It's just after 1 a.m. the next time she looks at the clock.
She considers going down to the hotel gym for a little while to tire her out, except that idea goes out the window when she realizes that it's not the fact that she's not tired that's the problem, in fact she's exhausted.
The problem is the girl that lays next to her.
It's as if Santana unconsciously knows when Brittany's about to drift off to sleep, that as soon as Brittany can see herself in dreamland, Santana's naked body brushes up against her or she lets out a soft snore, forcing the blonde to be wide awake once more.
She hadn't intended on sleeping with Santana.
In fact she didn't even intend to be in the same room with her unless they had too.
She had arrived back at the hotel a few minutes after her, she watched on from the lobby as Santana stood in front of the elevators, letting her frustration out on one of the buttons as she waited.
She decided that going into a contained space with the Latina would be a bad idea, that Santana would probably try to trap her in the doors. She also knew that she wouldn't make it up five flights of stairs without collapsing and so she found herself walking towards the bar where she could already hear Tina's obnoxious but infectious laugh.
Quinn had run over to the blonde the second she stepped through the door, eagerly asking about the 'after-hours practice' with Santana, to which Brittany assured the captain that it went well, choosing to leave out the part where she ended up with a throbbing nose and an angry Santana.
"Is Santana still there?" Quinn had asked, grabbing her arm to pull her over to the rest of the team.
"No, we left together." Brittany told her, placing her bag on the floor, instantly feeling the relief once the strap left her shoulder, "She went up to her room."
"Together, huh?" The captain smirked.
"Yeah, she waited in the locker room while I showered and we left together."
"She waited for you?"
It takes Brittany by surprise, having not realized at the time. After they left the field they returned to the locker room, Brittany to shower and get her stuff but for Santana there was no reason. She had showered earlier and she already had her bag on the field, and yet she still joined the blonde in the locker room instead of going back to the hotel. Sure, the Latina never actually spoke, in fact she didn't even look up from her phone, the only time she had moved from the bench was when she headed towards the door once Brittany had zipped her bag up.
She even held the door open for her.
But Brittany never got the chance to answer Quinn before they were interrupted by Tina handing her an orangey drink with a purple umbrella in it, quickly reassuring you that there was no alcohol in it.
Brittany didn't stay much longer after that. Actually no one did, captain's orders that they all went back to their rooms for some well needed rest. Although Brittany's pretty sure that Quinn was just using that as an excuse to stop a disturbing game of Never Have I Ever that was getting a little to personal and thankfully stopped right before Brittany was about to tell the embarrassing story of how she once threw up during sex before she had ate an entire bowl on fondue beforehand which she's still certain that her cat poisoned.
She had just changed into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized Chicago City jersey when her phone went off, something that was usually normal at that time, except it wasn't the usual update text that she receives from her mom everyday about how her cat's doing and how many mice he's decided to bring into the house. What she didn't expect was it to be from Santana.
whats ur room number?
She also didn't expect to answer without hesitation.
512
She didn't even bother to ask where she got her number from, probably Quinn.
There was something off about Santana from the second Brittany had opened the door. She seemed nervous. Something that Brittany had never seen Santana Lopez be. She stood outside the door, her hands wringing together, still wearing the navy sweatshirt from before, Brittany had never noticed how big it looked on her until she realized that she could barely see her shorts, the only thing covering her legs were the black socks that reached to her mid-thighs.
But what Brittany noticed the most were her eyes. They didn't have the sharp look that they usually had. They also didn't look how they did in the parking lot when she cried.
Something that Brittany felt really bad about.
Neither of them spoke.
Instead they both just stood in the doorway, waiting for the other to make the first move, which was eventually Santana, giving a gentle smile to which the blonde instantly returned, opening the door wider allowing the brunette to join her.
Santana was the first to speak, whispering a soft "Hi." as she placed one hand on the taller girl's hip, the other on her cheek before pressing her lips to Brittanys.
Brittany didn't hesitate to kiss her back.
It was slow and gentle and Brittany couldn't stop herself from smiling as she wrapped her arms around Santana's waist, pulling the brunette's body into hers.
It didn't last long.
It was as if someone was playing with a switch.
The way Santana would call Brittany baby, then for more, but then the switch would flick and they would go back to arguing, Santana telling the girl above her to fuck off while pulling her down for another kiss.
Brittany wasn't even sure what they were arguing about, just that it ended with Santana moaning her name.
