terrible to her, not back then, and he treated her right. He wasn't anything that is standing in front of her now, and it's pathetic to think she couldn't have been alone because she could have. She could've not got engaged to Jason. She could've broken up with him and kept Santana and her as friends, but honestly, she did love Jason. Maybe she wasn't in love with him, but she couldn't see that back then.
But she can now.
Right now, she doesn't feel anything but hatred toward this man, staring at her like he's trying to figure out her next move. But it's already on the tip of her tongue. He's already let the cat out the bag and as she thinks it over, she tilts her head back, shakes it and lets out this low laughter coming from the back of her throat, which he definitely isn't expecting.
"I never mentioned a stripper, Jason."
The look on his face is something she'll remember for years to come when grey and old Brittany is retelling this story to her friends at the nursing home in a game of 'who dated the biggest asshole.' His mouth drops open, his face spreading with shock and she sees the 'oh fuck' in his eyes barely even a second after he registers her words because yeah, even if she hadn't overheard Santana say it, there's a large chance he would've blurted it out anyway.
He never was good at keeping secrets.
"But yeah, actually," she starts again. "Santana did tell me."
Okay, maybe that's not the complete truth but it did come from Santana in some way or another. It's not like she's even angry at Santana for not telling her directly because she knows it was for all the right reasons. She knows Santana would never purposely hurt her like that, despite all the shit she's thrown at her and how she's treated her. Santana really does have a heart of gold, despite what people say.
Brittany takes a large step forward until she's in his personal space and narrows her eyes, leaning in. "She and Puck saw you at that strip club, coming out the back room playing with your zipper and honestly?" Her voice goes a little high. "I don't need to know the details because judging by your face, you really did cheat on me with her, and so I've heard enough."
Jason just stands there, mouth wide and eyes even wider, and Brittany knows there's not even in any point in giving him a speech, or yell at him because she just doesn't have the energy to, nor does she care enough. So she reaches into her jeans pocket, pulling out an engagement ring between her forefinger and thumb–she hasn't worn it in weeks–and drops it into his shirt pocket, moving backward a step.
"I'm not going to marry you Jason," she says, too softly. "So you need to get out my mom's house, you need to get your shit out of my apartment, and you need to get out my life," she finishes strongly, tilting her head to try and get him to understand. "Okay?"
It happens all too quickly.
Within two seconds, Jason goes from nothing to severely pissed off. He goes from a blank face to bright red, teeth bared and breathing rapid and only another second later he's lashing out. Brittany jumps back swiftly, narrowly avoiding his thrashing arms but he kicks out, his foot connecting with her bedside table and knocking it over. It crashes to the floor with a loud thud, and his hands reach for the pictures sitting on the shelves, the ones of Brittany and Santana flying across the room to smash against the wall, the glass littering all over the floor.
Then the next whack comes, and this time it's from Jason's fist plowing through the mirror on Brittany's childhood vanity table, the shards cutting his hands and knuckles and Brittany can't help it. Her heart's beating so fast, her body is shaking so hard that she just begins crying from the sheer volume of her ex-fiancée's actions. She's never seen him like this. She's never seen anyone like this; so out of control and it scares her.
It scares her so much that she doesn't even register the sound of her own voice calling for Jason to stop through the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, and she doesn't hear the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs until she whips her head around to find her mother standing at her bedroom door, grasping a baseball bat.
"Leave the house now, Jason!" Her mom yells, eyes burning with anger. She's holding the bat up by her ear, as if she's ready to swing and Brittany gravitates toward her, knowing it's the safest place to be. Jason spins around, fists curled and shoulders tensed up by his ears. He's not a huge, muscly man, but he looks big right now. "Leave or I'll call the police and someone will be in a cell tonight for grievous bodily harm with intent."
The look on her mom's face is something she's never witnessed, and it's almost too fascinating to know the woman that raised her, that loves her unconditionally, and that has always protected her, would go to this extreme to continue that. Brittany doesn't think she's ever been more proud of her or loved her mother as much as she does now.
"I haven't touched her," Jason hisses, eyes darting between the two blonde women. He smirks. "So I won't be in a cell."
Brittany's mom creeps forward, dipping her head and narrowing her eyes. "Who said it was you that would be there?" She whispers.
And he wasn't expecting that.
Jason glances between them, clearly trying to figure out what to do but Brittany knows there's nothing more he can do. His upper lip curls once more, but he gives up without another word, instead spitting on the carpet, wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve, smearing a little blood on his cheek and storms past the two women, not even attempting to keep his steps quiet as he hammers down the stairs.
Her mother follows him down, yelling expletives as she slams the door, and Brittany collapses on to the floor amongst shattered glass and wood splinters.
/
Brittany sits on the bed, this time grasping a broken picture of her and Santana, taken a few years back. There's still tears in her eyes, but now it's not because of fear. It's because of regret.
And her mother sees it immediately.
She comes to sit down beside her, placing her hand carefully on her lower back and leaning in. "You want to be with her, right?"
Brittany doesn't move, but she also doesn't need to reply for her mom to know what the answer is, so she just nods instead.
"So why don't you go and be with her then?" Her mom questions, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "She loves you, Brittany. She'll forgive you. People do stupid things when they're hurt and scared, and Santana knows you better than anyone ever has and ever will," she says and Brittany's chest tightens at the thought. "She knows you would never have done any of this if you didn't think it was for the best."
"But mom," blue eyes flicker toward a paler shade. "What if I've messed it up too much?"
All she's been thinking about since everything fell apart was this. What if it's gone too far? What if she's not enough? What if she's caused irreversible damage? What if Santana can't forgive her this time? It's something that honestly terrifies and will continue because if she were Santana, she wouldn't forgive her. It's not even like she's playing the poor puppy card; she honest to God wouldn't forgive her.
"Why would she forgive me though?" She asks, mostly to herself but out loud so her mom knows her thoughts. Her thumbs stroke over the cracked glass, over Santana's face and a tear drops on to the picture. Brittany didn't even realize she was still crying. "Time after time, I chose someone else? Time after time, I put her second and made her think I didn't love her?"
A concerned shade comes over Brittany's moms face. "But you do," she shrugs. "You do love her, and it doesn't matter about the past because you're not with Jason. Sure, you broke up with him after finding out he cheated, but honestly, honey, do you want to know the first thing I thought when you rang me and told me he'd proposed?"
Brittany cocks her head to the side. "What?"
"It wouldn't happen."
She furrows her brow, confused. "You didn't think the wedding would happen?"
Her mom shakes her head. "No. I didn't actually think it would get this far." She offers a sad smile, but her face lights up as she continues with, "Which was why I was prepared with a baseball bat."
It gets a laugh out of Brittany, who wipes away the corners of her eyes with her sleeve and sniffs, the tears still coming, but not as rapidly. "How'd you know that'd get him out?"
"I grew up in Nebraska," her mom shrugs like it's nothing. Brittany can't help but chuckle through the tears, suddenly glad for Jason coming here because had she been on her own, she wouldn't have had a baseball bat wielding mother to protect her. "It's how we used to keep the other girls away from our boyfriends," she winks.
Brittany chuckles again, sniffling harder and she lets her mom reach out to wipe the tears away, just like she used to do when she was a child and had fallen off her bike. She's making up for the boo-boo, and kissing it better, and Brittany feels just a little better all because of this woman. So she sucks in a deep shaky breath and her mom pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, getting a clearer look at her slightly red face and bloodshot eyes.
