The network building's entrance is buzzing even in the early hours of the morning. Large fans blast hot air from the ceiling as you walk in, clapping your hands together to get some feeling back in your fingers.

"It's about time you all celebrate my arrival. Could have used a red carpet, though."

Turning around, you to find an amused face.

"Hey, Mercedes," your greeting is decorated with rolling eyes.

She laughs, "Good morning, Santana."

You pause a moment so she can walk beside you. "I saw your scoop on the city council's fraudulent spending. That was good work. You running a follow up or did we piss off too many people?"

"Oh, we pissed off plenty of people. Grace told me her car was towed for some bullshit parking violation outside a restaurant last night," Mercedes tells you quietly, a smirk playing across her lips, "but we're already drafting the second segment."

Her conspiratorial grin is contagious and you find yourself smiling along, "Go get 'em, those pricks deserve what's coming."

"You know that's right."

She tells you about what she'll be covering that day and mentions a project that you're collaborating on. You're about to respond when she changes the topic completely, "When's Brittany coming back?"

"Um," you take off your scarf for something to do, "she's only been out a few days."

Brittany hasn't been to work since spending Saturday night in a cell.

You wanted to think that her time off had nothing to do with that horrible argument on her doorstep, but you're not kidding yourself anymore. She didn't even bother to give you a heads up about skipping work and she hasn't taken any of your calls. It's probably the rudest thing she's ever done in her life and it's breaking your heart.

"First, that's not what I asked," Mercedes eyes you despite your attempt to act casually. "Second, it's so obvious that her replacement is an idiot."

That is not the most comforting thing to hear.

"You don't know the half of it," you mutter. "Is it that bad?"

"The footage looks like it was shot with a camera phone and a flashlight," Mercedes sends you a sympathetic frown. She'll always be honest with you, which has helped more than it's hurt. "When's Britt coming back?"

"I don't know."

It's uncomfortable to admit, because by the way her eyes widen, she was expecting you to have the kind of relationship that you thought you and Brittany shared. The kind where you confide in each other. Or share basic information like when you're coming back into work. Either would be great at this point.

"What do you mean you don't know? She didn't tell you?"

"No," you say with a tight frown. "She didn't even tell me she was taking time off, why would she let me know when she's coming back."

Mercedes stops in the hall, "Are we sure she's alive?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"No really, you two have been a thing since—oh my god," her eyes get impossibly larger and she pulls you by the jacket to the side of the hallway. "Did something happen between the two of you? You know, a little something something?"

A flush with the power to end this winter's cold front heats up your face.

"Are you kidding me right now?" you hold up your scarf to hide your face from the people passing in the hallway. "We're not talking about this here, and no, nothing like that happened."

"So she didn't find out about your massive crush on her and decide that quitting her job is the best way to get away from your crazy?"

"It's not massive—"

"This thing you got for Brittany is so big it has its own gravitational pull."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, "Why am I friends with you again?"

She laughs at that, but it's warm and friendly.

A studio assistant appears at around the corner, "Miss Jones, we're ready for you in makeup."

"I'll be right there," Mercedes sends her away and turns back to you. "Seriously, Santana, get your girl back to work. You need her."

There's more truth to that then she knows.

"Good luck today," you offer as she walks away.

"Honey, luck is for fools," Mercedes sends you a wink and disappears around the corner.

You sigh.

You've been wishing for luck since the day you met Brittany Pierce.

"Got a hot one, Santana!"

You've just taken off your coat when you hear your name called across the newsroom. It's your boss and production manager, Grace Hitchens. She's holding a file that's probably going to be your next story and you pray to the heavens that whatever it is, it's inside.

"What's up?" you ask, reaching to take the file when she gets to your desk.

"Just got a tip about an animal welfare raid that's happening this morning," she glances at her watch. "If you leave now you can make it out there before the ASPCA show up and get their arrival on camera."

Your eyes skim the preliminary and her handwritten notes, "You want me to stand outside a ranch? It's twelve degrees outside!"

Grace smiles, picking up your coat and holding it open for you, "You know what they say, rain, sleet, or snow."

"That's the postal service," you grumble, turning around to slip into the coat, "not the local news."

"Stop by Blaine's desk on your way out. I hear he has hand warmers."

"I'd rather freeze to death."

She squeezes your shoulder, "I know it's not the best weather, but I need a solid positivity piece to round out the political gambit Mercedes and Tina are dropping later this week."

"Since when am I your fluff girl?"

"That's what I love about you, Santana. You can do it all—fluff, drama, scandal and sirens. You're my girl when I need something done."

