Rhythms

by thefooliam

When Brittany graduates and moves to New York, Santana realizes that all her dreams are coming true, just not how she expected. Sequel to (I've Got To Admit) It's Getting Better. Spoilers up to 4x18 "Shooting Stars"

3. Control

Fic: Rhythms (Part 3)

Characters: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce, Kurt Hummel

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Anything up to 4x18 "Shooting Stars".

Summary: When Brittany graduates and moves to New York, Santana realizes that all her dreams are coming true, just not how she expected.

Notes: A Sequel to the (I've Got To Admit) It's Getting Better New Years Trilogy

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/

When she wakes up, all she's aware of is the fact that everything hurts.

She registers the most obvious things first: Her head is pounding and her eyes sting even though she still has them closed. There's a dull ache in her pelvis and a familiar pang of pain in her legs when she shifts them even a little bit. Her stomach feels the worst kind of uneasy, empty and acidic. She really, really needs to pee and it's like everything inside of her wants to bail at once.

The less obvious things come next and they're different. They make her feel worse. They make her have to think and she would groan if she wasn't sure that it would make her head hurt more and her stomach give in. She notices them slowly and then all at once. She notices that her jaw is aching and then that her teeth hurt, that it feels like someone has filled the blood vessels in her face with lead because it feels so heavy.

Her senses move quickly downward after that, wanting to figure out all the strange sensations. Except, a lot of them aren't strange—they're not even new—they're just out of place. Like, the weird tingling pain on the skin of her neck and shoulders, all the way down to her stomach—she knows that feeling and she knows that there are dark, blue and purple bruises on her neck that won't turn green for a while. It makes her swallow and her breathing speeds up to keep in time with the quickness of her heart. She almost reaches to touch her skin but doesn't for fear of what she might find. She just feels her body, lets her knowledge of it tell her what's different.

She can feel the burn of the broken skin on her shoulder and her back, sporadically placed where fingernails have been. She feels a slick layer of sweat, grime and dried fluid that's not entirely her own covering her body. Her lips are sore, a mixture of bruised and stinging. If she licks them, she thinks that she would be able to remember the most wonderful taste in the world, painting stories on her lips.

Her senses make her remember things and her breathing shakes, not wanting to think about what comes next, even though she can't not. Her face buries deeper into the pillow and she squeezes her eyes closed.

Feeling this feeling is one of the worst things and she's done it too many times. When she was younger, it wasn't a good feeling because doing it meant that she had to figure out if it was someone new or if it was just Puckerman again. As she got a little older, it turned into something scary. Waking up in her best friend's bed, it was the only way she could tell if what had happened was real or not. She pretended that it wasn't for so long that, when everything changed, this feeling—this wonderful, stretched, claimed and full feeling—was the best feeling in the world. It was wonderful and it was affirming. It reminded her of where she was and whose she was.

It almost feels wrong that, right now—sharing that feeling with the same person who made her feel that wonderful—all she feels is those same empty feelings she felt back when she was pretending. It makes her feel like she's the dumbest, worst person in the world. Her stomach feels more uneasy, her head buries further into the pillow and she breathes in sharply against the mix of the physical and emotional pain.

Something shifts nervously in the bed beside her and she freezes, clenching her fist in the pillow beside her head before she slowly opens her eyes.

And she can't see, at first. Her eyes squint and she doesn't know what's happening. She's sure she could see before she fell asleep and, as her eyes cross, she realizes that she's not wearing her glasses. It's not until they're pushed onto the pillow beside her hand that she knows what happened to them. It makes her cheeks blush and she picks them up and slips them on easily.

"I—I didn't want you to break them…" Brittany whispers timidly and Santana doesn't really hear because all she can process at that moment is how Brittany looks—her expression, her appearance, her demeanor—and what it all means.

It's such an old expression. She's seen it so many times. She doesn't think she remembers the first time she saw it; it's kind of transformed over the years and become more developed. The feeling within it has become more engrained, deeper. The guilt, the anxiety, the disappointment. Brittany's face looks tense and relaxed at the same time, like she doesn't know what to do with it. Her eyes are dark and they're begging things. One of the few times Santana clearly remembers seeing that expression is the first time they slept together when Brittany was still with Artie. Brittany looked at her with those dark, desperate blue eyes and didn't say anything. She didn't have to; Santana knew what she wanted—a way-out, an excuse, a get out of cheat free card.

She doesn't think she can blame it on the plumbing being different this time. She knows that Brittany will never buy the zip code rule either. It's cheating, whatever way you look at it, and Santana holds the sheets to her chest as she rolls over and avoids Brittany's gaze, staring up at her ceiling instead.

She speaks without thinking and says the best thing that comes into her head.

"We—we shouldn't have done that…" she mumbles as she scratches under her chin until she feels her fingers hit some sort of bruise and pulls them away. "I mean…" she continues. "I didn't want to do that. I was really drunk and I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry." She turns to glance somewhere above Brittany's head and swallows. "Things don't have to get weird. We can just pretend it never happened and move on. It doesn't have to mean anything…"

She keeps staring above Brittany's head as she waits for a response but one doesn't come. She blinks and swallows again, forcing away the nausea and the words she really wants to say, before turning her eyes to Brittany's face.

She's confused by what she finds, even though she's not sure what she expected. She knows that she didn't expect pink cheeks or glassy blue eyes, for that same old expression to be gone only to be replaced with a deeper hurt and sadness rather than the usual resignation and relief.

She pushes up onto her elbows as Brittany breathes out a mirthless laugh of disbelief instead. She tries not to look as Brittany sits up but the bare skin of her back and the curve of her ass is all Santana can see and it's hard to look away. Brittany picks up underwear that Santana doesn't think she was wearing last night before she finds a shirt that Santana knows she definitely wasn't wearing, and pulls them on.

They make Santana wonder how long Brittany's been awake, if she even slept, why she would come back if she'd already left the bed already, and what that would even mean. Santana furrows her brow in confusion and watches as Brittany turns and haphazardly begins fastening the buttons on her shirt. Lithe fingers push wavy blond hair from a slowly reddening face and Santana wants to speak but she's not sure what she would say. She wishes the lithe fingers were her own.

"You know, Santana," Brittany chuckles and the irritation is right there on the surface of the low tone of her voice. "A thank you or good morning would have been fine."

Santana's jaw drops at the words and she watches as Brittany gets up and marches out of the room. The sheet slips from around her body and, instead of worrying about her best friend, Santana wonders how she even got underneath the covers.

She stops when Brittany's bedroom door slams shut. Instead, she starts wondering what the hell is going on.

/

Santana sits there staring at the doorway for fifteen minutes before she actually moves.

The covers pool around her waist and she should feel how cold it still is but she doesn't. She can't. She's too busy trying to figure out what's going on, what Brittany meant, what she wants, what everything means, to care about anything else.

She doesn't get it.

What does Brittany want her to say? What does she want her to do? She's not sure what Brittany meant by those last words, by that clear show of anger and annoyance. Does she just expect Santana not to talk about the giant pink elephant wedged between them and act like it's any other morning they've woken up naked together? Brittany has a boyfriend—a boyfriend who loves her and wants her and should be the person Brittany's waking up with—and Santana can't forget that, no matter what she does.

Does Brittany expect things to be how they used to be, back when nobody knew but everyone suspected, back when there were boys and beards and beautiful lies that hurt? Does she not realize that things will never be able to go back to that ever again? There's no way that they can go back to that. There would be no way of hiding it. Not now. Everything changed when they finally got together. It was one of Santana's only reservations about them being together that, if they ever broke up, their friendship would never be the same. It would be forever questioned if they were lucky and in complete disrepair if they weren't.