"Go be with her, baby," her mom purrs. "You've got to try otherwise you'll regret it forever. Santana loves you so much she can't handle it, and neither of you know what you want, apart from each other. You're both each other's sure thing, and that doesn't happen often."
Biting her lip, Brittany debates it. On one hand, what her mother is saying is true. There's nothing in this world she's surer of than her love for Santana. There's nothing in this world she's surer of than the fact that she and Santana are meant to be together and that regardless of what happens between them, they'll find their way back to each other. Nothing will ever change that.
But on the other hand, she's terrified that maybe this time it's gone too far. Nothing has broken them before. Nothing has been able to pull them apart, but maybe this is that one thing. Maybe this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. And if that's the end, what is she to do? She can't imagine a world where Santana isn't there, where Santana isn't just a text away or a world where Brittany can't run to her house in the middle of the night just to hear her voice, to smell her skin, to see her face.
She can't imagine being able to live in a world where that doesn't exist.
Fear has held her back before, though. Fear is the reason she's in this position in the first place and fuck, her heart begins to race and mind begins to boggle with millions and millions of thoughts as she realizes she has to change something. To get out of this, to get something she's never had, she's got to do something she's never done before.
Otherwise the world may stop turning, the sun may stop shining and the birds will stop singing.
And she just can't do that.
"I've got to try," she breathes out, her thoughts once again coming out loud. Her hand drops the broken picture frame to the bed and move to grip the side of the comforter. She glances at her mom. "I need to go."
A proud grin tugs at Brittany's moms lips and she nods her head. "So go," she juts her head toward the door.
There's not a seconds hesitation before Brittany's shooting up from the bed, hopping over the broken furniture in her old bedroom and skipping down the stairs, two at a time. But just as she pushes against the screen door, ready to make a break for her car, a thought pops into her head and she freezes, suddenly a whole new bunch of reasons to panic galloping into her brain.
"What about the wedding?" She yells back up the stairs, to the woman now standing at the top of them.
Brittany's mom swings her baseball bat around behind her shoulder and winks. "I've got it sorted."
It's slightly threatening, but mildly amusing and Brittany rolls her eyes before sprinting out the door, ready to go and get her girl.
/
Of course, Quinn asks Brittany and a few other friends to come to the hotel a little earlier and help set up for the big dress rehearsal. There's people at the establishment to do it, but not people who know how Quinn wants it done, and so Brittany feels like it's best to just go with the flow and help her friend in whichever way possible. Plus considering how crazy Quinn went when she and Puck were talking about it and realized how much crap they had to do, Brittany thought it be best to suck it up, call in to work and ask her boss to have the day off.
Which is why she's here, in ripped jeans and a baggy jumper, hair up in a bun, lining up the champagne bottles next to the glasses with just the right amount of centimeters between them, whilst Puck dallies around telling the waiters the circulation in which they need to walk around the room once all the guests in here–yes, Quinn is that anal–and the other friends moving the chairs to all corresponding to Quinn's drawn out and very specific diagram to ensure everyone can hear her when she makes a speech.
It's going to be a long night.
Now, Brittany's not generally a suspicious person, but she's starting to get more and more on edge with how Quinn keeps taking these phone calls that are apparently just 'the caterers' and keeps checking her cell phone whenever she thinks Brittany can't see. But whatever. She guesses she can't really question the slightly uptight bride-to-be on her dress rehearsal dinner night. Not unless she wants to lose an arm or something.
But after lining up a good twenty bottles of champagne, and Quinn's standing less than a meter away, texting on her phone, quite obviously… Brittany decides she's just going to say something. She can't help it.
"You're texting a lot," she mutters, like it's a completely offhand comment that she hasn't just spent the past hour and a half thinking about.
Quinn whips her head up, eyes wide but shakes her head. Way to play it cool. "Just a few friends asking for directions."
Brittany's blonde, but she isn't stupid. Contrary to popular opinion.
"They don't know where the Waldorf Astoria is?"
Quinn's mouth drops open, ready to make something up to defend herself but Puck slides in.
"Baby," he whispers to his fiancée, hand pressed to her back. "The event organizer wants to speak with you quickly about a few of your… demands."
All of a sudden, their conversation goes out the window and Quinn's back to being a little crazy and huffs out loudly before marching on over to the guy in the suit in the corner, holding a clipboard.
Brittany just stares at her, trying to figure out why her friend's being so mysterious before she busies herself with the champagne once more.
/
The taxi gets stuck behind traffic, and Brittany fidgets in the back seat, biting her lip and picking at her nails. She needs to get to Santana. She needs to explain, to tell her she loves her and beg for her forgiveness. It doesn't necessarily mean that Santana will forgive her, but she knows she has to risk it because it feels like her chest is about to explode with a concoction of emotions; fear, love, affection, guilt.
And she just knows that if she doesn't say anything, if she doesn't try, she'll only spend the rest of her life regretting it.
"How long do you think we'll be sat in this for?" She asks impatiently, unable to help the tap of her foot against the rubber mat.
The taxi driver looks over his shoulder and shakes his head, his Brooklyn accent thick as he speaks. "Maybe twenty minutes. Hard to say in rush hour, sweet cheeks."
The answer just isn't enough for Brittany, and she looks out the window at the flickering lights across the street, knowing she can't wait in here much longer. It's not like there's a time limit but she's already left it too late. She's already wasted too much time screwing about, not making a quick enough decision on her feelings and playing with Santana's heart and she just doesn't want to do it anymore. She wants to apologize and beg for forgiveness and spend the rest of her life making up for it.
Which is why the next thing she finds herself doing is opening the door to the taxi swiftly, slamming it shut with her foot and throwing a twenty dollar bill through the window to the perplexed taxi driver who's staring at her with wide eyes. Then she's bolting down the sidewalk, jumping out the way of the pedestrians swearing at her and looking entirely shocked at the blonde speeding past her.
She has to get to her.
She has to let her know.
/
Her legs burn and calves ache. There's tears in her eyes, sliding down the corner of her face because the emotions are too much, and there's blood rushing to her head. Her vision's a little blurry and her breathing is short but rapid, and she's so glad for joining the track team back in high school because she's had to run at least fifteen blocks and she's not even there yet.
But she just can't find it in herself to care.
It means nothing if this all fails. It means nothing if she's screwed up so much that nothing will come of her efforts and she knows she sounds selfish. She knows how blind she's been and no-one could possibly hate her more than she hates herself right now, but she's just hoping and praying that Santana will give her another chance.
If only she could get to her faster.
But just as Brittany's just about to round the corner to the street where she and Santana live, just as she's about to get to her final destination, she runs full force into someone, completely knocking the wind out of herself. Strong hands grab her biceps and she's about to push out the grip, slap whoever it is away, to get to where she wants to be when she looks up to find familiar eyes staring down at her.
"Puckerman," she pants, almost unable to speak at all.
Puck's eyebrows are furrowed, his face pasted with concern and worry and it's the last straw. Brittany, exhausted from the run and adrenaline, just bursts into tears because it all feels like it's too much. Walking away from Santana when she knew she shouldn't have. Jason coming over to her mom's house, confronting him and breaking up with him once and for all. Running all the way here with her mind going wild and knowing this could be it, just gets too much for her and it's only seconds after the tears starting coming that Puck pulls her to the side, into a small alley and wraps his arms around her in a tight hold.
"Brittany," he whispers into her hair, pressing his cheek into the words afterward. "Brittany, it's okay. It's okay."
