The first weekend after school let out was bright and breezy, a pleasant relief from the alternating humidity and heavy rain they'd experienced in their final weeks as sophomores. Jackets and jeans were left in the closet in favor of tank tops and shorts. Ice cream trucks making their rounds were met with plenty of eager customers; local pools would be opening soon, and the parks were populated with people lounging in the grass and enjoying the pleasant sunshine.
That Sunday, however, Brittany had no such outside excursions in mind. The order of the day was lots of extra sleep. No need to rise before the sun today.
One dream was shifting into another when she was awoken by three sharp taps on the bedroom window. They were followed by a loud rustling noise. Brittany opened one eye, unwilling to move until she could ascertain the source.
"Oh, crap!" hissed a familiar voice.
There was another creak, and then an urgent whisper.
"Brittany!"
Brittany clambered over the pile of pillows lining the vacant side of her bed. The sheet wrapped around her ankle as she tried to move her legs, and she fell in a heap on the floor. The knocking persisted.
"Coming," Brittany groaned and pushed herself back to her feet.
Rubbing her injured elbow as she walked, Brittany shuffled the rest of the way to the closed curtains. As she drew them aside, she was met with an unusual sight. There, clinging desperately to the lattice that ran up the side of the house, was Santana. Her face was scrunched up with the effort of supporting her weight, and her hair was mussed from the struggle with the overgrown vines that wound through the wood. Her dark eyes squinted to see past the glare on the glass, and they widened eagerly when she spotted the girl on the other side.
"Brittany!" she said again, and her body swung precariously as she smacked her left hand against the window. "Open up and let me in!"
Her groggy friend complied and turned the latches aside. She pushed the pane up above her head and leaned out to get a better look.
"Santana, what are you doing?"
"I'm sorry. I knew that your family sleeps in really late on Sundays, and I didn't want to wake the whole house banging on the door. Never mind that, though. Make room so I can climb through."
Santana swung back and forth a few times, wincing as the trellis swayed with her. She let go and was airborne for a split second before both hands caught hold of the inside of the windowsill. Her torso was now successfully in the room, but from the waist down she was stuck outside.
"Damn it," she snarled. "Britt, help me."
Brittany grabbed a fistful of Santana's shirt with one hand and gripped her companion's arm with the other. She tugged with all her might, and the two girls tumbled backward onto the carpet.
"Never again," Santana's voice mumbled from where her face had fallen against Brittany's stomach.
"You could have just texted me," Brittany giggled. "I'd have come downstairs to let you inside."
Santana considered this for a second and shrugged awkwardly.
"I guess I was just feeling spontaneous," she laughed. "Surprised?"
"To say the least," Brittany nodded, still smiling. "Did you drive here or come on foot?"
"I took a jog after I got back from Mass at St. Rose," Santana replied as she helped Brittany to her feet. "I have to stay in shape before practice starts up again."
"This doesn't have anything to do with Coach's comment the last time we saw her, does it?" Brittany inquired shrewdly.
"You heard what she said, Britt," Santana answered defensively. "'Keep yourselves in top form over the break. Don't even think about slacking off, or you're out next semester. No lazies, no flatsies, and no fatties.' I can't take the chance."
Brittany sighed heavily and flopped backwards onto her bed. Santana's eyes traveled up the other girl's legs to the bottom of her rumpled nightgown. She bit her lip and tried to look elsewhere.
"Damn," she said softly when her gaze fell on her own kneecaps.
"What's the matter?" Brittany asked.
Santana gestured to the cuts and scrapes from her impromptu climb up the trellis.
"Let me see," Brittany said, beckoning her closer.
Santana crawled onto the bed and bent her knee, shivering slightly as Brittany's cool fingertips guided the injury to her eye level.
"They're not deep, but they'll probably sting for a while," Brittany told her.
She pressed her lips gently to the skin and nuzzled it before looking up again.
"Better?"
Santana nodded. Brittany stared at her intently and Santana felt another shiver.
"You've got another one," Brittany pointed out quietly.
"Another what?"
"A scratch," Brittany explained. "Right there."
She pointed to her friend's collarbone. Santana tentatively touched the spot and felt a slight twinge. Brittany lifted her eyebrows and inclined her head in the other girl's direction. Understanding her meaning, Santana leaned forward to put this newly-discovered scratch within her reach. Brittany's breath was warm on her throat as her lips lingered.
"Twelve-thirty," Santana blurted out lamely. "It-It's twelve-thirty. Won't your family be out of bed soon?"
"Maybe," Brittany shrugged indifferently. "But we don't eat brunch until at least one o'clock."
It was a fact they were both aware that Santana already knew.
"Maybe I should go before…," Santana began, but Brittany was already shaking her head.
"Stay," she whispered sweetly. "Katy will be glad to see you. Mom and Dad will, too."
Brittany gave Santana a quick kiss and smiled. Santana hesitantly returned the gesture and felt her hands being guided to the bottom of the same nightgown she'd been staring at only minutes ago.
"All right," she conceded without breaking away. "So long as we won't wake anyone up."
"Like the Quiet Game, only harder. Okay, I can be quiet if you can." Brittany waggled her eyebrows and nipped the other girl's lower lip. Santana's face grew warm as she hastily nodded her head.
They kissed again and Santana felt her body start to go limp. She sank against the pillows, surrounded by Brittany's disheveled hair and the confident embrace of her strong arms. Then Brittany began caressing her face and lightly brushing their noses together. Santana had to shut her eyes to block out the intensity in her friend's expression.
Eager to break the moment, she wriggled her hand between them and hooked a finger around the band of Brittany's underwear. Then she grunted and flipped Brittany onto her back before plunging her hand beneath the fabric.
Brittany's eyes widened at the abrupt change of pace but she did not argue against it. Her hands tangled in Santana's hair but there were no more soft kisses. Santana rested her head against the other girl's chest and closed her eyes again. Her fingers were moving with efficiency devoid of tenderness.
Brittany hissed sharply through her teeth and her fingers dug into her palms. Something in the way her body curled in on itself told Santana something was wrong, and she stopped immediately.
"Did I hurt you?" she whispered worriedly.
"I'm fine," Brittany insisted despite the fact that her mouth had pinched into a thin line. "I just felt something sting for, like, a second."
"My fingernails," Santana realized guiltily. "I quit filing them once cheerleading was over."
She sprang out of bed and looked meaningfully at the window.
"It's okay," Brittany hastily insisted. "You don't have to stop…"
Santana still hesitated, one foot pointed in the direction of her escape route.
"Don't go," Brittany whispered.
Reluctantly, Santana returned to the mattress and removed Brittany's underwear altogether. She held the girl's thighs apart with her open palms, lowered her head to the bared space, and pressed a contrite kiss against it.
"There, see?" Brittany croaked with audible relief as she touched Santana's cheek with her hand. "All better."
… … …
"Thirty-two… thirty-three…"
Quinn was counting the stomp patterns on the bedroom ceiling to pass the hours of her afternoon. She had not bothered to change out of the light summer dress she wore to church that morning, although her shoes lay discarded near the closet. The air in her room had taken on a stale and lifeless quality, untouched by the winds that rustled the leaves of the trees along Dudley Road.