But what had surprised Brittany more than Santana showing up to her hotel room for sex was what happened after.
Her heart was racing as she smiled at the sound of Santana's breathless laugh, the brunette moving to lay her head on the blonde's chest, while her leg wrapped around her waist.
"And you said I suck at using my hands." Brittany jokes, her breathing now steady.
"Well, I guess you proved me wrong, huh?" She giggles, placing a hand on Brittany's ribs, "At least in bed anyway."
"Yeah? Well I'll prove it to you on the field too."
"I'll believe it when I see it, Pierce. You probably won't even get a game."
It hurts that Santana doubts her so much. That despite their current position and what just happened it's so easy for her to go back to making digs at her.
Then again Brittany knew how Santana felt about her and yet she still jumped into bed with her so she's kinda got herself to blame. Especially considering she also returns Santana's feelings and as it turns out bc, they're both as stubborn as each other.
"Y'know what I hate?" Santana asks, her head tilting up to place a soft kiss on the blonde's neck.
"Me?" Brittany jokes, praying that she's not about to start what feels like their fifteenth argument of the day and put an end to their cuddling. She's just too tired and too comfy for that.
"The fact that this feels so good." She admits, ignoring her answer.
"Cuddling?"
"All of it."
She didn't know what to say after that, instead she settled on kissing the smaller girl on the forehead, stroking her hair as she fell asleep.
It's not until Santana starts to pull the comforter from her when Brittany finally decides she's had enough. She really needs to sleep and she's never going to do it with the brunette sleeping next to her.
"Santana." She whispers, her hand reaching over to shake at the sleeping girl's shoulder, only for it to be shrugged off. "Santana, wake up." She tries again a little louder, which just makes her face scrunch up, making Brittany's heart sink a little, "Come on, please."
It only takes a couple more nudges before she eventually wakes up, "What?" She grumbles rubbing her eyes, "What time is it?"
Brittany doesn't get a chance to reply before she takes a look for herself.
"Two thirty? Are you fucking kidding me, Pierce? Why'd you wake me?"
Brittany really wishes she had just gone to the hotel gym.
"I, uh, I need you to leave." She gulps, pulling the comforter further up her body.
"Why?"
"I can't sleep." Brittany admits.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"I can't sleep with you next to me."
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Look, can you just leave? I don't want you here." The blonde mumbles, causing Santana to throw her side of the comforter off as she gets out of the bed.
"You're fucking unbelievable you know that right?" She hisses, pulling up her shorts that had been thrown across the room just a few hours ago, "If you didn't want me here you could have just told me to fuck off when you answered the door."
"I did want you here!" The blonde protests, watching as the Latina stomps around the room, throwing on a jersey that was discarded from Brittany earlier, "And sure it was great, but it was also a really bad idea."
"You didn't think it was a bad idea when you were shoving me against the wall." She smirks, and Brittany knows that she's just trying to get a rise out of her.
"I'm sorry, Santana. It shouldn't have happened. It didn't mean anything"
"Obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes, moving to find her shoes, "Kicking me out at two-thirty fucking am. That's an asshole move."
"How am I the asshole?" Brittany questions, moving to sit up more, "You've been nothing but mean to me for years!"
"Don't act like you're so fucking innocent."
"Santana I didn't mean to-"
"You didn't mean to what?" Santana growls, "Ruin my life? Because that's what you did. You ruined my fucking life, Brittany and you know it and yet you just act like nothing happened, like everything's fine. But it's not fine, is it? Not for me."
She knew it was coming.
The outburst that she had been waiting for.
She's just surprised it's taken this long.
Brittany had spent recent years listening to people's opinions. Some said it was an accident, something that could have happened to anyone in any game. Others said it was intentional, a malicious tactic used to end Santana's career. Brittany never listened. She knew what happened. It was an accident. Something she had done hundreds of times since she started her journey as a keeper. But not everything goes to plan. Especially in soccer. She's seen plenty of accidents in her career, she's had her fair share over the years. She also knows that some are worse than others, most times it just ends up with the player walking it off, but others aren't so fortunate. Others need to be taken off in a stretcher, leaving the field not knowing if they'll even step foot on it again. Unfortunately Santana was the latter.