"You're full of shit."

"So are you, that's why we're so good at this job. Now, your truck's on its way. Text Robin when you get on site."

"Fine, fine," you sigh, taking the file and heading off. "We'll get you some teasers as soon as we can."

"Good, everything should be in the workup, but I'll send updates if they come. Stay warm!"

"Ha!"

Twelve degrees. It might hit twenty by the time you get onsite, set up, and ready to roll. You're praying for the small miracle of sunshine. At least then you can pretend it's warmish. Thankfully, it doesn't take long for a large van to pull along the curb in front of you. The SNX Channel 6 News Team logo flashes in the garage lights. It reminds you why you love this job.

Climbing into the large bench seat, you don't even glance at your horrible replacement partner before barking, "This drive is gonna take three fucking hours, so please don't speak until we swing by Starbucks."

"I already picked up our coffee."

It's not the voice you were expecting and you nearly jump right back out of the van, "Jesus Christ—Brittany, you can't just sneak up on people like that!"

"What do you mean sneak up? You got into my van," she frowns, taking one hand off the steering wheel to gesture at you. "Didn't you think I would be in here?"

With a tight scowl, you push your hair behind your ear and settle into the seat, "No, actually, you haven't been here for a week, without so much as a text to say hey, I'm taking an entire week off, okay bye. So, no. No, I didn't think you would be in here."

She looks away from you, tapping her finger against the steering wheel like she does when she's anxious in traffic. You feel bad for snapping, but she caught you off guard. The silence stretches too thin and you look around the van to distract yourself.

There's two cups of coffee steaming in the brackets on the center console. You can tell by the scribble on the side of the paper cup that it's your favorite order. Brittany has learned all your favorites over the years. Coffee, fast food, dine ins, and delivery. She can figure out what you're in the mood for before you even say it. She's always been the best part of these early mornings and late nights. She has a way of making the long hours a little easier.

It's just that, for a terrible moment, you thought that when she did come back to the network, she wouldn't want to come back to you.

Honestly, you can't imagine this job without Brittany. You've been partners for years, three, nearly four. Four years. One van. Countless stories. Endlessly late nights and laughably early mornings.

But her words ring in your head and harden your heart.

You're just a friend from work.

It's frigid outside. Somehow the hollow in your chest feels colder than any other part of your body.

"I needed space," Brittany says it like that's supposed to mean something to you.

Space.

She needed space and now you're absolutely suffocating in this silence.

But she's trying, you think, to remind you of the way you work so well together. She picks up the coffee—the one meant for you, and gives you the tiniest of smiles, "I have the coffee if you have the address?"

You take the coffee cup with a shaking hand and whisper, "Head for the interstate."

It's not what you were expecting. Although, you're not sure what that was anyway. She's not meeting your eyes and even though she asks about the assignment, she hardly looks like she wants to talk about anything but work. Which is fine, you think, in a way. You're not really sure where you stand with her anymore so what are you really supposed to talk about?

"Are we going north or south?" Brittany asks.

Directions, apparently.

You glance down to the phone in your lap where Google Maps is blinking up at you, "Take the north ramp."

Brittany flips the van's blinker and pulls onto the interstate. The roads are depressingly empty this early in the morning. Moonlight and streetlamps glimmer on the pavement. It's far too familiar to that night to be comfortable. You're sure Brittany's thinking the same thing, everything about her posture is simply screaming pins and needles. Instead of stressing about it you sip your coffee and flip through Grace's findings.

It's not a long trip across town. The directions take you off the interstate and down a few smaller roads. The heater rattles, reminding you of your impending death by hypothermia. You should have brought your iPod to drown out the drama.

"I think this is it," Brittany swings the van around to park facing the ranch's entrance. "Doesn't look like animal control are here yet."

The 'ranch' is really only a large plot of land someone wanted to turn into a petting zoo. It looks like a pit. The fence is barely standing and you're sure the animal pens behind the main building are worse than that. How on earth are you going to turn this into a fluff piece?

"This is going to be horrible."

"Yeah, might as well get started."

Brittany slips out of the van and you follow her lead, meeting at the back doors. She's wearing her usual khaki pants and SNX6 pullover fleece. You briefly wonder if she's warm enough. Then again, she gets to wear a knit cap, which you are insanely jealous of. The frigid wind is going to be murder on your ears and hair.

"Your fanny," Brittany hands you the neoprene pouch from her equipment racks.

It's an old joke but you think she's trying to break the ice a little. So you give her a lighthearted grumble, "It's not a fanny pack."