"Thirty-four… thirty-five…"
There was a fly trapped between the window and the curtain. Quinn could hear its whining buzz as it fought to find a way out through the glass and into the light. She sighed and reluctantly left her bed to release the bug outside. As she stood with her hands on the sill, she looked down and spotted a familiar bicycle standing at the end of her driveway. It was tulip pink with a bell and a basket. The question was: where was its occupant?
The doorbell rang and Quinn shut her eyes. She marched back to her bed and flopped onto the mattress. Quinn knew better than to hope her mother might send the visitor away. All the same, she wasn't going to bother pretending that she'd been doing something different before the new company arrived.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the bedroom door.
"Quinnie?" Mrs. Fabray called tentatively. "There's a friend here from school who'd like to talk to you."
Quinn snorted and toyed with the bow on her dress.
"Who is it?" she called out, although she already knew the answer.
"It's me," Rachel replied as she stepped into the room.
"What do you want?" Quinn demanded listlessly.
"I'm worried about you," Rachel responded without preamble.
Quinn did not bother to ask why. She rolled onto her other side and faced the window.
"Don't be. I'm fine."
"No you aren't," Rachel said. It was not an argument, but a statement of fact.
She came over to perch on the edge of the bed.
"I saw you when you came back to school after… after the hospital. There was something missing from your eyes."
"You caught me; I forgot to put in my contacts. Well spotted," Quinn grumbled sarcastically.
Rachel pursed her lips but let the other girl's moodiness go unchecked.
"I know it must be really hard," she said understandingly. "Nine months is a long time to spend with someone just to have them taken away. It's like a part of you is gone now. Empty."
Quinn rolled back over to look Rachel in the eye, and her jaw was clenched as she made her response.
"You have no idea what this is like."
"Fair enough," Rachel conceded. "I've never been the one making the sacrifice. I've only ever known what it's like to be the one given, but I do know it leaves a void. Right here."
She rested her hand over her chest as her lip trembled.
"Now, your daughter and my mother are starting a new life with each other. I just sort of felt like maybe… Maybe we were dealing with similar pain. The losses correspond with each other, you know?"
Rachel glanced at her hopefully, clearly afraid to look her directly in the eye.
"I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to about it."
"I had someone to talk to, but she's not here now," Quinn said icily.
"Who?"
"My sister," Quinn answered as she rose and walked to the opposite side of the room. "She had to go on a trip for a while, so it's just me and my own darling mother at present."
Her lip curled as her eyes flicked toward the door.
"So you're alone," Rachel concluded. "What about your friends?"
"I haven't been getting out much," Quinn answered evasively.
The reaction on her classmate's face made it clear Rachel knew this meant Quinn hadn't really gone much of anyplace at all.
"You can't stay like this," Rachel said. "Locked away with your pain… It'll drive you crazy."
Quinn arched an eyebrow.
"Probably a pretty short drive," she drawled.
Rachel stood and moved to stand a short distance away from the wall where Quinn was leaning.
"Maybe you just need distractions," Rachel suggested. "Something to remind you that your life can go on from this."
"And if it can't?"
Quinn had backed into the corner of the room now, arms wrapped tightly around herself while her eyes blazed.
"What if I've lost everything that meant anything to me and now I don't see the point?" she growled.
"The point in what?" Rachel asked fearfully.
"In existing!" Quinn exclaimed. "I fought so hard to make myself everything I always wanted to be. Then I let all of that slip away – all of it – to carry my child, and now someone else has her. Someone else has my baby girl, and I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to just wake up and carry on knowing that. How do I go to class, or drive to the store… Damn it, how do I even eat or sleep when I'm missing everything?"
She grabbed a stuffed animal and threw it at the pillows on the bed. It struck the slip cover with a soft thump and tumbled down onto the sheet.
"So I'd rather just stop. I need to go someplace else. Not physically, since I'm stuck in this shithole of a town, but in here," Quinn said with a sharp jab to her own chest. "Feeling nothing at all has got to be better than feeling so much every damned second of the day."
Rachel watched the gleam in Quinn's eye, the way her chest heaved as though she'd just finished a very difficult run. Tentatively, she took a few more steps toward her classmate and reached out a hand, almost, but not quite, touching her arm.
"People feel emotions. That's what makes us human. You can't just shut it off or it'd be like dying."
Quinn glared at Rachel defiantly.
"Is that what you feel, Quinn?" Rachel asked softly. "Like you want to die?"
Quinn burst into burning, angry tears. She rubbed them away furiously with the backs of her hands but they wouldn't stop falling.
Rachel took her by the arms and tried to pull her in, but the other girl recoiled as if the touch was scalding to her skin. This nearly made Rachel cry as well, but she bit her lip and determinedly tugged Quinn closer. The two struggled as Quinn writhed away from the embrace, but ultimately her defenses were too weak and she crumpled.
They sank to the carpet while Quinn sobbed openly. Rachel lowered Quinn's head onto her lap and stroked her hair, saying nothing.
"I miss her so much," Quinn blubbered.
"I know," Rachel choked out. A few tears of her own had begun to spill now and her throat was aching.
Quinn hugged Rachel's kneecap and shut her eyes, crying until she had no tears left to shed. Eventually, the exhaustion of her outburst took its toll and Quinn began to get drowsy. Too weak to even lift her head, she felt herself being hauled clumsily to her feet as Rachel pulled her toward the bed.
"I'll let you get some rest now," Rachel said kindly as she pulled the covers over Quinn and tucked them in close to her body.
Quinn wanted to say thank you, but she couldn't seem to find her voice back to even murmur the words. Rachel didn't need to hear them. She just smiled a farewell and waved before closing the door behind her.
The room fell back into silence in her absence, but Quinn noticed that her clothes still carried a lingering trace of Rachel's perfume.
… … …
"Ahoy there, sailor. Why the long face?"
Puck lowered his sunglasses and lifted his eyebrows.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he said to Santana as he rested against the floating chair once more.
"Funny, seeing as it's my house," Santana remarked edgily.
"It's not usually your style to stick around at home," Puck replied, tucking his hands behind his head.
"Yeah, well, Britt's away for some motocross competitions out of state," Santana confessed, crossing her arms over her chest.
Puck casually dipped one leg in the water and kicked it below the surface, causing him to glide nearer to the girl standing beside the pool's edge.
"Where's Quinn?" he asked, peering at her through his shades.
"Probably cleaning dried breast milk out of her bras, thanks to you, Fertile Fuck," Santana snapped. "And you'd better stay the hell away from her because her life sucks enough as it is without you in it."
"I'm not going to," Puck retorted defensively. "I won't screw up her life anymore, or anyone else's. I… took care of the problem."
His head tilted down toward his swim trunks before he caught himself and looked away. Santana's jaw dropped and then her lips turned upward into a smirk.
"So the sex shark dammed up his swimmers," she deduced.
"It seemed like the right decision," Puck responded without turning to face her.
"It was," Santana stated flatly. "Of course, it would've been nice if you'd had that little brainchild before you created an actual child, but what's done is done."
She sat down on the concrete and dipped her feet in up to the ankle. She flicked some water at Puck, hitting the side of his face.
"Isn't the point of this little arrangement supposed to be that you clean the pools, not float in them?" she demanded.