She glance's up at the brunette standing at the foot of the bed. Her hair's a mess, yet somehow she still makes it look sexy, her brown eyes are once again filled with tears. The jersey she wears fits comfortably on her and Brittany can't help but get butterflies knowing it has her surname written on the back. But the butterflies are gone and her stomach sinks a bit as she looks further down, her attention focussing on her bare legs or rather the scar that runs from above her left knee to just below it. It's the first time Brittany's actually seen it, all the other times it's either covered by clothing or a bandage. The scar doesn't look that bad considering the surgery was only a little under two years ago. But Brittany knows it wasn't the scar that Santana had a problem with. It was what happened after she got it.
Brittany didn't know alot about Santana's past. She just knew what everyone else knew, the stuff that Santana allowed people to know.
It hadn't been easy for her. Unlike Brittany, Santana had never joined an academy when she was a kid. She didn't get to work her way from the youth team up to the senior team. She did, however, play for both her middle and high schools team before eventually playing for her college after she graduated. It had shocked everyone when the brunette had revealed that she wasn't there to play soccer but rather to study music, but the bigger shock was when she had mentioned that she had failed to get a soccer scholarship in her home state, Ohio, the same college that produced many of Ohio FC's talented players, Quinn Fabray being one of them.
It had been their loss though because within the first semester of Santana's freshman year she had been scouted by the New York Rangers and just three months later, she made her professional debut, yet despite the success of winning a USL Championship and her increasing development at the club, she declined the offer for a new contract after just a year, choosing to make a four-year deal with San Diego City, the team she still plays for.
Kinda.
"Santana, I swear I never meant for that to happen. It was an accident." Brittany cries.
"You really expect me to believe that? That it was an accident?"
"It was?"
"So you weren't pissed at me that day?"
"I-I was" Brittany admits, "But not enough to do that! Look, Santana, I was mad at you and sure I was a little hurt but I didn't care about that when we were playing. Besides, you weren't the only one to get hurt."
Brittany regrets it before she even finishes.
"Oh, I'm sorry that you got a little cut on your head. You got what? A minor concussion? You were back for the next game, I missed the entire season and almost lost my career. Fuck, I still might lose my career.
"I really am sorry."
"Well, it's too late for apologies." Santana growls, her knee now covered with her sock once more, "It's too late for anything."
"What does that mean?" Brittany asks, still clinging the comforter to her chest.
"It means stay the fuck away from me."
She can't exactly say that she wasn't expecting the cold shoulder that Santana had been giving her all morning.
Brittany's not taking it personally though, especially since Santana had yet to talk to anyone all morning, choosing to stay silent during breakfast and the coach journey to the stadium where they would play their first game in just a few hours.
She didn't even say anything when Holly told her that she would be starting. Instead she just gave the coach a nod before going over to the bench, dropping her bag at her feet.
Brittany had been told that she would also be starting and unlike Santana, she did a lot more than nod, choosing to wrap her coach in a hug, thanking her for the opportunity all while trying to stop herself from crying.
Taking a look around the room she notices that it's different to all the other locker rooms she's been in. It's bigger and cleaner, more looked after, she assumes that's because it's only used for international and cup finals. Yet despite that it looked like a basic locker room. There was nothing that made it special other than the reason for being in it.
She goes over to the bench, taking a seat in front of the navy jersey that hangs behind her, the number 1 with her surname above it sitting boldly on the material.
Taking a deep breath she figures that she should probably move her ass and actually get changed, seeing as everyone apart from her and a certain brunette already had.
It's loud in the locker room. In fact, it's always loud when the squad is together, but today it's louder than usual.
She hears the commotion of a few of the girls play fighting with one another, until Quinn puts it to an end, threatening that if any of them get injured before the game actually starts then she'll make their lives a living hell, something that Brittany is sure she's pretty capable of doing.
She's pulling up the pair of navy shorts when she hears Santana's voice for the first time that day.
"The fuck do you want?"
The anger in her voice making Brittany jump.
"Is that why you didn't join us last night?" Quinn asks, her smirk growing as she watches Santana scowl.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Fabray?"
Quinn doesn't answer and Brittany watches as the other blonde nods towards Santana's leg, making the brunette blush.
Brittany can't see what they're looking at. She knows it can't be the scar, Santana's been covering it for almost 2 years, she even had it wrapped under her sweats to make sure that no one could see it when she changed into her shorts.
But then it hits her.
"That busy fucking someone that you couldn't come hang out with your teammates?"
She can feel her face heat up before Quinn even finishes her sentence and she's just grateful that everyone else is too busy focused on other things to pay attention to their conversation.