You make sure the wireless transmitter is on and not muted before slipping it under your jacket and fastening it around your waist. The transmitter sits in the small of your back, hidden easily under the material of your jacket. Brittany is busy checking your microphone's battery to by the time you finish that. She's great with the equipment. You've never had any technical difficulties due to user error or poor planning. Brittany always has a backup, and a backup for that backup.

She hands you the microphone, "It's off, but we'll start up soon. I want to get a teaser moving up to the scene. You know, with the ragged sign in the background."

"One of your the Walking Dead expositions?"

"Yeah, maybe open on that field and pan to the gross looking shack over there."

Brittany explains a little bit more of her idea while she straps on a backpack of lighting gear and lifts her camera onto her shoulder.

Then she asks you, "Mic on?"

"Mic on," you flip thing over to show Brittany the light for confirmation, because Brittany is a checker. Her attention to detail is something to be reckoned with. She's always been like that and it has done wonders for your program so you're going to let her keep the inspection routine.

Then she checks you.

It's a toe to head thing that she does. You asked her once why she even bothers looking at your feet if they're not going to be in the shot, but she told you that she wants to makes sure your shoes are tied, or that your heels are safe for the type of ground that you're walking on because she doesn't want you to fall.

"I'll change into galoshes when Animal Control gives us the okay to follow along."

She nods at that and continues. Brittany's always liked this pair of slacks—she's complimented you on them a couple of times—so those pass, too. There shouldn't be much she can say about your usual SNX6 thermal jacket but her inspection hits a snag.

"You got a," Brittany points to your jacket and then to her own collar. You look down, trying to figure out what's wrong.

This is familiar, Brittany helping you stay camera ready. It's something you've always been thankful for. Brittany is a woman, she knows when your makeup is off and when to suggest that you fix your hair. Brittany knows what your best looks like. With her camera and careful consideration, she makes sure that everyone sees it too.

"Here, let me."

Then she steps closer, tilting her camera off to the side so it won't be in her way when she reaches for you.

You've worked in broadcasting for years now. Lights, camera, a breath to clear your head, action. You can't say that you really get nervous anymore. The rush of live news gives you more adrenalin than anxiety. But when Brittany reaches for you, it's like the worst case of stage fright you've ever had.

Your breath stalls, shoulders going stiff. When she threads her fingers under your collar, following the material around your neck and over your shoulder, you can't think, or move, or even pray. You watch her eyes, for their concentration, their pretty blue color. There isn't a hint of fog between the two of you, so maybe she's holding her breath too. Then she brings her hand back the same way, folding your collar neatly in place.

You stutter, words spilling out, "I'm glad you came back."

She freezes, hand still on your jacket. Her eyes dance between yours until she says, "Me too."

Your heart swells, for a moment you can't feel the cold.

Her hand drops away, "That idiot they assigned you doesn't know a thing about lighting."

"You watched?"

She turns away to close the van's doors but you can still hear her say, "Yeah, of course."

It's obvious that Brittany wants to stay focused on work, so you let her lead you around the van and through the soundbites.

"We're a go in three," Brittany tells you, resettling her camera on her shoulder. "You got it?"

She's smiling, and it's a real smile this time. She loves this job, she's good at it. Working with her again, it makes you realize what you'd been missing.

"I got it," you tell her with a small smile, running though the shot plan one more time in your head.

"Com check. Santana, do I have you?"

"You got me, Grace."

The receiver in your ear is hot, the mic in your hand is on, and Brittany's camera light is winking at you. Your rubber galoshes squeak when you walk, but it's a lot better than ruining your nice boots in all this animal crap.

Mercedes's voice buzzes through the network earpiece, "And now we take you live to our senior correspondent, Santana Lopez, on the scene of an animal rescue just outside the city limits. Good morning, Santana."

"Good morning, Mercedes," your delivery is impeccable. "I'm on sight with the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals at Murphy's City Circus on Weston Road."

You tell the camera the story, neighbors complaining about smells and noises, an owner peddling this plague ridden prison as a petting zoo. You lead the camera through the ruins of the area, letting the ASPCA workers get caught in the background of your shot. Then you hit your mark, a small woman with a tiny bunny in her hands.

"This is Brenda," you tell the camera. "She's been working for the ASPCA for fifteen years. Brenda, tell us what will happen to these animals now."

Brenda does well during the interview. She's experience in animal rescues and names the sanctuary that is ready to take in all the animals rescued here today. You ask her about local pet adoptions and she gives a shout out to animal shelters across the city.

"Thank you, Brenda, for everything you do."

"Thank you for helping us spread the word!"