They're only words to calm her. She knows it's not all okay. She knows she's fucked up.
"Brittany, just breathe," he tries again. "I'm here, it's okay."
But she just continues sobbing her heart out, her body weak and falling into him further, until she feels like she could fall asleep and never wake up.
/
Somehow he manages to drag her to the closest coffee shop.
He sits her down whilst he gets her a coffee and brings it back to the table, setting it carefully in front of her as he eyes her up, lowering himself to the seat opposite her. Brittany just knows exactly how he's looking at her and what he's thinking but she can't be bothered to talk about it. She really shouldn't be here at all. She should be at Santana's feet, on her knees, but somehow he convinced her to calm down with a coffee and so here she is, wrapping her hands around the warm mug and blowing the steam off the top of it through pursed lips.
"Have you spoken to her?"
Brittany's eyes flick up, but she just shakes her head.
Puck groans, dropping his head into his hands and resting his elbows in his knees. "I've been trying to get through to her all day," he mumbles, looking up to her. "I hoped she'd got in touch with you."
Slight panic sets in and she freezes, all these thoughts about Santana disappearing running through her mind. She's only just managed to get her heart back to a normal rate and now it's going again, hammering against her rib cage and she's flinching as she drops the mug on to the coffee table loudly, spilling it everywhere and standing up before she's even told herself to. The need to see Santana burns through her muscles, trickles through her veins and she's halfway out the door before Puck grabs her again and spins her around.
"Where are you going?"
Wide eyed, she shrugs him off a little hard. "I have to see her."
"Don't rush into it, Brittany," he half-yells, eyes flitting around the room when some people turn around. He takes a step closer and reaches for her slowly, like he's approaching prey, waiting for it to bolt again, and when his fingers touch her skin, they slowly wrap around her wrist like he's trying to secretly tie his body around her, acting like an anchor. "Please… Just–Just come back and talk to Quinn." He swallows thickly, eyes pleading. "You don't know what you're going to say to… her… So maybe think about it?"
It's not a good idea. Seeing Quinn will probably result in Quinn yelling at Brittany but maybe thinking about it, is a good idea. Brittany has no idea what she would say should she get to the apartment and see Santana, and she only knows what she doesn't want to happen. Only the moment can tell, she guesses, but she should calm down, clear her mind a bit and talk to her friends. Especially when one of them is Quinn because there's going to be nothing but honesty there.
So, slightly reluctantly, she accepts.
"Okay."
Puck lifts his eyebrow. "Okay?"
Brittany nods and he lets go. "Okay."
He steps in front of her and opens the café door, but his hand never leaves the space it hovers over behind her back as they walk to his and Quinn's place, fearing she'll run away.
/
She doesn't run away.
In fact, she gets all the way to Quinn and Puck's apartment before she realizes she should've tried to make a break for it because she knows there's someone waiting inside that won't be too happy with her. Then there will be two when she joins in. She's not exactly happy with herself at the point in time either.
Puck slides his key into the lock and pushes it open, warily peering over his shoulder to make sure Brittany's still standing there.
"Puck," Brittany decides to interrupt, whispering quietly. She picks at her nails nervously and narrows her eyes as her friend turns around. "You sure Quinn's gonna be okay with me being here?"
He just lifts an eyebrow. "Quinn's your friend, too."
"I know… But I haven't exactly done things I'm proud of."
He shakes his head and pushes the door open, but just as Brittany follows him, she feels a pair of hostile hazel eyes glaring at her from across the room, and she knows there isn't going to be any comforting here. Still, she walks inside, keeping her hand hung in shame and wets her lips, ready for Quinn who gets up from the sofa and comes over to her.
"Where is she?"
Brittany looks up, only to find Quinn not even acknowledging her existence and staring over her shoulder at Puck.
"I don't know," Puck answers, lifting his shoulder. "I was heading over when I ran into this one."
He nudges Brittany forward but Quinn just lets her eyes flicker to her in a cold stare before going back. "Well then you need to go back."
Puck tilts his head to the side like he's trying to get Quinn to sympathize but Quinn isn't having it. It's not like it's not understandable, but Quinn's standing directly in front of Brittany with her arms crossed, shoulders squared, lips pursed and eyebrows lifted near her hairline, not even looking at her and really, it's making her feel worse. Her mom always used to say disappointment was worse than anger, and right now, with Quinn clearly unimpressed and disappointed in her, she can see why.
"Or maybe I should go."
Brittany's eyes widen and she meets Quinn's gaze. She doesn't want Quinn to go. Quinn is honest and Quinn will tell Santana to stay away from Brittany.
"No, Quinn," she furrows her brow, shakes her head. "I need to go."
The other blonde dips her head. "What? So you can hurt her even more?" She asks, spite in her tone. Brittany's mouth drops open and hurt shoots through her, and she whimpers a little but bites her lip. Quinn rolls her eyes when Puck coughs and she softens a little, the hostility seeping from her body language. "I didn't mean that," she says and steps closer, now whispering. "It's just both you and I both know she won't listen to you if you go."
It's true. Brittany knows that. Santana probably wouldn't even open the door if she heard her voice on the other side.
"Fuck this, I'm going," Puck announces and within a second he's storming out through the door again, flicking the lapels up on his jacket as he disappears down the hallway.
Brittany whips her head around, shocked by the sudden disappearance of her friend and panic sets in. What is Puck going to say? What will he do? She knows that he's always been tough with Santana and he won't hold back, but not in the way Quinn would. If anything, Quinn would probably be better to go because in the past, Puck has had a tendency to say the wrong thing or turn the blame around. If anything, Puck might make it worse and before she knows it, she's clutching at her chest, panting heavily until her blonde friend is forced to come and calm her down.
"Britt, calm down," she says, reluctantly putting her hand on her shoulder. She squeezes gently, causing blue eyes to flick up. "He doesn't know what he's doing, so I'm going with him."
Brittany nods, agreeing completely but her mouth is so dry she can't speak.
"You have to stay here, though," she entreats. "You can't come with us because if anyone can speak sense into Santana, it's us." Her eyebrows furrow with concern and jaw clenches like she's holding something back. "I don't want it to get worse."
That really means, 'you're going to make it worse if you come', and Brittany knows that.
So she nods at the half smile Quinn offers, sits on the sofa and pulls her knees up to her chest as Quinn follows Puck out the door a few minutes later.
/
Quinn and Puck's apartment building is a busy place, filled with families and couples. So Brittany's used to hearing quickened, heavy footsteps due to parents chasing their children, or flirtatious newlyweds giggling and flirting as they climb the staircase because she's spent a lot of time here over the years. But she is surprised when instead of those footsteps fading, they get louder and louder. And she's even more surprised when Quinn comes bursting through the door, hair sticking up, eyes wide and wild and nostrils flaring.
So she jumps up, hands braced in front of her and heart racing a little faster than before because Quinn coming back to her own apartment isn't worrying, but the look on her face definitely is.
"What's wrong?"
As if Quinn didn't notice her before, her head whips around, eyes flashing to Brittany in a glare. "You fucked her up, you know that, right?"
Brittany gulps, blinking because yeah, she did know that, but the reminder hurts just as much as knowing she actually did it. The lack of visual reaction must anger Quinn too, because the next thing she knows, Quinn's marching up to her, face to face, noses almost touching and breathing heavy against her face. And she's never found Quinn menacing before because she's smaller than her, she looks like a second grade teacher and she wears freaking floral dresses, but right now, nostrils flared, forehead wrinkled with fury and eyes squinted, Quinn could probably scare the Devil himself away.