Except, back then, when forever had felt like a real and wonderful possibility, those reservations had been easily and quickly forgotten. They'd been just as quickly remembered in the days after that moment in the choir room when everything broke. As much as Santana had tried to convince herself and Brittany that their relationship wasn't over, it was, and their friendship had gone with it.

And if she's honest, Santana missed her friendship with Brittany more than she missed anything else. She missed having someone to talk to about everything and nothing, worries and wishes, hopes and dreams. There was no one to off-load on, no one to laugh with, nobody who understood her. Back then, in those first few weeks, stuck in her Kentucky dorm-room, Santana wasn't worried about the fact that she could no longer kiss Brittany. She was more worried that she didn't have anyone to tell that she was lost and scared and that she didn't like where her life was heading anymore.

When Brittany sent her that text message asking her for a favor all those months ago, that's all she was thinking about.

She was going to get her best friend back as best she could and she was going to do everything she could to make her stay. She hates that nothing worked out how she wanted, that everything always seems to go wrong to just ruin them more and more.

She knows that, if what happened last night continues, there will be no fixing it. It'll break them and she'll lose her.

That's why last night has to be forgotten.

That's what she has to explain to Brittany.

/

She manages to pull clean underwear up her legs before that plan fails.

She's sat on the edge of her bed, facing away from her bedroom door when she hears Brittany's bedroom door open and her feet marching heavily across the apartment. She waits for the front door to slam, for the shower to start—something—but doesn't expect it when her already open bedroom door gets pushed to its limits and slams back against the wall. Santana jolts, reaching for the sheets to cover her chest, and instantly feels ridiculous for the action. A surge of panic and fear prickles at the surface of her skin and she swallows nervously as Brittany begins to speak.

"You know what? No. I'm not letting you talk to me like that…"

Brittany's cheeks are red, her eyes dark and wild. She's fully-dressed and upon seeing the anger in her expression, all Santana can do is utter out a quiet, "Britt…"

It only proves to make things worse.

"No," Brittany says and a chuckle leaves her mouth except it isn't a chuckle at all. Nothing's funny, just hurt and angry. "Just shut the fuck up and listen, okay—" Santana's jaw drops but Brittany's expression looks so angry that Santana's sure that she's blind to everything around her. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You don't get to treat me like I'm some slut you just met in a bar, like I'm nothing… You don't get to tell me what to do, what to pretend, what to feel. You don't get to make me feel like this."

Santana doesn't speak. She's not even sure what she'd say or how Brittany would react. She just stands up and heads for her dresser, finding a t-shirt that she quickly pulls on. She can hear the heavy pant of Brittany's breathing, worked up and hurt. She swallows and finds a tie for her hair, pulling it up into a mess atop her head before she turns around and folds her arms.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Brittany," she says quietly. "I'm just trying to do the right thing, here."

"The right thing for who, Santana?!" Brittany says and it's so loud that it's almost a shout. "Yourself?! God, I'm so sick of standing back and letting you decide what happens between us. I'm fucking tired of pretending like you're the only damn one of us who has things to be scared of! This isn't only about you, Santana!"

"You think I don't know that?" Santana asks, screwing her face up with the anger that brews up inside her body. "You think I'm not aware of who this is about? Because I can assure you, I am completely fucking aware that this is beyond me, Britt. Do not worry about that because it's all I can think about."

Brittany releases another mirthless chuckle and steps in close, so close that Santana almost staggers back. "Then why aren't you thinking about me, Santana?!" She says, her voice raising unsteadily with each word. She's near enough that Santana can see the upset that the anger is attempting to conceal. She presses a hand to her chest as her eyes bear into Santana's. "Why aren't you thinking about me when you tell me that what happened between us doesn't mean anything? Do you think that's what I want to hear? Do you think that makes me feel better?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel better!" Santana shouts and her arms drop so that her fists can curl at her sides. "I'm trying to do the right fucking thing!"

Before she knows what's happening, hands push at Santana's shoulders, shoving her once, then twice. "For who, Santana?!" Brittany shouts as Santana staggers backwards as she's shoved again. "For WHO?!"

Without even thinking about it, Santana does the last thing she ever wanted to do and pushes Brittany back. "FOR YOU!" she screams, as she pushes Brittany back far enough that she can put some distance between them. "FOR US!" she shakes her head and she wants to cry. "Who fucking else?! You think I do all this shit for me?! I'm trying to fucking protect you, Brittany. I'm always trying to fucking protect you and stop you from getting hurt."

Brittany shakes her head quickly, her feet pacing in a weird box-shape that's constantly changing shape and getting bigger. "Telling me that it doesn't mean anything is your way of not hurting me?" she says and her voice is weirdly calm. "And, what? Breaking up with me too? Leaving me when you said that you wouldn't and proving me right? That's your way of not hurting me?" Santana looks at her feet and tries to not listen to how a soft broken noise leaves Brittany's throat. "You don't think that both those things won't nearly kill me?"

Santana ignores her and shakes her head in refusal to understand what she means. She rests her hands on her hips and tries to tell herself that she's doing the right thing for the ten millionth time. She tries to remember that she's only ever done her best. She's only ever done everything she can to keep her promise.

"I can't do this again," she mutters because it's true. She can't go through this again only for it to end up the same way. The circumstances never change. There will always be something in the way. There will always be a boy or distance or school or work or life. There will always be something that will make Brittany want to hate her again and again and she can't watch that happen once more.

Brittany shakes her head and snorts in disbelief. Santana feels herself getting angrier and angrier because it feels like Brittany saw this coming, like this is going exactly how she thought it would.

"Yeah?" Brittany says sarcastically. "And what bullshit reason do you have to be a coward this time?"

Santana feels her anger shoot of the scale in less than a second. Her eyes go wide and angry, she clenches her fists and steps in warningly. She's never wanted to actually cause harm to Brittany before but right now she thinks that she could.

"Fuck you, Britt," she breathes in warning. "You have a fucking boyfriend."

Santana's hand instantly presses against her chest, not expecting the sudden hit of pain that clutches at her chest. She gasps shallowly and shakes her head, the reality of the words hitting her harder than they have in the months that she's known their truth. They feel real, hopeless. They echo around her bedroom as they register everywhere. They make Santana feel blind to everything for a moment until she sees again.

When she does, she's not sure what to feel at what she finds.

The look on Brittany's face is not what she expected, not what she wanted it to be. There's no guilt, no shame, no discomfort. All she finds is hurt and shock and disappointment.

For a minute, Santana's sure the tears that had stubbornly clung to their ducts until now are going to fall. Brittany's mouth drops open, her face relaxes and the tension in her body disappears. She almost looks like a balloon deflating.

Santana waits for words, for upset, for a tirade of emotion but Brittany just shakes her head and walks out for the second time in less than an hour.

It shocks Santana as much as it confuses her. She feels a little lost for a second, pent up with anger and frustration with no one to aim it at. She wonders if she should follow Brittany because Brittany was the one that started this, she doesn't get to be the mature one who walks away now. It almost feels unnatural to be this angry at her and Santana can't do anything but wallow in the feeling, pacing her bedroom in nothing but a t-shirt, underwear and unruly bed hair.

She's ready when Brittany storms in the next time. She spins around when she hears her coming and takes a step towards her, not ready for the look she sees in her eyes. There's a large black book under her arm, thick with its contents. It looks uncomfortable to hold but Brittany doesn't seem bothered by it. She tosses it onto Santana's bed a second later but Santana ignores the action because it feels unimportant now that Brittany has returned.

