Title: Some Things Are Meant To Be
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6.8k
Summary: She doesn't want to creep around Brittany and tread water to see if she can trust her; she wants to dive straight in because she's never met someone like Brittany. She's never wanted to know so much about a person after meeting them for the first time and she's never wanted to tell someone everything about herself either.

Warning: Girl!Peen

Notes: An unexpected amount of response from the last chapter. Good to see you guys are still around, and as always, thank you for the feedback. I didn't even know I had writing still in me until I saw Brittana got their happily ever after. I feel all your guys pain with Naya's death, too. That tore me up too, so this is the final chapter in dedication of her. RIP Naya.

/

They're both soaked, quietly walking side by side to Quinn's apartment.

The reception area is cold and dark, a few dimly lit sconces on the wall, and they shift awkwardly in the elevator up to the sixth floor, not meeting each other's eyes.

They haven't really spoken, not much past "I left my coat on the ice," to "I'm super cold, San" and Santana quickly unlocks the door and grabs the nearest blanket off the side table, ushering the blonde to the sofa and wrapping her up. There are candles sparking up with the lighter Quinn keeps on the kitchen counter, and Santana flicks on the built-in electric fire that lives below the television on the wall.

Heat radiates throughout the apartment and Santana returns from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and a small card between her fingers. She hands over the beverage to the blonde who smiles gratefully up at her, eyes twinkling in the candlelight. It grips at Santana's chest, and she has to sit down quickly to find some grounding.

This still doesn't feel real.

Not after this long of nothing, to have Brittany in such close proximity is almost overwhelming.

"What's that?" Brittany stutters, teeth chattering slightly as she sips at the coffee.

Santana breathes out through pursed lips, shifting at the uncomfortable dampness of her jeans, but unwilling to part from the woman next to her to change. She will soon, just… Not yet.

"Shelby's card," she says, eying the printed words. She takes a long pull of the warm drink and moans at the warmth as it settles in her stomach. "I think we're going to have to leave this –" she motions between them. "Up to fate."

It's said lightly, in a way that could be taken as a joke, but Brittany's eyes flutter to her in a panic, one brow faulting and twitching with sadness. There's truth to it though, because Santana thinks that in some ways, fate has led to them to this moment. There's no certainty, no plan, between them and there's still a one-way ticket booked to Heathrow airport for tomorrow night. That's not going to change easily. She can't just give up everything she has created for herself for Brittany.

It sounds terrible, but she doesn't mean it that way.

See, some things are meant to be, and Santana thinks that maybe, this is one of those things, but she needs a little convincing still. Some type of cosmic approval to let her know she's not going in the wrong direction and that there's something here for her, something else besides Brittany. Because it couldn't keep her last time, and she won't let herself ruin what she has for something that could leave her again.

(Well, she was the one that left. But Brittany left emotionally.)

(Even if technically, she didn't.)

After all, the last time Santana was here, she made some pretty poor decisions.

And they started because of fate, some type of serendipity bought them together that night at the club, so maybe it should continue that way. Leaving it up to the conversation with Shelby tomorrow to see what may lie here in New York again.

She must have said something that Brittany understood, even if she's not sure she understands herself, because the blonde is nodding her head and her eyes are searching the room for something. She finds it and stands, moving to the side table to grab the cell phone off the side and hands it over, eyes asking thousands of things her mouth can't. She takes their coffee cups and moves them to the table beside them.

Santana's fingers type away quickly, a message sent to the number on the card and they both breathe out, the significance of another moment buzzing around them.

It's not too long that they stare at each other, cheeks pressed to the back of the sofa, because soon enough the exhaustion settles, and they both fall asleep.

(Their fingers twitch, stretching for each other in their slumber.)

/

Sometime during the night, Santana wakes up. Her mouth is dry, and she blinks lazily, eyes straining to the small light of the candle in the centre of the room. Brittany is asleep next to her, blonde hair littering the pillow and it takes her breath away. There has never been a moment where Santana didn't find the girl as beautiful as she is right now. She's just… heavenly.