"You played with her heart time after time and now she's fucked up," Quinn spits, no sympathy in her tone at all. She narrows her eyes further, huffs out a long exhale and shakes her head, scrunching her face like it'll make the anger minimize. Brittany doesn't realize she's holding her breath until her friend takes a slight step away. "And now she's pushing everyone that loves her away, all because you," she pokes Brittany in the chest a little harder than necessary, causing her to squint. "Couldn't make your God damn mind up, Brittany."
Brittany's eyes sting as they fill with tears, but there's no point in fighting it. She can't even bring herself to defend her actions because there is no defense. What's done is done and she's going to have to live with herself. There won't be a day that she won't hate herself for it, and she doesn't even really need to ask Quinn how it went because the sudden burst of emotion and anger is enough of an explanation.
So instead, she tilts her head down and Quinn lets out a heavy but short breath of frustration before storming off, just at the same time as the tears start pouring and at the same time Puck walks back into the apartment. She looks up just in time to see Quinn vanishing down the hallway and Brittany feels her vision blur and balance waver, everything all of a sudden far too much to handle. It's like the pieces are just chipping away and now she's bare and shivering and she's stumbling back toward the sofa before her mind even makes the decision.
"I can't," she mutters to herself, shaking her head. The teardrops stain her clothing as they fall and her butt hits the sofa just as Puck grabs her arm to steady her. "I'm sorry, I just–I can't, Puck. I've fucked everything up," she sobs dropping her head into her hands.
The pain is too much, shooting through her chest and consuming her every being. It feels like someone's punching holes into her heart over and over again, and it only makes her body wrack more as she cries and cries. Even when Puck sits next to her and pulls her into his chest, she doesn't stop crying.
She feels like she'll never be able to stop.
/
It does stop.
Eventually, after a good hour, the tears come to an end and Brittany feels the fatigue come over her. The apartment is still dark, Quinn still hasn't come out from her room or if she has, Brittany hasn't noticed, and Puck's still clutching to her like it's the last thing he'll ever do. And it's strange because before now, Brittany never would've considered Puck a close friend of hers.
Before now, she'd never really thought about him than anything but one of her best friend's partners. But now, grasping on to the lapels of his jacket, her tears soaking his cashmere jumper and his arms still wrapped around her in the same way they were an hour ago, he's the closest thing she has to a friend. He's the closest thing she's got to comfort and it's almost embarrassing when she pulls away with swollen eyes, tear-stained cheeks and stares up at him, wondering if things will ever be the same again.
He just offers her a light-tipped smile, pushing her hair back from her face in a soft but friendly way. "Quinn's just angry."
It's not quite what was going through her mind, but she's not even entirely sure she knows what actually is anymore. "I know," she whispers, her voice hoarse and throat aching. "But I know I fucked it up," she gulps, begging herself not to cry again. Her body can't take it. "I know I fucked Santana up, fucked us up, and I–I just wish that…" The breath she takes makes her entire body hurt. "I just wish I could take it back," she whispers.
"But you've got to give Santana time, Brittany," he replies, and she knows it's true.
She knows more than anyone how true it is. She knows Santana better than anyone, or rather… She thought she did. It's just the thought of having to not see Santana, having to give her space… No matter how beneficial it may be, just pains her to her very core. The only thing she wants to do is see her, to hold her, to apologize and then spend the rest of her life trying to make up for everything she's done because it's been too long already. She just wants the pain to go away, and it's naïve and stupid to think seeing Santana and saying sorry would instantly make everything feel better, and she doesn't believe it would.
It's just that it's this innate craving, built into her DNA, into every cell in her entire body, that makes her want to give Santana whatever she wants, and to never do her wrong anymore. It's so strong that actually, sometimes she honestly believes she was born to make her happy.
"Quinn doesn't mean to be a bitch," Puck continues, and Brittany stares up at him, knowing that's not true. "She's just looking out for her friend."
There must have been something though. There must have been something to wind Quinn up that much.
"What did Santana say?"
Puck's eyes immediately drop, his expression going with it. He shakes his head. "You don't want to know," he shrugs. "But she brought up some shit in the past to hurt Quinn–to hurt me–and it worked."
Brittany begins crying again, knowing she's caused this. Santana only lashes out because she's hurt. It's her defense mechanism and just when Brittany thought she couldn't hate herself anymore, she realizes there's a thousand things she's done and hasn't considered that prove that different. Like hell, she doesn't know how Puck is still sitting here with her considering the purpose for Santana
"But that's done now," he shrugs and rubs his hand up her arm, pulling her back into his chest. "And despite Quinn being pissed off and Santana talking shit to hurt us because of you," Brittany winces. "We wouldn't want you on your own this late, so you can stay here tonight." She sobs a little harder, knowing she doesn't deserve this. But he pulls back and twists her until he can look down into her eyes and she holds her breath. The look of seriousness on his face is one she's never seen before. "But you need to figure out what's going on, and what you're going to do because this can't last too much longer, Brittany."
She swallows hard, wishing the lump in her throat away. "I know."
"She's only going to hurt herself more if you don't sort this out," Puck continues and nods his head, leaning in to press a platonic kiss to her forehead before sliding out from beneath her. "So get some sleep, and in the morning, you can start thinking on it."
Brittany nods, knowing she's going to have to sort her head out and decide what she's going to do, and yeah, it scares her, but she knows she has to do it. Five years is far too long to avoid something, and so now the time has come. "Okay," she accepts and barely smiles, not having enough strength to summon the honest grateful one she wants to show. "Thank you, Puckerman. You're doing far too much for me."
Puck looks at the floor, rubs the back of his neck and glances back at her. "It's not just for you," he speaks with a smile that has a double meaning. "Night, Brittany."
"Night Puck," she whispers and pulls the blanket out from beneath the sofa, settling in for a restless night's sleep.
/
It's the day of the dress rehearsal, and Brittany's going to get her dress from the dry cleaners.
She's on her way there, coffee in hand, sunglasses atop of her head and a big baggy yet warm sweatshirt covering her body as there's a slight chill in the air, when her phone rings. Luckily she chose to forgo the purse today and slips it out her back pocket, eying the screen carefully when it says Quinn's name, and picks up. She's sure the hour long conversation they had on the phone earlier was enough, but whatever. Quinn's more than likely to be on edge as her entire family is going to be in the same room tonight and that hasn't happened for a good six years after the Aunt Lucy versus Uncle Peter screaming match happened over in Chicago, but that won't be mentioned today.
"Hello?"
"Brittany?" Quinn says and Brittany pulls her phone away from her ear and looks down at herself. Yup, that's still her.
"As far as I'm aware, that's still me," she chirps.
"Shit, I called the wrong person," Quinn mutters and Brittany chuckles. "But while you're on the phone, I was going to ask… What time will you be there tonight?"
Brittany furrows her brow. "Well, I was going to come with you guys and greet everyone, or just to hang around if help is needed."
"Okay… That's fine."
The way she says it makes Brittany suspicious. Not for any particular reason, but Quinn's just acting weird today. "Are you sure? I mean, I can get the guest list and tick people off if you want, just so you know–"
"NO!" Quinn yelps and Brittany, shocked by the volume and response from her friend, quite literally jumps and knocks into someone, mumbling apologies repeatedly until the person walks off in a huff. "I mean… Don't worry about the guest list. Puck has that covered."