Brittany stops in front of her and pushes messy blonde hair from her eyes. The upset in her expression is gone only to be shrouded with disappointment and returning controlled anger. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Her face switches and hardens a second later. Somehow her jaw looks sharper, her lips thinner. Her eyes are an icier blue.

"Why do you think I'm here?" she asks carefully.

Santana narrows her eyes at the question. She shrugs like a petulant teenager. "I don't know. Because you're pissed at me. What does it matter?"

A flash of anger sparks in Brittany's eyes and a low groan rumbles in her throat, barely heard.

"No," she says forcefully. "Why do you think I'm here, Santana?" She gestures around them in a way that indicates she means more than Santana's too-dark and sex-smelling bedroom and bigger than their over-priced, under-sized apartment in Williamsburg. Santana looks around herself nervously, trying to find something that Brittany could mean other than here, with her, but finds nothing. She turns back to find blue eyes watching her intently.

The disappointment in them is darker and deeper than Santana's ever seen and it scares her. She swallows uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't over between me and Sam," Brittany says and maybe her voice breaks, maybe it doesn't. Santana doesn't really notice because she's too busy being bowled over by the rush of information that she's taking in.

She takes in a deep, sharp breath. Her mouth opens to speak but no words come out because, at that moment, she realizes she doesn't know anything anymore. She doesn't know anything but what she's just been told and she can barely process it because she's sure she should have known it anyway.

Still, Brittany stands in front of her with a face she's still not really used to. It makes her shrink back into herself all over again, no fight left in her body. She doesn't have a leg to stand on anymore and Brittany just looks at her like she's the worst person in the world. She feels hopelessly small.

When Brittany shakes her head in disappointment at her, Santana's sure it would hurt less if she punched her.

"It's great to know what you think of me, Santana," Brittany says suddenly and Santana's confused for a moment. Brittany shrugs. "I'm a cheat, huh?"

Santana's stomach plummets at the words. She opens her mouth to speak but she can't find the words again, not even when she knows what she wants to say. She knows how much Brittany hated cheating on Artie, how much she even hated that Santana was "cheating" on Sam back before they were together. She knows that it was always Brittany's biggest regret about them being together, how much she thought it cheapened them. She always said that nobody knew how uncontrollable it was between them, that no one understood and she hated it. She said, that she would never do that again, that if she could go back she'd find a way to make them understand, and here Santana is accusing her of it.

Here Santana is saying that she actively enabled it.

"I know that I did some really shitty things," Brittany goes on breathlessly. "I know that you and I did some really, really shitty things to people we were supposed to care about. I know that those things will follow me around forever but I thought that you of all people would know me better than that." Her last word wilts and she shakes her head quickly and looks away. "I would never cheat on Sam. I would have never cheated on you," Brittany says and swallows deeply. "And I sure as hell would never, ever cheat with you. Not you. Not now. Not after everything."

Santana's brow crinkles because she doesn't understand. She's not sure what's going on, why Brittany's so angry or why her words are so harsh and tense.

"I have had all of you, Santana," Brittany whispers harshly and Santana knows that, regardless of how angry she is, she's seconds from crying. "and I've cheated on people with you, and I know how little of you I would get from you if I did that again." She shakes her head. "So why would I do that? Why would I move all the way to New York to have a second-rate version of you when I know what the full version is like? How could I ever accept a small tainted part of you when I could have all of you?" She chokes out a laugh that should be a sob. "I'm glad I now know how much you valued what happened between us."

Santana looks at her dumbfounded and lost. She's not entirely sure what she's hearing, not understanding what she's being told because the words she's hearing mean more than she thought they would. In minutes, her whole world has changed and she still has nothing to say.

"Jesus, Santana…" Brittany laughs and shakes her head. Santana sees a tear roll down her cheek and her fingers twitch to wipe it away. It's a reaction she's sure she'll never grow out of. It takes everything to stop herself. "You're so fucking… clueless," she chuckles and her expression is wild and frantic again. Santana isn't sure if she looks more disappointed or angry. "How could you think I would cheat on Sam? How could you think we're still together?!" She pulls back and breathes in deep. "Jesus Christ, why DO you think I'm here?"

She moves in closer and Santana's eyes grow wide. Her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish before she takes a nervous step back to clear her head. She thinks quick and fast and what she comes up with probably isn't good enough but it's the truth.

"You said you were moving here because you got into NYU," Santana mutters. "You said that you needed someone to stay with."

Brittany shakes her head at her and shrugs. "And when have I ever showed any interest in moving to New York until you did?" she says and Santana just stares again, shocked and overwhelmed as everything starts to fit into place. "Would it mean anything to you if I said that the four colleges I applied to were NYU, Louisville, UCLA and OSU? Would you understand why?"

Santana doesn't really listen; she's too busy telling her brain and mouth to stop fighting and talk. It doesn't work because seconds later Brittany curses under her breath and shakes her head. She points to the book on the bed and fixes Santana with a look.

"Look at it, and if you don't understand why I'm here after that then I don't know what else I'm supposed to fucking do…" The words leave Brittany around a disbelieving laugh and she cuts it off by wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Santana moves forward. "Britt…" she starts, hoping that she can just stop whatever comes next.

"No," Brittany's hand reaches out to halt her and Santana stops quickly. "Don't you dare come near me right now, okay?" she says. "I'm so mad at you Santana that I don't even want to be in the same room as you. I didn't even think you could hurt me like this and that's saying something because you broke up with me via a fucking Taylor Swift song. I thought you knew me better. I thought that you thought more of me. But, whatever…"

She turns to leave but Santana steps over to stop her. She calls her name again and Brittany spins around to look at her.

"You're not getting it," Brittany says and her voice does break a little. "You've hurt me, Santana. You've treated me like I'm nothing, like I'm not worth anything. I don't want to be near you so I'm walking away. I can't do this," she says. "So just leave me alone."

And as she walks away, Santana has no choice but to do as she says.

She regrets it fifteen minutes later when the front door slams closed.

/

As she sits, half-dressed on the edge of her bed, Santana doesn't know what her brain is doing.

While one half of it asks her what the hell is going on, the other shouts instructions at her. It doesn't help and she has to brace herself against the edge of her bedside table to calm herself. It occurs to her, maybe too late, that maybe she should have followed Brittany. But, then again, it occurs to her just as quickly mere seconds later, that she should do as Brittany asked and leave her alone.

It takes her a few more minutes and some deep, forced, steady breathing, but she rationalizes that giving Brittany space will probably be better for them than chasing after her and demanding answers.

Still, Santana would really like those answers.

The frantic, panicked and confused swirling of questions is making her feel dizzy and she doesn't know what to do.

She can't stop hearing Brittany's voice repeating words she'd said over and over again in her head.

Why do you think I'm here? she hears asked over and over again. Why would I move all the way to New York to have a second-rate version of you when I know what the full version is like?

The words make Santana feel like she's slipping and falling, losing everything she thought she knew. If anything, she feels like she doesn't know anything at all. Everything she did, every action she took, doesn't make sense anymore. She was sure she was doing the right thing telling Brittany that they should forget about what happened. She was sure that she was being noble, that Brittany had a boyfriend and she was doing the right thing, being the mature and good person, but now… God, now she doesn't even know what she's doing

She doesn't know what the right thing is anymore.

It's hard to think about when all she can realize is that Brittany is single, that she's been single all along, that she has nothing to be guilty about because she hasn't done anything wrong. It hurts to think about how quick she was to cast off their night together.

(If she'd have known, they could have woke up together like they used to. She could have held her. She could have kissed Brittany good morning and pushed wayward blond hair from sleepy blue eyes…)

No.

