Here it is. Let me know what you guys think! Also, a ton of thanks to Arkantoz for being patient with me.

It was Santana's moan that made her flee. Brittany backpedaled out of the bathroom and was halfway to her table before the door loudly swung shut. She knew they had heard it. In all honesty, she was counting on it. When she got back to the table, Alice was standing and spying on Dana through the crowd. Alice's behavior was so typical. She never wanted something until someone else had it.

"I have to go." Brittany cringed, hearing the strain in her voice.

Hearing it too, Alice snapped from Dana to Brittany, "What's wrong?"

"Puke. Feel sick. Drank too much. Danced too much." Her lie was simple. Believable. Alice gave her a pointed look. A look that said she saw through Brittany, but she let it go. She had bigger, gayer fish to fry. Gay Fish like the skank giving Dana sex eyes.

"Do you need me to give you a ride home?" The question was obligatory. Alice had no intention on leaving her post to take Brittany. She wasn't even making eye contact with her anymore; her line of vision was too busy taking in the scene across the room, instead of the frantic look in Brittany's eyes.

"No, I'm okay." And she tried to be. She tried to smile and laugh as she said her goodbyes to everyone and made plans to see them soon. She made her way out of The Planet as politely as possible even though she was practically aching for freedom. The instant she walked out into the night, her lungs hungrily gulped in the fresh air.

Good for them. Right? Good for Puck. Right? A real connection with another person was a fucking hard thing to find. Especially in LA and in their shared professions. She hailed down a taxi cab. She had no right to feel this way. Her stomach had no right to feel queasy. Her heart had no right to be broken.

She should've stopped that dance. The feelings caused by the aftermath of it were all her fault.

And worst of all, she had to see Santana in the morning.

Santana silently reprimanded herself for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes.

She was just being silly. She'd been drinking and she had been dancing and the mediocre round in the stall with Puck had drained her. It was a coincidence. Pure and simple. Brittany's abrupt disappearance had nothing to do with her. She was probably spent too; she danced harder than Santana had. But then, who had been at the door?

Santana suddenly jerked her head to the side as though she could shake out all the confusion clouding her thoughts. She slid into the taxi cab, behind Quinn. It could've been anyone. Anyone. The Planet was packed. Brittany was tired. Brittany had no idea about her and Puck and tomorrow she would call Santana. Besides in the unlikely event Brittany did know about her and Puck, who gives a shit? Santana was a grown ass woman. She got to do who and what she wanted.

But, still.

She exhaled loudly as her head rolled back against the seat. But, still nothing. Brittany wasn't a factor.

"Are you okay?"

Santana turned to find Quinn staring at her with arched eyebrows and a pinched forehead. She could only imagine how strange she looked wrestling with her thoughts for the past few minutes. When suddenly- it hit her like a ton of bricks. Her face fell and she gripped at the cracked leather seat of the taxi cab.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked again, her voice on edge. Santana shook her head slightly. Brittany didn't have her number. She had planned on giving it to her when they parted ways so she could call tomorrow and set up a venue and time for her audition. Fuck. Why did she leave? Why wouldn't she mention she was going? Why the fuck didn't she ask for her number?

She could ask Puck to text her Brittany's number. But then she would be risking the chance of a round two. She could have Quinn tell Puck to text Brittany Santana's number. But what if Puck mentioned their bathroom session? Whatever. That didn't matter. She was an adult.

Adult.

Callie!

She could get the number from Callie. It was almost two in the morning so her cousin was either just going to bed or just getting up for her shift at the hospital. She knew that Callie had explained her schedule to her once, but she was too busy not listening to remember it.

Fuck.

Callie would have to do. She'd risk the monumental bitchfest she'd endure for waking her up or disturbing her rounds. Santana picked up her phone, her fingertips hesitating on the screen.

Brittany danced with her half the night.

And she smiled at her. But, it wasn't the usual smile people threw her way. It was full and warm. It was a smile that Santana could feel in her bones.

She offered her an audition for a role that had the potential to change the trajectory of her career. Santana had yet to see the script, but she was so sure of what it could mean for her.

