Trivia was a few days ago. Sam hasn't seen or heard from Brittany, nor has Santana, or so he thinks. He's sure Brittany's still hurt from what Santana said at Breadstix. The past few days were filled with nothingness- eating takeout and sunbathing by the pool. Not that Sam's complaining, after all he gets paid whether or not the girls are speaking to each other, but Santana's been noticeably quiet. And it's not something Sam's used to. He misses the laughter Brittany brings her. So maybe he sort of goes behind Santana's back, just this once. What could it hurt?
"What do you mean you texted her?" Santana snarls.
"Look, she's got this babysitting gig that her mom got her. There are three boys and that's a little much, even for Britt. She said we could come over and help her. Besides, it'd get us out of the house."
"But the house has air conditioning," she replies, "and I'd rather not see Brittany."
"I know for a fact you don't mean that, Santana. You just don't want to face her after what you said even though you didn't mean it. Saying you care more about winning than you do about her is bullshit."
Santana sighs, "There's nothing good on HBO. Grab your keys."
Sam grins and swipes his keys and wallet off the kitchen counter. He meets her at the car and she's got a mischievous smile on her lips. Sam doesn't give it a second thought and hops on in, and cranks the air up.
"Thank God the windows are tinted," Santana comments before adding, "Can you take the long way?"
"What do you mean- what the hell, Santana? You're smoking weed in the car?"
"The only way I'm doing this if I'm completely relaxed. Brit won't mind and the kids will be none the wiser."
Sam's a little lightheaded when they pull up to the correct house. Santana is high- her colorful insults swapped with uncharacteristically girly giggles and a craving for Oreos with pepperoni filling. She even lets him pick the radio station- well, for a minute before they get out of the car.
Sam grabs her hand before they ring the doorbell, "You're not going to run off into a bedroom with Brittany to have make up sex and leave me to watch these kids all by myself are you?"
"That was the plan," High Santana admits dryly, "But you know most of my tricks by now. It's a damn shame, too. We should really take our show on the road. I'd be the fucktastic magician of Lebanon and you'd be my pretty, dimwitted assistant. It's perfect."
"Except the only magic trick you know is how to make your hand disappear down people's pants," he fires back.
"There was a time when you weren't complaining," she remarks.
A loud crash is heard coming from inside the house. A disheveled looking Brittany opens the door seconds later.
"Sorry," Brittany blushes, "the triplets think it's funny to knock me over."
"Triplets?" Sam and Santana respond in unison.
These gingers are devils. Sam thinks he spots a forked tongue or two while the miscreants are shoving dinner down their throats. They seem to like Brittany in comparison to the other teens, but they still trip her and even convince her to eat a ham and peanut butter sandwich with olives on top. She claims to like it. Santana's high wears off and so does her good mood. She just stares at Brittany from across the living room and doesn't even notice when a kid spills grape juice on her white tank top.
Sam can't take much more; it took him forever to untie himself during a rather spirited game of Cops and Robbers and he isn't sure why Santana even agreed in the first place. Oh wait, she tied him up. She wanted to tie everyone up, but Brittany wouldn't let her.
"When did you say the parents would be home?" Sam asks Brittany.
"Around eleven, I think. Ms. Kendra didn't say I could have people over though so you might have to leave before then," she replies.
"But she didn't say you couldn't have people over either, did she?" Santana mutters.
"How about we watch a movie and then bedtime?" Sam suggests. It's not the worst idea yet. And at least a movie will make them sit still… or at least stiller. The girls shrug and the triplets about kill each other over which movie to watch, but it seems like the right choice.
Until Brittany feeds the children ice cream. Sam motions for the girls to follow him into the kitchen.
"Sam, I had no idea you were in charge," Santana deadpans, "Are you calling this meeting of the Babysitters Club to order? Because I think I have a gavel somewhere in my purse. Although if I had thought of that earlier, I would've played Whack-A-Mole with those little monsters."
Brittany's lip quivers at the thought of moles being whacked.
Sam glares at Santana before speaking, "Now that they're all hopped up on sugar, they're never going to go to bed."
"So what?" Santana replies, "Just wait until eleven when the parents come home and let them deal with it."
"They're supposed to be in bed by nine," Brittany comments.
"Well excuse me then!" Santana barks.
"Will you two just kiss and make up already?" Sam snaps, "Hey that gives me an idea."