She did the right thing.

Regardless of whether they're both single or not, there's still more at stake. There's still obstacles to pull them apart if anything ever happened. They're living together, for Christ's sake. She can't just forget all of the other things that can ruin them, just because there's one less obstacle keeping them apart.

She did the right thing. She's sure of it.

It's the only way she won't lose her this time. It's the only way that she won't ruin them. It's the only way she can make sure they don't make old mistakes.

She did the right thing.

Didn't she?

She stands up from her bed and moves out into the living room, regretting the action the minute she gets there.

There's liquor bottles littered everywhere. Glasses dot every available surface. Couch cushions cover the floor and Santana steps around them as she gets to her iPod dock, turning it off to cut off the crackle of static that can still be heard. As she turns around, something crumples under her foot and she gasps when she sees one of the small slips of paper their dares were written on. It brings everything back to her and she glances up at the coffee table, still devoid of the magazines and remotes it usually lays home to.

She doesn't think she'll ever be able to forget what happened there, that she'll always remember what the cold wood felt like against her back, how her skin slipped against it the sweatier she got. She doesn't think that she'll ever be able to watch Brittany reach forward and lean on it to climb onto the floor without thinking about Brittany dropping to her knees before her.

She reaches down and starts picking up random items, stopping when she realizes that none of her clothes litter the room anymore. Her eyes narrow but she stops looking eventually, turning back to her room instead.

A sigh leaves her when she finds them on her armchair, folded tidily and carefully.

Her hip drops and she rests her head against the doorframe.

She doesn't know anything anymore.

/

When she showers, it stings.

It's disappointing because she expects the warm water to soothe her stretched and aching muscles, but all it does is make her aware of the bruises and bite marks that cover her skin. She thinks she sees the remnants of dry blood being washed away but she closes her eyes when she notices it and just stands there under the running water, trying not to remember how it might have got there.

When she gets back to her bedroom, she drops the towel and stares at herself in the mirror.

Her neck and shoulders are the worse. There are a couple of bruises that look like the skin is so weak, and the blood in them so dark and thick, that they might break at any second. She runs her finger over the one on her shoulder and winces at the sting she feels. The bruises that cover her chest aren't as bad, but they're still dark and purple with yellow littering the edges.

She pulls fresh underwear up her legs before shrugging on a shirt that she doesn't button up and heading for the kitchen. She takes some frozen peas from the freezer and wraps them in a towel, takes them back to her room before stripping off her shirt and pressing the peas to her neck. It feels good and she switches on her TV and relaxes back on her bed, regretting it the minute the smell of her sheets hit her nose.

It makes her feel dizzy for a moment and she can't move because of the rush of scent memory that overcomes her. She rolls over and buries her face in the smell of shampoo that isn't hers. Her fist curls into the fabric beside her and it feels ridiculous that she missed the smell of something she couldn't even remember until a few seconds ago. A thick lump forms in her throat and she rolls over onto her front, discarding the towel-clad peas in favor of gathering up fabric beneath her and smothering her face in it.

It smells of a million different things, from Brittany's shampoo to her sweat to that scent that is beyond everything else and just pure essence. It makes her miss more than she thought she could and she hates it because she doesn't want to miss things. Missing things means that she has to remember that she had them in the first place.

There are so many things that Santana misses already without remembering any more.

An unsteady breath leaves her at the realization and she pushes herself up until she's sat on her knees in the middle of her bed. She clutches the pillow to her stomach for a moment until she catches another waft of the smell of it and frantically removes the linen case. She discards it before reaching for the rest of her pillows. Their pillowcases are removed just as quickly before she jumps up and sets about removing the rest of the linen.

It only takes her a few minutes to have a pile of dirty linen on her floor. She gathers it into her arms before grabbing the pile of clothes on her armchair and shoving it all into her laundry basket. It's already full and she shoves at it frantically to push everything down so that she can close the top.

As soon as she does, she feels ridiculous. She buries her face into her hands and takes deep steadying breaths as she leans against her bedroom wall. She tells herself that they're just bed sheets, that it's just a smell, that they don't mean anything. It doesn't help that there's a stubborn terrified part of her that won't shut up reminding her that there are still things she needs to talk about and that everything could still go wrong.

Not if you keep it together, another voice tells her and she hears that because it doesn't sound like her own voice. She pulls her hands from her face and takes one last steady breath so that her body can calm as much as it can. She stands up and walks over to her wardrobe, hands searching inside it for more bedding that she doesn't find.

She settles for clothes instead and tugs stiff, clean jeans up her legs before searching for an undershirt and replacing her button-up with it. She finds a blouse and a sweater, glancing out at the alley to see the snow that still covers the fire escape as she pulls them on.

There's no more snow and it feels colder. Santana switches on the small TV in her room as she dries her hair and fixes it into thick, dark waves that she instantly hides under a wool hat. The weatherman tells her that the snow is mostly over for now, but it's colder and everything will soon turn to ice.

That doesn't deter her.

She fixes herself with some make-up, struggling to put on mascara behind her glasses, and reaches for her boots.

/

When she glances at herself in the mirror in the hall as she's pulling on her coat, she feels better purely because she looks put together. Her eyes look a little brighter and she can no longer see the bruises that remind her of what happened.

Still, she grabs her purse and glances at the clock.

She can't help but notice that it's been two hours since Brittany left, that it's been two hours since she hasn't come back.

She quickly wonders how much time she should give Brittany before she does something. What if Brittany's waiting for her to do something?

She shakes her head and grabs for one of their reusable grocery bags that hang next to their coats.

She'll go out and Brittany will be back by the time she comes home, she reasons as she heads out of the door. She'll go and get everything she needs and Brittany will come back and she'll settle down and they'll talk when Santana returns.

It'll be okay.

Everything will be okay, she reminds herself, ignoring the voice that asks but what if it's not?

/

The streets are busier than they have been the whole week.

The grocery store on the corner is packed with people wanting to get all the things they need. Cars pack the street and the old guy who's usually behind the counter is standing outside with a shovel, clearing the paths for people to get in. Santana waves at him as she walks past and he gives her a struggled smile that's almost thankful that she isn't going in.

For the first time in days, the smells of the food from the deli down the street fill her nose as she heads towards the subway. It's open and that fills her with a strange sense of dread that she ignores as she wanders down the steps to catch the train.

Everything around her seems to be back to normal and Santana breathes easier because of it. She feels weirdly free and being outside of the apartment allows her to think a little easier, to forget the chaos she feels within the apartment, even though everything is still so confusing.

She has no idea why she's in Target of all places. She thinks that maybe she needs the organized chaos of it. She walks around and picks up random things that she doesn't even need, putting them into her shopping cart even though she can't really afford them. Her feet take her towards the bed linen section and she spends way too long looking at everything before she puts more sheets than she needs into her cart.

She must look a little weird when she goes to the cashier but she doesn't care. The thought of having crisp clean sheets on her bed makes her feel better. She's glad that she picked lighter colors. She thinks that might make her feel better too, like her bed will look like it's not her bed. Maybe she'll be able to sleep in it without thinking of Brittany.

Brittany.

The cashier puts all of her things into bags as she stares into the distance. Her hand subconsciously reaches inside of her purse to search for her phone but she's disappointed when she looks at it and there's nothing there but a text from her mom. It's kind of a surprise too because the cell reception has been really bad. Regardless, she doesn't answer it and slips it back into her bag as cashier rings up her total.