Brittany approaches the dry cleaners and pauses outside, seeing the queue of people inside and deciding they could probably do without hearing her and Quinn's conversation. She tucks her free hand beneath her armpit and cocks her hip out, weight falling on to her left leg. "Are you okay, Quinn?" She asks, chewing her lip. "You're acting strange."
There's something strange going on, and she's not stupid, despite popular opinion. It's been happening for a couple of weeks now and she's fed up of it. It can't even be blamed on the dress rehearsal or wedding approaching because it's not like Quinn's scared or freaking out, she's generally showing unusual behavior and Brittany can put up with it, but not when she has this tugging in the pit of her stomach and this itch in the back of her skull that makes her think it's to do with her.
"No, I'm fine. Honestly, I'm just nervous," she responds a bit too rapidly. "Nothing to do with you whatsoever."
In the background, she hears Puck's voice. "Hey, babe, did you ask what time she's coming? I'll go out to get her just in case she's nervous to see–"
There's a slightly muffling and then vaguely, Brittany hears Quinn again. "It's Brittany, I called the wrong person."
Brittany doesn't know if she's supposed to be hearing this, but judging by the lack of clarity in Quinn's voice–possibly due to the hand covering the phone–she's guessing she isn't. Still, she stays quiet until Quinn's uttering for Puck to go away and go back to scratching his back with a clothes hangar, before she speaks again.
"Are you sure everything's okay?"
Quinn's voice is too high as she responds. "Yeah, definitely. We'll see you later. Bye!"
The line goes dead and Brittany stares at her phone for a good two minutes, wondering what the hell is going on before she heads inside and joins the queue.
/
The sleep doesn't come easy, and even when it does, it only lasts half an hour.
She gets up off the couch barely an hour after getting on to it and wanders around the apartment, and there's only so many pictures and personals she can browse through before she feels like she's going out of her mind. She stares into the darkness of the apartment and thinks about where she can go, what she can do. There must be something she can do to speed up this thing going on with her and Santana, or something she can do to make it up to her.
Sitting in this place, just thinking about it isn't helping; if anything it's doing the complete opposite and so she shrugs a coat on, puts on her boots and decides a walk will do her good. She leaves a note on the fridge just in case Puck or Quinn come out, and heads out the apartment, pocketing the spare key from the bowl on the side table next to the door.
The wind is bitter and cold, spiking her cheeks and she tucks her chin into the lapels of her coat to try and keep warm. The streets are near to empty, even though she's sure it isn't that late, but still she wanders and wanders until she can't feel her toes and her hands are barely moving.
A payphone catches her eye, and she decides to duck in there to get out the wind while she gets her head in gear.
There's no way that wandering the streets in the middle of New York City, with no idea where she's going is a good thing. There's no way that all this overthinking will help her do anything and there's no way that the lack of sleep will contribute to good decisions. If anything she needs to head to a late night pharmacy, pick up some sleeping pills and head back to the cold sofa at Puck and Quinn's.
Or maybe…
Maybe she should call Santana.
Maybe if she's calling from a payphone, too, Santana might pick up and might talk to her. Maybe if she hears her voice it might spark an idea, it might switch on a light bulb, and maybe it'll give her the final push.
After reaching into her pocket, she finds a few quarters and puts it in the slot, quickly dialing and tapping her foot impatiently. The line rings over and over and her heart begins racing the longer and longer it goes on but when the answer phone kicks in, a robotic woman telling her to leave a message, disappointment and sadness washes through Brittany like a wave crashing into a cliff. Her shoulders deflate and after her very last quarter, when the line rings out again, she slams the phone down back into its holder and begins sobbing, resting her forehead against her forearm.
It's supposed to be her wedding day. It's supposed to be the day she's been dreaming about since she was a kid, putting napkins on her head and pretending it was her vale whilst humming a badly tuned version of Here Comes the Bride.
But no. Instead, she's standing in a phone box, in the snow, knowing she committed to the wrong person and promised the wrong person she would marry them, not knowing what she's going to do from here on.
This is so screwed up.
Tucking her hands into her pockets, she decides to get out of there and she's two steps away from the phone box when her fingertips bump against something. She pulls it out, completely surprised to find her cell phone there and blinks twice, staring at the thing for about three whole seconds before she's dialing Santana's number again, trying to convince herself that the only reason Santana didn't pick up was because it would've been an unknown number from the phone box and she never picks up those numbers.
But when she doesn't pick up for what feels like the millionth attempt, all hope fails. Brittany's heart sinks for the sixth time in the space of five minutes and she sucks in the tears, along with a shaky breath and pockets it again, tilting her head back to look at the sky as if there's some sort map to point her in the direction of Santana.
All she sees are snowflakes coming down, and she shuts her eyes against them, her mind racing and hands shivering. It's so darn cold and she's just standing here, and freezing her ass off. When it used to get this cold, she and Santana used to–
Her eyes snap open as a place springs to mind, and she laughs to herself. Why didn't she think of it before?
/
The wind is only getting colder, spiking against her cheeks harder.
Though it's not long before she approaches her destination and carefully pushes open the small café door, stepping inside, her eyes immediately darting around. She traces over the red velvet chairs and few coffee mugs still sitting on a recently vacated table, and tries not to cling on to the desperate hope blossoming inside her chest that soon she'll come across caramel skin and dark brown eyes that know her inside and out. But the more she looks, the more the seconds tick by, the more Brittany realizes that Santana's not here, and that the hope inside of her needs to die because it doesn't seem likely that tonight will change into something positive.
After receiving a slightly stiff smile from the barista who's clearly wondering what the hell Brittany's doing just standing in the doorway staring at nothing in particular, Brittany sighs and moves toward the corner seat by the window, slumping down on to it whilst her fingers rub at her temple.
Where the hell could Santana be? Why would she just disappear? Surely, in the snow and in the cold, Santana wouldn't want to be wandering but at the same time, she wouldn't want to be anywhere she's too familiar with because it would remind her of everything.
So no to their apartment.
No to Quinn and Puck's.
No to her local bar.
Brittany lets her head fall back and groans loudly, frustration pulsing through her. Her eyes lock on the ceiling and she kicks her feet out, letting some of the stress out but it's at the same moment that she feels something beneath her thigh and wiggles, scrunching her face up as she reaches beneath herself, grabbing something soft and pulling it out. Her eyes narrow down at the object until they focus enough to find that it's a black glove, just a single one. She tilts her head to the side, wondering who could've possibly lost it, and where the other one is at the same time her ears tune into the song playing in the store overhead. And her heart damn near stops as the lyrics flow through the room, and she looks at this black glove, wondering if this is some strange sort of sign because it reminds her of something.
So take my hand, and take my whole life, too…
It takes her back to the first time Brittany heard this song. On a night where she should've been wearing gloves.
It brings this soft smile to her face and she lets herself feel for a moment. Let's her close her eyes, hold the glove close and think of Santana and where she could be, and their past and that night. She lets herself think about the smell of creamy coffee and the chill of ice beneath her. She lets herself think about the feel of Santana's lips, pressed against hers for the first time. She lets herself think about the way her whole body feels like it's on fire when Santana's skin touches her and how all of this thinking is just a waste of time.
Because she needs to find her, and she needs to find her now.
And barely two or three beats of her heart later, she knows exactly where Santana is and she's leaving the coffee shop, glove in hand.
/
The ice rink is exactly as she remembers it.