Santana just laughs, focusing on the laces of her cleats, "Thanks for having so much confidence in me, Captain. But no, that's not why I didn't wanna join your weird fucking tea party." It was Santana's turn to smirk, "I didn't go because I don't like any of you."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"It's the truth."
"Then why do you have a hickey on your thigh?"
Shit.
"It's a bruise, genius." Santana counters, pulling at the bottom of her shorts, "We play soccer. Alex tackled me yesterday and obviously she needs to be better at it. That shit would get her suspended."
Brown eyes meet blue, Santana giving the blonde a subtle nod and Brittany has never been so thankful to have given a hickey to someone who is actually good at lying, knowing if it had been the other way around she would have thrown up the second Quinn came near her.
The captain doesn't argue back, instead she pulls at her armband, before patting Santana's shoulder, "Good luck on your debut, Lopez."
"Whatever."
"Pierce!"
Uh oh.
"How you feeling?" Quinn asks. Brittany didn't even see her make her way towards her, too busy focusing on Santana failing to tub the hickey off. "You look like you're gonna puke."
"I'm not, I swear!" Brittany promises, shaking her head, "I've only puked during a game once and that's only because I accidentally ate Lord T's cat food beforehand because he switched my pancakes for his breakfast without me realizing."
"Gross."
"I feel great. I'm just a little nervous." She admits, grabbing her tape.
"You'll be fine, don't worry. Everyone gets nervous whether it's their first game or their fiftieth. You have nothing to worry about, it's the first game, whatever happens we can build off of it. Save the nerves for when you're playing in the final of the World Cup." Quinn winks and Brittany's pretty sure she's just thrown up in her mouth a little at the thought.
"How about I just try and get through this game first?" She suggests, "Besides I might not even make it into the squad if we get to the tournament. I might not even make the next round of qualifiers."
Oh, God, she thinks she's having a panic attack.
"Britt, relax!" Quinn shouts, her hands now on the keepers shoulders, "You're right, let's just focus on this game for now. But just so you know, I have absolutely no doubt that you are gonna be a part of this team for a very long time. Holly knows how great you are and how much potential you have, okay?"
"Okay."
It's almost as if time doesn't exist.
That every minute that passes seems like it takes hours and seconds at the same time.
Everything that happened after her conversation with Quinn was nothing but a blur.
She knew what was going on yet at the same time she had no memory of it.
Like that time she tried to drown her sorrows in a bottle of tequila one night after she thought she lost Lord Tubbington and somehow woke up in Mexico two days later.
With Lord Tubbington.
She still didn't know how he managed to convince his way across the border.
There was a team talk from both Quinn and Holly. Not that Brittany can actually remember any of it, the sound of her heart beating canceling out everything else. She assumes it just consisted of having fun and trying their best. At least Holly's would have been. Quinn probably would have talked about making everyone proud which usually translated to don't fuck up and let everyone down.
Then there was the initiation. Where both new members of the squad were handed a cap to mark their debut. It felt heavier than it looked, Brittany remembered. It also didn't really feel like a usual cap. It was made of velvet, making the top of it seem flat. It also had a tassel coming from the top. Brittany had held the delicate item as if it was a newborn. Like it was the most precious thing, which to Brittany it now was. Sure it was just a white flat cap that looked like it had been made in the 40's but it meant everything. It represented Brittany's entire career. Her life. It had the US logo in the middle. The number 396 was embroidered underneath. She noticed that Santana's had a different number on. Hers was 397.
They were the 396th and 397th players to play for their international team.
Before she knew it she was standing in the tunnel, Quinn stood in front of her, wearing the captain's armband with pride.
They were playing Canada, who's red kit contrasted with the white of theirs as both teams made their way out onto the field side by side.
The stadium was full and Brittany couldn't help but tear up watching the flags waving as she proudly sang the national anthem.
Brittany couldn't remember the last time she had been so nervous for a game, but looking at her teammates, who had broken away to get into position as their captain went to the centre, winning the coin toss, she knew that they had what it took to win.
Everyone knew that it would be a tough game. No one could predict who would win. Afterall Canada had been in great form over the years. In fact they had been in favor of winning the tournament, and they weren't even in it yet.
They were playing a 4-3-3(4). Holly's preferred formation. A formation that had worked so well for her over all the years she had been coaching. The only difference was the players.
Brittany threw a towel and water bottle to the side of the goal, tightening her gloves once more, she looked out at Tina and Alex, who had finally stopped teasing each other for the first time that day, they were fully focused. In front of them was their captain, the number 8, who was still giving out tactics, judging by her hand gestures to Phoebe, their number 9.