It's more than she wanted to spend but weirdly it feels right in a wrong kind of way. She hands over the cash and smiles thinly at the peppy girl who takes it from her. Something feels weird in her stomach and she realizes quickly that she shouldn't be here, that she needs to be somewhere else.

She walks back to the subway and rides the train in uncomfortable silence while the voices inside of her head scream at her.

She tells herself again that Brittany will be back when she gets home and that everything will be okay but she's not sure if she believes it. She knows that there needs to be more and she walks back to apartment quickly, desperate to do something, to find answers.

"Britt?" she says when she gets inside. She drops her bags at the door and wanders inside.

Her face falls when all she hears is silence. Her body sags when she finds the apartment looking exactly as she left it. She searches in every single room before stepping into the doorway of Brittany's.

It's empty, clothes littering the room in evidence of her too-abrupt exit. Santana looks around it, desperate for signs of her return but there's nothing there.

A meow sounds from somewhere within and Santana sighs, kneeling to the floor as the familiar shape of Tubbs appears from underneath Brittany's bed. She pulls him into her arms and strokes her hand along his back to soothe him. She can tell that he's on-edge, purely because he makes no fuss about letting her.

He meows at her instead and she shrugs as she leans back against the living room wall.

"I don't know," she tells him and just looks at her softly. She shrugs. "I don't know."

/

She sits there with Tubbs in her lap for as long as she can. He's warm and heavy and it makes her feel less lost and alone. Her hand strokes steadily over his back until she's sure that he's asleep and then picks him up carefully, cuddling him to her as she carries him over to his bed underneath the window.

She lowers him onto it and then covers him in a blanket to shield him from the draft that sometimes comes through the window. She turns on the TV, sighing when she finds the menu of Brittany's copy of Mary Poppins playing on repeat. Tubbs grumbles in his sleep and Santana runs her hand over his head and down his back as he drools onto his paw.

She tidies the living room as the film plays in the background and she knows that she's trying to preoccupy herself but it doesn't matter. She knows that she wouldn't be able to do anything else anyway. She needs to talk to Brittany first. She needs to apologize and to talk and for Brittany to explain what she means.

She knows that she can't figure out what she's supposed to do until she has.

She wanders into the kitchen and searches through the cupboards. It's almost time for dinner and she's guessing that Brittany will be back soon. She clicks her tongue when she finds nothing and goes to find her coat and shoes. Maybe she can make dinner as an apology and then Brittany will be forced to sit down and talk to her.

The air is icy when she gets outside and it stings her face as she walks towards the store. The young guy who stacks the shelves is outside sprinkling salt onto the ground. Santana is glad that he's there when she puts her foot onto the curb and finds ice. He jumps quickly to catch her as she slips and steadies her onto her feet. She thanks him around a laugh and he moves to sprinkle the spot with salt as she enters the store.

She buys the ingredients to make the same version of mac and cheese she's been making Brittany since they were thirteen and allowed to use her parents kitchen on their own. She grabs the bacon to put inside, the fresh bread that she knows Brittany will want to try and make grilled mac and cheese with. She grabs a bag of frozen chicken nuggets in case she hasn't eaten lunch and then goes back to get all the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch.

As she grabs for a bottle of wine, she kind of wants to laugh at how much everything has changed. They used to eat this dinner with root beer on Friday nights when Santana's parents weren't home. Now Santana's grabbing a bottle of wine and a salad to go with it.

It feels weirdly grown up.

"Special occasion?" the owner asks her with a coy smile when she gets to the counter.

Santana looks at the huge amount of food she's bought and shrugs.

She hopes so.

/

Brittany's still not there when she gets back but Tubbs is still asleep. Mary Poppins is almost over and she switches it out for Toy Story, thinking that maybe she and Brittany can sit through the trilogy together.

She hums the words to You Got a Friend in Me as she starts prepping the dinner and Buzz and Woody are at Pizza Planet by the time that she's done.

The movie is almost over when she puts her cookies in the oven and she doesn't even want to look at the clock as she sets places at their kitchen table, using a table cloth and everything.

Except there's nothing left to do after that but wait and she glances at the clock because the curiosity is too much. Panic and worry wells inside of her when she discovers that it's just passed nine o'clock. Her eyes nervously flick over to the window and she can't help but think about how it's getting colder and how New York will be a sea of ice soon and there will be no one to spread the salt.

She heads for her cellphone without another thought, scrolling through to Brittany's name before stopping and putting the phone down.

She wanted to give her space.

Except now that space is dangerous. She needs to know that Brittany's safe and then she'll leave her alone.

She picks up her phone and dials Brittany's number before she can stop herself. She sits at their kitchen table, staring at the unlit candle in the middle, and listens to it ringing and ringing until it clicks through to Brittany's voicemail.

She cuts off the call and breathes out uneasily only to dial Brittany's number again a second later.

She lets it ring through and then swallows nervously as she waits for the tone.

"Hey, it's me," she says nervously. "Give me a call when you get this… if you want."

She hangs up and holds her head in her hands. The urge to cry is overwhelming and she knocks the candle from the table hoping that might make it feel better.

It just makes her feel worse.

/

She waits thirty minutes before calling through again.

It feels like the gap between each ring is getting longer, drawing out the panic in her body until it finally clicks through to Brittany's voicemail. Santana's stomach plummets again and she swallows dryly before scrolling through her contacts, trying to figure out what she wants to do next.

With each name that she sees, a heaviness settles over her making her more aware of how much of a screw-up she is. Each name she sees is another name that probably knew something like this was going to happen, that looked at her with trepidation when she told them she and Brittany were moving in together.

She dials the number of the only people who thought this was a good idea and the only people she knows won't judge.

"Coyote Ugly. Stacey speaking?"

"Stacey, it's Santana, is Britt there?"

Santana listens for a moment and notices that the line isn't as loud as it usually is. She can hear no backing-track of music or horny guys shouting for the girls. It sounds quite tame, even for ten-thirty at night, and she gulps because it weirdly makes her nervous.

"Santana? What do you mean? Is she working?" The phone crackles and Santana sighs because Stacey is not the best person to answer her questions. "I thought you were in Ohio."

Santana feels irritation rise up her throat but she swallows it down before she can find the rage place. "Is Lil there?" she asks carefully, shifting uncomfortably on her seat. "I need to speak to her."

"Sure," Stacey says and the line goes quiet for too long. Santana's got her face buried in her hands when it clicks and a gruff "Hello?" sounds through the receiver.

"Lil? Is Britt there?"

A tense moment of quiet takes over the line. "What are you asking me for? She's your friend or whatever?"

"Lil," Santana says sharply. "She's been gone since noon and it's dark. She hasn't come home yet and she's not picking up her phone. Is she there?"

Santana hears the woman breathe out before she hears her moving around. Santana holds the phone to her ear and waits impatiently for her to speak. Her entire body feels strange and different. She's never experienced it before and it makes her feel weak at the same time that she feels more buzzed and on edge than she's ever been. She nervously buries her face in her spare hand and can't seem to clean the dryness in her throat as she swallows and swallows.

"Lopez?"

She sits bolt upright at the sound of her name and doesn't say anything. She's sure that the woman can probably hear the sound of her heart through the phone, that her breathing is enough of an answer.

"Lopez, I've asked all the girls and none of them have seen or heard from her," Lil says carefully. "Tommy, too. No one's seen her since before Christmas…"

Santana doesn't say anything but her head reburies itself in her hand and her heart feels like it might stop.

"Are you in Ohio?" Lil asks and Santana shakes her head before realizing that Lil can't see.

"No, no…" she says. "I'm in Brooklyn. We got caught in the snow and we…" She trails off, not sure if she wants to say anything. She carries on purely because she thinks she needs Lil's brash advice. "We had a fight and I upset her and she—she walked out."