"It's my last appointment for the day, and your mom said I could stick around when I was finished, if I wanted," Puck told her while he rubbed at his cheek.
"Well, isn't she a peach?" Santana grumbled. "You're lucky I haven't familiarized her with your past transgressions."
"Yeah but, to do that, you'd have to lose your own shiny halo, angel."
Santana fell silent and pulled her leg out of the water. She stretched out on her stomach and peered down at her reflection.
"Fair enough," she conceded quietly.
"So, where are you going to flit to now that your birds of a feather have flown the coop?" Puck asked at last. He was unnerved by the way Santana's jaw was clenching and her gaze never wavered from her own image on the shimmering surface below, as if she saw a sworn enemy in place of her own features.
"I don't know what my plans are yet," Santana said coldly as she rose to her feet and stormed back toward the house. "But I do know they sure as shit won't include you."
… … …
Quinn descended the stairs with heavy footfalls. Her eyes squinted against the glare of the sunlight that her weary eyes had grown unaccustomed to during her self-imposed seclusion.
"Is there any mail for me today?" she asked her mother when she spotted the woman in the foyer.
"Yes there was, as a matter of fact," Judy replied. "A postcard from Illinois. Do you have a friend who's vacationing there?"
Quinn did not answer but darted toward the tray where a pile of letters had been set aside. She sifted through the bills and coupon ads until her fingers reached what they sought – a picture of a glowing theater marquee emblazoned with a single word: Chicago.
Without another word to her mother, Quinn raced back upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door. She turned the card over in her hand and read the sparse words hungrily.
Q,
Chicago is beautiful. Worth everything it cost to get here. I'm finally happy. Staying for a while until I know what happens next. Write to me at 2200 W. Farwell Avenue Chicago, IL 60645
Love,
F
Quinn ran her fingertips over the closing sentiment. She wished Frannie could have signed her whole name, but she knew brevity was necessary in case the card fell into Judy's hands first, which it had.
A lump formed in Quinn's throat as she felt the pain of her sister's absence afresh. Then she looked at the third sentence again. Frannie was happy. That meant she must have won Alisha back.
So there was a happy ending for one Fabray sibling, at least. Quinn only wished she could figure out which path would lead her to similar peace and contentment. Finn was dating Rachel now, according to their Facebook pages, and Puck… There was simply too much history there. Even looking at his page on the computer screen brought back a rush of memories – how she had screamed at him while she was in labor, the look of fear mingled with joy on the boy's face when he heard their baby's first cry, and how he had seemed so full of regret and wistfulness the last time they spoke alone. Quinn couldn't bear to see the dead dream of an alternate life still shining out from his brown eyes.
Suddenly, for the first time since the end of the school year, her bedroom felt too stifling. Quinn found it difficult to breathe. She stowed the postcard safely in the drawer of her bedside table and departed.
Quinn had no idea where her feet were leading her, so she just jogged along through Lima Heights and let her mind finally clear. It wasn't until she resurfaced from her subconscious that she realized her legs had carried her to the park. More specifically, she had run to the bench where she had encountered Puck on the night that altered her forever. Quinn stared, utterly motionless, before collapsing onto the same spot she had sat so long ago, back when it still felt like she had a life ahead of her.
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. How cruelly funny it was that nine months could change so much.
… … …
Santana crept into her mother's office, so very different from her father's. Where the private room of Mr. Lopez possessed a dark and brooding air, this place was full of sunshine and breakable porcelain that shone brightly in the light. She paused to examine the figure of Mother Mary holding the dead body of Jesus in her arms after he had been taken down from the cross. An involuntary shiver coursed through her whole body; she knew with horrible certainty the reason that her mother related to the piece.
Shaking herself, Santana returned her focus to the task at hand. There wasn't much time. Her mom had gone to make herself some fresh coffee and would not be in the kitchen for long. That left only a matter of minutes in which to track down what she needed.
The surface of Maribel Lopez's desk was much more cluttered than her husband's. Notepads, documents, and envelopes were strewn hither and thither in steadily growing piles. Santana eyed them as though they were Jenga towers, precariously balanced and liable to topple over at any moment.
Just one check, Santana thought frantically. She would use a letter opener to access it if necessary, resealing it once the signature was obtained. Her hands carefully lifted the papers that were loosest, trying not to disturb any more than she had to in order to find the little blue books. A manila envelope protruded from beneath the mountains of white and Santana crouched down to peep underneath it.
"Bingo," she whispered.
She tried to pry the checkbook free from the cluster of other papers, but they wobbled and her breath caught in her chest.
"No, no, no. Damn it! No!" Santana panicked.
She held out a hand to steady the stack and looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the thin red case that held her mother's reading glasses and she brightened. Biting her lip, she strained to reach the case where it sat on the small side table. Her fingers just managed to touch the end of it and she slid the container closer.
"Gotcha."
Feeling like Indiana Jones, Santana scooted the glasses case under the pile of papers with one hand and pulled out the checkbook with the other. After a few breathless seconds, the transfer was made, and she lifted her arms into the air triumphantly.
She left the office and crept down the hall, through the dining room and the sitting room, and up the stairs. Once she was safely ensconced in her room, Santana opened the book to one of the checks her mother had signed but had not yet torn out and put in the appropriate envelope. She opened the drawer of her desk and took out a black ballpoint pen and a sheet of paper. Her right hand held the checkbook open while her left hand meticulously copied the signature. Santana's tongue curled around her teeth and her brow furrowed as she concentrated.
"I, Maribel Lopez, give my parental consent for my daughter, Santana Lopez…"
… … …
Brittany biked through Lima Heights Adjacent with a broad grin on her face. The motocross competitions were over – she had placed in all of them – and now she was finally home and ready to enjoy the rest of the summer with her friends. She wanted to visit Quinn soon, if the other girl would ever answer her texts. However, on that day, the only person in Brittany's mind was the one she was about to see: Santana.
The Lopez house came into view and she turned the bicycle into their driveway. Brittany pushed out the kickstand with her sneaker and swung her leg over the bike. She strode up to the front door and rang the bell, hastily taming stray hairs with the palm of her hand.
Santana appeared soon after and gave her best friend a tiny smile.
"Hey!" Brittany cried and darted forward.
She threw her arms around the other girl and squeezed her tightly. While they were still embracing, she heard her companion hiss with pain.
"What's wrong?" Brittany questioned worriedly, but then she realized something: It seemed somehow a little harder to wrap her arms around Santana, as though there was more distance between them than the last time they saw each other.
Brittany backed up and glanced down, then her eyes lifted to Santana's already embarrassed face.
"What did you do?" she asked feebly.
Santana sucked on her lower lip and cast a fearful glance over her shoulder.
"Not here," she mumbled. "Come on."
She took Brittany's hand and let her up the stairs. When they were in the bedroom, she locked the door and walked over to her bed. Sighing exhaustedly, she sat down heavily on the mattress.
"Don't freak out," Santana prefaced.
Brittany's eyes were wide, but she nodded obediently.
"I got an operation."
Brittany's eyes immediately began studying her friend. Her gaze raked over every inch of her, clearly concerned.
"It's okay," Santana said hastily. "I'm okay. It wasn't like a bad surgery. I didn't get something removed. I, uh, got something added."
