As promised, chapter 12. Unfortunately, I have no publishing date for chapter 13.
A shout to Nic for betaing chapters 11 and 12, and to Pri for doing the same for past chapters.
Ah! If you look at my Masterpost on Tumblr you'll see several ficlets and fics published. If you're curious, my blog also has several new quirks, including a Challenge Request and a Fic Commentary. Drop by anytime! :D
12
Alexander offers his arm and Santana takes it. She takes one last look at herself in the mirror. He's smolderingly handsome in his black suit, and she's a vision in her long, black dress. "Be good," he tells her as he opens the door for her.
She doesn't answer.
They don't talk in the car. Santana stares at the sky and he stares at the road. There is nothing to say. After some time they reach the gates and enter. A young, well shaved man takes the car keys.
It's just them staring at the big white doors. "Please. For me," he asks her one more time. She takes his arm and takes a deep breath; she becomes all about composure, and elegance.
They enter the house.
A tall, well-built man comes to them. His beard is greying and his hair is full and thick and perfectly cut. "There you are, Alexander." He hugs Alexander, pats his shoulder, and turns to Santana. "So glad to see you," he tells her and kisses her hand.
Helena shows up by his side in a golden dress. "So glad," she says, looking at Santana with anger. The women kiss each other's cheeks. Helena turns to her brother and cups his face. "Aren't you the most handsome of them all?"
"Come in, come in, everyone is here." The man gestures for them. "Your father is happy to see the entire family together for this."
They walk; Santana looks around and takes in the expensive arrangements, the small groups of people talking, the high ceiling and the waiters serving champagne, wine, and overly expensive scotch. They're directly behind Helena and her husband, Eric.
"My youngest son." Alexander's father says. Alexander goes to him and shakes his hand. "And his beautiful wife," he nods to Santana, taking her hand. "The family is now complete."
"You don't look so bad yourself, Nestor," Santana answers, showing a well-practiced smile. "You gathered quite a group."
"Your 60th wedding anniversary is worth celebrating." He answered, placing a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "You, my children, are too young now, but you'll understand when you get there." He laughs, and Santana tries to smile, but she feels her muscles tensing, suppressing the idea.
Alexander's hand on her waist is heavy and wrong.
She sees his mother walking in their direction. "Darling!" Alexander's mother is lean and blonde and she has in her, authority and power, commanding a room. She's not used to be ignored and she's maybe too used to get what she wants.
She also adores Alexander and thinks he's the greatest person to walk on Earth since Jesus.
Her smile to Santana is obviously strained – because Santana is Latina, because Santana works, because Santana earns as much as Alexander, because Santana doesn't want to give her grandchildren just yet, because Santana married her baby boy; there were too many reasons – but she takes Santana's hand and compliments her hair anyway.
This can't be over soon enough.
"She's so frustrating, looking at me like I stole her child and took it to the Democrats," Santana whines into the phone, looking at her image in the bathroom mirror. "She hates me. She knows with my genetics I won't ever give her blonde grandchildren, like Helena and Hector have done. No, my children will have black hair and – God bless – they might even have curly hair!"
She hears Brittany's soft laugh on the other side. "You're so bad."
"I don't even know what's happening anymore. Why did I agree not to ruin this anniversary? Is it because the old witch has a cardiac condition and I'm afraid they'd accuse me of killing her? Is it because I still have no options and Alexander's father might as well just fire me on the spot?"
"Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe," Brittany tells her softly, and Santana closes her eyes and obeys. "I'll be waiting for you when you manage to escape. With hot chocolate."
Santana sighs. "That'd be nice. Are you sure it won't be a bother - you know this might take a while –" she tries to say, but Brittany shushes her.
"Don't be silly. Come right over." Her tone is final, and Santana can already feel the butterflies of anticipation.
She's at the main table, surrounded by his family, smothered by his hand on her thigh as he talks casually to his brothers. Santana grins when it's appropriate and nods when it's called for. She's thankful Helena is a few seats away and she doesn't have to deal with her.
She thinks of Brittany, of going home to her, in a way. Her heart races imagining her opening the door, welcoming her with a kiss, if she's lucky, and taking her by the hand.
She imagines really sleeping with Brittany – Brittany as the big spoon, pulling her close, kissing the back of her neck and mumbling good night, just like she used to do. She takes a deep breath that no one notices.
Nestor puts a hand on Santana's shoulder and says he wants to have a word.
He takes her to a deserted room and serves them both a drink. Santana licks her lips, anxious. This can't be good. Alexander is somewhere else, playing with Agathe, and hasn't seen them. She has never been face to face with Nestor.
"I dropped by Helena yesterday," he says. "Alexander was there, in his pajamas." He pauses, stirring the drink in his hands and looking at Santana. "Why wasn't he at his home, with his wife, I asked myself."
Santana doesn't answer. She takes a deep breath.