She's sorely disappointed when all she hears is another sigh. "That sucks, kid," Lil says and Santana finds herself missing the snark. "She'll be okay, though. She's tough. Tougher than most."

Santana nods because she knows it's true. She's not sure if she's more scared about Brittany's safety or the fact that she might just not want to come back, that they'll never get to talk about this and she'll be waiting too long to find out what Brittany meant or what she wants.

"You'll be okay?" Lil says. Santana hums out a half-assed noise of affirmation. "I'll call you if she comes in or calls, okay?"

Santana nods again. "Okay," she whispers. "Thanks, Lil."

There's a pause on the line for a minute but then it clicks so quietly it almost hurts. Santana stares down at the phone and finds no text messages, no calls, no emails or anything. Her hands find her face and she rocks backwards and forwards as she tries not to let herself cry. It almost works and one sole pathetic tear rolls down her cheek before she reaches for her phone and finds the next number.

/

It clicks through quickly.

"I've been trying to call you all week!" is the first thing she hears and she winces as she clears her throat and tries to make herself sound normal.

She lets out a laugh and clears her throat. "Hey," she says. "We only just got our cell reception back. It's still a little patchy."

"Has it been that bad?" Kurt asks and Santana pauses to think.

Bad, no. It hasn't been bad. Difficult. Difficult would probably be a better word.

"It's been okay," she tells him carefully. "I mean, we've had no TV since before Christmas and the subway and all the bridges and tunnels have been closed since like… the 23rd. They just opened them up this morning, I think…"

She stops before she can say anything else and clears her throat. She listens to the sounds in the background, wondering where Kurt is. For a moment, she wonders where she would be right now if the snow had never come down and she'd made it to Ohio. Probably at home while her parents visit the rest of her family at her grandmother's, she guesses. It's not like anything has changed.

Still, she wonders what would have been worse, visiting home when her family still pretends like she doesn't exist anymore or here, in New York, going through this.

"And?" Kurt prompts, his voice low like she should be saying something obvious. "How's it been with Britt?"

The question blindsides her a little. She turns her face away from the phone as an unsteady breath leaves her before swallowing thickly and closing her eyes.

"It's been fine," she lies, except it's not really a lie. Everything was kind of fine until yesterday when everything was suddenly fucked up and messy. "It's been fine," she repeats and she sees a window. "She's not here right now, though. She went out earlier to do something. I'm not sure what because I was asleep but, yeah…" She levels her voice and speaks carefully. "Have you not heard from her? Or Blaine?"

"No," Kurt says after a weird pause. Santana feels another blow and doesn't know how many more she can take. "I haven't and Blaine never mentioned it when I talked to him this morning."

"Oh," Santana says as normally as she can. "Weird. I thought I heard her say she needed to call you guys for something."

There's another awkward pause and Santana tries to keep her breathing even.

It doesn't work.

"Santana, are you okay?" Kurt asks and Santana doesn't know what she's doing. She nods and clears her throat.

"I'm fine," she says. "But listen, I gotta go. I think the line is about to cut out."

"Okay," Kurt says and Santana can hear the confusion and concern in his voice regardless. "Call me, okay?"

Santana nods and stands up, pacing around the kitchen as she tries to keep calm. "I will," she mutters. "Bye, Kurt."

She ends the call before he can answer and isn't shocked when deep, heaving breaths leave her. She bends over to grip at her knees and gasps against the tightness in her chest. Her body feels frantic, running on adrenaline, and she paces throughout the house until she's calm.

She grabs the apartment phone from the wall in the kitchen and doesn't think before she presses the speed dial number she wants.

/

It's not until it's too late to hang up that she begins to panic and stares down at the phone in her hand. The sound of the phone dialing is loud and she almost drops it when the line clicks through.

"Hello?" she hears and Santana mouths out a soundless "fuck" before she puts the phone to her ear.

"Mrs. Pierce?" she says uncertainly.

"Santana?" the woman says and Santana lets her mind run for a second before it clicks.

"Oh, wow," she says. "Sorry, Mrs. Pierce, I pressed the wrong number on the speed dial. I was uh—I was trying to call home."

A laugh flutters into her ear and Santana has to close her eyes at how weirdly similar to Brittany's it is. She swallows awkwardly and, as much as she wants to know if Mrs. Pierce has heard from her daughter, she really needs to hang up.

"Rushing were we?" Mrs. Pierce says and Santana laughs along with her.

"I promised my mom I'd call her once everything was working again," Santana says and it's not a lie. She had promised her mom that. She's suddenly glad she did. "I completely forgot and wanted to catch her before she went to bed."

Another laugh sounds through the line, except it's softer this time, fond almost. "That's fine, Sweetheart," Mrs. Pierce says softly. "I made Brittany do the same thing."

Santana listens to her and, as she speaks, she hears how something in her voice suddenly changes. She worries her lip between her teeth and narrows her eyes, waiting for the woman to continue.

"Speaking of," Mrs. Pierce finally goes on. "I spoke to her earlier and she sounded a little strange. Is she okay?"

I don't know, Santana wants to say but she knows she can't. The relief that someone else has actually spoken to Brittany makes her feel better and she feels a little dizzy as her body begins to calm.

"When was that?" Santana asks as she pulls a chair towards her and sits down on it.

"Around five, I guess," she tells her. "It was loud where she was and she didn't stay on the phone long. She sounded upset and wouldn't tell me where she was."

Santana probably takes too long to answer because a soft "Santana?" whispers into her ear. She swallows and scratches nervously at her wrist.

"I wouldn't really know, Mrs. Pierce," she says honestly. "She went out and she's not back yet… I could talk to her when she gets back if you want?"

"You mean you're not with her?"

The question catches her off-guard. "Sorry?"

Mrs. Pierce is quick in repeating the question. "You're not with her? When I spoke to her I thought she said that you were with her."

Santana's mouth opens and closes, searching for the answer. "I was supposed to be but I—I had to call my boss."

The woman pauses then, probably longer than Santana did. Something shifts. Santana's sure that she's been caught, found out, and she waits patiently, telling herself not to hang up as much as she desperately wants to.

"Just get her to call me when she has a chance," Mrs. Pierce says and she doesn't sound angry or pissed. She just sounds intrigued almost, concerned.

"Sure, Mrs. P," Santana says, feeling guiltier than she was a second ago. "It was good talking to you."

"You, too, Santana," she says softly. "You, too."

/

Brittany's still not home by midnight.

Santana lies on the couch in front of the TV and pretends that she's watching it when all she's doing is thinking about Brittany.

The panic she felt earlier is still there but it's been overcome with a fear that settles deeper into her bones and terrifies her. All she can keep thinking about is what if Brittany doesn't come back? What if something has happened to her? What if she's still waiting for Santana to do something? What if she was supposed to go find her?

Not knowing the right thing to do makes everything in her ache and Santana curls into the blanket Brittany gave her because it's the only thing that makes her feel safe.

/

She goes to bed but she doesn't sleep.

She can hear the draft through the window in the living room and she's so used to falling asleep to the sounds of Brittany tossing and turning, to her sleepy breathy sighs, that it feels like she's not even in her own bed.

Not even Tubbs sleeping on her feet can make the discomfort go away and barely an hour after she gets into bed, she gets back up again.

She tries to fall asleep on the couch but, after twenty minutes, she gives up. She wraps the blanket around her and steps over to the window, pushing at it in hopes that she might be able to stop the draft. It's pointless; the wind still whistles through it and Santana pulls the drapes open to look out onto the street.