Brittany's eyebrows lifted.
"Wha— "
Santana grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She set it aside and looked up at Brittany with her shoulders lifted near her ears, waiting for what the other girl might say.
"You got implants?" Brittany marveled, flabbergasted.
"Yeah," Santana answered shakily. "Do I look okay?"
Brittany stepped forward and knelt at Santana's feet.
"Of course, but you already looked amazing before this."
She rested her hands on Santana's knees and looked at the girl's chest with a fretful frown.
"Do they hurt?"
"They're a little sore," Santana admitted. "But it's supposed to pass."
She looked down at herself and fell silent. Then a muffled sound escaped her. When Santana's shoulders began to shake, Brittany realized she was crying. Santana draped her arms over her torso and curled up as though trying to hide her body from view.
"I just wanted people to see me differently," she whimpered. "Then I could be captain and I could have any guy I wanted and… and I'm so pathetic."
Santana crumpled onto her sheets and pulled her legs up onto the bed, hugging them to herself. Brittany crawled up behind her and wrapped her arms around her friend's middle.
"Shh," she murmured and stroked Santana's hair.
Brittany nuzzled the other girl's neck. She pressed a kind kiss to her friend's cheek and rubbed her arm. Santana grabbed her hand and pulled it closer, wrapping both of her arms around one of Brittany's and hugging it tightly. She was whining and rocking from side to side, too lost in self-loathing to form coherent words.
"Why did I bother?" she blubbered. "No matter what I do, I'm just second-rate crap. I don't live in the fanciest neighborhood; I don't get the best grades; I don't have the best body. I'm never going to be good enough for anyone, least of all myself."
Brittany said something in a voice so soft it didn't quite carry.
"What?" Santana asked.
"You're good enough for me," Brittany repeated.
Santana began to cry again, although the sobbing had ceased. She pulled Brittany in for a kiss and the warm tears clung to the other girl's cheeks when she pulled away.
"You're so beautiful," Brittany insisted, wiping Santana's eyes with the pads of her thumbs.
She was tugged in for another kiss, and Brittany held the sides of her companion's face as she reciprocated.
Santana's back began to arch while she deepened the contact. She gradually pushed herself up into a sitting position and pressed one palm against Brittany's shoulder to hold her back for a moment.
Brittany breathed heavily when Santana's lips left hers, but she heeded the unspoken request to wait. Santana reached down and unclasped the new bra she had to wear while the incision areas healed. She shed the garment and dropped it onto the floor. Her shoulders were lifting again and her eyes were downcast. Brittany reached for Santana's hair tie and pulled it free. Then she untied her own and enfolded Santana in her arms, loosely so as not to place any unnecessary pressure on her sensitive skin.
Santana eased Brittany back onto the pillows and spread her own thighs, straddling her. She held Brittany's hands in hers and guided them toward her breasts. Her eyes watched the blue irises studying the flesh while tender fingertips traced her scars with the lightest touch.
The caresses drew a shuddering breath from between Santana's parted lips. She lowered her body to hover just over Brittany's, supporting herself with her hands.
"You really think I'm special?" she asked.
Her eyes looked directly into Brittany's, pleading for absolute truth. Brittany held the gaze unwaveringly and nodded.
"Santana," she replied with a voice that quavered under the weight of her sincerity. "You're the most special person in the whole world."
… … …
"How the hell did your parents not notice that? You're practically busting out of your uniform!" Quinn fumed on their first day back in school.
"I've been wearing baggy shirts around the house. They don't look at me directly often enough to even notice if I still have my two front teeth. It wasn't exactly hard to conceal," Santana retorted. "Besides…"
She lowered her voice to keep the next words from reaching any other student's ears.
"You're the one who got herself a shiny new nose before starting high school, so why are you bitching at me about the morals of messing with my body?"
Quinn's eyes flashed dangerously.
"I got my surgery to avoid being bullied. You got yours for a spot on the damned pyramid and a few cheap thrills with any jock who takes an interest."
Santana's hand lifted as though she were about to strike, but Brittany hastily intervened.
"You guys are best friends," she protested. "It's our first day back. Can't we at least save the fighting until next week?"
Quinn smiled affectionately at Brittany before shooting a parting glare at Santana. She backed away and headed toward her class.
"Don't worry, Britt. I've said all I have to right now. I'll see you in third period."
… … …
Brittany wanted to believe the encounter that morning meant an end to the heated discussion, but the temporary peace lasted all of a few hours before there was another outbreak at the lockers. She sidled through the crowd only to hear Quinn's and Santana's voices echoing through the passageway. The same argument had resumed, only now Santana appeared to be the aggressor. Brittany caught a few faint words about Coach Sylvester and she had a sinking feeling that, while Quinn may have 'said all she had to' to Santana that morning, she may have taken the news to someone who would have a great many more words to say on the matter.
"You got a boob job!" Quinn shouted in justification.
"Yup, sure did!" Santana cried defiantly and swung her arm in a wide ark to slap Quinn's face.
"You can't hit me!" Quinn yelled, ignoring the sting.
"Sure I can, unless you got yourself knocked up again, slut."
Brittany frowned, pained that the two people she was closest to knew how to strike each other with words in ways far more effective than their fists could ever be.
The two girls began to scuffle and slammed one another against the lockers, grabbing at one another's hair and gritting their teeth.
Brittany managed to reach the front of the throng clustered around her friends but knew there was little she could do now except let the feuding run its course.
"Stop the violence," she said feebly, although neither of the teens heard her words.
It was only when Mr. Schue came along and broke it up that the two reluctantly ended their fight, although they were still poised to reach each other for one last hit. He wrapped his arms around Quinn and hauled her back. Brittany could see all the emotions mingling together in her features – anger, disappointment, and betrayal.
"Walk away! And tighten up your pony before you get to class!" Quinn screeched raggedly, and her rage sounded dangerously close to sobs.
Santana did not respond but threw one arm in the air and, with that signal, parted the crowd around her. Brittany gave Quinn one last look and turned to go, lightly wrapping one arm around Santana's waist as they walked away from all the prying eyes.
… … …
"This. Has been. The worst week. Ever," Santana said, punctuating each remark by tossing off another part of her footwear: left shoe, right shoe, left sock, right sock. She twirled on the spot and let herself fall backward onto Brittany's bed.
"Yeah, it has," Brittany agreed quietly, eyes downcast.
"Bad enough we got cornered by Jewfro within the first ten minutes of walking back into the school," Santana complained. "That horndog responded to my operation like it was sending out a bat signal and that camera girl of his, Suzy What's-her-face, just zoomed right in there."
Brittany nodded, hearing but struggling to listen as the guilt squirming in her gut became stronger.
"Then Quinn decided to deal out her own form of retribution and render the whole sordid affair completely useless by telling Coach exactly what I'd done. Now I'm bottom of the pyramid and Ms. Sylvester thinks I'm barely even cut out to be on the squad," Santana continued bitterly. "My arms are in freaking agony from holding up all the rest of their sorry asses, but I'm the weakling. This sucks."
She looked to her companion for sympathy. Brittany nodded as a tear slid down her nose. Santana saw this and knelt in front of the other girl in an instant.