She squints and shakes away the thoughts, hands rubbing at her lids as she shifts, sitting up and reaching for her phone, clicking the button on the side to reveal the time. It's dark, but the moonlight streaming in from the uncovered kitchen window is confusing her ability to recognise the time.

304AM

Shit.

They've been asleep for hours, and a physical chill runs up her spine as she realises they fell asleep in wet clothes. That's a sure-fire way to wake up with a blocked nose.

She curses herself for not changing prior to settling into comfortable silence with the most beautiful thing she's ever laid eyes on, and her palms slide across the fabric of the sofa to the blonde, skimming over her skin, brown eyes tracing the movement and she feels the blondes' hairs rise at the contact to feel the other woman's temperature.

She tuts, quietly, not wanting to wake her, but when she looks up, there's blue eyes staring back at her. They're only half open, slowly opening and closing and Santana bites down on her bottom lip, sucking it in.

And she's frozen.

She's frozen because there's a stillness in the air that she recognizes only too well. She's had this moment a few times before with Brittany, the electricity sizzling between the silent conversation their eyes are having, and all coherent thoughts fly out the window when her eyes flicker down to soft lips.

Then Brittany's closing the gap between them, confidently tilting their mouths together and pressing down. It pulls a gasp out of Santana, whose entire body is on fire, and she suddenly feels move alive than she has in…

Well, months. Ten, to be exact.

(Although she supposes she felt this way on the ice only a few hours ago.)

(But there's something else to this kiss… Something that resembles desperation… That just ignites the fire in her chest.)

Her chest is heaving, face scrunching as the blonde pulls away for a whole second, searching to see if she's gone too far but Santana's shaking her head, answering a question that wasn't asked and surges forward, her entire body covering Brittany's as heat prickles at her eyes. Hands stroke over each other and then there's a pair grasping at Santana's shirt, clawing it apart and freeing it from her body. The pressure builds beneath Santana's jeans and Brittany gasps when teeth sink into her bottom lip.

Then their eyes are meeting again, Santana propping herself up by her arms and she's nodding at the nimble fingers sliding down to unbuckle her belt, and peel open the buttons to her jeans. She sits up, aiding the blonde in the movement and mirroring it on Brittany, who takes over and shrugs down her own pants, laying back, wild eyed and hair tousled in a way that makes Santana throb.

She kicks off her jeans, lips descending to kiss bare abs, revealed by a shirt scrunched up around Brittany's torso and she can't stop thinking about how this just feels so… right.

Thighs squeeze at her waist, a sure sign that Brittany needs more, and Santana pulls up her head, capturing the blondes bottom lip between hers and sucking gently. She feels it too, arousal curdling in her stomach and pulsating throughout her body. Hands slide down her biceps, scratching lightly and it sends thrills up her spine, the need for more drop-kicking her into action.

Her fingers hook through the light fabric covering wet heat, and the backs of them strokes through it, pulling a low, guttural moan from the blonde, her head pushing back into the sofa cushion. Santana gulps, unable to stop the moan from repeating inside her mind and she pushes her boxers down, barely to her thighs and spreads long legs, squeezing at the base of herself and licks her lips, groaning at the mere thought of Brittany encompassing her.

"Santana," the blonde breathes, her eyes meeting brown. "Please."

There's barely a moment between the plea before Santana sinks down into her, grunting at the pulsing sparks prickling at her body as Brittany takes her in. Her hips settle perfectly against the blondes, bottoming out until blue eyes are wide and clouded with pleasure and she lets her lips hover over Brittany's as she begins rotating and grinding.

It's so hot, and so intense, and their eyes lock together as she slams into the girl beneath repeatedly, squeaks escaping the blonde's mouth. The movement is so fluid that it feels like they've done this a million times before, not once, and she recognises the way Brittany bites on her bottom lip as Santana tilts up.