"I am old, but I am not blind." His eyes are as blue as Alexander's, she thinks as he looks straight at her. "My mind is as sharp as ever. I know very well what's happening." His glass clinks on the table when he harshly sets it aside. "You made your vows. Until death sets you apart like God wished to, Santana – no room for negotiation."
Santana frowns. "Excuse me, Nestor, but my marriage is none—"
"It is not acceptable. No one in my family has ever divorced, and your marriage won't be the first one. Especially you, Santana. You wouldn't want to face professional problems, would you? How do you think the family would see your participation in the firm if you can't even make your own marriage work?"
He leaves the threat hanging when a waiter enters the room and breaks the tension. "I hope we're settled," he says to her before he leaves.
Alexander drives her to the house and goes back to Helena's house after mumbling some excuse. Santana watches his car go and wonders how crazy that family is. Five brothers and sisters, ten grandchildren, and a complex web of secrets and diplomacy Santana never tried to understand.
She takes off her heels, her dress, her makeup, and ruins her hairdo. There's a satisfaction to it of not having to pretend. She puts on some jeans and a t-shirt – Brittany has seen her in every possible style and state of mind; it is good not having to play a part.
She goes to Brittany's.
Brittany's in pink pajamas and she looks absolutely adorable. Santana kisses her. It's supposed to be light and quick, but Brittany is faster and places a hand on the back of Santana's neck and deepens the kiss. Santana smiles and lets her, tilting her head to the left for a better fit.
This is what feels right.
"That's a nice welcome." Santana teases before Brittany gives her a few more light kisses and takes her bag.
"Missed you," Brittany says, placing the bag on the bed and taking Santana by the hand to the kitchen.
Santana stands behind her as she makes them hot chocolate. She kisses Brittany's shoulders, rests her hands on Brittany's hips, puts her forehead on her back and inhales her scent. She feels warm, a feeling spreading through her body easily, light and settled.
"I missed you too," she says. "I miss you all the time. I've missed you always." It's an afterthought she maybe shouldn't have voiced, but now it's too late.
Brittany turns to her. "Oh, Santana," she says. Santana tries to shrug it off. "I'm here now." Her lips find Santana's. "I'm here."
Santana wants to ask her for how long, but she doesn't. She takes what she can get. She kisses Brittany against the sink, fingertips sneaking under Brittany's shirt searching for familiarity.
Brittany lets her because Brittany always lets her have her way.
Santana's exhausted and she needs Brittany's skin. Brittany whimpers in her mouth and pulls her closer; Santana takes them to the bedroom. They take their clothes off before they even reach the bed, and when Santana lies on top of Brittany and feels as much skin as she can, she wonders again for how long.
Sometimes Brittany thinks of whales – the lonely ones, the ones who make a different sound that no other whale in the world can hear. She thinks of how they swim for miles, powerful and alone, and how they go through their entire lives without a single interaction with another being.
Brittany knows not everyone understands her. She got better with her words as time passed, but she's still foreign and unexpected.
Not with Santana. She sees the defeat on Santana's shoulders, the pauses between her sentences, and she knows what Santana's asking before Santana herself comes to realize it. She speaks Santana's language, her muscles tensing and relaxing when Brittany maps them again, the batting of her eyelashes in anticipation, her mouth opening because she's trying to hold everything back.
She lets Santana be on top this time. Santana needs it, and Brittany wants to be taken; she can't ask for anything else, not yet. Santana's afraid, and she's breaking herself to make something new – Brittany knows it hurts. Santana touches her and Brittany gasps, rolling her hips.
Santana can read her as well – Santana still recognizes her body, her signs – and there is less loneliness. She understands Brittany's mind, how it works and the logic it follows with an ease that growing up together can give. She touches Brittany again, but she hesitates – Brittany nods, encouraging, and Santana's mouth take a path downwards.
Brittany goes through the motions of life at times and no one is listening.
She whimpers and moans with Santana's mouth, holding on to her hair, staring at the dark ceiling. It doesn't take too long for the buildup – she's always ready for Santana, always – and when Santana slides two fingers inside of her, she clenches and tenses before she's begging for something, anything. Santana takes her through her orgasm and she makes sure it lasts.
Santana looks right at her. Brittany knows Santana is listening.
Alexander rubs his temples with the tips of his fingers. Sighing, he sets the table for two. The plates and glasses clink together. "You can have the house. I just want a few pictures, but you can have the rest."
Santana opens the wine and pours them both a glass. "Let's sell it."
"Helena can't know." He serves the pasta. "You know she's just like mom."
She drinks her wine. "We'll tell everyone after it's all said and done. It'll be easier."
They look at each other – he's only waiting for her to change her mind. She looks at him, but her eyes are empty and she can't promise him anything. He clears his throat. "We also need to discuss our joint investments. And I don't think mom will let you have the beach house. She thinks it's family property."
Santana sighs. It's going to be a long night.
