Can I just say how absolutely insane the response to this story has been? Seriously I thought I would be yelled at for mixing up such beloved characters. But, you like it! You really, really like it! (Insert hysterical Sally Field .gif here)

Um, I was super nervous about this chapter because I wasn't aware that I would actually have an audience. So, be kind.

Also, a million points and an offer to be my best friend forever if any of you catch the tagline I snuck in for my favorite movie in the entire world. (Free head to the person who can then name that movie)

Gosh, I'm inappropriate.

Anyway, enjoy!

Also, I don't really know how to work ff dot net and I don't feel like learning so if any of you want to bring your questions/concerns/hotpicturesofnaynayrivers over to tumblr then meet me after the bell rings at whotastesthecatfood (dot) tumblr (dot) com

Santana sat along side of her pool in a small black bikini reading over the numerous scripts sent her way in hopes of procuring her for a role. A flouncy hat obscured the view of her face which at the moment was contorted into a look that was half snarl, half incredulous disbelief. She read back over the last line of dialogue for a film entitled "Starry Nights" Her character, Rebecca was a college freshmen looking for love in all the wrong places.

Rebecca drops her towel in front of the two SEXY THUGS. She feigns embarrassment as they holler in celebration.

No fucking way she thought as she tossed the papers onto the mounting stack of already discarded scripts. For the past hour she'd been reading various version of the same characters. The vapid narcissist. The black widow. The adorable klutz. Sure, she had played these roles before but she honestly had no interest in rehashing them again. At least not for the figures offered. Fortunately, she'd been put in a position where she could pick and choose which movies she signed on to do. None of these felt right.

A half hour had past since she traded in script reading for sunbathing when the conversation weaseled its way back into her mind.

Maybe Brittany was right? Maybe there was a certain stigma attached to her career? The rumor mill hadn't helped. She knew the gory tales that floated around greater Los Angeles and into Hollywood. Some were true, some weren't. But, she never confirmed or denied anything. It kept people talking and the most important part of her job was to always keep people talking. When the voices died down, you career would soon too.

And was it really that awful? Any "stigma" that guided checks of $340,000 and upward into her bank account couldn't be something to bellyache over. Brittany Pierce was a demented basket case who got lucky. A basket case who somehow convinced Miranda Bailey (a woman not known for her sanity) that she was some kind of wonder kid.

Fuck her.

She unhooked her bikini strap and tossed it onto the small table at the side of her lounge chair as she rolled over taking of the hat and placing it on the ground. The waning blood red sun tickled over her bare skin as she sighed contently into the evening air. Her life was flawless. She would never apologize for any of it.

Brittany sat outside the large gated home and wondered for the hundredth time exactly what she was doing. Still, unable to give herself an answer she ventured on, steering her black Prius to the keypad connected to the intercom. She followed Callie's instructions to the tee, marveling as the gates clinked and slowly pulled themselves apart so she could enter. Taking a deep breath she pushed forward and down the long driveway to the stately manor. Stepping out of the car, she lightly touched the pocket on her jeans that contained Santana cell phone. When she first mentioned to Callie that she had it she watched for an hour as she and Cristina tried to hack past the cousin-proof lock. Unable to guess correctly they'd given up.

Callie told Brittany she should bring the phone over and try to clear the air. She was sure that once they sat aside they're creative differences they could become great friends and Santana was in dire need of people who weren't trying to use her for something.

Brittany had agreed under the pretense of feeling torn about how things how ended between she and the actress. In reality, it had been three days and not a single thing had gotten done around her house. Dishes were piling up. Cristina's clothes were scattered everywhere around her living room. She had a writing deadline fast approaching. But, the only thing she could do was agonize over the way Santana's frantic eyes ignited when she pulled her back down to the chair. The way her soft hands felt gripping her arm. And don't even get Brittany started on the way she smelled...

Mustering up her courage to be spit on, Brittany rang the doorbell and waited patiently. Moments later, a plump woman in a housekeepers uniform opened the door. Brittany grinned, "Hello."

"Can I help you?" The woman had a slight English accent.