Except now there's couples and individuals skating around the rink instead of being empty, and there isn't that feeling in her chest that she had before. Everything really does look the same; there's still that small coffee cart and the wooden benches darted around for spectators. The skate hire is still in the corner with the shoddy paintwork on the counter and there's still a teenage boy with big deer eyes at the box office desk who would probably still only need a wink to let someone in for free.
Her hands meet the railing surrounding the rink, and she looks over the ice, staring at it as if Santana's about to pop out from beneath it. There's not really any need to stare around, to look in the toilets or to wait to see if Santana will show up because she can feel it in her bones that she won't. If she's here, she won't be out on the ice and so Brittany, instead of moving around and searching, just stands in the middle and glances around, as if she's casual as to whether or not Santana will turn up.
Instead, she leans forward, forearms on the railing and hands clasped in front of her for warmth. Her hips cocked out a little and she watches the couples glide around, smiling at each other and laughing and wonders if she and Santana looked like this when they came here only a few months back. They were holding hands, laughing and smiling, and Brittany knows that only a blind man couldn't tell what was between them. Actually, scrap that, evena blind man could tell the connection between them.
She sighs at the memory, letting her head drop.
Back then, things weren't so difficult.
Back then, it was as easy as breathing between them, and Brittany was completely ignorant to the future issues that would arise.
But she can't help but think that maybe things were supposed to be difficult for them. She can't help but wonder whether they weren't supposed to meet at a club, and maybe she should've walked away when Santana bumped into her and knocked her over. She can't help but guess how their lives would've turned out if she'd just walked away. Maybe things would've been easier for Santana. Maybe Brittany wouldn't have put her through all this and maybe Santana would be living a free and happy life.
But maybe… Maybe it wassupposed to happen. Maybe, regardless of whether Santana turned her down with the offer to get out of the club that night, they would've been drawn together. Like the ancient Chinese tale of the red strings; they were tied and no matter how many knots and no matter how far, they would've come together in the end.
All these thoughts are too much.
She takes a deep breath and pushes away, tucking her hands into her pocket and grasping the glove there.
Just before she's about to leave though, she feels this itch in the back of her skull. It's faint, but it's definitely there, as if someone is trying to tell her something and she pauses in her step, twisting her head to the side. She's felt this before, back when she saw Santana and the waitress at her hen do. She felt this itch when it made her look over, out from her friends and the half-naked waiters and alcohol, only to find that stupid waitress all over Santana like she was a thirteen year old boy just discovering a woman's rack.
And it's here now, nagging at her head and so she lets herself follow it, until she's looking around, up to the balcony overlooking the ice rink.
But there's nothing there, and another shot of disappointment runs through her as she lowers her head and leaves.
/
For the next couple of hours, Brittany just wanders.
She stops at a diner to grab a bite to eat after getting fed up of the insistent rumbling of her stomach, and has a coffee to stretch the time out. She doesn't want to go back yet. She doesn't know what she's going to go back to because there's no way in hell Quinn and Puck just stayed there. There's no way in hell they haven't woken up and haven't done anything to stop her. Or haven't gone over to Santana's.
There's only a few people in the diner at the moment, and she glances around, fingers tracing the edge of her coffee cup, wondering why these people are here.
It's not the early hours of the morning, it's not even midnight yet but it's close and surely people have better things to do then sit in a diner and ponder their life. She almost chuckles out loud at the thought, shaking her head because she's judging random people when she's one of them. They're probably here to escape their lives; to get a five minute break with a cheap cup of coffee and let their thoughts process. Hell, it's what Brittany's doing.
Still though, as she looks around, she wonders what these people have gone through. She wonders if they're going through heartache, or regret, or trying to figure out what they're going to do with their lives if they don't get what they want. She wonders whether they're hoping fate will step in, as it has done before. She wonders whether they're questioning why fate isn't interfering and bringing them and their soul mate back together, just like it has before.
Dropping her head, she wishes these thoughts out, knowing she isn't actually thinking about these other people at all, and knowing her mind will only go into overdrive if she continues sitting here thinking about it. So with no further hesitation, she gets out a few dollars and leaves them on the table, tucking her hands beneath her arms as she exits the diner, pausing on the sidewalk to get herself in order.
There's a small market over the other side of the street, and knowing that's the only thing that'll delay her return back to Quinn and Puck's, she heads over there, ducking inside to grab a bottle of water. It's not really necessary, and as she's waiting behind some guy in a hoodie in the queue, she debates whether or not she actually needs it, but then something in the air spikes and she's aware of that itch again. The one at the back of her skull.
Almost immediately she spins around, eyes searching but all the she comes across is an empty store.
Brittany quickly shrugs it off, knowing she's far too on edge and far too tired for anything to be real, so she pays for her bottle of water and swiftly exits, tucking her bottle in her coat pocket and hands in with it to keep off the chill. Though it's just as she's about to step out that she runs full pelt into someone, the breath ripping from her chest as she tumbles back. Her foot catches on the step she's just gone down, and she's one hundred percent sure she's about to fall on her ass when a strong hand grabs her bicep and catches her before she falls.
"Whoa, my bad," a feminine voice says, and Brittany snaps her head up, eyes focusing on a girl with big brown eyes and a cute dimple in her chin.
"That's okay," she whispers, back, unaware of how hoarse her voice is. It's been so long since she spoke she sounds like she's impersonating Mr T. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
The woman tilts her head to the side and offers a kind smile, and Brittany's about to mirror it when it strikes her that she knows her. The memory is clouded by the thousands of thoughts shooting through her mind about Santana and quite possibly the endless depression that she'll suffer should she not come up with an idea to get Santana to at least talk to her, but she knows for sure that she knows her.
"Did you hit your head?" The woman says, a look of confusion now replacing the smile. Brittany's eye catches the name badge sticking out from beneath the flap of her coat and reads Dani. "You seem a little… Dazed."
Brittany, now completely aware that this 'Dani' girl is still clutching at her arm, stands up straight and moves back. "I'm fine, thank you," she responds, something negative pulling at the pit of her stomach. She just can't place this girl, but she's confident she knows her. Especially now she knows her name. "Sorry about that. I'll be on my way."
Dani stands to the side and sweeps her hand from left to right to let her past. "Of course. Just be careful, it's getting icy out there."
With one nod, Brittany leaves and disappears down the street, wracking her mind for the memory of that girl.
(Had she been two minutes longer, she would've found out.)
(And she would've found what she's been looking for all day.)
/
When Brittany gets back, there's still no-one around, which isn't surprising because it is late and it is dark and she should probably be asleep, too.
She climbs back on to the sofa after changing into sweatpants and a sweater, getting under the sheet and resting her head against the pillow. It's been a long day and she's entirely exhausted, and she knows she needs to sleep because tomorrow is a big day. Tomorrow, she will beg Santana, on her knees, if she has to. She will beg and cry and hope that Santana will forgive her enough to talk to her.
She doesn't know exactly what she'll do, but she knows when it comes to the moment, she'll know.
With that in mind, she pulls the blanket over her shoulders and settles down.
/
It's barely hours before the dress rehearsal and Brittany's nervous.
She's standing in the floor length mirror in her bedroom, staring at herself in her white dress. Her long blonde hair is in loose curls around her shoulders, her make-up is soft but enhances the blue in her eyes but there's something missing. There's something that hasn't been there for a long time, and it's that part of her that's been somehow ignoring the burning urge to call someone and ask where they are, how they're doing, what their life is like now.
