Snixxwrath asked: 33. "No one is perfect."
The opening goes perfectly, just as Brittany knew it would. There's an outpouring of community support from the local business around the neighbourhood, and it makes Santana tear up a little; Trevor and his boyfriend come, Santana's mom takes the subway down from Washington Heights, Mike comes during his lunch break, and even Mercedes surprises everyone by flying in from LA. Santana is the perfect shop owner, talking and joking with the customers who wander in, and Brittany is the proudest person in the world as she watches her girlfriend in her element. A couple of the regular customers, who have been fondly teasing Santana about her new lady love since even before their first official date, fuss over Brittany and the fading scar along her temple when the ring of one of the perps who jumped her scraped and caught along her skin. She assures them she's fine and tries to redirect the conversation back to the opening, but she catches Santana's warm, adoring gaze across the shop and her thoughts scatter, much to the amusement of the group around her.
Mercedes insists on staying in a hotel and Maribel drives back to Washington Heights despite Brittany and Santana's insistence that they have plenty of room, and before either of them know it, they're locking up the store up for the first time in over five weeks. Santana slips her hand into Brittany's and smiles up at her, giddy and bright, and Brittany can't really help it when she delays their walk home because she's too busy kissing her smile into Santana's mouth. Santana just sighs into the movement of Brittany's mouth over hers, warm and comforting and exactly like coming home.
It's June, so it's clear and warm and, underneath the smells of the city, is the hint of summertime. The sun hasn't started to dip below the horizon yet, so the streetlights only flicker on in the shadow of the old apartment buildings lining the west side of the street. Brittany squeezes Santana's fingers briefly before glancing both ways and tugging Santana across the street and onto the sunny side of the sidewalk. Santana's cheeks and shoulders warm as she turns them towards the sun and something bright and lifting flutters in her chest at the content look on Brittany's face. They're still walking, so Santana leans over to kiss Brittany's shoulder and glances up quickly so she can catch the flutter of disbelief and happiness that always crosses Brittany's features at the quiet domesticity of such simple acts of affection, as if she's continuously grateful for something most people take for granted. Santana knows the exact feeling because, every time fingers tangle with hers or smiling blue eyes catch hers across a room or she hears the quiet putter of Brittany in the kitchen when she gets home, happy gratitude always fills her until she's not quite sure what to do with it (she usually directs the warm, lifting feeling into kissing Brittany, who is always more than happy to oblige).
They don't say anything as they cross their small section of the city, they don't say anything as they wait for stoplights or duck under awnings to avoid people hurrying, they don't say anything as Brittany tugs Santana down quiet streets and across busy intersections, they don't say anything as Santana trails after Brittany in comfortable trust, they don't say anything until Brittany slows to a stop in front of the window of a familiar cafe.
"Hey," Santana says with a wide smile, "We haven't been here in forever."
Brittany gives Santana a soft smile. "Well, I figured we could come back here for old time's sake, since our first anniversary is tomorrow and all."
Santana turns enough that she can grab Brittany's other hand and tug her close to her body, she rises up on her tiptoes to press her forehead to Brittany's, nudging their noses together and thinking of the gift she has carefully wrapped and hidden in an unused locker at the back of the store. "You're incredible," Santana whispers. "This is perfect, really, you're perfect."
Brittany blushes, Santana can't see it but she can feel it where Brittany's cheeks almost brush hers. "No one is perfect," Brittany protests, but it comes out breathy and soft.
"Maybe not," Santana concedes, because she knows Brittany and she knows Brittany's inability to see the best in herself sometimes, when the nightmares and unsolved cases pile up into nightmares, "But you treat me perfectly."
Brittany smiles, her eyes scrunched up and her lips stretched thin. She kisses Santana instead of answering, and Santana feels her blush this time, right where the tip of her nose brushes the emerging freckles of Brittany's cheek. Brittany's thumbs smooth over the backs of Santana's hands and Santana melts further into Brittany, almost feeling like she might float away if she doesn't tether herself to Brittany.
It's the jangle of the bell that draws them slowly apart from each other, but Brittany doesn't let Santana go far, nudging her nose along the side of Santana's as they take a second to breathe this moment in, half hidden in the shady alcove between the cafe and the brick thrift store beside it. Coffee fills the air from the cafe, almost masking the stench of the city with it's rich scent, but underneath all of that, she can smell the flower shop on Santana for the first time in over a month. Gone is the acrid smell of soot and ash and burned flowers that clung to Santana for the first couple weeks after the fire, and gone is the smell of fresh drywall and construction glue that clung to Santana in the following weeks of renovation, instead, all Brittany can smell is the bright, earthy scent of flowers and soil; it smells like springtime and sweet things, it smells of comfort and warmth, it smells of coming home.