" . . . I'm here alone, didn't wanna leave

My heart won't move, it's incomplete

Wish there was a way that I can make you understand . . ."

….

"I really don't see what you want me for," Rachael states as she walks down the hallway of McKinley High on the way to class, Brittany just a step or two behind her. Her school books are clutched tightly in her folded arms and her eyes are set firmly on the lookout for anyone about to throw a Slushie her way.

The blonde frowns, not understanding how the brunette couldn't see after the amount of explaining she had gone through. "Santana's upset; I need you to help me make her feel better."

Rachael scoffs. "Helping the Wicked Witch of the West is the last thing I want to do on my Mondays. I have piano and dance lessons after school that I can't be late for and there is absolutely no way I am going to tarnish my perfect school record to skip classes and help someone who regularly throws Slushies in my face."

"That was my fault," Brittany admits, hoping to sway Rachael over to Santana's side as she remembers the last time her best friend was upset and she armed her with the very Slushie that wound up all over the Diva's face.

The born performer ignores this. "Do you realize how long it takes to wash artificial drinks out of your hair? I will have no hope of being a star if my hair is permanently damaged by Slushie Facials as it surely will be if this continues on."

"But at least you get a free Slushie. They taste nice," the blonde tells her with a smile, remembering just how much she loves the drinks, especially when Santana buys them for her. Brittany doesn't know why but they always seem to taste better that way.

Rachael pauses momentarily in confusion before continuing on with her brisk pace, head held high. "I don't think we're communicating properly. I am not going to help Santana."

"Please, Rachael. I can make sure that nobody gives you a Slushie Facial for the rest of the week." Technically, Brittany can't do this but she's sure if she asks Santana, her friend will be able to do something, after she's gotten her in a better mood, of course.

Again Rachael stops but this time she drags Brittany over to the side of the hallway, up against some lockers that don't look nearly as clean as her and Santana's own ones. "Deal."

Brittany smiles thankfully at her and the Jewish girl offers her own small one back. "What should I do to make Santana happy again?"

Rachael thinks about it for a moment, face contemplative, before a light bulb goes off in her head. "When I'm sad, my dads always get me a Care Bear. Or a glass of water, but I don't think that'll help Santana much; I'm sure she drinks enough water as it is. Unless she doesn't, in which case you should definitely get her a glass of water."

Brittany frowns because she knows for a fact that Santana doesn't like stuffed animals and she doubts that water will help, especially since it doesn't taste nice like Slushies. "San says toys are freaky and they creep her out at night."

The other girl looks confused, clearly not understanding how anyone could find such cute things as stuffed toys freaky. "Why do they creep her out?" Brittany doesn't really understand it either but that's probably because she doesn't understand a lot of things.

"She says that it's like they're watching her in her sleep and I don't want to give Santana anymore nightmares." Especially when sometimes those nightmares make her best friend cry and Brittany hates it more than anything else in the world when San cries.

"The witch gets nightmares?"

Brittany sighs and leans back against the lockers; already she knows that Rachael Berry's not going to be much help. After all, the only suggestion she's made so far has the possibility to permanently scar Santana for life and that would only make things worse. She needs someone who is familiar with this area, who knows how to help people and wouldn't be opposed to doing so like Rachael Berry. Someone who Santana's never thrown a Slushie at.

. . .

" . . . So how do you expect me

to live alone with just me

'Cause my world revolves around you

It's so hard for me to breathe . . ."

. . .

Brittany stares at Miss Pillsbury as she diligently tidies up her desk; at least, the blonde thinks it can be called tidying but she's really not that sure as what the redhead is doing borders more towards on some kind of ritual from that show about the short girl who kills vampires (she's almost tempted to ask whether the Guidance Councillor preparing to summon up a demon) rather than what Brittany's mother refers to as 'spring cleaning'. It's a little strange and very confusing.

"So, Brittany, what brings you here today?" Emma asks, glancing up as she sprays the tabletop with water or what looks like water, the blonde's not really sure. "The last time I saw you, you told me your little sister hid the Locke Ness Monster under your bed and it was helping your cat to read your diary. Is it giving you any more trouble?"

Brittany recalls the so called monster Miss Pillsbury is referring to and smiles, remembering the relief she'd felt when her sister had informed her that she and West Brody had decided to take Nessie back to Scotland, where it belonged, because it was awfully homesick; Brittany was just glad that she didn't have to worry about her cat getting an accomplice anymore, though the tortoiseshell next door seemed to be hanging around a lot, suspiciously so. "Oh no, Miss Pillsbury; West and Abbey set him free again. He's very happy now."

"Oh, that's . . ." Emma nods her head, unable to think of anything, before plastering on a smile and deciding to change the topic. "So what's the problem now?"

"Santana's upset."

"Oh?" the redhead responded, pushing her cleaning supplies away and folding her hands in front of her on the table. "What makes you think that?"

"She didn't want any of my coffee," Brittany tells her in an obvious tone, not seeing how Emma could miss that. Isn't she supposed to be a councillor? The blonde thought councillors knew everything and that's why they tell students what to do. Has Miss Pillsbury lost her counselling powers?

Worry creeps into the Cheerio's mind as she rethinks being here. If Emma has lost her powers then she won't be able to help her with Santana after all and Brittany will have to think of someone else to ask, something that will no doubt take forever. For a moment she wonders whether Miss Sylvester will be of any help but decides against it when she remembers that the coach, according to Santana, doesn't really like to help anyone. Plus, sometimes Coach Sylvester scares her.

