I decided to send this one out before my beta got back to me. She's MIA at the moment and it's probably all my fault, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer than I already have. All the mistakes are mine! Your thoughts on story progression are always appreciated!

Brittany leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to the sharpness of the light in Bailey's office. She tapped at the screen on her phone. It re-dialed the number she had been trying on and off for the past thirty minutes. Voicemail again. To the room, she spoke.

"Read it."

"I've read it six times already."

"Read it again, Bailey."

Miranda sucked her teeth and gave Brittany a pointed look that went unnoticed. She clicked back over to her email and read the text she had practically memorized.

Miranda,

Although Santana is delighted by your interest in her for your upcoming film she must regrettably decline the offer. She appreciates your confidence in her abilities and hopes to have the opportunity to work with you and your studio in the future.

Best Regards,

Kurt Hummel, Senior Agent

Brittany clenched her eyes shut tighter as she hit her phone again. Same number, straight to voice mail. She sat up. "That's not even a response. That's a stock answer. I bet they just placed your name in a blank and sent it out."

Miranda shook her head in agreement. She watched Brittany as she dialed the number again, muttering under her breath.

"Fuck." She tossed the phone onto Bailey's desk.

"So I guess the next question…" Bailey stood up and walked over to the open door of the office. She peeked out before shutting it and turned back around to Brittany, "Is what did you do?"

Brittany balked, unprepared for the question. "What did I do? I didn't do anything!"

"Bright Eyes was number one on The Blacklist. Sam Mendez and Gus Van Sant have both came up to us and offered to direct it. This office is bombarded daily with fruit baskets and flowers and trips to Tahiti in exchange for a part in it-"

"I know that." Brittany interrupted an edge in her voice.

"So what happened? What did she say when you offered her the role?" Bailey was watching her in a way that made her skin crawl and her cheeks flush.

She met Bailey three years ago. She was a nobody living on the fumes of hope sending out screenplays to everyone she could, solicited or not. Bailey took a chance on her. She brought her in and helped her hone her writing while simultaneously teaching her the business and helping her carve a spot for herself. Bailey was a second mom, one that her actual mom called once a week to chat with. She was the closet thing to a stage mom she would ever have, but without the hysterics. It was for that reason that Brittany felt like she was thirteen again and her mom had found out she had gone to Max Finkleman's party and got so wasted she puked in their mailbox.

Brittany nervously bit at her index finger as she brought her eyes up to meet Bailey's. She repositioned herself on the edge of her desk, eyes never straying from her writer.

"I told her...at first...that she was okay and that we would be in touch."

Brittany added the last bit in a rush of breath. She scrunched up her face preparing herself for the war of words that were about to spew out of her mentors mouth.

A tiny vein appeared at Bailey's temple as her eyes rounded into shock. She cleared her voice. "Why?" The word came out tight and forced.

Brittany shrugged her shoulders, "Because she wasn't."

"But, then you offered it to her. Why?"

Her brow furrowed. She clasped her hands together. She felt uncomfortable telling Bailey about their conversation in her office. Or more accurately, Santana's break down and her complete lack of control of the situation. That morning everything had happened so fast. Santana was there, but she wasn't. She was reading the lines, but her voice was hollow. Her eyes though, were chocolate orbs of frenzy. She was flubbing the audition yet her eyes were still stealing the scene.

Stealing the morning.

The afternoon.

And even the night. Large, frantic, tired eyes that were the darkest of brown Brittany had ever seen were the last thing she saw before she fell asleep that night.

And the first thing she thought about when she woke up this morning.

Brittany gave another shrug as she stood. "You know how impulsive I can be sometimes. Remember that lizard I bought when we were in Arizona meeting with that guy who smelled like Mardi Gras and old cheese?"

Bailey shook her head. She didn't believe her and Brittany knew it. She stood up and rounded her desk, sitting back down in the lush office chair Brittany had bought her last year for her birthday. It was pink and it absolutely did not fit in with the decor. Brittany had insisted she have it because it was so Bailey.

Miranda Bailey hates the color pink, but she loves Brittany, so the chair stayed. She settled into it yet again before diving back into her email and reading the message to herself.

Her eyes never strayed from the computer screen as she spoke, "Santana would be perfect for this role, Brittany."

Brittany's hand lingered on the door knob as she sucked her lips into her mouth, "I know."