But her main focus was number 10. The attacking midfielder who stood in the centre, her knee wrapped up, ball at her feet as she waited for the ref to blow the whistle.
Not a lot happened in the first half.
They had their chances.
So had Canada.
But the deadlock still hadn't been broken.
It had been close at times. There had been a few shots that would go wide of the target. Other times the Canadian keeper would comfortably save.
There had been a few times where Santana had broken free, allowing her to run towards goal only for her attack to be stopped as the defenders eventually caught up to her.
Brittany could tell that the brunette's frustration was growing every time she lost possession.
But she also knew that Santana wasn't the only one that was frustrated, seeing as she had support from both Phoebe and the two wingers during every run she made, but she chose to ignore them, wanting to take on the defenders on her own.
Canada had also been close.
A mistake from the left full back allowed the number 7 in red to make a run down the wing, slipping the ball into the middle of the box towards the striker, who somehow shot the ball over the crossbar.
It had been their only shot of the game so far. Times where they were on the attack would be broken by the centre backs or midfielders who would retrieve possession before the other team could even control the ball and whenever they made a cross into the box Brittany was there, coming off her line to collect the ball before it even had the chance to fall to a player in white.
But despite all the failings of getting a goal there had been one shot that ended in the ball being in the back of the net.
It had come from a corner at the other side of the stadium, Brittany had watched from the halfway line, the ball had been whipped in by the captain, where Jo, the left winger had headed it into the bottom corner.
Except the goal didn't stand.
Despite the protests of the US team and the crowd, it was ruled out due to foul play in the build up.
Committed by one Santana Lopez.
"Keep it up, Pierce." Quinn praises, giving the taller blonde a pat on the back as the teams make their way towards the dugout after the half time whistle was blown.
"Thanks. You too." Brittany smiles, before feeling a push as Santana shoves herself between the two blondes, making her way down the tunnel.
"Watch it, Lopez!" The captain warns, gaining the attention of the players around them, some in white, others in red.
"Oh, go fuck yourself, Fabray!" Santana shouts, Holly chasing after her.
"I'd be pissed too if I had to play with the person who almost ruined my career." Brittany overhears, her heart sinking at the words of the canadian player, "Especially since Santana's the one being painted as the bad guy. Like c'mon give the girl a break."
It was true.
Kind of.
The media had always made Santana out as the villain, even before her accident. Mainly to do with her behavior outside of work. The party girl with an attitude problem. But yet, people still loved her for her performance on the field, something that was on a downfall, which, according to pundits made the brunette a failed player with anger issues who brought nothing but problems to the team that she was with.
Brittany knew that wasn't true. Not entirely.
They didn't know the real Santana Lopez.
But then again neither did Brittany.
Her attention is broken away as Quinn grabs her hand, her gloves still on and drags her away towards the locker room, "Ignore them, Britt. Everyone with actual brains knows that it wasn't your fault."
"Thanks Q."
"Plus, Santana has no one else to blame but herself. Maybe if she cleaned up her act people would think differently about her."
"I don't think she's too bla-" Brittany stops, hearing the shouts coming from inside the locker room.
"Santana, that's not what I'm saying!" Holly assures Santana. The Latina standing with her arms crossed against her chest, making Brittany notice that she's just in her under shirt, her jersey on the floor.
"Then why are you only saying it to me?" Argues Santana, stomping her foot, "If it's not just me then why aren't you telling everyone else that they fucking suck!"
"I did not say that, Lopez."
Brittany doesn't think she's ever seen her coach so angry before.
"Well, it was implied. Santana fumes, "It's not my fucking fault that we can't score a goal.
"Santana," Holly says softly, bending down the pick Santana's discarded jersey up, "All I suggested is that you don't have to take on an entire team by yourself. Your teammates are there to support you. It won't hurt you to let them help you. We can't win this game if you don't work as a team, okay?"
"Fine." Santana mutters, throwing her jersey back on, "But if we still lose, it's not on me."
"Of course not. Coach smiles, "We win together, we lose together."
Rolling her eyes, Santana moves over to take a seat on the bench, her arms refolded and the scowl still on her face, "Don't look at me like that, Pierce."
"I-I'm not, I-" Brittany stutters, her face burning up.
"We all know we wouldn't be in this position if I didn't have to spend an entire year in recovery." She spits.