They'd spoken briefly and when she told Brittany that she didn't hate her, the way the writer's face lit up was enough to make her elaborate. Almost.

So what went wrong?

Santana pinched her eyes shut as she tried to relive the night second by second.

They were sitting at the table with Brittany's friends. Puckerman kept running his hand along her leg. She pretended not to notice. She had to pee: badly. So she got up, went to the bathroom, peed and then fixed her lip gloss.

Fuck. The truth was staring her in the face like a train barreling down a track. Obvious and dangerous.

Brittany must've come looking for her after both she and Puck vanished.

A cold hand covered her own, pulling her out of her thoughts, "Santana, why are you be such a freak?"

"It's nothing." Santana snatched her hand away and stuffed her cellphone into her purse. She would have to figure this out after Quinn left. Until then everything was peachy fucking keen.

Santana had dressed in the most appropriate outfit she could find. Blue jeans and a tight black shirt. It was simple, but not as if she had just rolled out of bed and pulled on the first pieces of clothing her hands had touched. In actuality she had antagonized over the simplicity of it.

She drank a full pot of coffee after Quinn had dropped her off. She paced. She worried. She got two hours of sleep. Thank God for make-up. Thank God she was naturally stunning. Thank God for big ass sunglasses. The early morning wardrobe crisis had taken up most of her attention, but now that she stood fully dressed, she had to admit this idea was...weird. Maybe borderline creepy. Whatever. She could attribute it all to her stellar work ethic. She gulped past her worry. It was piling up in her throat with bile and the taste of regret. She could turn and walk away now and no one would know.

A breeze off the ocean hit her full force and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She turned and surveyed the view from Brittany's wrap-around porch; sandy beaches and endless ocean. Maybe she should've gone with a beach property too? Maybe then her life wouldn't be so...

Shut up. She shook herself. She was here on a mission. She'd already worked out what she was going to say when she rang the doorbell.

"Hey Brittany! Callie suggested I take down your number and address because I forgot to give you mine last night! I wasn't sure of your flight so I thought I'd come early!"

Except not as perky. She needed to stay aloof. She learned a long time ago that in in this industry, when people think you don't care, it makes them want you more.

She needed Brittany to want her more.

Resigning herself to whatever fate she was about to meet, she rang the doorbell.

Silence mounted. From inside, no movement. She knocked again and waited. Her heart beat quickened as fear began to trickle in. Did she miss out? Was Brittany gone already?

"Lopez, what the hell are you doing here?"

Her eyes clenched shut at his voice. This was not happening. Except it was. It was and she couldn't make it go away. She turned on her boot heel and found him standing at the other end of the porch wiping sleep out of his eyes. She'd woken him up.

"Noah, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I asked you first," He let his hand fall to his side as he grinned, "You here for round two?"

Santana rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, "Do you live here? Is this not Brittany's address?" She reached into her pocket as she spoke, pulling out her phone and retrieving Callie's text message. 342 Chestnut Way. This was it.

"Sometimes when I get drunk, Britt lets me pass out on her couch instead of driving across town to my place." He was watching her now. Except he wasn't watching her. He was digging into her, trying his best to peel back her clothes. He wanted underneath them. He wanted under her skin.

"Why are you here?" When he spoke, he made eye contact. Something he seldom did. It was an intimidation tactic. She knew because she had mastered it a long time ago. She had to.

"Brittany wants me to audition for the movie." She gulped as shock registered on Puck's features. Well, sort of. He was hung-over from the looks of it and had probably just gone to bed. So his "shocked" face looked more like a bowel movement that wouldn't move.

"Britt asked you?" His tone was incredulous and dripping with disbelief. Santana felt the contours of her face souring. What had Brittany been saying to him? Why was it so unbelievable? He said it himself; she was more talented than the films she was put in. Also, why the hell did he have to continue with the "Britt" shit? They couldn't be that close. He didn't wait for her to answer as he turned beckoning her to follow, "This way, gorgeous."