"Hey," she said gently. "What happened? Britt, why are you crying?"
"I did something really horrible," Brittany mumbled. "I didn't want to and I tried to say I wouldn't, but she always has a way to make me feel like I have to do what she says."
Her whole frame shook and she drew her legs up to her chest. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and stared down at her knees.
"Britt, you're making me worry with all this cryptic stuff," Santana said. "Talk to me. Who made you do something you didn't want to do?"
Brittany rested her forehead against her thighs and her shoulders sagged.
"Coach Sylvester."
Santana licked her lips, which felt suddenly dry.
"What did she tell you to do?"
Brittany reached for her backpack nearby and drew it closer. She unzipped the middle and plunged her hand inside the bag. A moment later, she drew out what looked like a small, plush miniature of herself.
"She gave you a stuffed Cheerio?" Santana asked incredulously. "What the hell is that thing for?"
"To show where that new football coach touched me."
The color drained from Santana's face.
"What? She didn't…?"
"No, she didn't," Brittany confirmed. "That's why it was so awful. They dragged me into the principal's office and Coach Sylvester tried to get me to say that Coach Beiste m-mo-molested me."
That one word seemed nearly impossible for Brittany to say aloud. Santana couldn't tell if the curl in the other girl's lip was intended for the woman who had forced her to give the false account or if it was a sign of self-blame over the fact that she had actually agreed.
"Then what happened?" Santana asked.
"Mr. Schue came in and he knew it hadn't really happened. I thought maybe if I had somebody else to side with me I could tell the truth, so I did. I just hope Coach doesn't wanna get back at me. I don't want her to get you in trouble…"
"Woah, woah, woah." Santana held a hand aloft. "I'm officially lost. What am I missing here? What was she holding over you and what did it have to do with me?"
Brittany hid her face in her hands.
"She was going to tell your parents about the… about the surgery. She guessed that you'd found a way to do it without actually getting their permission. I knew your dad was gonna be so mad and your mom would find out about the forged signature and... That's illegal. If they took it to the courts…"
A sob tore out of her so loudly that it echoed in the quiet bedroom and made Santana wince.
"So you said yes," Santana concluded. "You let yourself get forced back into another situation with too many people asking questions and having to point to parts on a doll. You went through the hell of having to remember the... the summer you were twelve… for me."
Brittany nodded miserably, unable to look the other girl in the eye.
"I'll kill her," Santana said in a low, cold voice. "I will fucking kill her."
She rose to her feet and whirled toward the door, but Brittany followed and caught her wrist.
"No, please don't," she pleaded. "If we make her mad, she'll tell for sure. It's over now. Coach Beiste isn't gonna get fired. I just want to leave it alone, pretend like it never happened."
Santana's nostrils flared and her chest heaved but, after a moment, she nodded.
"All right. Only because that's what you want."
"It is." Brittany nodded.
Santana looked at her a moment, silent and still. Then her lip began to quiver.
"Why did you do this?" she asked sadly. "Putting your neck on the line like that… I got myself into this mess; I should've had to get myself out of it. I never wanted it to somehow hurt you."
"It didn't. I'm fine," Brittany insisted as she pulled the other girl in for a hug. "I'm safe now. So are you. I saved you."
She gave Santana a hopeful smile, so free from any blame or desire to be paid back in kind. All she wanted was for her friend to smile back. Santana's eyes welled up and she turned away.
"I've gotta stop this. I can't keep dragging you down with me, putting you in danger by association," she berated herself. "When did things get so complicated? Why can't I get my act together?"
She started pacing the room and striking the sides of her head with her wrists, muttering to herself in Spanish. Brittany rushed forward and took hold of both her arms, looking her directly in the eye.
"What happened wasn't your fault. I wanted to protect you. It was my choice. You don't have to feel bad. Please don't hurt yourself," she begged.
Her hands turned Santana's palms up and she kissed the reddened wrists. She tilted her head first to one side and then the other, pressing her lips to Santana's temples. Then Brittany voiced the words that Santana desperately wished would not be spoken aloud again.
"I'd do anything for you."
… … …
"Okay, so walk me through this one more time," Quinn said slowly. "You were put on anesthesia at the dentist and now you want to start singing solos in Glee Club?"
She massaged her temples, trying to keep up with her friend's train of thought.
"Sort of," Brittany agreed. "So, you know I went and got some cavities filled earlier this week, right?"
"Yeah…," Quinn nodded.
"That's when it started," Brittany explained. "I was thinking about how Kurt said he wanted to do Britney Spears numbers and then one of her songs started playing on the dentist's Pandora. He put me under and I had this crazy dream where I was singing and dancing to the music. Well, the dancing part wasn't crazy 'cause that felt normal to me, but the singing was different. I sounded good."
She smiled proudly, looking to her friend as though hoping the other girl might mirror her enthusiasm. Quinn was still watching her and waiting for the rest of the story.
"Then I went back to get the rest of the cavities filled the next day – Dr. Howell says maybe I shouldn't stock up my Halloween candy and eat it for so many months after – and Santana went with me to see if she'd have a dream like that, too. Only her teeth were already perfect, so she just had a bleaching done."
"That's when the coolest part happened," Santana interjected, speaking for the first time since the conversation had begun. She'd been content to let Brittany have control of the narrative until now, but this portion of the tale was too exciting for her to hold herself back. "We had the same exact fantasy. It was right down to the last detail; we talked about it after we left. Even the outfits we imagined ourselves wearing corresponded."
"Are you sure you want to tell me about this?" Quinn asked cautiously, but Brittany waved the question away.
"It wasn't that kind of fantasy," she clarified.
Santana blanched and became preoccupied with her food again.
"It was a singing kind," Brittany continued. "Like a music video playing in both our heads at the same time, only we were in it."
"She sounded amazing," Santana piped up and finally lifted her eyes from the diced pears she had been scooting in circles around her tray.
Quinn appeared ready to protest, but Santana overrode what she was trying to say.
"We didn't just leave it to our imaginations and trust that they were on the money," Santana elaborated. "We put the song on in my car and sang it together on the way home. Britt nailed it. She's got this."
Brittany flushed with pleasure at Santana's confidence in her and turned to Quinn, nodding enthusiastically.
"That got me thinking," Brittany said, finally reaching the idea she was most eager to share. "I want to start a revolution."
Quinn's eyebrows lifted.
"How do you intend to do that?"
"I'll start by singing a Britney song at the homecoming pep rally," Brittany replied. "We've still got to get Mr. Schue onboard, though."
"And keep Griphook's little goblin paws off the number," Santana added. "That's where the rebellion comes in: Hose Nose is getting confined to the backing vocals."
"You want to keep Rachel from getting the solo?" Quinn asked.
Santana tapped the side of her nose and winked.
"Not just for us," Brittany interposed. "For everybody in the club who never gets a chance. I'm just gonna be the first. I didn't even get in for singing. Santana and I were mostly accepted into Glee dancing behind you. If we sing on our own and people like it, maybe the other club kids will see that they can do it, too."
She sat up a little straighter, looking for all the world like modern day heroine as she shone with elation at the brilliance of her plan.
"To paraphrase Robin Hood's credo: mobbing the bitch to give us the floor," Santana concluded.
Quinn smiled and shook her head.