Brittany quickly explained that she was here to see Santana to return her phone. The Housekeeper seemed hesitant until Brittany mentioned she knew Callie. Smiling for the first time the housekeeper, Elena, beckoned her inside and to the backdoor that lead to the pool where Santana was sunning. Brittany marveled at her surroundings as she walked. Ever since she made it in Hollywood she'd seen some pretty lavish homes, but never considered that people actually lived, day to day, in them. Her home on the beach was not miniscule by any means. It was modestly breathtaking. Living there, from where she'd come from, humbled her. Waking up to the sounds of the ocean, to floor to ceiling glass windows kept her entire existence in perspective. Brittany knew how lucky she had it.

Santana's home was overwhelming opulent. There were marble floors and one of the most staggering grand staircases in existence. There was no humility in this excess. Walking through Santana's home was like walking through a slightly smaller Taj Mahal. Santana was the Queen come back from the dead.

Stepping into the backyard, she gulped as her eyes fell onto a slumbering Santana. She was bare from the waist up and laying flat on her stomach. French music played from the house speakers. A waterfall was constructed to flow right into the infinity pool. The sight was so ridiculously lush that Brittany couldn't help but smile. Despite the copious amounts of extravagence though there was a calming aura. Brittany could tell why Santana would choose to spend a Friday afternoon alone in her backyard than out in the world with millions of people fawning over her.

Brittany stood a couple feet away from Santana who lie motionless on the lounge chair. She took a minute, just a minute, to appreciate her view before clearing her throat.

Santana's head immediately whipped to the side. The brief calm of her features were quickly wrenched into a sneer. This girl had guts.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Brittany stuffed her hand into her pocket and retrieved the phone. She grinned slightly as she held it up, "Returning this."

"Oh." Santana's face went slack, but she made sure to keep the disdain in her eyes. Taking a moment to retie her bikini top strings she sat up and snatched the phone out of Brittany's hand. "I already had this one cut off. I got a new one."

Brittany looked to where Santana had nodded and sure enough on the small table sat a replica of the silver phone. She watched as Santana entered the password and scrolled through it as if making sure everything was still there.

An uncomfortable tension welled in Brittany's body as Santana kept her head bent down to the phone, ignoring her. "Well...okay. Bye." She spun around on her heels.

"Why didn't you just give it to Callie? She could've gotten it back to me?" Santana plopped the phone onto the table and stared up waiting for an answer. Turning back around, Brittany shrugged her shoulders.

"I think...That you might have...gotten the wrong impression of me...Gotten the wrong impression of you that I have. I think that you may think that I see you in a way that I don't." She struggled to find the words.

Santana huffed, "Conceited, B-Rate writer who says way too much about things she knows little very little of, I think I got it." She was overflowing with contempt. Brittany kicked at the ground, scuffing her ankle boots.

"This is going to sound conceited, which I know does me no favors, but I can say without a doubt, that conceited has never been a word used to describe me. People say I'm very humble actually." Brittany shuffled closer as she spoke. Santana eyed her warningly and she stopped in her tracks averting her eyes as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

Reaching down, Santana snatched her hat from the ground and strode toward her house. "Thanks for bringing me my phone, I guess. You can show yourself out the way you came in."

Brittany watched as she stalked back into her home, her feet stomping angrily into the ground. The curves of her ass swaying, all but begging Brittany to stare.

And she did.

"You totally have a type!"

Brittany rolled her eyes as she sat back in her chair, taking a sip from a steaming cup of espresso. "No, I don't."

The women sitting at the table with her hooted in disbelief. Brittany sat across from her ex-girlfriend, Carmen de la pica Morales one of the most sought after DJ's in California and to the left of Carmen sat the incredibly abrasive, yet equally charming Alice Pieszecki (of the chart Pieszecki) fame.

Alice shook her head as she laughed, "You're so full of shit Britt and the only reason you're getting blue balls over this girl is because she looks like she could be Carmen's sister."

"So what you're saying is that I'm not over Carmen?"

Brittany turned to look at Carmen who cocked her head to the side, a flirty grin staining her features, "You tell us, Pierce."