Her dad always said she was a headstrong kid. It was usually after he or her mother had denied something and she fought tooth and nail for them to overturn their ruling. It never took long. After a couple of well timed screams and loud door slams, he would be hovering above her smiling down and patting her head to calm her down. He would give in (or make her mother) to whatever it was that she wanted. She was his feisty little niña.

As the years progressed and her family aged and blurred and became something she didn't recognize her temper became more hostile. Feisty little niña became ungrateful little bitch. Her father's compliance and mild mannered personality gnarled into frown lines and glares and an ever present grimace. Her mother's beautiful skin wrinkled into regret for a wasted youth. Her family home became so quiet, until the arguments started. When those fizzled out, the silence crept back in and settled into the curtains and duvets and into themselves.

She did them a favor when she left.

That was five years ago and even though so much had changed, so much still hadn't. She was still the same feisty little niña.

Or ungrateful little bitch.

That one was probably more fitting.

She sent her assistant a text that simply read "K."

Her flight was booked for Noon. In two hours and some change she would be out of LA and shacked up in some criminally overpriced hotel room in Cabo.

She sent over another text to her assistant, "Make sure the hotel room is high on swank and low on people wanting to take their photos with me."

A rapid fire response came back with a, "Sure thing, Ms. Lopez."

She tossed the phone down on her bed and surveyed her room. Clothes and shoes were everywhere and in the middle of her bed her luggage was open and half full. She could forgo the headache of matching clothes while packing and just stuff seven bikinis in for her week long stay. She could eat room service whenever she wanted and she would never have to leave her hotel room.

There were definitely worse ways to spend a week.

"Santana?"

Startled, Santana spun around ready to strike. Her breath rushed out as Tina smiled back at her.

"You're jumpy today."

"I wasn't expecting anyone. I told Elena no visitors. My stupid fucking cousin won't back the fuck up out of my business." Santana sat down on her bed and hit ignore as another call came through. She glanced back over to Tina. "Why are you here?"

Nervously Tina gulped. She forgot how intimidating Santana could be. Their very first session her hands were so clammy she could barely grip skin. The way the actress was watching her, eyes darkened and eyebrows arched expectantly reminded her of that first night. "It's Wednesday. We always meet at ten on Wednesdays because you have your meeting with your agent in the afternoon."

Instantaneously the annoyance coating Santana's features receded into softness. She frowned as she stood. "I forgot." She walked over to her nightstand and fiddled around inside. "I have a flight at noon."

"Oh..." Tina repositioned herself. "I'll go then and you can just call whenever and reschedule." She turned quickly.

"Wait."

Tina slowly spun back around. Santana still had her back to her, hands rummaging through the stand. Finding what she was looking for, Santana stood back up holding an envelope stuffed with cash. She held it out to Tina who immediately shook her head.

"I can't take that."

"Yes, you can." Her hand clutching the envelope still hovered in front of Tina's startled face.

"Santana, I can't take that. That's not how it works. I...you know...and then you pay me."

Santana's lips pursed as she noted how uncomfortable Tina had become. Her eyes flitted to the clock on her night stand. 10:08. She needed to hurry this up. Using her free hand she grabbed Tina's left hand and smacked the envelope into it. "Consider it a cancellation fee. I didn't call you and cancel the appointment you and I mutually agreed to have. You wasted precious moments of your life and half a tank of five dollar a gallon gas. I owe you."

She turned back around and grabbed a purple shirt, inspecting it. Deciding it was Cabo approved she quickly folded it and stuffed it into her luggage. She could feel Tina's presence behind her still, unmoving. Ignoring it she continued to pack for her trip.

Three shirts and two pair of jeans into folding a soft voice filled the room. "I can't take this, Santana."

"You need it more than I do." She kept packing. "Medical school is expensive."

"But, I didn't...Earn it."

Santana let out a deep breath as she stood up straight, her eyes pinching closed. Tina's quiet voice echoed throughout the room. It was so melodic. If they had the type of relationship where questions were asked and answers were given, she would ask Tina if she was a singer.

And if Tina said no, she would tell her she should be.

Santana's eyes shot open as an idea hit her. She snapped her body around to Tina and covered the small distance between the two of them in no time. With a smirk, Santana cupped Tina's face with her palms and pulled her in. Their lips mashed together briefly before Santana pulled back and released her hostage.