So, she moves, slides back on to her knees, hands gripping and pulling at Brittany's hips to ensure there's no break between them, and she hooks her hands behind strong knees to pull the blonde up on to her thighs, burying herself deep once again. Brittany lets out a small cry of pleasure, hands shooting to grab at tanned ones and Santana bites down on her lip, fully knowing the sight of the blonde like this is hitting her stamina hard.

Blonde hair is scattered across the cushions of the sofa. Blue eyes are narrowed, but so full of passion and locked on to brown, and Santana continues to drill down hard and fast, but with a heat that sizzles between them. Her thumb moves down taut abs to Brittany's clit and circles gently, feeling the inside clench around her at the motion, and she keeps up a medium tempo, filling the blonde up before pulling out almost completely, her hand working her most sensitive part between movements.

And it's over almost too quickly. Santana doesn't want this moment this end. She doesn't want this connection to break, but sweat is covering them both, heavy panting filling the room and it's so close she can taste it.

Their skin is sticky, and the air is hot around them as they both approach their orgasms. Brittany's nails are scratching down tanned forearms, and they lose their gaze when she hits that spot and suddenly, the blonde is coming undone, quaking beneath Santana and squeezing so tightly that it pulls her over the edge too, letting herself go completely inside the other woman.

She collapses with a heavy breath after a few seconds, nuzzling her nose into the gap between Brittany's shoulder and neck, and there's a light giggle in her ear, inflating her chest with adoration.

"Fuck," Santana whispers, voice hoarse. She swallows purposefully and runs the tip of her nose up the muscle in the blonde's neck.

Fingers dance up and down her spine. "Yeah," Brittany utters, voice soft and satisfied. "Fuck."

It tightens a knot low in Santana's stomach, and she groans because no, she can't do that again. She can't do that again, that quickly, and there's a suggestive tone to the blondes' words that tug at those strings. And when thighs squeeze intently at her hips, she drops her forehead down, arousal surging through her once more.

"Britt," she whines, shifting to the realisation she's still inside Brittany. "Fuck."

The moment is too hot again, and Santana tilts her hips to remove herself, only to be greeted by Brittany flipping her with a strength she forgets she has, and then there's a slick heat pressing against her stomach as she slides out of her. Hands travel to soft skin and trace the curves of Brittany's thighs, blood rushing through her like she didn't just release completely and well, maybe she can do that again.

"We can't just –"

A pale finger covers Santana's mouth. "Leaving it to fate, right?" Brittany questions, her tongue sliding over her own swollen lips. "Fate won't text back at 3am."

Santana supposes the blonde has a point, and she doesn't even get to respond – she thinks her face said enough with a small nod and a glisten in brown eyes – before "I want everything you are," is breathed into the air and Santana almost doesn't think she's heard correctly because there's lips sinking down on to hers and hands finding their way into her hair, her member pulsating as it begins to harden once again, and it turns a moment of love into nothing but raw, sexual energy.

They only make it off the couch because they fall off.

Even then, Santana fucks Brittany until they both pass out from exhaustion, three hours and eleven rounds later.

/

They wake up at 930 in the morning.

At 945, they stop making out like horny teenagers on a lazy Sunday and decide to make breakfast.

There's pancake batter spread across the counter at 10, due to Brittany licking the spatula and fluttering her eyelids at Santana in a way that buzzed low in her groin, and Santana just had to have her, right there and then and knocked over the bowl to get to the blonde.

At 1002, Santana has said blonde on the corner counter, her mouth working wonders against Brittany's core, hands pushing thighs apart as Brittany's ankles rest on a counter either side of her and there's no worry about anything, no fear of the future, or the plane that's leaving JFK in less than twelve hours.

There's just them.

It's 1007, and Brittany's pulling Santana up by the hair after her second tongue-induced orgasm, and then she's sliding off the counter and turning around, tugging at Santana's hips and pushing back into her as they connect once more. Slapping echoes throughout the kitchen, the radio playing quietly in the corner, and Santana's pressing kisses up and down the blonde's spine as the thrusts into her, her brain exploding with pleasure at the feeling.