Unable to help herself, Brittany felt a blush begin to sneak over her cheeks and across her nose. She ducked her head down as the corners of her lips pulled up into a smirk, "We're not going there."

She collected her keys from the table and finished off her coffee as she stood, "Besides, aren't you dating that dude now Carmen?"

She threw a quick smile to her friends as she stalked to the exit. "Stop calling my girlfriend a man, Brittany!" hollered Carmen at her ex's retreating form.

Walter Zimmerman was one of the greats. He was a prolific agent, known for his incredible warmth and his impeccable eye for talent. He was responsible for launching the careers for many of Hollywood's A list clientele. He died a week ago and the stars were still mourning. A party was being thrown in his honor by the CEO of William Morris. Everyone who was anyone was invited. No one would dare to miss.

Santana stood in the crowded room in a flowing white gown, her hair in a sleek up-do. She nodded courteously at the people who passed and chatted half sincerely with those who worked up the courage to approach her.

"Santana, you could try to at least feign interest every once in a while. You can do that remember? You're an actress." The voice belonged to her agent, Kurt Hummel. His vacation with his newest boyfriend Blaine was cut short so he could be back in time for the festivities and he had been in a pissy mood all night.

"Kurt, did you see her mouth? Her gums were too large for her teeth. I shouldn't be expected to hold a conversation for more than sixty seconds with a thirty year old woman who still has her baby teeth."

Santana spoke to Kurt without looking at him. Her eyes scanned over the party not finding anyone of any interest to speak with.

"Can we go soon?" This velvet voice came from her other side and it belonged to a gorgeous pixie haired blond. Her hair was highlighted with pink flecks of color making her look like some kind of punk elf goddess. She was Quinn Fabray and she was the only person Santana would call at four in the morning after a night of drinking, when she was freaking out about dying alone. Quinn is the girl who would hold Santana's hair while she puked and gently rub her back while simultaneously verbally abusing her for being such a fucking child.

Kurt sucked his teeth, "No we can not, Quinn! Walter Zimmerman was a legend. We can't just leave, it's disrespectful."

Ignoring Kurt, Quinn turned to Santana, "If we're not gone in an hour I'm going to seriously abuse the open bar."

Santana grinned back at her best friend, "Getting your ugly crying done early, huh?"

Kurt couldn't understand so he asked for someone to repeat everything again. He stood on the side of Miranda, one hand on his jutted out hip, the other clutching his head in mock disbelief.

"You tried to set me up with a broke ass white girl John Lennon. Minus the talent." Santana quipped as she slurped back her glass of champagne.

Brittany grinned, "Clever. I'm actually surprised you know that many adjectives. Maybe I was wrong about you?"

Santana was beautiful and she was powerful but it would take a lot more than snark and a surly face to make Brittany back down.

"Comer una polla, puta!" Santana squared her shoulders and her body unconsciously moved toward Brittany completely ready to thrown down if necessary.

"Alright, alright, alright! No need to go all mean girl in a high school movie, Santana. I think we all know what "puta" means!" Kurt said as he intertwined his arms with hers.

"It means bitch. Just in case you were wondering." Santana offered to Brittany who continued to smile back as if she was telling her the weather instead of cussing her out. Santana's eyes shifted to Bailey, "Is your writer retarded or something?"

Miranda huffed, "My writer is brilliant. Stubborn. But, brilliant."

"Kind of like you, Santana," chipped in Kurt as he tightened his grip around Santana's arm.

"I'm walking away now." And without another word, Brittany did. Her long legs guiding her effortlessly through the crowd of bodies and across the room.

Santana kicked off her heels as she entered her home. She sat down heavily on the couch letting out the long breath she hadn't realized she was holding since the party. All of her life she had been searching for the spotlight. It probably has something to do with the fact that her parents weren't affectionate when she was a kid, but whatever.

She was a big girl now and she had millions of fans around the world. She knew men jerked off to her sex scenes. She knew women starved themselves in hopes of looking like her. She received tons of fan letters from girls who had told their parents that when they grew up they wanted to be Santana Lopez.