"That was against the rules, right? A fine or something is due? Take the money."

Tina's mouth parted to speak, but Santana quickly clamped her hand over it. "Shut up. Either take the money or I'm going to run it down my food disposal. If you're that hell bent on working for it, you can help me pack."

Thirty minutes later Santana and Tina proudly looked down at two luggage bags stuffed to the brim with perfectly folded garments.

5 PM.

Brittany sank back into her couch. She wasn't use to an empty house, but Cristina decided to fly to Ohio to fetch a heart for some last minute surgery. With little hope she pulled out her phone and called Santana. Voice mail again. She hung up without leaving a message.

The quiet made her ears ring. She tucked her legs underneath her as she reached under her couch and pulled out a small tin box that held Puckermans stash. She opened it and the pungent aroma filled her nostrils. She sat back as she broke down a bud.

What had Santana meant when she said what she did to survive?

She stuffed a small piece of fragile white paper with weed.

What did she need to survive? Brittany read her Wikipedia page a million times. Her parents were wealthy. Her dad was a doctor, her mother a dancer. Maybe that's where Santana learned all her awesome club moves from?

She rolled the paper and sealed it with spit.

And she was wrong. Brittany didn't not like her that day in the boardroom. It was all overwhelming. One minute she's in Lexi's kitchen and there's blood and missing fingertips and the next she's in a boardroom filled with suits and some actress you couldn't pay her to cast clawing at her pride and joy.

Brittany hit the joint, held the smoke and then let it billow from her lips. Her skin was warming; the sunlight coming in from the windows was getting softer.

Maybe "clawing" is an exaggeration, but still.

She wasn't ready. And when she's not ready she doesn't know how to react. Maybe she could've handled it differently? Maybe she should've attended those media training classes her publicist kept trying to force her into? Maybe now the situation would be different?

So many maybes. So much smoke.

But that's all Hollywood is, right? Smoke and mirrors and maybes and heartache.

Another swirl of smoke spun from pale lips. Brittany rubbed at her chest. She'd been going so fast all day trying to contact Santana and pacify Bailey and her team that she hadn't realized that her heart was aching.

It had been since yesterday.

"If you smoke it, I will come."

Brittany sputtered into a cough as Puck crashed down next to her. She doubled over as the hacking continued. He rubbed at her back, a grin playing on his face. "Breathe Britt."

She took a deep breath and did as she was told. Her face was red when she came back up, holding the joint out for Puck. She cleared her throat. "Hope you don't mind."

He took it from her fingers and took a quick hit, "What's mine is yours. Especially when left in your house."

"So if ever there was some kind of blitzkrieg raid, I'll be the one going down?"

"Exactly."

She giggled lowly, once again resting back into the cushions. Her heavy eyelids closed and she couldn't stop them. She raised her hand again to rub her chest. She felt so warm and light and free. She could feel the setting sun on her face. She could hear the hiss of air as Puck hit the joint. She could see brown eyes. She could smell fear.

"She won't take my calls."

"Who?" Rasped Puck.

"Santana," she kept her eyes closed as she spoke. "I went to her house like eight times. She wasn't there. Her housekeeper said she went somewhere on a plane...Planes are so fucking scary, man."

Puck inhaled deeply and used the tin can to stub out the joint. He sat back. "Don't worry about her. The least Santana Lopez is in your life, the better. I know from experience."

Brittany let out a short laugh. She rubbed her eyes and opened them, her head turning slightly to look at Puck. "She's still in your life...You guys are still sleeping together. She can't be that bad."

"You have no idea." His voice was low and serious. His glazed eyes smacked of...anger? Maybe. Sadness? Yes.

Brittany turned her body toward him, "Tell me."

He smirked as he shifted gears into spotlight mode. Camera ready Noah Puckerman now sat next to her. "I loved her." He shrugged and though his body was limp with nonchalance Brittany believed him.

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes." His hand glided across his shaven head. "Why do you think I still stick around? You don't put up with someone who comes with that much baggage just because she's a good fuck. And she is, don't get me wrong. She's the best I ever had. Probably because she's the only girl I've ever been in love with."

Brittany rubbed harder at her chest, "So what's the problem? She doesn't love you?"