Mercedes comes back over the net to pick up the broadcast.

"Is it warm outside, Santana?"

"No," you smile curiously at the camera, "it's maybe thirty degrees out."

"Oh, I thought it had warmed up, maybe it's just the lighting that's so much better."

Something about the way she says it makes you blush, "Thank you, Mercedes. Have a good time in that cozy newsroom of yours. We'll be out here saving poor little animals."

"I will!"

You keep smiling until Brittany gives you the all clear.

"That was great," she says with a broad smile. "Thank you, Brenda."

"Yeah," you turn to the ASPCA officer and shake her hand, "thank you so much, you were perfect. Here's a card with the info on how to request a copy of the broadcast."

"Thank you!"

The ASPCA still has a lot of work to do, but you pass out a few more cards so that they'll all know where to get the news coverage. Brittany is busy packing up her equipment when you get back to the van.

"That went really well," she beams at you from inside the back of the van. "I can't believe you kept from making a face at the smell."

"Ugh," your whole body revolts. "Please don't remind me."

She laughs and holds her hand open. It's second nature to put pass her the mic, and you know she's going to need the receiver and earpiece next, so those come off too. Brenda let you hose down your galoshes, thankfully. So you stick those in the bin near the back door with Brittany's.

"You thinking Red Robins?" she asks as she climbs out of the van. "I could use a burger."

"No," you shake your head, "after seeing those poor goats and little pigs caged up and sad like that, I'm going to be a vegetarian for at least three days."

"I bet you don't even last 'til dinner."

"Still," you know she's probably right, "at least until I can get this smell out of my nose."

"Let's hit the road then," she stretches next to you, rolling her camera arm. "Did Grace give you a second assignment?"

"No."

And it's so easy, falling back into your old routine with her. But you don't want that. You need to know.

"Why did you call me that night if you were just going to shut me out?"

Brittany blinks, confused. Then she realizes what you're talking about and she shuts down so quickly. She takes two full steps back, focusing on shutting the van doors to hide her face.

"Honestly, I thought you would handle it better."

"Excuse me?" you're more than a little insulted by that. "How else was I supposed to handle that?"

"I don't know," she covers her face with her hands. It's clear that she's frustrated with you for bringing this up. "Maybe try a little decency? And not demand to know everything about my life?"

"I was worried—"

"It's called discretion, Santana," Brittany starts moving around the van and you have to jog to keep up. "How many times did say I didn't want to talk about it?"

Your stomach twists, "A couple."

Brittany spins on her heel, speaking in a hushed irritation, "You kept pushing. You made me feel like I was an interview. Maybe if I had said no comment, you would have backed off!"

"I didn't… I didn't mean for that."

"I needed a friend," she admits, eyes shifting to the SNX6 logo on the side of the news van, "not a reporter."

You regret everything.

"Look, I'm sorry, I was stupid," you're quick to berate yourself. "I'm an idiot and insensitive and—"

"Kind of a bitch," she finishes shortly.

"I'm a bitch that is really, very, sorry," you duck your head to catch her eye. When she looks you can say what you mean, "And I've missed you, because… you're more than a just a friend from work to me, Britt. You've always been more than that."

She looks genuinely surprised by your words, and that bugs the crap out of you.

Before all this, before the jailbreak and the week she disappeared, you thought the two of you were actually best friends. You can't count the number of times you've been to her place, or the number of times she's been to yours. It was normal to spend weekends together and get drinks after work. You used to watch stupid movies and gossip about the people from the office and it was great and you miss her.

You miss her so much and you know she misses you too, somewhere in there, she misses you.

Brittany toes the ground and mumbles, "I didn't mean that, I was upset and really super embarrassed and I… I was convinced that you would stop talking to me so I tried to, you know, beat you to it or something. I'm sorry."

With each word your heart is stitched back together.

She still cares.

"I can't take back how I acted," you say against the cold wind, "but I'm sorry, and I promise to never talk about it, and I'll try to never go crazy reporter on you again."

Brittany looks at you for a very long time. Whatever she's deciding is important, you hope you turn out to be worth her trust. Finally she accepts your apology with a tiny nod and one of her own, "I'm sorry I didn't call about my time off."

"It's okay, you're allowed to have your space."

Hearing you say that seems to mean a lot to her. She steps forward, raising her arms slowly, "Can I hug you?"

You don't mean to sound so desperate when you whisper, "Please."

Brittany wraps her arms around you. It's good and it's sincere and this feels like where you belong.

"You're freezing," she mumbles into your hair.

You laugh, you haven't felt this warm in such a long time.