She had searched for the spotlight and she had found it. It was warm and blinding. It was all she ever wanted. But, like everything else Santana had longed for once she finally got it, she no longer needed it. Or wanted it. She can't exactly put her finger on when the pop of a flashbulb stopped sounding like music to her ears, and started sounding like a life sentence. She was under constant scrutiny. But, unlike the countless starlets that had fizzled away before her, she wouldn't let the media document her fall. She wouldn't become some cautionary tale.

She laid back on the couch as she stretched her calf muscles, an unexpected yawn ripped from her body.

The spotlight burned all the parts of her it use to tickle. But, who would she become if she gave it up?

Her doorbell going off shook her from her slumber. She picked up her phone to check the time. 4:22 AM. Muttering obscenities as she stood she mentally readied her verbal arsenal for one hell of a rampage. She ripped open the door and there Brittany stood wearing the all black outfit from the night of Callie's birthday party. And the halter top with the horizontal blue bar running across the fabric.

Why was Santana just noticing exactly how enticing the low v-cut of the shirt made the writer's breast look?

Snapping too, Santana cleared her throat, "Why are you at my house at four o'clock in the morning? Your impromptu visits are seriously getting creepy."

Brittany's blue eyes raked over Santana's face, coming to rest on plump, glossy lips, "I want you..."

Santana's voice hitched.

Noticing it, Brittany beamed as she finished, "...to be in my movie. I want you to be in my movie, Santana."

Santana has no idea how it's possible but at that moment her heart sank into her stomach as it simutaneously lodged in her throat.

This wasn't happening.

"Wh-What?" She kicked herself for how her voice dripped with disbelief. Brittany grinned wider. Her smile reached her eyes and poured a thousand words into Santana's gut.

"I want you to be in my movie. I'm sorry about before. About what I said. I didn't mean it."

Brittany stepped into the house, pulling off her jacket as she looked around approvingly. Santana shut the door behind her shaking her head, "Hold up, Vanilla-"

"If you insist on calling me a name other than the one Joni and Sting Pierce gave me then I insist it be, Meghan O'Leary Princess of Sparta."

"Your parents are named, Joni and Sting?"

"Of course not, silly."

"What makes you think that I want to be in this movie?"

Brittany didn't answer her. Instead she stared back silently, her eyes dancing over the full span of Santana's body. Santana could feel her face heating up, so she tried to walk away.

Brittany grabbed her by the elbow lightly. "I want you to be in this movie, Santana..."

Santana let Brittany pull her in closer, they're eyes locking together like magnets. Her breath rattled out like a shallow prayer as she felt Brittany's hand let go of her elbow and come to rest at the small of her back. Brittany grinned down at her, a lion about to attack a helpless lamb,"...but, I need you to do one thing for me."

Santana paused. She didn't trust her voice. Her body was betraying her, she was sure her voice would too. She bit at her lips as the fingertips on her back danced over the thin fabric of her dress. She felt the drumming inside of her bones. Every tap was electic. The air around them was suddenly heavy. This was all way too intense.

"What do you need me to do?" She finally mustered out. The smile on Brittany's face became devilish as she ducked her head down to whisper her lips against Santana's ear.

"Take off your clothes."

Brittany had her on the floor, on her back. Pale hands clenched at toned honeyed thighs and Santana was already arching off of the carpet in anticipation. Her entire core was pulsing. A slight sheen of sweat had built on her skin. Her heart hammered in her chest as the voice in her head kept berating her. Kept asking her, over and over: What was she doing?

Brittany kneaded her flesh and Santana hissed into the air. This was probably a monumental fucking mistake, but she couldn't make herself stop it. She didn't want to stop it.

Using her hands, Brittany pushed Santana's thighs until they were resting flat against the floor, her legs bent slightly at the knees. Santana was completely exposed and dripping with promise. She watched as Santana's perfect breast heaved into the air, her nipples stiff. She bent down slowly, letting her tongue swipe tentatively over Santana's glistening sex. A strangled moan escaped into the quiet room. Wanting to hear it again, Brittany repeated her actions. Using her elbow to hold Santana's quivering right leg down, Brittany guided two fingers against Santana's mound, spreading her lower lips apart. Her tongue trailing hotly after her fingers until her mouth rested against her clit.