There are still people wandering around. The grocery store on the corner is getting a delivery that Santana can't is late or early. The pizza delivery boys are still whizzing off around the neighborhood on their Vespas. There's a bar just up the street and the sound of drunken idiots and car alarms tells her that people are still in the holiday spirit. The subway can still be heard vibrating the entire neighborhood and Santana is too tired to care as she steps into her room and slowly drags out her armchair.

She sets it up by the window and deliberately faces it so that she can see anyone who approaches from all directions. She places her body toward the subway and covers herself in her duvet to keep warm.

Her eyes blink slowly behind her glasses and, as her mind slowly begins to settle, all she can think about is Brittany's words and all the things she insinuated but never said.

Why would I move all the way to New York to have a second-rate version of you when I know what the full version is like?

The words repeat themselves in Santana's head over and over again and she clings to them, trying to work them out. What did Brittany mean? Did she move here for her? It seems like such a ridiculous thought now when it felt so real two years ago.

Santana's hand instinctively reaches up to her neck to search for something that isn't there. It hasn't been there in a while… not since she couldn't sleep for gripping it and remembering what was inside.

Disappointment levels in her chest and her hand presses to where her heart still beats unsteadily within her rib cage.

What if she moved here for me? she wonders in a way that she would never let herself if she wasn't this tired. What does it mean? What does she want?

She glances at the clock and sees that it's almost 3am. Her eyes flutter and Santana feels the war inside of her begin, her body not sure if it wants to be asleep or awake.

She feels something heavy settle in her lap and burrow into her as she tries to think of ways to get Brittany to talk to her. Tubbs meows and she lifts her hand without thinking, petting him gently as she tries not to think about all the answers she might not get.

Instead, she thinks about all the questions she hopes to ask.

/

When she wakes up, all she can realize is that she actually fell asleep.

She can't think about why or how, or why she's even awake, because all she can think about is the fact that she slept in the first place when she was so sure that she wasn't going to.

Her eyes blink heavily behind her glasses and the ache in them makes her realize that she hasn't been asleep for very long. There's still a heavy weight in her lap and she subconsciously rubs the top of Tubbs' head to keep him asleep. He groans and Santana keeps blinking, eyes opening quickly when she realizes that it's still dark outside.

When she checks her watch, she discovers that it's only just 5am. The mere thought of being up this early makes her groan and she looks around her to try and discover what managed to wake her this early.

She gets her answer a few seconds later when she hears the sound of her phone vibrating. It makes her jolt and she narrows her eyes wondering who could be calling or texting her this early.

She doesn't even think before lifting Tubbs from her lap and depositing him back on her chair. She almost trips on the blanket as she stumbles back into her room. Her legs get tangled in it and her feet hit the ground hard as she manages to steady herself out of it. She practically vaults over the couch to get to her phone and grunts as she grabs for it, falling to the cushions.

When she looks, there's a missed call and a text message, both from her boss. Her heart sinks slightly but she opens them anyway. She has a missed call from an hour and a half ago and a text seems to have been vibrating to get her attention since then. She opens it quickly and breathes out in relief at what it says.

Britt turned up at the bar around 1am and stuck around until closing. She was totally wasted so I put her on my couch. Tried talking to her but she wouldn't budge. I asked her if she wanted me to call you but she made me promise not to tell you she was here. She's asleep now but you better get here before she wakes up.

She shoots out a response without thinking and wanders into her bedroom to get dressed. She pulls on the same clothes she was wearing yesterday, purely because they're still covering her bedroom floor. Her hair doesn't look too bad and she dials Lil's number as she brushes her teeth.

She doesn't answer and it goes through to voicemail.

Santana doesn't care because she knows that Lil still lives above the bar and doesn't go to bed until 10am. She finds her purse and pulls out her metrocard and enough cash to hail cabs for the next week. She stuffs it into the pocket of her jeans and puts her phone in the other, grabbing her keys as she leaves.

Her feet move fast and she only searches the streets for a cab for a few seconds before she starts heading for the subway. She walks as carefully as she can. The temperature has dropped again and turned the sidewalks into an ice rink. Santana pulls her coat tighter around her as she deliberately walks on the hard, crunchy snow and down the steps to the subway.

/

The subway is mostly empty apart from a few of the normal crazies and some overeager workaholics. It's colder now and she spends most of the journey with her feet on the seat beside her as she tucks her legs up into herself.

The wind whips in her face when she gets out at the other side. Manhattan looks alive again, bustling and loud, as she fights against the wind to get to the bar as quick as she can. She negotiates her footsteps to walk in the crunchy piles of snow that line the curbs and buildings as ice shines on the pavements. Her feet are already soaking wet and freezing cold but she doesn't notice as she walks quickly.

All she thinks about is Brittany. A few hours ago she was scared for more than one reason and now one of those reasons is gone. Brittany's safe and that's all Santana can think about as she almost runs up the street. All her other fears seem a million miles away.

The lights outside the bar are off when she arrives. The pavement is free from the icy shine that covers the rest of the street and Santana breathes out a sigh of relief when she gets to the side door.

She doesn't bang on it like she's desperate to. She stops and looks around herself before shooting off a text to Lil so that she can open the door for her. She doesn't want to spook Brittany, even if she might be drunk. She doesn't want to wake Brittany up and for her to be tired and hungover. That'll just make her madder and it's the last thing Santana wants.

She impatiently checks her phone to see how long it's taking but sighs when it's only been a minute or so. She bounces on the spot uncontrollably until Lil opens the door a few seconds later. She's in a thick sweatshirt and some jeans and it throws Santana to see her dressed so casually that she just stares and misses the disappointment in Lil's eyes.

"You're too late," she says and that finally catches Santana's attention.

Her brow furrows and she tries to look behind Lil to see if she's kidding. Maybe Brittany explained stuff to her and now Lil can see how much of an asshole she is too. Santana swallows uncomfortably and searches her face instead.

"What?" she asks nervously.

Lil stares back at her, resting her shoulder against the doorjamb. Santana's hands worry uncomfortably around her phone and she moistens her lips against the chill of the cold. She hopes that Lil makes this quick. Santana might think she's a badass but Lil's been beating up drunk assholes bigger than her for twenty years.

She's so busy thinking about how fast she'd have to run to the nearest subway that she misses the moment when the woman actually speaks to her.

"She's gone," Lil says and she sounds like she's speaking carefully, like she's perfectly aware that Santana's completely losing it and could fly off the handle at any second. "She'd got up for some water when you text me. I was doing some work at my counter and she passed the phone to me, saw your text and…" A laugh erupts from her softly. "She's feistier than she looks, huh?"

Santana can't really respond to that. She's too busy letting the panic seep into her body. It's like all the recently departed panic that had been filling her body suddenly comes back. She staggers back and her breathing becomes heavier. Her hand presses to her chest and her vision goes hazy. She's not aware of what she's doing until she feels herself being forced into one of the chairs in the bar, Lil's familiar strong hands pushing her down into it.

"Cool your jets, Lopez," she says and Santana just stares into space until a glass of something is forced into her hands. It's dark amber and the smell permeates her senses immediately. It's forced into her hands and Santana just holds it until a voice instructs her to drink and a hand puppeteers the glass to her lips. The shock of the burn is enough to bring her back to herself. She finds kind eyes looking up at her from where Lil kneels in front of her and they make her feel better.

"You girls really need to figure your shit out," Lil says but her smile and the squeeze to Santana's knee gives away that she's worried. "I don't think you're gonna find many people who can deal with your bullshit, Lopez… and, well, I'm not sure that there are many people who would be able to understand what the hell Brittany is talking about half the time, so…"

When Santana still doesn't react in anyway other than to stare at her, Lil's hand squeezes her knee just a little tighter and her smile falls.