Then at 1020, they collapse on to the floor, reaching up to share the single pancake they managed to cook – or burn, as they find out as they bite into it – and giggle their way into another round.

It's 1115 before they actually have to stop.

/

It's only when Santana's phone buzzes, that the spell is broken.

Everything they spoke about last night still stands. Fate is the one guiding this one, and after she sent the text to Shelby asking to meet her at Starbucks at 1230, she should have expected the reply she gets. But of course, she doesn't, and she's a little shocked at the tone that she understands from the text.

Not if you're going to waste my time.

She really should have considered that, because after all, Shelby Corcoran is a high profile, busy, businesswoman. Time is money, especially when she earns more in an hour than Santana does in an entire day, and so she accepts that this needs to be something she's actually considering.

Brittany sways into the room in an oversized hockey jersey, and Santana tries not to get turned on by the image. She needs to get her head in the game.

No, I won't be wasting your time. I'm serious about staying.

There's a coffee in front of her when she looks up, and the blonde is sliding down the couch behind her, legs finding their way beside her hips and Brittany's front pressing against Santana's back. Lips linger behind her ear as blue eyes read the cell from over her shoulder and Santana swears she hears a gasp.

She hasn't said it out loud, yet. She hasn't actually like, announced she's considering moving back to New York, and it doesn't mean she'll not be on the flight tonight, it just means it probably be a permanent thing. Yet, there's some double meaning in her words in the text, I'm serious about staying because she is serious. Brittany is keeping her here, yeah, that's entirely true, but she also wants to know her life can continue whilst she's here.

There's still a wall built around her heart that's preventing her from only staying here for Brittany.

She can't take the heart break again, if she decides to leave again.

(She left, but her heart knows that Brittany left before that.)

(Even if she realised a little later. It was too late to take back that drop-kick to the feels.)

"You might actually move back?"

Santana realises they haven't spoken much since the pancake batter incident and clears her throat before she replies. It's been a comfortable silence, something that's very hard to find. "Well, yeah…" Her eyes meet blue. "Is that okay?"

Brittany's eyes say yes before her mouth does, beaming with excitement and the smile that stretches across her entire face. She's nodding relentlessly and then she's turning Santana around and kissing her, conveying the happiness she can't quite word.

/

Santana manages – somehow – to pull herself away from the blonde and get dressed.

Somehow, because there's blonde hair splayed across the sofa cushions, a sheer contrast that sucks the breath out of Santana's chest, and an impossibly beautiful smile beaming up at her.

Alas, she manages to tear herself from the blonde's grasp and she's out the door at 1215, her feet leading her to the Starbucks round the corner. She's grateful for muscle memory because her mind is swimming with thoughts of Brittany, and possibilities, and she can't even think straight. If she'd actually put thought into it, she probably would've ended up on the other side of town.

Damn, she can even think straight. Not when Brittany's invading every corner of her brain.

And not even when she headbutts the door as someone pushes it open from the inside at the same time she reaches for it.

A wry smile plays at her lips, and she steps aside, manners kicking in despite the utter rudeness she's just received from a stranger – fucking asshole – as she holds the door open. He grunts and nods, and Santana moves on into the cafe.

"Santana." She looks to the right and sees Shelby, dressed in a pinstripe suit, clutching a mug of steaming coffee, sat in the window seat. "You're early."

She shoots a smile at the businesswoman. "As are you," she heads to the armchair seats and sits down. "Thank you for meeting me."

There's a nod thrown her way. "My pleasure," Shelby says, placing the coffee down in front of her. "Now what's your plan?"

It's a question Santana should have an answer to. Instead of daydreaming of the Tenerife sea and everything that's happened in the past 9 hours, she should have been thinking of what her plan going forward is. But she didn't, and now there's been a too-long silence as she meet brown eyes, darker than hers and lifts her shoulders up.