She shuffled behind him with trepidation, frantically reminding herself of who she was. That this was no big deal.

The first thing that Santana noticed as she entered inside that Brittany's house felt just like Brittany: Warm.

There were photos of friends everywhere and abstract art pieces probably made by obscure hipster artists that made Santana roll her eyes. She grinned as a framed portrait of a unicorn caught her eye. It was majestically glorious but still incredibly adorable.

The second thing that Santana noticed was a woman with thick curly hair staring sullenly at the ceiling from where she laid on the floor in the center of the room. She recognized her from Callie's party. But, like most people who didn't interest her, she couldn't recall the name.

"Britt, you got company!" Puck shouted into the house as he stepped over the woman on his way to the couch. It was black and overstuffed and obviously very broken in. (Santana thought back to her own couch. It still looked brand new, the only people who ever sat on it besides herself was her managers and Quinn.) As he sat he pointed to floor, "That's Cristina. Cristina that's Santana."

Cristina moved her arm from across her face and turned her head slightly to look to where Puck pointed. Santana smiled back, wanting to make a good (second) impression on a person who (maybe) influenced Brittany's decision. "Nice to see you again." She ignored the strange look Puck gave her and followed up with a friendly, "How are you?"

Cristina used her elbows to push herself up to a sitting position, "He implemented an 80 hour work week. 80 hours! I'm stuck at home on a Saturday. Saturday's are one of our busiest days. Idiot humans try to do to idiot human things like barbecue or clean their rain gutters. Have you ever seen a man with third degree burns? It's seriously cool."

She threw herself back flat onto the floor as she exhaled loudly, "I don't need to be here I need to be wrist deep inside of someone. I need an OR to live." Her voice was calm despite the hysteria in her eyes.

Santana nodded knowingly. She had often witnessed the same meltdown with Callie, "Have you declared yet?"

Cristina cocked her head quizzically at Santana, "What?"

"Have you declared your specialty yet? Doctors who aren't interested in just general surgery usually pick a field to specialize in." Santana's eyes roamed around the house trying to covertly take it all in without being noticed. Everywhere she looked she found something to question. A photo of a pretty older woman who was too Asian to be Brittany's mother. A stack of Playboys on the bookcase she hoped belonged to Puck. A broken model of a rocket ship resting on an end table. Her eyes came to rest back onto Cristina was had the same perplexed look on her face. "That's how it's usually done."

"I know that. I just don't know why you know that. That was a really long sentence." She lay back down. "I'm impressed."

Santana smirked. Her hair triggered rage receded into admiration. Cristina had balls.

"My dino shaped luffa is missing. I expect it back in its rightful place by the time I return."

Santana's hands clenched hearing Brittany's voice, her pulse quickening. She had been showering. Her hair was still wet and she was tightening the towel around her body as she spoke. She looked tired, but beautiful. Her eyes lifted from her task and came to rest on Santana, her lips forming into a silent "Oh."

Cristina lifted her head and looked between Brittany and Santana, "She's eveeerywhere." She put emphasis on the word as she grinned, and then let her head flopped back against the floor, "80 hours. Who does that?"

Santana had an office at her house that was seriously for decorative use only. It had the latest Apple technology and an understated beauty. But, she could count on her fingers how many times she had actually used it. Brittany's office, though, was chaotic. Pencils and pens and pieces of screenplays littered her desk. Her file cabinets had papers protruding from the edges and there was a ton of empty Starbucks cups littering about. The theatrical posters from her two movies were framed and hanging on the wall. On the bookcase (resting right next to a small sculpture of a cat) was Brittany's Oscar, polished to a tee, but still hiding reclusively in the chaos.

Brittany rummaged through her desk drawer. She was fully dressed now, but her hair was still damp against her shirt. Santana took the seat that Brittany forgot to offer. There was something off. Brittany's usual relaxed posture was rigid. She reminded Santana of herself.

"When's your flight?"

"3:15."