Anger so obvious glimmered in his eyes. He used his thumb to crack his middle fingers knuckle. "Eight months into our relationship, I catch her with her head between my assistant's legs. Just going to fucking town."

The revelation left his lips and he deflated. His anger dissipated and made way for a stoned, lonely man with nostalgia in his eyes.

Brittany's hand moved from her chest and clasped at Pucks. He gave her a small smile. "You're so sweet, Brittany. You shouldn't be in this business."

"So I hear...What was his name?"

Noah smiled. "That's the kicker..." He eyed her for a moment before he continued. She tapped at his hand expectantly. "Emily. Her name was Emily."

His smile grew as the appropriate response registered across Brittany's face.

"Santana's gay?"

His smile fell. "No. You're gay. She's just...confused."

Brittany snatched her hand away from his. Wobbly, she stood.

"You gotta pee? He asked. "Cause I need a beer if you're gonna stop by the kitchen."

Brittany shook her head. Everything was so thick inside and all the places that once felt so warm were searing.

"You've known this for how long?"

Puck shrugged, "Years, man."

"And she knows you know?" Brittany's voice rose with every word. Puck registered her aggression. He sat up slightly.

"I'm sure she does." He was quiet as he thought. "Yeah. She does. But, she's obviously not gay, gay because she still lets me hit a home run when I want."

She took a sharp, silent breath.

Maybe one day when she looks back on it, Brittany will blame it on her drug addled state. She could feel her blood boiling and every synapse in her brain was firing at once.

And then she was in front of Puck and his eyes were wide and her fist was colliding against his jaw with as much power as she could put behind her punch.

She left her friend on her couch clutching at his bleeding lip and throbbing mouth.

She had no time to pack. The last flight of the day was in an hour and she had to settle for coach. Her assistant had made it to LAX before her and she was waiting at the gate-on orders to stall the flight by any means necessary if needed.

Luckily, Brittany was making good time. The cab dropped her off as closely as he could to the entrance and she dashed inside with twenty minutes to spare.

As she sprinted through the throngs of people, a familiar mane of shiny brown hair and a glimpse of a plaid skirt caught her eye. She sped up, murmuring I'm sorry's and don't hate me's as she pushed through weary travelers.

She came to a halt in front of Rachel Berry. She was a fine tuned, PA machine. She kept Brittany's life in order and handled her affairs swimmingly. Left to her own devices, Brittany knows she would sink.

She held out Brittany ticket and asked, "Where's your luggage?"

"Didn't have time to pack. Is this my gate?"

Rachel huffed, "Seriously Brittany, you're going to Cabo San Lucas. You cannot just show up without clothes. And yes this is your gate. I e-checked you in."

"I'll get some clothes when I get over there. They have stores, right?"

Boarding flight 423 to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

Brittany's innards seized. She was doing this.

"I thought you would say that," Rachel continued unaware of the shift in Brittany's mood, "So I stopped at Harrietta's, the place where I do all my shopping. She's fabulous and she agreed to Fedex the goodies to your hotel room over night! I'm a really valuable shopper there of course she wasn't going to run the risk of loosing my business."

"You booked my hotel room already?"

Another conspicuous eye roll, "You said Esperanza Resort, right?"

Brittany shook her head, "Yeah that's where Callie said she was."

"Not a cheap place. I used the card you gave me a couple months ago to buy printer ink to book you a suite. The photos look heavenly. Don't choke when the bill comes in. Also-" Rachel dug through her purse.

"You still have that card?"

"Of course." She pulled out a small bottle of perfume and spritzed it onto Brittany's neck. She grinned. "How great does this smell? I mixed it myself. I call it Barbara. You remember that time we saw her in New York and I got to smell her while she was passing us to go inside the venue? This is the scent."

Brittany smiled. Rachel was bossy sometimes. And sometimes she made her feel like she wasn't as smart as her. But, times like this were reminders as to why they were as close as they were. They worked well together. They both needed the other in the same way. "Thank you, Rachel. And thank you for getting this all ready for me so quickly."

Rachel smiled back warmly, "It was fun! But, could I ask why you're chasing after Santana Lopez? I've had...encounters with her. She's not a nice person."

Brittany sucked at her bottom lip as she shook her head. Rachel had thrown this all together at the last minute and she couldn't even tell her why it was so important. "But, I will make this up to you." She promised as she began backing up to Security.