"I wanted to see what you had to offer," she admits. It's not entirely untrue, but she doesn't feel like she would impress with the truth. There is no plan, as of yet. "You said you'd taken your company down a new path, and I wanted to know more."

Shelby studies her for a long moment. There's a suspicion hovering behind her eyes and Santana gulps.

"Was I right?"

Memories of the wedding flit around Santana's mind and she recalls the businesswoman telling her if she decides at any point pretending London is wonderful as it's too tiring and well, yeah, she guesses she was right. It wasn't that obvious when she first got back, just the instant ache of missing the city setting in, but she knew that there was something inside that city that would soon grab a hold of her and not let go.

"There may have been some truth to it."

Shelby laughs and picks up her beverage once more. "Then I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Santana gives her a small smile and stands. "Let me go and a coffee. Refill?"

"Caramel Mocha with light whip," the businesswoman replies. "You might want to grab a pen, too."

With that, Santana heads up to the counter and orders.

/

An hour later and there's pages from Shelby's note pad spread across the table.

There's a list of names, a list of venues, and several different events written down. There are a couple sweet 16ths parties, a couple 21sts, and a bar mitzvah or two, and it's nothing Santana hasn't dealt with. Although, sweet 16ths parties aren't really a thing over in London due to the driving age being 17 and drinking being 18, but she guesses 16ths are like 18ths.

One of the sweet 16ths is for a high-profile celebrity, but due to Santana not technically being an employee, Shelby refrains from telling her who it is.

"So, you'd need the call Tyga's manager and see if he can come down for the hour."

Shelby eyes Santana and cocks her head to the side, chewing the pen idly. "You think you could do it?"

Their eyes meet and Santana doesn't hesitate before she's replying, "Is that a job offer?"

There's a twinkle in Shelby's eye and she nods, confirming.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath. Shit. She did come down here for that, but she didn't really expect it go to this way. Not like she wasn't prepared but–okay, no, she definitely wasn't prepared for it. It means that her life is completely changing again. It means that she still needs to go back to London, but to tie up loose ends and get back on that long ass flight here. Home.

Blue eyes flash through her mind.

"Okay," she grins toothily, a childish twinge to her reaction. She pushes back the urge to jiggle in her seat, knowing she's a grown woman, and a fucking professional at that. "I'll have to quit, and sort out everything, but I accept your offer, officially."

Shelby lifts her chin up, in a knowing and appreciative manner. She leans across the table and shocks Santana, her hand laying lightly over the back of a tanned one. Their eyes meet. "Welcome on board, Miss Lopez."

There's a flutter inside her chest as she thinks of her new life.

/

The flutter rapidly disappears because it doesn't stop her from getting on the flight later that night.

After she'd seen Shelby, she'd headed back to the apartment where she'd barely got her key into Quinn's apartment before it was swinging open and Brittany had pulled her in, fisting her shirt and pressing their mouths together.

Maybe they'd got a little carried away, with Brittany having just cleaned the entire apartment and their recklessness ending up with everything being knocked back over again – at least it wasn't pancake batter, this time though – and she'd forced herself to stop them before they got too carried away in another room and blurted out that she'd been offered the job and she'd be moving back.

It did the complete opposite effect to what she'd thought, as it still meant she was leaving, but with the blonde pushing her back into the wall and attacking her neck with her lips, happiness showering around them, she honestly doesn't cast it a second thought because all around her is just Brittany, Brittany, Brittany.

Well, she doesn't cast a second thought until they're on their way to the airport and it all becomes very real.

Regret grips at her chest in the back of a private hire SUV, her hand tightly intertwined with Brittany's as blue eyes stare out the window. Again, they've barely spoken, just a few sentences here and there, and shared a few quick glances because she hasn't booked the return ticket yet or even confirmed dates with Shelby, which means they haven't set a date for when they're going to see each other again.

There's rain falling heavily outside, some sort of mirroring of her emotions and she sighs loudly, pulling a blue pair of eyes her way.