Santana let out a cry. Brittany grinned against her. She circled the throbbing bundle of nerves with her tongue, taking her time. She made sure Santana felt every swipe against her and every touch of her fingers.

"Brittany?" croaked Santana in a voice so small and uncertain that it made Brittany look up in concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut. Paced herself. Built herself up to take a plunge off of the proverbial cliff as she asked in that same hushed, pleading voice "Will you put your fingers inside of me?"

The question caused a pool of wetness to form in Brittany's already saturated panties. She kept her head close to Santana's pussy as she used her index finger to toy at Santana's opening. Slowly, she slide a finger into warmth, pulling it back out with the same gentleness. Santana's hands flew up, one grabbing at the leg off the coffee table, the other tangling into her own hair. With more force, Brittany thrust her index finger back into Santana. She nipped at Santana's flesh as she added her middle finger to the mix. In an out. A one two punch that pulled a deep seated moan from Santana's body.

Managing to pull a leg free from Brittany's stronghold, Santana placed it over Brittany's shoulder. She used it to guide Brittany's face back down to where she needed it most. Her breast bounced as her body rocked to meet every thrust Brittany gave her. She could feel the pressure coiling inside of her. Her abdomen contracted as she tried to stave off her orgasm. But, as Brittany once again brought her lips back down to Santana's clit she was shattering against her mouth before she could begin to process it.

Brittany didn't let her bask. Before she knew it, the fingers tucked so deeply inside of her slide out. A wet hand grasped at her thigh as Brittany pushed herself up and onto her knees. Santana watched as the black halter top was discarded along with Brittany's bra. Brittany watched Santana watch her, "I'm hot, right?"

Santana nodded her head furiously. She wouldn't pretend to know words at a moment like this. Grinning wider, Brittany watched as Santana's impossible almond eyes locked onto her jeans. "I'll take them off if you ask nicely."

Frantic brown eyes searched Brittany's face. Was she serious?

When Brittany made no effort to move her stalled fingertips, it sank it to Santana that she was. She cleared her throat, once. Twice. And again for good measure. "Please."

It was one word. But, it was said with such conviction. Such wanton desire that it was enough and as promised, Brittany stood unzipping her pants. She peeled the skin tight jeans from her thighs. Santana's hungry eyes fell onto the small slip of purple panties, her legs parting again on their own accord when she noticed the dampness at Brittany's center.

"Those too," Santana added.

Brittany shook her head, still standing, her fingers drumming against the side of her thigh, "Magic word."

"Please." Another husky breath of air practically begging to touch Brittany's body.

Brittany obeyed as she pulled her panties down. They dropped to the floor and she gently kicked them out of the way. Santana used her elbows to push herself up to a sitting position. She couldn't stop looking at all the parts of Brittany she thought she would never have the chance of seeing. Parts she never thought she wanted to see.

Brittany stepped closer to her, until her slit was hovering mere inches from Santana's face. Santana closed her eyes as the smell of Brittany's arousal overwhelmed her senses.

"Give me your hand, Santana."

Without opening her eyes, Santana lifted a hand to Brittany. Brittany watched quietly as one of the most successful, most powerful women she had ever met sat below her, a hopeless puddle of her former grandeur.

"Open your eyes."

It took her a moment, but Santana managed to pry her eyelids apart. She was unable to make herself look anywhere except for in front of her. She licked her lips as she bent forward ready to dive into Brittany completely. But, Brittany stepped back.

"What are you doing?" Santana knew how pathetic she sounded, but she was too turned on to care. Brittany smiled. Using her own hands, Brittany guided Santana's fingers across wet, alabaster folds. Twitching her fingers slightly, Santana found moisture. She let Brittany guide her hand from the base of her lips back up to her clit.