But she can't. For ten months she hasn't given in, all because she knows Santana left for the best reasons. Ones she hates herself for and wakes up every single morning wishing she could go back and change.
That's in the past though, and today is about Quinn and Puck. She doesn't even know if Santana's coming. She's sure Quinn would've mentioned it.
Grabbing her clutch and coat, she leaves the apartment, thinking about her duties instead of deep chocolate eyes and caramel skin.
/
When the door bursts open, Brittany barely takes a second to wake up and jump from the sofa.
It does take a few more seconds to blink away the blur shadowing her vision, but then she's holding her hands out, all sleep shooting out of her, and focusing on Puckerman slamming the door shut, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the roots. Frustration seeps out of him, and he doesn't even register she's there until she calls his name softly. Brittany didn't even know he was out; she assumed he was in the bedroom with Quinn, fast asleep.
"Puck?"
Eyes wild and scared, Puck glances up. "Britt," he chokes, his eyes glossy. At this point she doesn't know whether they're from anger or sadness. Whichever it is, it scares her.
"What's happened?"
Puck eyes the floor again, looking around like he's going to find the answer on the floor. "It's San–Santana," he gets out, wetting his lips. He meets her eyes again. "I think she's leaving."
Her knees give out at the familiar name and she hits the wooden floor hard, grasping at her chest.
"What?" She breathes, the stiffness of shock setting into her bones.
Puck just stares. "I think–" He pauses, catches his breathe. His chest is moving fast and he looks like he doesn't even know what he's saying. "I think she's leaving," his face scrunches up, his head shaking. "She's–She's going somewhere."
It takes a good ten seconds of Brittany closing her eyes and grasping at the sofa to feel like she isn't going to vomit at the thought of Santana leaving. It takes a good ten seconds after that to get her mind into gear and get up from the floor because she doesn't know what she'll do without Santana. She doesn't know how she'll function. She hadn't even considered Santana leaving because she didn't think she would. She didn't think she could've driven her to the point where Santana couldn't possibly stay in the same town, and it's only then does she consider the fact that Santana doesn't know that there was no wedding.
With shaky legs, she staggers over to Puck, ignoring the intense rush of blood pounding in her ears and thrusting against ribcage and grabs the lapels of his jacket. "Did you tell her?"
Puck blinks at her, his eyes blurred and unfocused. He doesn't reply.
Brittany shakes him harder, trying to get him to look at her and when he does, all she wants to do is fall into a ball on the floor and cry. "Did you tell her I didn't marry Jason, Noah!?"
Her voice is scratchy and breaks halfway through the question, the tears falling without permission down her cheeks. So much is going through her mind she might just pass out.
"No," he chokes out, grabbing at her wrists, but he doesn't look like he knows he probably should've.
There isn't enough time for Brittany to do the things she wants to him for forgetting because she's entirely certain if she did, Quinn would come out and kick her ass. Brittany isn't a violent person at all, but if Santana leaves… If she disappears, she'll never forgive herself. Or Puck. She doesn't know why he didn't say it, but she really doesn't have time to think about that because Santana's leaving. She's leaving somewhere and all Brittany wants to do is know where and get to her as fast as possible.
"Where would she go?" She half-screeches. Behind her, she hears soft footsteps and knows Quinn has joined them.
But she doesn't care.
Puck's eyes drift behind her and she dares to look over her shoulder to find Quinn standing there, her head tilted and jaw clenched. There's something in her expression that angers Brittany because she's seen that look before; she knows Quinn doesn't want Puck to tell Brittany where she is. She knows she wants Brittany to leave Santana alone and fuck, Brittany feels the burn in her chest for the first time.
Why aren't they telling her? Why are they getting involved?
"Tell me!" She yelps, tugging at the lapels of Puck's jacket again, but this time Puck yanks the grip off and holds her hands in front of him, now looking down at her with a very Quinnexpression.
His eyes narrowed, jaw tight and nostrils flaring, he glares down at her as he says, "Don't you think you've done enough?"
Later, when all is said and done, she won't remember the way her body quivers at his words. Later, when all this is over, she won't remember the way she falls back, stumbling backwards until her thighs hit the arm of the sofa, or the way the pain strikes through her so hard she fears she'll never be able to feel again. Later, when this is all in the past, she won't remember the way Quinn joins Puck and folds her arms over her chest, as if they're ganging up on her.
Because later… Well, later, all she'll be able to think about is how to breathe without Santana in her life.
"Just let her go, Brittany," Quinn speaks, words clear and strong.
Brittany clutches at her chest, unable to accept that her friends are saying this. The tears drop on to her chest and fist as it balls up her sweatshirt, and she shakes her head. "Wha–What?"
She can't believe what they're saying.
"No," she continues, trying to fight them. She won't accept it. She can't. "You don't understand–"
"Yes, I do, Brittany," Puck steps forward, his voice hard and emotionless.
His eyes are now burning down at her and for the first time she feels alone. Through this whole thing, she thought that these two might have her back in some way. She never thought of herself as the bad guy. She never thought she could do so wrong that two of her best friends would turn against her and there's a split second where she's pissed. Pissed at herself, pissed at Quinn and Puck, and pissed at Santana. But that moment's fleeting because then she realizes this is all because of her.
"I was just with her," he continues, narrowing his eyes like he's trying to figure her out. "You're hurting her, Brittany. Stop hurting her." He lifts his shoulder, tightens his jaw. His voice is strong and confident and she knows he's just trying to protect Santana. But Brittany's not a monster. He doesn't need to protect her from Brittany. "Just leave her be. Let her go."
No.
No.
Brittany can't accept that.
She won't.
Her head shakes from side to side violently, trying to keep consciousness. It feels like this is all too much to keep up with. It feels like this is just too overwhelming and for one second–for one fucking second–she just wants the world to slow down. She wants to take a breath, close her eyes and work out what the hell she's going to do to stop this because she can't let Santana go. All of this will have been for nothing and she won't ever forgive herself if she pushes away the only person she's ever really loved.
So despite her heart pounding, her vision wavering and the tears pouring, she pushes past Puck and Quinn, not even bothering to get her coat as she sprints out the apartment.
She has to get to Santana.
She has to make her stay.
/
Of course, Brittany's the first person to arrive, apart from Quinn and Puck.
They're in the function room. Quinn's frantically pacing about directing all the waiters and waitresses on where to be and how to circulate the room, and Puck's just sitting by the temporary bar, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at his fiancée's antics. It's actually quite amusing to watch, and instead of interrupting Quinn's parade, Brittany heads on over to the groom, kissing him on the cheek as greeting and sitting beside him.
"She's freaking out, right?"
Puck takes a sip of his whiskey on the rocks on nods. "As expected."
Brittany chuckles and orders a drink, watching Quinn hurry her family into the room as they arrive. Russell and Judy both furrow their brows at their daughters hurry considering there's a good half an hour before people start turning up, but it's classic Quinn. There's nothing about her that's calm, and Brittany thanks the bartender when he slides her a vodka tonic, gingerly taking a sip because if Quinn's like this, she's undoubtedly going to be very drunk tonight and Brittany's going to have to pick her up.
Which reminds her, Brittany could probably help her out. Currently Quinn's trying to order everyone about, greet the guests and talk to all of them for at least five minutes at a time. It would be rude not to offer her services.
"Where's the guest list?" She asks, pulling her shawl around her shoulders in preparation to get up. "I'll go greet the guests and save Quinn the trouble."