Brittany's voice was flat. Santana drummed her fingers against her thigh. She didn't have to explain how she got her home address. Well, Brittany didn't let her at least. After she got over the initial shock of seeing Santana standing in her living room chatting with her friends, she said she had to get dressed and zipped back into her bedroom. A few minutes later she re-emerged with cloudy eyes and led Santana into her office.

And here Santana sat, feeling nerves she had no idea her body possessed.

"Got it!" Brittany pulled out five sheets of paper bound together and closed the drawer as she sat up. Santana reached out for it making sure their eyes connected. She felt her face flush, but only for a moment. Brittany quickly shifted her eyes toward the door as she stood. "I know cold readings are no fun. But take a minute to look it over." She walked around the room tossing the empty cups into the trash can. "Her name's Molly. I've noticed I have a tendency to write characters who are... disillusioned. So, I wanted to try something different."

Santana's eyes grew as she read down the paper, she looked over to Brittany who still had her back to her, "There's a rape scene?"

"Yes." Brittany tossed the last cup into the trash and turned around. "But, I think it's best for this reading if you don't know the specifics of it. It's set in New York. Post 9/11. I wanted to capitalize on the uncertainty and the fear. Which was hard to do without drudging up all the already rehashed shit. Did you see Remember Me?"

Santana shook her head, no. Brittany frowned.

Santana offered, "I like that guy though." She's not sure why she added that bit of (dishonest) information. Brittany's frowned deepened and she turned back around. This was stupid. Maybe she should just ask about last night? Clear the air? Except, she wasn't sure how. If Brittany had left because she was with Puck then that meant something she wasn't sure she wanted it to mean. And if she didn't, then Santana was bringing it up like some weird muttering fool for nothing. Which was worse. She watched as the muscles flexed in Brittany's back through her shirt as she moved. She picked up her Oscar and held it.

"I'm thinking of writing a movie about roller derby next." She sat the award back down and turned back around to Santana. She was watching her silently, her face as flat as her voice.

Santana grinned, "Roller derby, huh?"

Brittany nodded, "And I want to work in Unicorns if at all possible. It's like the movie of my dreams." She grabbed her desk chair, moved it across the room from Santana and sat down. Santana blinked once, twice and let go of the feelings that said Brittany didn't want to be near her. Why?

"Good luck with finding the funding."

"I need to be away from actors while they audition. I tend to get distracted by the close-ups if I don't scoot away." She shrugged as she bit her index finger nail.

Brittany had answered without her asking. Santana shrugged, "It's whatever."

"And I practically have carte blanche right now." Another apathetic shrug. Another obvious attempt to avoid eye contact as she studied the walls of a room Santana knew damn well Brittany knew like the back of her hand.

Silence fell as Santana focused back on the sides. She needed to be good at this. Great even. She needed this part.

She'd been on a lot of auditions. Not lately of course, but when she first started out her life was a steady stream of general meetings and auditions. Nervous was never the word to describe how she felt during them. Excited? Hopeful? Inspired? None of those words really fit either. There was an energy during her early days of auditioning. Hollywood was still this magical fairytale place that she needed to be a part of. But, when the auditions started piling up and her phone still wasn't ringing she got bitter. She was forcing herself to reckon with the possibility that yes, Hollywood was still this magical fairytale place but, life wasn't. And even though it was still their shining in the distance, she was still on the outside looking in.

Even at the bleakest point of her career, nerves never got the best of her. Her drinking? Maybe.

But, standing across from an impassive body and the most intense ice blue stare she'd ever witnessed, she was quivering. She could hear herself flubbing lines and emoting at incorrect moments. Brittany never flinched. She watched silently, her mouth pressed into a thin line. The scene ended. Santana shook her head. That was cringe worthy. Brittany licked her lips and flattened her palms against her jeans, "Thanks. We'll be in touch."

Santana balked, her lips parting to silence. She fiddled with the edges of the paper. "That was bad, right?" She was refusing to make eye contact now; her voice was too soft for her to stand.

Although she didn't see it, Santana heard the shrug in Brittany's voice as she said, "Cold readings are a bitch sometimes. Thanks for your time."