Santana stares at Blaine Anderson. Blaine Anderson sips his coffee and stares back at Santana. "So…" He says, looking expectantly at her. "What did you want to talk about?"
He's still very gay and very handsome, and he looks so grown up and he still looks kind. She hasn't seen him in person for years.
She looks at him in the eye. "I know we haven't talked much." She pauses. "I know we never talked much." She pauses again. "But I keep tabs on everyone from Glee club, to check how they're doing, where they're living, and what kind of life they are leading."
He nods, encouraging her to continue.
"You're a lawyer, one of the biggest names in the fight for gay rights. You're with Kurt, still, and you both modeled for a national awareness campaign against hate. Kurt still has lady lips." She says, and she makes Blaine laugh. She decides to count that as a small victory. "I'm going through a divorce."
"I'm sorry to hear that." He looks sincere. "Do you need legal assistance? I know same sex couples can have a hard time with some judges and lawyers. Does Brittan—"
She shakes her head. "I'm not married to her. We broke up over a decade ago, actually," she interrupts him. He looks at her in confusion. She continues, "I'm married to a man."
"I thought you were—"
"I am." She sighs. "Sometimes the closet is a necessity." She looks at him and she hopes he understands. "But I can't. I can't anymore." She knows how pitiful she must be to him – he's accomplished, doing what he believes in, sharing his life with someone he loves… She's just another cliché.
"That's really brave of you." He puts his drink aside and leans towards her. "I hope you know that."
"It's not," she answers. A heavy silence falls. She sighs again. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you." He looks at her. "I've been asking— to know what's out there, look for new things—I heard you might have a job opening coming soon." She looks at him. "I wanted to do the right thing, for once. I wanted to ask you to consider me."
He analyses her, in silence. She decides to continue.
"I know it's not my area – but I want to start new. I don't care that it's a junior position, and I'm not picky about the salary." Words start flowing more easily, and she gains confidence. "You know I'm determined, ambitious and can be absolutely ruthless in court. I graduated first in my class and in my firm I went from junior associate to senior partner in record time. I have an impressive win-lose ratio. And you know I like to win."
Blaine smiles – he looks younger when he does it. "We should talk."
"Don't look at me like that. Do you want to tell my mother anything right before her birthday barbecue? Do you?" Alexander looks at her and searches for his keys around the house. He's wearing a white polo shirt and navy blue jeans and she's wearing a yellow sundress.
She hates sundresses.
She shows him his keys on the hallway table, and he thanks her. He opens the door for her and she enters the car. He follows.
"I talked to our investment manager. He says it should be easy to sell some 70% and we should have the money in our respective bank accounts this month," she says. She looks at her makeup in the mirror. "The rest of it, however, are long term investments we can't have access to yet."
"It's okay," Alexander answers abruptly.
She knows he just wants it to be over. She feels like apologizing, again, for everything she has done, but there's nothing left to say.
The rest of the ride is completely silent.
"So, what do you think?" Santana asks Brittany. They're at Central Park again, with a basket full of food and nothing scheduled for the day. They're on a red and white picnic towel and Brittany is sitting between Santana's legs, her right side turned towards Santana. Santana likes having Brittany this close, to envelop her arms around her and breathe in her perfume.
"I'm surprised." Brittany touches her face. "The good kind of surprised."
Santana smiles and steals a kiss. Brittany grabs her by the collar and pulls her back in. She likes how Brittany always takes her time, how she savors the moment. The way she licks her lower lip when they break apart.
"He's going to love you," Brittany says, placing a stray of Santana's hair behind her ear. "You're going to do great things."
She makes Santana feel hopeful. "Let's see. Blaine still hasn't called me back, and there are other candidates for the position."
"But you're the best one. He's smart enough to see it." She kisses Santana's hands and she makes Santana blush with the look on her face.
Santana kisses her again, because she can't help it. She's gone too long without this freedom, without the possibility of Brittany, and she's thirsty for it. Brittany sucks Santana's lower lip gently, her hand on Santana's collarbone; Santana relaxes and lets her do anything she wants.
Santana feels the breeze around them, the smell of grass. Brittany runs her tongue over Santana's lips, and Santana parts them without resistance. Brittany's tongue explores her mouth, rubs against Santana's tongue lazily, taking her time. Santana's heart feels like it's under water – it's slow, echoes vibrating through her body, floating inside her – and she doesn't want anything else for her life other than this moment.
Brittany breaks the kiss – licks her lower lip – and looks at Santana. There is no pain, no weight. "Maybe I could sleep at your place again," she asks, her face inches apart from Brittany's.
She wants Brittany's body to find her during sleep, as it always does – Brittany's always reaching for her, enveloping her – so there will be no emptiness, no deserted bed waiting for her when she wakes up.
"You should," Brittany answers. Santana asks herself if Brittany's hand, right over her heart, can feel what's happening inside her. Maybe she can. Maybe that's why Brittany looks at her like this, like she understands all of it – like she welcomes it.