Rachel smiled again as she clasped her hands around her back, "Sounds fun!"

Coach smelled funny. Everyone around her looked tired but anxious. She rubbed her hands together as she peaked out the window and out at the night sky. She hated that she was worried if Puck was okay or not. She hated that the thought of him made her skin crawl, but most of all she hated that she felt good punching him. Maybe when she got off the plane she would have Cristina check on him.

Getting Santana's contact information out of Callie hadn't been easy. She had to promise to go with Arizona to some figure skating thing so Callie wouldn't have to. She also had to hand over a leather jacket that Callie had been eyeing since the day she brought it home and promise to bring her out to eat somewhere "dingy and that Arizona would absolutely hate" because Callie felt she was getting to soft for her liking.

She had no idea what she was going to do once she actually got there and came face to face with Santana, but she knew she had to see her. It couldn't wait a week. It couldn't even wait a day.

The Esperanza Resort was an exclusive luxury vacation spot frequented by tons of Hollywood royalty. Rachel spared very little expense with Brittany's room reservation and after suffering a mild stroke while registering and seeing the grand total, Brittany was in her home for the next week. A beachfront Garden Spa Casita. You could take all of the cinematographers in Hollywood and combine them and they still couldn't come close to creating a view as beautiful as the one from her room.

The villas of Esperanza were clustered together. She had to ask a Concierge to direct her to Anna Rodriguez's room. (Santana's code name) If she would've asked Brittany to craft a more suitable alias she would've been happy to help. Anna Rodriguez was so boring and obvious.

She stood outside the door, her heart lodged in her throat and her body trembling. Her clammy hands were clenched at her sides. Santana had a temper. A temper that Brittany knew she'd only seen a very small piece of. Still, with determination etched across her face she raised a hand and knocked.

And waited.

She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears and a voice inside of her head begging her to run.

Run away now as fast as she can.

Then the door open and there Santana stood in a robe, her hair wet. She must've just gotten out of the shower. She looked rested. At least she did the moment before it took her to register Brittany standing in front of her.

The rigid posture, the hostile eyes, the venom all came soaring back into her body.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Fucking Callie."

That was the billion dollar question. The one that Brittany kept asking herself over and over on the flight in. The one she still didn't have an actual answer to. She gulped once, twice. Her tongue felt thick and dry inside of her mouth. She licked her lips instead. She wiped her hands along her jeans.

Santana cocked her head to the side, waiting.

Brittany inhaled deeply, "When I was younger my mom drank a little more than she should've...And my dad...Was gone a little more than he should've been...And I..." Her voice trembled, "I was in my head a little more than I should've been..."She let out a breath and took another gulp of crisp, Cabo night. Santana face was still frozen with animosity. Her arms crossed in front of her.

Brittany pressed on, "My teachers would always tell me that I needed to focus more on my studies because that's what would take me places, except...I'm not that smart and school wasn't fun...Writing was...Dreaming was. Is...I get it. What you do. I understand that sometimes reality really fucking sucks and it is so much easier breathing when you're living in a fantasy. At least for the moment."

Santana shifted from one foot to the other. She tightened her arms around herself. "Why are you telling me this?" She kept the rage painted on her face. Brittany bit at the inside of her cheek. Santana looked so angry and guarded.

She shrugged, "Because I've never told anyone else before. Except Cristina. But, she's...the person I tell stuff too."

"Gay love. How revolutionary."

"It's not gay. I'm gay. She's not gay. She's just...my person. I tell her stuff no one knows."

"Yet you still haven't answered why the hell you're here. I'm not doing the movie. I thought Kurt sent you people an email?"

"He did."

"So did you not understand it? No means no."

Brittany stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She tried to look Santana in the eyes, but it was too hard. She stared at the ground instead and repeated, "Those are the things people don't know about me..."

Her voice trailed off. She could hear the ocean licking at the shore nearby. And then,

The slightest gasp. She knows that if she hadn't been standing so close it would've been swallowed by the night. She looked up and back to Santana's face.

The anger was gone. Her eyes were glossy and her mouth hung half open. Her arms fell limp to her sides. Brittany watched the emotions shadow Santana's face all at once. Fear. Confusion. Betrayal.

And in the middle of it all, comprehension.