Brittany stood reaching for the sides. Santana let out a dry laugh, "No, I can do it. You got me drunk last night."

"Santana, it's fine. You were fine." The ambivalence was gone from Brittany's voice. It was crisp now. So professional, it stung.

"No, I can do it."

"It's okay."

"Brittany-"

"No!"

Santana sat back, bruised. Brittany looked so stern, her eyes blue steel and her jaw clenched firmly. Santana was overwhelmed by the smell of tension in the room. For the second time in less than 24-hours the truth barreled into her. The words were spilling out before she had a chance to stop them. "You know nothing about me." Her voice was smooth and hushed despite the fact that she could feel a sob rising in her throat. This was the moment of truth that both of them had been dancing around all morning. "You think you know, for some reason. But, you don't. What did Puck tell you we fucked? Did he tell you that I once gave him head in a movie theater? What?"

Brittany's jaw relaxed as her mouth slowly parted in disbelief. She tried to speak, but could only usher out air.

Santana's brown eyes were an intense black. The calm was slowly giving way to anger. Her nails pressed into her palms as she clenched her fist. "You didn't like me before you walked in on Puck and I fucking in the stall last night. You didn't like me before Callie's party. Or before that day in the boardroom. Tell me what it is that's so gross about me. Tell me what makes me less of a person than you."

She watched Brittany gulp. Close her mouth. Open her mouth. Gulp again. She trembled. Something inside of Santana shifted. Mercy, maybe? She stood, grabbing her phone. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Despite her effort, her voice still trembled as she whispered, "You don't get to pass judgement on what I did to survive, Brittany."

Santana's heels slapped across the floor as she power walked out of the house. She could feel her tears brimming and the tell-tale signs of a stress headache on the horizon. Puck and Cristina were thankfully nowhere to be found because the tears she told to stay away were already streaming down her face. She couldn't understand why she was reacting this way. This wasn't her. This had never been her. She was half way across the driveway and she could barely walk because of the sobs crippling her body. Or maybe this was her? Maybe the real her saw a chance to break free back there with Brittany and now she couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop and she hated herself for it.

She slammed the door as she got into the car. She started it up, but couldn't make herself function beyond that. The tears were coming too quickly. Her breathes were roughly tearing out of her throat as she struggled for oxygen. Her heart was breaking. This was suppose to be it for her. All that hope for nothing.

She'd never be able to have a chance to prove she was more than just a pretty face. She could see her life before she'd lived it. She could feel the misery. Her entire body was shaking and she could taste snot on her tongue. She let her head fall against the steering wheel as she took deep breath trying to calm herself, but it didn't help. She was on a downward spiral. Just like her life.

She could've been there for ten minutes or an hour, head resting against the steering wheel, she wasn't sure. Finally the tears had stopped. She took a shallow breath as her heartbeat regulated. Her hands clenched at opposite sides of the steering wheel. She needed to go and forget about hope. And Brittany.

Her life had been so much simpler before she met Brittany. She'd continue her career the way she had started it, making bank while cashing in on the false hope of some frat guys teenaged dream.

She coughed as she sat up and just like that she could feel the tears rebuilding. Brittany stood at the front of her car, her hands resting on the hood watching Santana with eyes glowing with empathy. This was the last thing she needed. Wanted. Roughly wiping her face, Santana threw the car in reverse, but her foot idled on the brake. When Brittany realized she wasn't moving, she walked around to the door and waited.

Santana hesitated, but eventually gave in and rolled down the window. She couldn't think of an insult. She couldn't even find her voice enough to ask what she wanted. Brittany leaned in and used her thumbs to wipe the runny mascara from under Santana's eyes. She felt her eyes flutter at the contact. Brittany used her nimble fingers to tediously move the strands of hair from Santana's eyes. Santana wondered if this is how it felt to have someone care about you.

"The part's yours if you want it, Santana." Brittany pushed a lock of hair behind Santana's ear, gave her a small smile that was all sympathy. Without another word, she turned around and made her way to her porch and back inside of her house.

A speechless Santana watched her go as she tried, yet again, to catch her breath.