Like she's always been able to, Brittany reads Santana like a book.

"You're coming back."

It's said softly, and Santana hears the but please don't go that isn't said and it flips her stomach over. The mere thought of not seeing Brittany, after all they've gone through, makes her want to yell at the chauffeur to turn the car around and escape into Quinn's apartment, locking her and Brittany in so the outside world can't touch them.

"I know, Britt," she sighs, a sad twitch toying with her mouth. "But I still have to sort things out."

Brittany sucks in her bottom lip between perfect teeth and Santana can tell she's about to cry by the twinkle she gets in her eye. Her own eyelids sizzle with heat, and she shudders through a long inhale as she airport comes into sight, forcing her gaze away because she just can't hold it. She can't look her because there's already only a slither of restraint inside her body, tying her to this journey, and she knows it's not the end of them – it's barely even the beginning – but she just… doesn't want to say goodbye.

The car pulls up to the sidewalk, people weaving through each other, and she stares out the window, prolonging the quiet in the car between them. The only quiet moments she's going to get from here out are painful, and lonely. To feel the buzz between them, the buzz that only Brittany has ever given her, pulses in her ear drums and she knows this is where they part.

This is where they have to split again, and every inch of Santana's body is fighting her, screaming to stay.

"I don't wanna go, Britt," she breathes, unable to hold it in. She turns in her seat and grasps pale hands. "I don't want to go, but I will come back."

There's a promise there, unspoken, but strong and blue eyes flicker up, meeting brown. "You promise?"

Santana's forehead slowly unfurrows, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips because of course. She barely made it out of America before, with the indecision leading her to tell the taxi to turn around four times, ten months ago. The taxi driver had been pissed, but when Santana handed him a huge wad of cash, it probably wasn't the worst thing that happened to him. He only had to drive up and down the same road four or five times. Easiest money made ever.

She chooses not to reply for a second, her hands twisting until her pinky loops around Brittany's. "Pinky promise," she says, the sadness still lingering in her voice, but there's something else there. Hope.

Brittany seems to hear it too, because she flashes a sad smile and nods her head slowly, a single tear falling from her cheek. "I'll miss you."

It punches Santana in the chest so hard she almost jerks backwards as a reaction. I'll miss you too won't even do it justice, because it won't be missing something. It'll be living without it, coping without it, like she's living a half-life. Something that prior to coming back here, she'd been living in London and just fooling herself. A half-life. A life where the sun didn't shine as brightly, and colours weren't as vivid. A half-life that burnt her, sucked the soul out of her, and left her numb in the other country.

And it wasn't until she returned, until Brittany returned, flashing into her life and shocking her like a heart-attack victim with a defibrillator, that she realised she was missing her with every inch of her body.

Almost like that, she's about to fly back to that half-life.

"I'll call you as soon as I land," she says, like that's going to make it any better. "And I'll book my flight back the second I get to my apartment."

That's a lie. Santana thinks she'll be booking the return flight after getting through security in less than an hour. But she doesn't say that, instead choosing to open the door and climb out the car, grabbing her carry-on bag and waiting for the driver to get her other bag out the back. She didn't pack much here, mostly because she was convinced she wouldn't have even lasted the two weeks she's been here.

Three days maximum was the internal bet she had with herself. She thought she'd be coming back to Brittany and douchebag Jason and tearing herself apart just trying to pretend like it wasn't breaking her heart, still, after all this time. She thought she'd crying herself to sleep and wishing the days away, just so she could do what she did ten months ago and run away from the pain in this city. She thought she'd be packing before she'd even unpacked.

But she was wrong, and she's never been so damn glad for that.

"I love you," Santana whispers, swallowing thickly. It's going to take some getting used to. "And I'm coming back."

Brittany's moved over to Santana's seat, leaning forward and coming so close that she can count the freckles on her nose, see the dark flecks in those blue eyes. She's just so damn beautiful, and it plucks at the strings in Santana's heart because she knows that regardless of returning, she's going to spend every waking minute just wishing she could be this close to the blonde again.