"It's a nice idea, but good luck putting it into action. You'll have to pry the sheet music from Rachel's cold, dead hands."
"I consider it an added bonus," Santana chuckled.
"Well, good luck to both of you," Quinn said and rose to her feet. "I've got to get going. My Advanced History class is on the third floor and I need time to swing by my locker."
She waved goodbye to them and deposited her tray on the conveyor belt to be washed. Then Quinn left the cafeteria and navigated the route to her locker in the passage to the right of the main entrance into the school.
A short distance away, she saw Rachel taking a drink from the fountain. The girl's hands were visibly trembling. Rachel cupped her palm and caught some of the stream, splashing it up onto her face.
Against her better judgment, Quinn walked over to where her classmate stood dabbing her chin dry with her sweater.
"Are you all right?" she inquired.
Rachel jumped and bumped her backside against the button of the fountain, making the water blast high and splash the back of her skirt.
"Shoot," she said ruefully, trying to discretely wring it dry. "Sorry, Quinn. My nerves are just kinda on edge."
"Why?" Quinn asked curiously. "Has someone been giving you a hard time? Another slushie facial?"
Rachel smiled ruefully.
"I'd welcome a Big Gulp to the face right now, compared to what's scaring me."
"Then what is it?"
Rachel eyed Quinn warily, clearly afraid to divulge the secret.
"I'm not going to tell anybody," Quinn said impatiently. "I may hear gossip, but I don't repeat it."
"It's not that," Rachel responded carefully. "It's just… Okay. Finn was kicked of the football team a couple of weeks ago because he stood up to the coach."
Quinn nodded curtly. She had heard the news through the grapevine.
"Well, now Coach Beiste took him back. He's going to get his status and popularity returned to him, just like he wanted."
"Still not seeing the problem," Quinn stated flatly.
"I can't measure up to that life, to those societal expectations," Rachel expounded.
"You make it sound like he's the duke of some province," Quinn laughed.
"By McKinley's standards, he is," Rachel protested. "And he's going to need someone of equal rank to stand at his side. I'm afraid he's going to go looking for her and leave me behind."
She looked at Quinn meaningfully.
"You're afraid he'll go back to me," Quinn realized. "Rachel, that's all over. Being pregnant by his best friend put a canon through that ship's hull a long time ago."
"But if you were to ask him," Rachel suggested. "Just put the idea forth and see what he says, we'd know for sure where his heart really lies."
Quinn arched an eyebrow, tempted to dispute the use of the word 'we.'
"Why open the box?" Quinn asked. "You know the saying: If it ain't broke…"
"I know, I know, but I can't just turn my worrying off like a light switch. If I don't address this now, I'm going to start acting like a crazy person," Rachel despaired.
Quinn snorted.
"Crazier than sending that girl who wanted to audition for Glee to a crack house?" she retorted. "That is, before Vocal Adrenaline found out about her and got her to transfer to Carmel High."
Rachel lowered her eyes.
"Admittedly, that recent instance of jealousy brought about one of my less-than-finer moments," she conceded. "But this is just as important to me as preserving my position as leading vocalist of the New Directions. More, even."
Quinn recalled her friends' plans to usurp Rachel's reigning title and, for a moment, considered telling her about it. Then she thought better of the notion.
"Why does it have to be me?" she demanded. "You could have any cheerleader ask him and still be able to find out if his eye is wandering."
"But none of them would tempt him half as much as you," Rachel countered. "You're the cream of the crop, Quinn, the highest rung on the ladder. If he says no to you, I know he'll say no to anyone else who might try."
She was looking at Quinn with such open supplication, face shining with sincerity. Quinn couldn't decide if it made her want to condemn Rachel's neediness or pity her.
"Please," Rachel whispered tearfully.
Quinn shut her eyes and stomped her foot.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "Fine. Tell me what you want me to say. I'm sure you have it scripted."
"You'll do it?" Rachel brightened. "Oh, thank you, Quinn. I can't tell you what this means to me, what a relief it will be. I promise I'll never ask you for anything ever again."
… … …
Brittany pulled the key out of the side pouch of her backpack and unlocked the front door to the house. Santana followed a short distance behind, shedding her Cheerios jacket as she walked.
"Hello, you two," Mrs. Pierce called from the floor where she was kneeling. Surrounding her face, she wore a stretchable headband with white plastic bags tied all around it.
Santana giggled.
"What's this costume?" she asked as she leaned on the back of the couch.
"We're daisies today," Mrs. Pierce explained, pointing to the bizarre headdress. "These are my petals."
"Loves me, loves me not! Loves me, loves me not!" Katy cried merrily as she pirouetted into the room.
Then her gaze fell on their company and the little dancing daisy's eyes were suddenly alight with joy.
"Santana!" she shouted and leaped into the girl's waiting arms.
"Hey, Katydid," Santana greeted, using a nickname she had often heard Mr. Pierce employ for his youngest child. "How was school today?"
"Good," Katy answered happily. "I'm gonna be in the school play!"
"All good acting classes start with improvising the birth of a flower," Mrs. Pierce said as her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Birth, growth, tearing up its roots and running around the garden – I think she's got it down."
Brittany and Santana laughed.
"That's great, kiddo," Santana praised. "Well, we'll let you get back to your very important lesson. Your sister and I have gotta get upstairs to do some studying."
"Okay," Katy said agreeably and slid back to the ground. "Mommy, can we be butterflies next?"
"I'll get the saran wrap," Mrs. Pierce smiled.
Brittany led the way upstairs, casting occasional glances over her shoulder at Santana. She knew there would be no studying; the other girl had left her backpack in the car. However, she said nothing and merely smiled to herself as she walked into her room. Brittany heard Santana lock the door behind them and bit her lip.
"It's been a crazy couple of weeks, huh?" Brittany said conversationally as she set her backpack down by her closet. "First Kurt's dad had that heart attack and now Puck's in juvie for stealing an ATM."
Santana approached Brittany from behind and pushed her ponytail aside, kissing her neck.
"I mean, at least it hasn't been permanent stuff. Mr. Hummel is out of his coma now and Puck will serve his time, but still…"
Her attempt to feign ignorance of Santana's plan gave way when the other girl began licking the soft skin behind her earlobe.
"I guess we're not working on Chemistry homework, huh?" Brittany joked.
"Uh-uh," Santana murmured and grabbed Brittany's hips.
She turned her friend around and held her by the shoulders, guiding her back toward the computer chair in front of the desk. Brittany sat readily and watched as Santana shed her skirt and underwear with one swift tug down her legs and kicked it across the carpet. She stepped on the backs of her shoes to free her feet and then climbed onto the chair, sitting on Brittany's thigh. One of her legs was bent and running parallel with the seat while the other dangled to the floor and helped her balance.
Brittany pressed both her hands to the small of Santana's back. Meanwhile, Santana looped her arms around Brittany's neck and began grinding down against the skin below her body. Brittany slid one hand a little higher up Santana's spine to support her while she moved. The knee of Santana's left leg rubbed against the space between Brittany's thighs and she twitched forward to utilize the friction. Brittany grabbed a handful of Santana's tresses and pulled the hair tie free in her balled up fist.