"I can do it myself Brittany," assured Santana. Still, Brittany didn't let go. Instead she brought Santana's fingertips back down. Repositioning her weight, Brittany sank herself onto Santana's fingers. They both moaned, Santana's eyes fluttering shut again momentarily.

Santana pushed into Brittany. Long pale legs quivered. Her hold still tight around Santana's hand, Brittany let Santana pull her fingers out and thrust them roughly back in. Her body was begging for release and she was slippery to the touch and the way Santana was looking at her, with those eyes, she knew she didn't stand a chance of lasting very long.

Using restraint that she had no idea she possessed, Brittany pulled Santana's fingers from within her and along with them sticky moisture. Sinking back down to the floor and onto her knees, Brittany brought their lips together. She suckled at Santana's top lip, before moving gingerly to the bottom. Her tongue slid out and Santana wasted no time pulling it into her mouth. When they broke apart, Santana had her eyes clenched shut again and she was breathless.

"Santana?"

"Hmmm?"

They swayed gently into each other. Brittany tucked a locket of hair behind Santana's ears.

"I want you to lay on your stomach..."

Santana's eyes opened, brimming with questions that she couldn't put to words. Brittany ignored them as she pressed on.

"I want you to lay on your stomach and I want you to spread your legs for me..." She dropped a kiss to Santana's collar bone. Took a moment to slide her tongue up her neck and against her jawbone before finding that full top lip again. "And I want you to think about how it felt to have your fingers inside of me..."

A chaste kiss was placed to Santana's cheek, followed by a bite to her lower lip. "I want you to think about how it felt inside of me and how my tongue felt in your mouth."

Santana whimpered as Brittany pulled her in, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist. She let Brittany's tongue dive back into her mouth. Their lips slide against one another, their tongues melting together. Santana brought her hands up to Brittany's neck to keep her in place, but Brittany continued to pull away, "On your stomach, Santana."

Letting her eyes drift down to Brittany's milky breast for a moment, Santana sighed and then gave in. She turned around, grabbing two of the large pillows off of the couch and positioning them on the floor.

She paused. Brittany gently nudged her hips to the ground, but Santana didn't budge. Brittany leaned her front against Santana's back as she pushed long black locks out of the way to reveal Santana's shoulders. She nipped at the skin there, "It's not fun when you don't cooperate, Santana."

Santana chuckled as she stopped the pale hand that was creeping around her side, scatting across her skin and back toward her center. "Magic word, Britt."

Brittany grinned against Santana's shoulder, "Unicorn."

"Nope." Santana shook her head.

Brittany let out an exaggerated groan, "Pleease."

"Good girl." Santana bent forward, stretching herself across the pillows. Brittany scooted closer to where her thighs hit the back of Santana's leg. Santana's eyes fluttered shut as Brittany's breast grazed across her back. "You're so good at this..."

"Ms. Lopez."

"Mmmmhm..."

"Ms. Lopez."

Santana's eyes flew back open. That wasn't Brittany's voice that was...Elena?

"Ms. Lopez."

The warmth of Brittany's body was fading rapidly. The blond hair tickling her skin was becoming a memory.

"MS. LOPEZ!"

Santana's eyes flew open.

"WHAT?"

Hovering above her was her housekeeper, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought you were dead."

"I was sleeping." Santana snapped as she sat up on the couch.

Elena shrugged her shoulders to accustomed to Santana's monumental bitchiness to bat an eye. "Your cousin just pulled into the gate." Without another word she exited the living room.

Santana looked down. She was still in the dress from last night's party. She tried to work out the crook in her neck as she sat back into the couch. Her pulse was thundering. She needed to not look so completely freaked out about having a sex dream about a woman who couldn't stand her when Callie made it inside.

Rubbing her thighs together, she felt moisture. An incredibly realistic sex dream, but a dream nonetheless. No one had to know about it.

She needed a cold shower.

Tying her robe as she walked out of the bathroom she found Callie strewn across her bed reading a screenplay.

"Dude this thing is fucking terrible." Callie laughed as she flipped further into the script, her face a judgmental grimace. "Really fucking terrible."