"I love you more," Brittany replies and shit, Santana doesn't know if there'll ever be a time when that doesn't take her breath away. "And I know you're coming back, so no goodbyes. Just see-you-later."

It makes Santana laugh lightly and she can't help but close the gap between them, kissing Brittany softly, surely. Her lips move against the blondes, her tongue stroking against hers as her hands grab at blonde hair. She gets it. Goodbyes aren't suitable in this situation because a see you later is really I'll miss you until we meet again. It's something their souls can't say to each other, because they won't leave. They're only apart physically, every part of their being connected, intertwined.

Goodbye, however, is more permanent. It comes with this sharp edge, this thing that makes your chest constrict and breathing shallow.

It's something Santana thought she could do once, but she never could. The space between them was always temporary, in this world, and any parallel they might exist in.

Because this is real.

This is love.

Moments of panting against each other's mouths, and repeated I love you, I love you more, I'll miss you, I'll miss you more passing between them, Santana grabs her bags and slips away, hiding the tears that fall the second she turns around.

/

The flight is uneventful.

Much like the following twenty-four hours after Santana lands.

Her apartment is cold and empty as she steps through the front door. Everything seems dull now, greying in the corners of every room. The high ceilings and oversized doors in her block that once made her fall in love with the place, now make her feel like a toddler in her own apartment. It's daunting, and huge, and she throws her keys on the kitchen counter and looks out the large window panels that look over the city.

London is pretty – beautiful, in fact – but it's not home. It never has been.

Home is blonde hair and ocean eyes.

Home is coconut and vanilla shampoo, and a soft laugh that wraps around your heart.

Home is Brittany.

And she's not here.

Before she even unpacks, she opens her work laptop on the kitchen counter and sends an email to her boss. Thankful for the poor contract that she signed when she started this job, her probation never officially ended, so she only has to work a required minimum of one week before she leaves.

It's enough time to finish planning a couple of events she's had in her diary, one being for a professional footballer's teenage son, and she doesn't want to leave in too much bad taste.

Yeah, the one week is probably short notice and her boss is going to be pissed, but with her life waiting back in the US, with Brittany eagerly waiting for her, she honestly couldn't give a damn.

If it wasn't for the legal action that probably would've followed, she wouldn't have even come back to London. Just sent a shitty email and done everything over the internet.

But she can't help but be thankful for this place, for taking her and giving her a life that she didn't know she could have.

So, a week will do.

One week.

/

It's the second day when it happens.

Santana's down at her local bakery, picking up a couple of pastries for breakfast and her phone is in hand, sending a text to Brittany to tell her that she's booked her flight and she'll be back in six days' time.

This place has always served her well, being the first place she stumbled upon her first day here. A lovely old couple own the bakery, and they'd helped her get in touch with an realtor their son worked for helped her get her apartment, which had lead to the realtor – or estate agent, as they call them here – put Santana in touch with the place that would hire her and excel her career.

Anyway, she's focusing so much on how many kisses are too much at then end of text when she bumps into someone.

The bag of pastries is on the floor, a single croissant now touching the pavement, and she curses beneath her breath, annoyance spiking through her arms as she looks up to curse the stranger, when the breath is ripped from her throat.

Because it's not a stranger.

It's not a stranger with the Tenerife Sea in her eyes, and hair more golden than the sun. Not with a bright smile and soft, smooth skin that Santana aches to be touching all the time.

It's definitely not a fucking stranger, because it's Brittany, in the flesh, her hands holding a small bag, a large backpack on her back, and a small scarf wrapped around her neck. There's a pink tinge to her cheeks, to her nose, and it's fucking beautiful. The breeze lifts her hair, pushing it over her shoulder and Santana's phone drops to the floor a split second between it colliding with the pavement before her lips are doing the same to Brittany's.

Her hands are in Brittany's hair, tilting her head to the side to kiss her deeper, longer. Everything's fuzzy, and she can't really focus on anything because the girl is actually here.