"Santana-" Holly warns, "How about you have a think about what I just said and get back out there, huh?" Santana rolls her eyes again. "Let's get back out there and win this thing. Together."
"Stop letting her get to you." Quinn tells the keeper, "She's always been dramatic. You and I both know that her knee is perfectly fine, she proved it last season. She just needs to get her head out of her ass before she actually does her career and not by being injured.
"What do you mean she's always been dramatic?" She asks, shielding her eyes as the light from the opening of the tunnel blinds her. "She was never like that before she got hurt. A little feisty maybe. But, I never thought she was dramatic."
"Yeah, well you didn't go to high school with her."
The second half isn't much different to the first so far.
Other than the fact that Canada has started to completely dominate the game and the US can't even get a shot, they can't even get the ball into the final third before it's taken from them. Or rather Santana. Who has either just ignored Holly's instructions or got concussion from heading the ball too hard and forgot about it because ever since the whistle blew to start the second half she had yet to make a pass, making the entire stadium groan everytime she ends up on the floor, the ball ending up with the opposition.
In fact the only thing that they currently had going for them was that the score was still 0-0.
Brittany stands in the middle of her box, watching as the Canadian midfield comfortably passes the ball around.
The ball had slid past Quinn, who had put her foot out attempting to intercept but failing to get a touch. The ball came to the number 7 in red who made a run towards Tina, the centre back successfully kicking the ball through the legs of the other player, unfortunately reaching the opposing midfielder behind her, who runs towards the box, making both centre backs move back. Brittany can see their tactics, she keeps her eye on the ball, but she also notices the striker who's made her way down the wing waiting for the pass.
But it doesn't come.
And then the ref blows his whistle.
Number 7 is on the floor, clutching at her ankle as Santana sits next to her, pulling her socks up after they fell down after she made the tackle.
The ref pulls out a yellow card, booking the Latina.
Santana doesn't argue. She knows it was a foul.
A risky foul.
A foul that allows Canada to have a freekick from just outside the box.
"Alex!" Brittany shouts at the defender, signaling to move the wall of players a little to the right.
Both teams are in the penalty area, ready for the free kick, except Santana and one of the Canadian defenders along with their keeper who stands outside her box.
Brittany's ready.
She claps her glove covered hands together ready for the shot.
The ref blows his whistle once more.
Brittany's eyes never leave the ball as it flies over the wall towards the goal, it's high, she knows she can't catch it, jumping she pushes it up, praying to God that she's put enough power on it to go over the crossbar.
But she doesn't.
Instead it bounces off the bar, back into the waiting players that watch on as it comes back into the box.
Luckily, it comes to Quinn, who crosses it out of the area towards Santana who has already made the run past the halfway line, yards in front of the defender.
Brittany watches as both teams run towards the other end, the crowd cheering as Santana sprints towards goal and it's just her and the keeper. All she needs to do is shoot.
But she never gets the chance.
The defender finally catches up to her, gripping at her jersey as she puts a foot in, making Santana fall to the floor.
Brittany's heart pounds. She doesn't have the best view, but she can tell by the uproar of both the players and the crowd that it's a foul.
That the Canadian number 4 never touched the ball before she dragged Santana down.
Santana was tripped.
The defender had pulled at Santana's jersey before tripping her up.
It was a foul.
It was in the penalty box.
Yet, for some fucked up reason, the referee signals for a goal kick.
And all hell breaks loose.
The ref is surrounded by both sets of players. Santana in the middle shouting something that Brittany can't make out but she can judge from the way Santana is pulling at her jersey and pointing at the spot that she's telling him that she should have a penalty. She's not the only one, Phoebe, Alex and Tina are also arguing at the ref, while Jess, the midfielder, shoves one of the opposing players, who shoves her back.
It's then when Brittany decides to make her way over. Both teams are arguing and pushing at each other, the ref losing control of the situation. She goes over to Tina, dragging her away from the other player, telling her to calm down before she gets booked, then going over to where Santana is still standing arguing with the ref.
"This is bullshit!" Santana shouts, "You can't actually be fucking serious!"
"Santana leave it!" The captain demands, pushing the brunette away before she gets herself a second yellow.
Brittany takes Santana's arm, "Come on."
"Get the fuck off me!" Santana snatches her arm away, pushing her way past Brittany towards number 4, shoving her to the ground, before she's dragged away by Tina.