Completely not expecting it, Brittany damn near falls off her chair when Puck's arm shoots out to hold her wrist back. "No," he splutters, dribbling some whiskey down his chin. He wipes it away with a napkin, probably knowing had he used the sleeve to his suit, Quinn would notice and kill him, then there wouldn't be a wedding.
"What?" Brittany looks at him, completely confused, and it's only when she picks up on his fear that she remembers the strange conversation she had with Quinn earlier. Puck was in the background, also being weird and she knows with Quinn like this, rushing about, she isn't going to get any answers out of her. So Puck it is. "Okay, can you tell me what's going on?"
Puck's eyes widen and he stops breathing. "What?"
She lifts an eyebrow, face unamused. "I'm blonde, Puck, not stupid. What's going on? Why is Quinn being weird?"
Puck shakes his head, his mouth dropping open like he's been caught completely off guard and Brittany twists her head as if she's turning her ear to listen closer, but it's just at that moment that Quinn calls Puck's name. His ears prick up, head snaps around and he calls her name back to acknowledge that he's coming, and unfortunately for Brittany, it does get him up from the chair. She basically sees the relief flood through him as he excuses himself with a light-tipped smile, holding his tie to his body and bowing his head slightly, and Brittany's left there, chewing at her lip, completely dumbfounded as to the secrecy of the night.
Because she doesn't know what's going on, but there's definitely something happening.
Something big.
And she doesn't like it already.
/
The wind pricks her cheeks and flows through her hair. Her legs burn, heart races and breath is staggered, and as she rounds the corner to Santana's block, she slips on ice she didn't know was there.
This can't be happening. Santana can't be leaving.
Her hands scrape against the snow, some rocks chipping at her nails and cutting her skin, but she ignores it, quickly regaining her balance and almost running straight into the taxi that pulls up outside her building. The driver looks at her like she's crazy and she admits, she probably looks it. There's tears staining her cheeks, her eyes are panicked and so big they'd put a deer's to shame, and she's sprinting into a building she's not even sure she lives at anymore.
Still, she ignores him and falls up the stoop as she climbs it, her hands colliding heavily with the railings and rings clinging loudly. There's only one thought pulsating through her mind and it's just repeating Santana's name over and over again, because she knows this is her last chance. This is the only time she's going to have to prove to Santana that she won't break her heart again, and that she'll spend the rest of her life trying to make up her wrong doings to her, if she'll have her.
The elevator isn't near quick enough for Brittany, despite pressing the button at least twenty times like it'll speed it up, and so she goes with her impatience and makes a break for the stairs.
She's never run this fast in her life. Not when she was caught shoplifting a toy bear for her little cousin when she was six because her family couldn't afford it. Not when she got the call from her mom to tell her, her dad had fallen over on ice and broken his ankle and they were in the ER. She's never felt this adrenaline flooding through her, keeping her muscles pumping and stretching with every skip of a step, and she knows it's all for Santana.
She knows she won't be able to get what she needs if she doesn't try, and she's put off trying before, so she's got to put as much effort in as possible now.
The sound of the elevator doors pinging behind her is a momentary distraction, but she's already sprinting up the second set of stairs and knows there's no point in going back. She pushes herself harder and faster, ignoring the sudden lightheadedness clouding her brain and tumbles out into the hallway of her and Santana's flat, running full speed until she collides with the door. Her fist hammers harder and harder against the wood, and had she thought ahead, she could've picked up her coat back at Quinn and Puck's and got her keys, but there's no time for deliberating what she could've done because that's most definitely the last on the list.
Her hands are red and throbbing within seconds, from the mere force she's putting behind slamming them on the door, but she knows if Santana's in there, she'll hear this and hopefully whip open the door. Hopefully she'll hear the desperation and come out, and tell Brittany that they're meant to be together. That everything can be put in the past, that they can work it all out and that they can be together because if Brittany can't have Santana, if she has to live without her, Brittany will die. Her soul, her heart, her feelings, will just disappear with Santana, wherever she goes, because Santana's the only reason she breathes, and she has been for longer than Brittany can remember.
But it's after minutes of throwing everything she has against the door that she picks up on the sound of an engine roaring outside. Had she done that earlier, had she been able to clear her mind and pick up on anything going on around her, then maybe she wouldn't have to throw herself against the window to her left and see the taxi sitting outside. Maybe if she'd taken notice of her surroundings then she wouldn't have to wince at the sound of her rings colliding against the glass as she sees the silhouette of Santana inside that cab, pulling away from the curb down the street.
Had she noticed any of that, maybe she wouldn't be feeling like someone had just punched a hole straight through her heart, and maybe she wouldn't be collapsing to the floor, defeated, in floods of tears, knowing she's lost the only thing that ever really meant anything to her.
But she didn't, and as she slumps on the ground, she's forced to think that maybe Puck was right, because now she doesn't have an option.
She's forced to realize that maybe she wasn't born to make Santana happy.
She's forced to realize that she has to let Santana go.
/
There's another glass of champagne in Quinn's hand, and Brittany's standing over in the corner, wondering whether Quinn would cry or punch her if she tried to take it away.
Puck was talking to her a minute ago, deliberately avoiding their conversation earlier, but he quickly excused himself when Quinn nearly stumbled into one of the waiters with a tray full of freshly topped up champagne flutes. Which, actually reminds her, she needs another top up. Earlier she had a conversation with Judy and Russell Fabray who did nothing but sneer down at her and since then, she's decided that interacting with these people just isn't possible unless there's some sort of alcohol in her.
It's not like Quinn's family are horrible, it's just that the people that are at the dress rehearsal here are mostly privileged buttheads who think everyone apart from their relatives are below them.
So she pushes off the wall and heads over to the bar, ignoring the way the bartender traces down her body like he's about to rip her clothes off and smiles weakly when he asks what she wants, something hard or soft, because it's clearly a reference to the lack of length between his legs. It makes her wholly uncomfortable, and she kind of wishes Puck would come back because he was keeping her company, but she just saw him duck out the double doors, probably for a sneaky cigarette–Judy does not approve of that–and so she just stands here for a few minutes instead, listening to the bartender give a weak attempt at flirting with her.
Still, at the end of it, he tops up her glass and gives up, and she begins walking back to her spot after muttering a quiet thank you.
But as she does, she slows down, feeling a shift in the air.
It's such a strong shift that it causes her to freeze completely, right in the middle of the floor, because it's something she hasn't felt in a while. It's that tugging in her chest, the itch in her skull, that she felt many, many months ago, back when she was trying to find Santana at that ice rink and it's so out of place that she can't help but stop and turn around. And it's as her eyes gaze across the floor, scan the crowd to see where it's coming from that she sees the double doors open and Brittany's breath is ripped straight from her chest because she knew it. She knew it all along, she's not stupid, and something old but familiar shoots through her as she sees Puck wander in with none other than–
"Santana," she whispers under her breath, the name rolling off her tongue so easily it makes several of the strings holding her heart together burst free, because she hasn't said it in so long.
Because she is standing there, across the room, wearing a black dress that hugs her curves and dips low in the front. Her hands clutch at her purse in front of her, and she's looking so damn painfully beautiful that Brittany can do nothing but stare, mouth open and lungs not functioning quite properly, because she isn't quite used to seeing this again.
And for the first time in ten long, long months, Brittany feels her heart start beating again.
/
Well, that was a roller coaster to write. I felt like it needed to be done and I do apologise for any mistakes as I haven't read through this.
Hope you enjoyed! Review if you deem worthy.