She's actually fucking here. In London.

And it all feels too good to be true.

/

It's a long, inappropriate amount of time before Santana realises they're in the middle of her street, outside her apartment, and making out like horny teenagers. Sure, she knows that it's more than that, that it's a reuniting of souls, but from an outsider's point of view, she's kissing Brittany in a way that should be behind closed doors.

She pulls back, her forehead pressing against Brittany's, and she lowers herself back to her feet. She can see the glaze in blue eyes that makes heat pool low in her stomach, but she's so obsessed with the way their breath is mingling, that she can't even really think about that.

"Let's go inside," she pants, her grasp moving from blonde hair to pale hands as she shakes herself out of it, grabbing the bag off Brittany, standing to the side to urge her to the stoop. "My place is up here."

Brittany chuckles, because Santana knows she wasn't too sure if she was in the right place as there's a map strewn on the pavement with a large circle that covers approximately half the street. She doesn't even really know how Brittany knows where she lives, but she suspects Quinn has something to do with it. She's had the address this entire time.

She's following Brittany up the stairs and breathing in a way she hasn't since she left the US.

/

They haven't moved off the sofa in two hours.

After getting into the apartment, they made their way to the couch between kisses and settled, Santana on her back and Brittany between her legs, her chin pressed to Santana's breastbone. Tanned hands stroked at the blondes strong back, dipping beneath her hoodie to feel soft skin, and they just spent the time just staring at each other, talking, and kissing every now and then.

"I would've been here yesterday," Brittany breaks the silence that's been lingering for three minutes. "My plane got delayed."

Santana tilts her head to the side, eyes taking in every part of the blonde's face. Her fingers stroke over her brow, down her cheekbones and her thumb strokes across her bottom lip. "You're here," she breathes. "It doesn't matter because you're here now."

It's really all that matters.

"I couldn't be away from you again," the blonde continues, her hand coming up from Santana's hips to her shirt, playing with the buttons. "When you got out the car at the airport, I just watched you walk away and I… I just couldn't."

Her voice breaks, and it does the same to Santana's heart because she knows what she means. Walking away from her the second time, despite knowing she was coming back, almost completely broke her. After everything they've been through, after all the heartache and the torture endured in their relationship, that almost took Santana out.

"It took less than ten seconds to realise that was the second dumbest mistake I've ever made," Brittany lifts her head from Santana's chest. "The first being letting you go the first time and I knew I had to follow you." She tilts her head to the side and brown eyes prickle with heat at the adoration that shines back at her. "I knew that you were the only thing I've ever been sure of, that I've ever really loved and I've spent so much time doing the wrong thing that I knew I needed to do the right thing for once."

Santana's head swirls with emotion, and she can see the regret in the other girl's face. Her eyebrows are pulling together, a look of disappointment in her expression and Santana doesn't quite know how to respond. She thought she knew everything about Brittany. She thought she could read every emotion on her face, but she's not used to this. She's not used to the pain and regret she can see in the other girl's face. She's not privy to seeing a deep self-hatred for what happened between them, and she guesses she never really considered Brittany's side to all of this.

But she doesn't want to. That's in the past and this right here? This is about the future.

"So, I promise you, Santana Lopez," Brittany pushes either side of her head and lifts herself up, hovering over her. "I promise you that I'll never leave your side again," she locks blue eyes with brown. "I promise I'll never let you leave me again, and I'll fight for everything we have and everything we are." Her face is now impossibly close again, and everything sort of blurs away when their bodies press together. "Pinky promise."

The words from their see you later in the car outside the airport flashes through Santana's brain and she brings their mouths together in a kiss that feels more like a forever.

This is it. Them. For eternity.

This, her and Brittany, are in it for the long run. Through every fight and joke. Through the pain and the laughter. Through everything.

Because some things are meant to be.

And she has a funny feeling, they are one of those things.

/

There may be an epilogue… Maybe.