The two teams move away, leaving as both captains talk to the ref, Quinn still trying to persuade the ref to change his mind.
He doesn't.
Instead he holds out a yellow card once more at the blonde captain and points to the goal for a goal kick.
The incident makes the intensity of the game much higher.
The team press harder, determined to win the ball back, to create more chances, to score. They need to win. They should be winning. Hell, Canada should be down to 10 players.
But attacking more also has its downfalls. Especially when all their team is in the opposing box for a corner but nothing comes from it, Phoebe's shot is blocked and Canada finds themselves on the counter attack.
The Canadian striker runs off with the ball, only Alex back to defend, but if Brittany has learnt anything from this game, it's that the striker is fast, she can outpace most players, including Alex.
She finds herself in a 1 v 1. The striker comes up to the edge of the box and Brittany takes a risk. She leaves her line, running towards the player, ready to sweep the ball, but she doesn't get the chance before the striker shoots, the ball hitting off of the blonde's shin before going behind her and judging by the cheers of the crowd and the disappointment on the strikers face, it didn't go in.
Looking back she sees as the ball is thrown from the stands back onto the field, towards the Canadian left-back, ready for the corner.
"Sorry!" Alex apologies, running up to the keeper, stretching an arm out to help her off the floor.
"Don't worry. I had it covered." Brittany winks, receiving high-fives from a few of her teammates.
But her work's not done. There's still just over 5 minutes left and she has a corner to defend.
She steps back on her goal line, giving Tina a light push towards the front post, "Jo!" She shouts, "Go with 8." Jess nods, moving over to mark her player," Lopez, stay with 7."
"Yes, Boss." The brunette snides, giving a salute, slowly making her way over to the player that stands at the edge of the box, but not before shoulder-checking number 4.
As soon as the whistle blows there's commotion from both sets of players, all shoving each other, but Brittany's focus stays on the ball as it swings over the awaiting players in the center and falls towards and unmarked player at the back, who heads it back over to one of her teammates in the middle.
Brittany's ready for the shot.
Except it never comes.
Instead her view of the ball is replaced with red cleats and two bodies clashing together.
And Brittany knows what's about to happen before the ref even blows his whistle and within seconds he's surrounded by players once again.
She looks down at the players on the ground, one is rolled into a ball, holding her foot, while the other sits back on her hands, tapping her cleats together like a child with the most smug smile that Brittany has ever seen on her face.
"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, pulling the red clad player up, who she now recognises is number 4, the same defender who fouled Santana earlier.
She just nods in reply before joining the rest of her squad, who seem to be having an on-going argument with Quinn, who is yet again attempting to persuade the ref, this time not to give a penalty.
"What? You not gonna help me up too?" Santana smirks.
"No."
Stepping over the brunette on the floor she heads over to her captain, still having a one-sided argument with the ref, "Come on," She begs, "If this is a penalty then so was ours!"
"She didn't even foul her." Brittany tells the ref. It's a complete lie, but if they were robbed of a penalty then so should the other team, "Santana got the ball." She doesn't think Santana was even attempting to win the ball.
"How much are you getting paid?" Santana asks the ref, finally making her way over.
"Santana." Quinn warns.
"No. It's bullshit and he knows it." Santana argues pointing her finger at the ref, "Where was my penalty? I got fouled too!"
"Lopez-" He warns.
"You've let them get away with everything! You have to be getting paid! Either that or you're just really shit at your job!"
He ignores the pleas, instead bringing out the yellow card again, first towards Quinn for arguing again, and then at Santana, which instantly gets the attention of everyone, the crowd booing in protest and the players begging to take it back.
He doesn't.
Instead he puts it back into his pocket before taking out the red one, holding it up at Santana and then pointing at the penalty spot.
It's a penalty.
They're down to 10 players.
And there's only a few minutes left.
Sure, she's saved plenty of penalties before.
But she's conceded more.
She receives a few words of encouragement from her team and she walks over to the goal.
"Pierce!" She hears, looking over as Santana makes her way over to her, "You better save this."
Brittany watches as Santana stomps away, whipping her jersey off before she's even left the field. She ignores Holly and the rest of the coaching staff who try to talk to her. She doesn't stay to watch the rest of the game. Brittany wants her too. She wants to prove her wrong. She wants to save this penalty in front of Santana. But she can't and all Brittany can do is watch as she heads into the tunnel.
A/N - title is from ted lasso. also tried my best to make the terminology american but if theyre still british im sorry