Santana shrugged her shoulders as she disappeared into her closet, "I know, but they're offering me a high six figures."

Callie snorted, "You're not going to do it?"

"Did I mention the high six figures?"

Santana reappeared in a pair of black jeans and an over-sized white shirt. Her wet hair dripped down her back. Callie looked at her quizzically.

"But you're like rich now. Six figures don't really matter when you have seven. Right?"

"Ha!" Santana tied her hair into a loose bun, "Money always matters. You should understand, Callie...Look at it this way," Santana sat on her bed against her pillows, "Let's say on Monday some dude comes in with a jacked up leg. He's like broken it in seven hundred different places and the surgery is not only crucial but it's gonna be kick ass."

"It's not possible to break your leg in seven hundred different places, but I'm still following, continue." Callie repositioned herself at the foot of the bed to stare up at her cousin.

"But, on Sunday you treated another guy with a totally fucked up leg, all broken up in eight hundred places. Would you still treat Monday guy?"

"Uh, duh. I took an oath."

"Well it's the same thing for me. Just because I deposited a check for six figures yesterday doesn't mean that I can't sign on to play the very same character in a different film and bank another six figures from it."

Callie rolled her eyes, "This analogy makes no sense, Santana."

"It makes perfect sense. You break bones for a living, I break the bank."

Callie sat up, "As your cousin, I feel as if it's my duty to tell you to reevaluate your life choices. All your movies suck. I say that with love."

Santana grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Callie's face. The older woman swatted it away before it made contact. "I'm an artist, Calliope Torres!"

"You're a movie prostitute."

A flicker of darkness glistened in Santana's chocolate eyes, but Callie was too busy laughing at her own joke to notice. "Well..." Santana said as she stepped off the bed, "We can't all be as deep as Brittany Pierce." She grabbed her cell phone and began scrolling absentmindedly through the contacts. Her thumb hovering over Tina's name as last night's dream came bubbling back to the forefront of her mind.

Callie's face sparked at the name, "That chick is good! Have you seen Delirium?"

"Yes!" Santana snapped, slamming her phone back down, "Yes, I've seen Delirium. She's a fucking God amongst mortals. Blah, blah, fucking blah. It was just a movie."

Callie jerked back, caught off guard by Santana's sudden burst of anger. "So I take it you don't like her?"

"More like she doesn't like me." Santana mumbled, picking her phone back up, distracting herself from Callie's steely gaze.

Another laugh erupted from her cousin, Santana wondered for a moment how much shit she would get for chucking the phone at Callie's face.

"You're insane, Santana. I've known Brittany for like a week. We've hung out a handful of times and I can pretty much say with 100% accuracy that is physically impossible for her to dislike anyone...Except leprechauns. But, I don't even want to get into why that is."

"Well, she doesn't. But, who cares. This business will swallow her up soon enough." The venom was back in Santana's voice. She reminded herself for the hundredth time that Brittany's opinion didn't matter. Once her first movie flopped she'd be just another has-been rehashing her glory days at C List Hollywood parties.

"Is that why you refuse to do that movie?" Callie's voice was soft as she looked her younger cousin over. She knew Santana better than almost anyone. She knew to look past the harsh words and the rigid posture and the sour face. She knew to look closer.

Santana sat back on the bed, facing away from Callie, "She doesn't want me to do it."

"But, if she wanted you to. Would you do it?"

Breathing in deeply, Santana shook her head, "It doesn't matter. Because she doesn't want me. She says that I'm not right for it. Whatever. Puta."

Callie came around the bed and sat next to Santana, "Are you right for it?"

Santana shrugged her shoulders, "I haven't even read the script. I don't even know what it's about. But..."

Callie softly punched Santana's thigh, "But, what?"

Santana rolled her eyes, mostly at the ridiculousness of this completely disgusting Kodak moment, but also at herself as she forced out, "But, the girl wrote Delirium and Flowers for Olivia. Those movies made me remember why I wanted to be an actress. So..."

"So...?"

"Yes. If she would've asked me to be in the film, I would've said yes. I would've said yes no matter the material. I would've said yes no matter the price."