Santana's thrusts were getting stronger and more urgent. She let go of Brittany's neck and held onto the arms of the chair, leaving deep scratches in the leather as her fingers sought purchase. The chair slowly began to scoot across the room and its wheels occasionally lifted from the floor before crashing back down with a thump.
The back of the chair bashed into the wall and sent the air rushing out of Brittany's lungs. Santana's knee was flush against her now and she bucked her hips repeatedly to make use of its closeness. Santana's breath was ragged and her muscles were trembling. She rolled her hips a little harder and, a moment later, her eyelids fluttered closed and her lips parted in a wide oval.
Brittany smiled and slid one arm around Santana's body. She brushed her hand up Santana's torso and pressed her palm to the other girl's cheek. Santana panted and rested her forehead against Brittany's shoulder.
When she had caught her breath, Santana fetched her clothes and pulled her underwear and skirt back up her legs. She sprawled out lazily on the bed and held out her arm, beckoning with one finger for Brittany to join her. Brittany crawled up into the empty space her companion had left for her and rested her head on a pillow.
Santana turned onto her stomach and stretched across Brittany. She pressed her lips to the other girl's neck and began sucking on the skin with deliberate force. Brittany shut her eyes and grinned, stretching her legs out with murmured contentment.
With their bodies entwined and Santana marking her flesh, Brittany felt suddenly brave. She held Santana close and tilted her head to murmur in her friend's ear.
"We should do a duet together," she suggested. "We should sing Melissa Etheridge's 'Come to My Window.'"
Brittany waited expectantly, hoping Santana would catch the inside joke after her reckless climb up the trellis, but the reaction she received was far from that of shared amusement at the memory. Santana pulled back abruptly and her voice carried a sharp edge.
"First of all, there's a lot of talking going on and I wants to get my mack on."
Her mouth returned to the hickey it had been forming, but Brittany had not been effectively dissuaded.
"Well, I don't know, I just – "
As if she had anticipated what was weighing on her mind, Santana interrupted again.
"Okay, second of all, I'm not making out with you because I'm in love with you and want to sing about making lady babies."
Brittany felt the words as if Santana had thrust a knife into her heart. She rolled over onto her side and propped her head up with her hand. Santana sat upright and turned away.
"I'm only here because Puck's been in the slammer for about twelve hours now, and I'm like a lizard. I need something warm beneath me or I can't digest my food."
Santana tied her hair up once more. Brittany's lower lip protruded as she looked down at the slightly rumpled bedspread. She wanted to challenge the protestations, to demand that her friend turn around and try to speak that lie to her face, but her voice had become small and nearly inaudible.
"But who are you going to sing a duet with?" she asked feebly.
"Mercedes," Santana shrugged indifferently.
She stood and walked to the door.
"I'm sure you'll find somebody to sing with, Britt. You're part of the most popular clique in the whole school. You can have your pick."
Brittany set her jaw with determination.
"Yeah, I'll get somebody," she replied. "Finding a partner will be easy."
… … …
Quinn settled comfortably onto her bed and propped a reference book on her knees as a makeshift table. She picked a piece of paper off the small stack of parchment beside her, along with a clickable pen, and began to write.
Dear Frannie,
I miss you.
No, it wasn't right to start the letter with something that would make her feel guilty, Quinn decided. She frowned and set that sheet aside, starting again.
Dear Frannie,
I hope Chicago is still treating you well. You definitely deserve some happiness.
Life in Lima is complicated. What else is new, right? So many of my old bridges have been burned. Finn has stopped interacting with me unless absolutely necessary, not that I can blame him. Puck is in juvie, which I guess is no real shocker but it doesn't say much for my taste in men, does it?
My friends are kind of dealing with their own drama right now, so we haven't had a lot of really good talks, the way we used to do. Santana narrowly avoided landing in hot water over getting a breast augmentation (I know, right? Her body isn't even finished growing yet. She's crazy.) and Brittany has been hanging around with this guy named Artie to work on a duet assignment. He keeps telling everyone they're dating, but I don't see it. I'm kind of worried. Her eyes look so empty anymore.
Then there's this new boy. His name is Sam Evans. He just joined Glee and he seems really nice. He makes even more references than Santana and sometimes I get a little lost talking to him, but I can tell he has a good heart.
He needs to stop looking at me the way he does. It's like he views me the way I used to be, before the pregnancy, before getting disowned. He looks at me and it's like he doesn't even know about all the baggage I'm carrying. Maybe he doesn't, although I find it hard to believe that anyone at McKinley could keep that secret to themselves for long.
I'm so lost, Frannie. I thought I could start over, put everything back the way it was and act like last year never happened. Only I can't. Every time Sam smiles at me, I know I'm not that girl anymore, even if he makes me want to be. I've been through too much.
Quinn wanted to add another paragraph, but she couldn't bring herself to put the words down in black and white. She wanted to ask about Rachel. Was it normal to have a rival you were supposed to hate but, every time they told you to do something, you agreed before you'd even had time to think?
True to her word, Rachel had not asked anything of Quinn since the Finn incident, but she had been rather insistent that Quinn should sing a duet with Sam. She'd spewed some evasive excuse that they'd have a shot at being a close second to her own duet with Finn, but Quinn didn't believe that was Rachel's real motive for a second. All the same, she had gone and done exactly that: consented to sing a song with Sam even though she'd been trying to spurn his advances.
What did that mean? Why was it so hard to say no to someone who'd caused her nothing but trouble ever since she moved into Lima? Quinn held her head in her hands and shut her eyes.
She sat up a moment later and picked up her pen again but, when she wrote the next lines, they held nothing of what was weighing on her mind.
Maybe I've just got that seasonal gloominess now that the weather's getting colder. Or cabin fever. I don't know. I really didn't mean for this letter to be such a downer. I'll be all right, I promise. Write to me when you can.
All My Love,
Quinn
… … …
Nothing was going according to plan.
Brittany had invited Artie to her house to practice for their duet. Getting his chair up the steps had taken the combined efforts of both her parents, to Artie's many murmured thanks, and now they were alone in her room together.
However, that wasn't enough. The interest Artie had shown in her since they began working together and his pride in referring to her as his new girlfriend appeared to have vanished. His mind - not to mention his half of the conversation - kept wandering back to his ex, Tina, who was now dating Mike Chang.
Then, suddenly, he was wheeling away and preparing to gather his belongings. He was going to leave, because he wasn't over her. Brittany knew exactly what he was experiencing, but she didn't want him to be stuck feeling that way, nor did she want to be left alone with her own loneliness.
Brittany's fingers grazed the notches in the bar across the foot of her bed. She clasped her hand around the subtle grooves as her stomach clenched.
"Wait, don't leave," she urged.
Artie hesitated.
"You wanna get over Tina, right?" Brittany heard herself asking as her mouth went into autopilot while her mind was still too conflicted to contribute.
She walked across the room and bent down, pressing her forehead against his hair.
"Let me help you," she whispered.
Brittany lifted Artie out of his chair, with one arm around his back and the other under his legs, and then she carried him over to the bed. She could feel his body trembling. It did nothing for her own anxiety, which was clattering around inside her like a trapped bird. It made her nerve ends feel like livewires and she was amazed that her arms didn't shake in the slightest even as she eased him onto the pillows stacked against the headboard.