Step One: Bath Time
"So then I said to Wes Brody, 'If you want me to be your girlfriend, you have to take a bath.' And he did. We've been together over a year now," Brittany says just loud enough for the boys to overhear. They stop dead in their tracks.
"Wes Brody's your boyfriend?" one of them asks.
"Totally," Brittany exclaims before catching Santana's eye, "but I'd dump him any day for a redhead."
"Not so fast," Santana cuts in, "I love redheads more than you do! Plus I'm awesome. You smell like a gorilla fart."
"You eat boogers on toast!" Brittany accuses.
"What's going on?" the closest triplet asks Sam.
"Girl fight. I'd love if two women were arguing over me," Sam responds.
"But we're nine. I hate girls. They have cooties!"
"You wish you were as cool as Smurfette!" Santana shoots back at Brittany.
Sam leans down to whisper in his ear, "All I'm saying is that you might not like them, but they certainly like you. The best way to keep these chicks from going crazy is to just do what they say. I'm speaking from personal experience, dude. One time Santana pinched me so hard, I still felt it a month later. And Brittany may seem all nice and innocent, but Wes told me that she keeps him on a tight leash. You upset them and you might as well dig your own grave."
The boy is horrified, "She puts him on a leash?"
Sam realizes the kid's a little young to recognize the figure of speech so he nods and says, "Makes him bark like a dog."
A freckled jaw drops.
"Ladies, enough with the fighting," another boy says, "There's plenty to go around."
This is too easy.
Step Two: Story Time
"Pajamas… check. Brushed teeth? Check. All right, looks like you three are ready for bed," Brittany states. The three boys moan.
"What about a story?" one asks.
"I'm still hungry," complains another.
"Are you going to muzzle us too?" whimpers the third.
"Once upon a time there was a toy space ranger named Brittany Lightyear who was new to Sam's room and she met Sheriff Santana-"
"We've seen Toy Story!"
"There once were three boys who each decided to make their own houses. One made his out of straw, another out of sticks and the last out of-"
"That's the three little pigs! Brittany, you suck at stories."
Santana saunters over to the bed and whispers in Brittany's ear, "I'm going to make them Auntie Tana's famous magic bedtime potion, hope I don't miss too much."
"I'll go with you," Sam volunteers.
They scramble out of the room and race down the stairs to the kitchen. Santana grabs a flask out of her purse.
"What are you doing?" Sam demands.
She shrugs, "A little whiskey will put them right to bed. My nanny used to do it to me all the time. Ugh, why are you looking at me like that?"
"Giving them alcohol is so unethical," Sam replies.
"It's only unethical if it's your own kids. If it's someone else's, it's practically a public service. Completely justifiable in my book. Okay, well I did my good deed for the day. I'm starting to think I might actually become a productive member of society."
Sam grabs her wrist before she can head back up the stairs. There's something bothering him.
"You have to apologize to her," he states simply.
"I know. If I keep acting this way, she'll probably move to another country or get a restraining order. Which means I'll have to resort to buying a really powerful telescope or wear cheesy disguises and follow her just so I can see how she's doing. Her future children won't know me from Rachel," she whines.
"Your future children won't want to hear about all the times you were a coward," he adds gently.
"Thanks, Sam. I never thought of it like that," she says, giving him a small smile, "Now when we go back upstairs, you distract Brittany while I slip them their drinks."
They are about to enter the room when they hear:
"…And that's how Miss Holiday explained it to our glee club. No storks involved."
Step Three: Bed Time
Sam pulls Brittany into the hallway while Santana distributes the cups.
Brittany automatically goes into defense mode, "They made me do it! They said that one of their other sitters had a baby and they wanted to know where it came from. I wasn't going to, but then-"
"I don't really care about that. Brittany, why haven't you talked to Santana about what she said at Breadstix? You know she cares about you more than anything."
"I know that! That's why I'm not mad. She's the one who's making it a bigger deal in her mind, but she's always been like that. It was a heat of the moment thing. We all do that when we're frustrated. Granted, Santana does it more often than most. It's like what you said back at Dalton, she'll have to learn sometime. This school year was about acceptance and now this summer's about progress. She came close to telling her dad when they went golfing."
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," Sam recites.
"You play horseshoes with hand grenades? I was only half listening," she admits.
They walk back into the bedroom to see three sleeping boys and one very satisfied Santana.
"Guess that stuff really was magic," Brittany comments.
Sam frowns, "You have no idea."