For a moment, Miss Pillsbury just looks confused. "I see. And why do you think that that means Santana's upset?"

"Santana always drinks coffee on a Monday morning, especially when I ask her to. One Monday, she wanted coffee so much, and I didn't have any, that she knocked some freshman out and stole his," she informs the councillor gravely, trying to get her point across. This is a very serious situation. "He was in the hospital for a week. Quinn said he had a con–coc–coconutcussion." Her eyes brighten as she finally decides on the word that Quinn must have used. Or was it concussion? She frowns, suddenly indecisive.

Emma's eyes widen. "Oh."

Brittany nods her head solemnly. "Yeah." It must have been cocunutcussion then.

Santana doesn't enjoy coffee as much as Brittany – for example, she never kissed a stunned Principal Figgins in order to snatch his when the canteen was sold out for an entire week last year – but she still likes it a lot and would never turn down any that Brittany offered.

"Well, um . . . regardless . . ." the redhead trails off for a moment, unsure how to continue. "Do you think that maybe, just this once, maybe Santana wasn't in the mood for coffee?"

It's clear the blonde's not getting her point across and, with a disappointed look, she rises from her seat and heads towards the door. Brittany pauses for a moment and looks back. "I'm really sorry you lost your super powers Miss Pillsbury," she says sympathetically before walking out, leaving behind a stunned Councillor in her wake.

. . .

". . . Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air

Can't live, can't breathe with no air

It's how I feel whenever you ain't there

It's no air, no air. . ."

…

Brittany makes her way slowly down the hallways after leaving Miss Pilsbury's office. She knows she has class right now, mostly because there aren't many students around, but she can't remember what class it is or how to get there. Santana's always the one who helps her with that, opening the blonde's locker to get out her necessary books and then linking their pinkies so they can walk to class together. They have a system, Santana and Brittany, and it's one that works very well – Santana looks after Brittany at school while the blonde takes care of her in return at night. But that's not going to work anymore if the brunettes not here to look after her.

Pouting, she makes her way over to her and San's lockers – at least she remembers where those are today – and spends the next ten minutes trying to work out the proper locker combination. She thinks it might have something to do with nines but that's about all she can get. In the end, she spends most of fifth period standing beside her locker and watching the few kids brave enough to skip class mess around in the hallway.

She sighs and tries to think of the next person she can ask for help. There has to be someone out there who knows what's going on with Santana because Brittany needs to make her friend happy again. If Santana's happy again then she'll come back to her and they can drink coffees out on the bleachers and hum Glee songs together like they're not supposed to do in public. They'll have fun again. And Brittany's heart will stop squeezing.

She's too busy trying to come up with a list of possible candidates that she doesn't notice Santana coming out of the girl's bathroom. Nor does she notice Karofsky as he lets out a low whistle of appreciation and makes the terrible mistake of slapping her on the behind. However, she does notice, along with everyone else in the hallway, when the Latina lets out a string of curse words and launches herself at the Hockey player.

Brittany's eyes widen as she watches the scene in front of her, too shocked to try and make sense out of it.

There's a resounding slap throughout the hallway as Santana's hand whips across Karofsky's face and everyone winces sympathetically. Then, much to everyone's shared horror, she's clawing at his face, leaving big, cat-like claw marks across his cheek and Brittany's eyes widen in alarm.

She's never seen Santana so angry before, especially over something as small as this. It doesn't make sense, just like the rest of the brunette's behaviour today doesn't, and she doesn't know what to do. Should the blonde try to stop her? Or should she just stay back and wait for the whole thing to pass?

"Santana!" she wails, trying to grab the brunette's attention. Santana pauses for a moment in her onslaught but quickly continues. Brittany doesn't particularly like Karofsky – he stole her yellow crayon in kindergarten – but she doesn't want to see him become cat chowder beneath her best friend's nails either.

Thankfully, Puck steps in and decides for her. Eyes wide with shock, he wraps his arms around Santana's waist and pulls her off the cowering male.

"Don't you ever touch me again!" the Latina shrieks, arms and legs flailing as she tries to get another hit in.

"Calm down, San!" Puck gasps, trying to avoid being hit himself as he works on fastening Santana's limbs to her sides. "You're over-reacting."

The brunette doesn't appear to appreciate this as she works on getting out of his tight grip. "Let me the fuck go, Puck!" He does so instantly when it looks like she's about to place a well aimed kick to his crotch and, without a backwards glance, she storms off down the hallway. Everyone gapes after her.

"God that bitch is crazy," Karofsky mutters from his place on the floor.

"Shut up!" Puck snaps at him, earning a look from the Home Ec. teacher who had been brought out of her classroom by the commotion. In fact, a lot of students and teachers had been brought out, each one looking more alarmed than the next. Some even have their cell phones out, having videotaped the entire display.

"Wow," Artie, who has wheeled himself up to Brittany side, lets out with a wide-eyed stare. "Wow."

Brittany doesn't pay attention. She's too busy staring after Santana's retreating form because, just for a moment, she swears she might have seen tears in her best friend's eyes. Judging by the angry look on Puck's face as he glares at Karofsky, she thinks he must have seen the same thing.

Swallowing, Brittany wraps her arms around herself, suddenly feeling unreasonably cold.

. . .

". . . Got me out here in the water so deep

Tell me how you gonna be without me

If you ain't here, I just can't breathe

It's no air, no air . . ."

- 'No Air' by Jordin Sparks