Her mouth was still moving, but Brittany wasn't really listening to herself as she put her legs on either side of his and gazed down at him. Artie propped himself onto his elbows and looked at her with a mixture of awe and incredulity.
"Am I about to lose my virginity?"
"Before we duet, we're gonna do it."
The clarification sounded corny to her ears even as she spoke. Before Artie could ask any more questions, Brittany pressed her lips to his, arching her back as she drove down with more force and passion than she actually felt. There was still a wretched hesitation clawing in her gut.
Was she taking advantage of him?
Her eyes opened as they broke apart. She quietly considered the boy beneath her who was currently watching her every movement with obvious desire. The internal scraping intensified, only now it felt more from guilt than apprehension. How could she make this offer and then tell him she changed her mind? Brittany thought of Artie's recently-ended relationship with Tina. A second blow to his ego so soon after the first would crush him.
Brittany's brow knotted as she silently warred with herself. While she wasn't paying attention, Artie hazarded a brief brush along her cheekbone with his fingertips. It brought her back to reality. Artie's blue eyes regarded her with keener observation than she had expected and his mouth twisted at the corner.
"It's okay if you don't want to," he mumbled. "It's not like I expected anything to happen just because we're partners for the assignment. I'm not exactly a top pick; I understand."
Brittany couldn't tell which struck her heart more, the mention of not being someone's first choice or the way his gaze sadly broke away from hers. She looked down at him resting on that pillow, Santana's pillow – no, she couldn't afford to think of her now – and she felt a surge of affection and sympathy. Brittany smoothed the worry from his brow and shook her head reassuringly. A small smile of relief spread across Artie's face as she kissed him again.
From there, Brittany proceeded with the utmost attentiveness and care. She remained ever-conscious of the fact that Artie was looking to her for guidance, so she helped him in every way that she could. It wasn't until his mouth moved to the smooth spot behind her ear that the first sign of trouble arose.
Responding to what -from another - was a familiar touch, Brittany scrunched her nose and whispered:
"Santana…"
She felt Artie pause. Unable to think of a plausible explanation for her slip up, she tried to continue as if the name had not been spoken. Her hands took his and led them to the back of her uniform. Understanding the wordless instruction, he dragged the zipper down her spine. Once the top was discarded, things advanced much more rapidly.
Brittany tried to turn herself over to the haze, to focus her efforts on the progression of the act itself, but it didn't work for long. When his fingers trailed along her inner thigh, she shivered and a quiet gasp escaped her:
"San…"
She managed to cut the name in half this time but mentally cursed herself for her lack of control. Hoping that her utterance had been breathy enough to prove incoherent, she set to work unbuttoning Artie's pants. If she could keep things moving, maybe it would be over before she had the chance to unintentionally hurt him again.
No such luck.
That same damned syllable, but much more ragged and audible, tore from her lips as her thoughts were blanketed in white. She released several utterances after it, desperately trying to bury the mistake beneath vaguely similar sounds. Whether this method proved effective or not, however, Brittany couldn't be sure.
When they had finished, she climbed over to her side of the bed and settled onto the mattress. Artie lifted his arm to make room for her beside him. Brittany scooted nearer and accepted the embrace. She rested her hand over his heart and felt the steady drumming beneath her palm. Artie lifted her fingers one by one, tenderly tracing the curve of each perfectly coiffed nail.
"Was I… was I okay?" he asked tremulously once he had summoned the courage to voice his concern.
Brittany lifted her head and looked up at his worried face. The need for approval was etched into every line. Their eyes met. It was then that the Brittany spotted something she was so unaccustomed to seeing behind closed doors – open, unmasked vulnerability – and she was completely disarmed.
"Of course you were, S—Artie."
That was a close one.
She kissed the tip of his nose and then rested her cheek against his shoulder. From across the room, the countless pictures of Santana seemed to watch her with mocking eyes, calling her bluff. She lowered her lids to block them out and murmured against the boy's chest.
"You were wonderful."
… … …
"All right. Silas Botwin, listen up. We need to talk," Santana said as soon as the door opened. She stepped over the threshold and walked into the living room.
"Well hello, Santana. What a pleasant surprise. Yes, please come in. How nice of you to come welcome me back," Puck said sarcastically as he watched her sit angrily down on the recliner.
"It would have been better if you'd stayed where you were," Santana shot back angrily.
Puck clenched his jaw but didn't protest.
"You wanna tell me what this is about?" he asked in a level voice.
"Artie!" Santana shouted as her eyes flashed. "What the hell is with you coming back from the slammer and buddying up with him?"
"It's for community service," Puck explained. "You know, helping out a cripple. If I don't keep it up, they'll send me back. I know I talked a big game this week, but I'm not cut out for the inside. You don't know what it was like."
"Couldn't care less," Santana retorted. "Just because you were miserable in there doesn't mean you've got to make life suck for all of us out here!"
"Okay, sunshine, you're gonna have to slow it down a little for me," Puck interjected as he shut the door and settled on the couch. "How exactly does any of this affect you?"
"You're playing matchmaker with Artie and Brittany!" Santana accused. "Inviting us on a double date? What the fuck? Do you honestly think that mouth breather is any good for her?"
"I don't know, maybe," Puck shrugged. "But my buddy Artie deserves a chance to find out. Brittany was his first and he wants to see if maybe they can make something of it."
Santana's cheek twitched and a vein throbbed near her temple.
"Problem?" Puck prompted.
Santana looked at the smile on his face and her eyes narrowed.
"He's going to hurt her," she said. "He was a crappy boyfriend to Tina and he'll be just as bad to Britt."
"You don't know that," Puck challenged and folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the cushion. "I don't think your quarrel is with the Artie part of this equation at all."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I may be a screw-up, but I'm not an idiot," Puck replied. "You're pissed because Artie shacking up with Brittany was supposed to be an end to it, but now they're going out and this isn't going away."
"I'm looking out for my best friend," Santana protested. "That's not something I'd expect you to understand since you only look out for 'Number Wah,' but that's what Britt and I do. We protect one another."
"Except from each other."
"What?"
"You can't be the solution until you stop being the problem," Puck answered heatedly. "You said it yourself; you're her best friend. So why can't you see it?"
"See what?" Santana demanded.
They were both on their feet by now. Santana's hands were balled into fists and her legs were splayed apart in a combative stance.
Puck looked at her in disbelief, shaking his head sadly.
"Going down swinging, huh? That's fine. I can't force it outta you," Puck said, holding his hands aloft in surrender. "But the one person you're hurting is the one you supposedly try to protect."
"They hit your head against the cement a little too hard when they jumped you," Santana stated coldly. "You're cracked."
She turned away from him and walked toward the door, but she stopped halfway there. There was a resounding sniffle as she furiously wiped her nose with the back of her hand. When she turned around to face him, there were tear stains down her cheeks and the skin around her mouth was blotchy.
"Brittany is the best person I have ever known," Santana told him through pursed lips. "I am the one person who has been there to see all of the shit that everybody in this goddamn town has put her through."
Santana walked rigidly toward the door, yanked it open, and turned back for a closing argument before she slammed it shut behind her.
"The last thing on this earth I would do is deliberately cause her pain."