"What do you need?" she asks instead.

Santana stares but then she swallows and speaks. "When did she leave?" she asks.

Lil glances down at her watch. "Probably forty five minutes ago. She yelled at me for a spell so I'm not sure."

Santana nods. "Which way did she go?"

Lil just shakes her head and Santana feels her hope slipping away as her fear rises.

"She was still pretty drunk from what I can tell," Lil says and Santana closes her eyes. A million things rush to her mind and she shakes her head in refusal of them. Lil carries on. "I don't think she'll have gone far. She was looking for her metro card as she left. I think she must have been heading home. There's nowhere else she could go, right?"

Santana could think of a million places.

"Here… she left her phone here," Lil says and she reaches around into her back pocket to pull it out. "I'm sure she'll be back to get it. Why don't I get you another drink while you wait?"

Santana just nods because she can't think of anything better to do.

/

She's slightly buzzed when she walks out of the subway station in Williamsburg over an hour later. Brittany's phone is clutched in one hand, her own in the other, and she fights the urge to cry as she heads back to their apartment, hoping and praying that's where Brittany is. The sun is starting to peek through the buildings and Santana's sure she should be feeling hope at the idea of a brand new day but she doesn't.

It's New Years Eve and her life is a mess. She doesn't know anything and she feels like she's losing everyone. She's not even sure she knows what hope is anymore.

She tosses hers and Brittany's phones on the coffee table and throws herself down on the couch. Her legs stretch out and her hands press over her face as she feels the sure and warm lump of Lord Tubbington land in her lap. Her claws at her stomach and she breathes out unsteadily in the hopes it might force him off. Instead he meows lowly in warning and Santana shakes her head as the threat of tears stings at her eyes.

"She wasn't there," she tells him, her voice raised and breathless. "She doesn't want to be near me, Tubbs, okay? She'll come back when she's fucking ready."

Her hand falls to cover her eyes and she takes deep, unsteady breaths because she's too tired to cry. She feels Tubbs start to walk up her body and isn't really ready for it when he begins to nose at her hands and paw at her.

It makes it harder not to cry and she doesn't think before she lifts a hand to stroke him down the back of his head before she can scratch behind his ears. He carries on nosing into her and Santana chokes out one lonely sob before the ringing of their phone reverberates around the apartment.

Tubbs jumps off of her quickly and heads for the kitchen, standing in the spot below where the phone hangs and waiting for her.

Santana sniffs and picks it up quickly. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and tries to steady her breathing.

"Hello?" she says, expecting her mom or maybe Britt's parents, or Kurt. What she doesn't expect it the crackle of background noise on the line and an unfamiliar voice clearing their throat.

"Good morning, this is New York Downtown Hospital, I'm looking for Santana Lopez," a forced but peppy voice says over the line. The words, no matter how kind and appealing, make Santana stop.

"This is she," she says softly.

"Is your roommate…" There's a pause where it's obvious she's searching for a piece of paper. It's a moment that Santana doesn't need because the panic rises and her hand presses to the wall to steady her as her heart beats faster and faster. "…Brittany Susan Pierce?"

/

Santana panics the whole way to the hospital, replaying the conversation with the nurse over and over again. Brittany's duffel sits beside her and she taps her phone against her leg as the cab stops yet again at another set of lights.

"Miss Pierce has been admitted to us this morning—"

"Is she okay?"

She still feels the panic in her throat, the lack of information making her head ache with desperation. The nurse's voice was so kind and she didn't sound panicked one bit. It didn't calm Santana down at all.

"She's fine. Our doctors are with her now. It's nothing to worry about. She's been involved in a minor accident and she's sustained a few injuries."

Santana had wanted to yell at her that it doesn't matter how minor the accident is if Brittany's hurt. She still has to worry. Brittany could be in pain. She could be hurting. If she was okay then she wouldn't need treatment. Santana wouldn't be sitting in a cab on her way to the hospital to make sure she gets home okay if there wasn't something wrong with her.

She wouldn't be clutching Brittany's insurance details or a duffel of clean clothes if Brittany was fine. You only need clean clothes if your old ones are soiled or wet or ripped. None of those options sound like something that a person who was fine would have.

"Can we get there any faster?" she leans forward to ask the cabby. He just turns his head to her slightly, shakes his head, and stares back at the road.

/

It's almost nine am by the time she arrives at the hospital. It's not as busy as she expects it to be but she briefly thinks that, come this time tomorrow, this place will be full of idiots who had too good a time. Still, the hospital has more life than the streets and, as she heads for the sign that says emergency department, she feels thankful for that.

"I'm looking for Brittany Pierce," she says to the first person in scrubs she can find. She looks approachable, her scrubs are blue and there's a badge on the cardigan she wears over them that says her name is Edie. She's also the only person sitting still.

The woman looks up at her, searching her quickly before smiling at her kindly.

"You must be Santana," she says softly and her voice sounds more nice than it did on the phone. She sounds softer. "I'm Edie. I'm one of the nurses here. Take a seat."

Usually, Santana would be yelling at this point. If this was any other nurse she would be yelling to see Brittany right away but, looking at this nurse, she knows that it would be better to sit her ass down and shut up. She's been around enough nurses throughout her childhood to know that there's some you can toy with and some that will kick your ass. This woman is one of the latter, regardless of how she speaks.

"Did you bring her insurance details?" Edie asks as she looks through some paperwork. Santana hands it over quickly. "Thank you." She takes the card and tucks it in the file in front of her. "Now, I feel like I should tell you what's going on here because, your friend?" The woman's face screws up as one eye closes in thought and her mouth turns up too. "She's not in the best of moods."

Santana nods. "Okay," she says softly, not knowing whether to mention that that's her fault.

"It was clear to the EMTs that picked her up that she'd been drinking but she was more sober than drunk, if that makes any sense, when they picked her up…"

Santana opens her mouth to speak but the woman cuts her off quickly.

"She fell," she says before Santana can ask. "She slipped on some ice a few blocks from here and she's in a bit of a mess. Her wrist is broken and needs to be put back in place. She's cut her elbow open. There appears to be a minor sprain to her right ankle but it's nothing major. Apart from that, it's all just a lot of bruising… a lot of ice will be needed, ironically, but apart from that she's fine. We've put her on some fluids for the hangover and we've mostly left her alone."

Santana nods, a little confused. "Okay."

"She's been here since about 6:30 but she didn't want us to call anyone, even though she's going to be very heavily medicated soon and will need help," Edie nods to make sure that Santana understands so Santana copies her so that she continues. "At first she told us to call her parents and it wasn't until we called them that we realized they were in Ohio. They told us to call you but Brittany said not to. Her parents said to call you or they would, so here you are. She does not want to see you and she is going to be very mad at me."

Santana laughs and shakes her head. "She'll be more mad at me."

Edie laughs. "Are you really that bad of a roommate?"

Santana laughs with her and shakes her head, soaking in the relief that Brittany isn't dying or hasn't lost a limb, that she's not in pain and only pissed.

"I'm an awesome roommate," Santana tells Edie carefully. "But I'm an awful ex."

Edie's face falls into understanding. She gathers her papers together.

"Ah," she says. "That makes sense. Follow me."

/

As they walk down a long line of closed cubicle curtains, Santana begins to wonder if Brittany's even here. It's weird how not-loud it is and Santana sticks to Edie's heels as she takes her to the last cubicle on the left.

The curtain is open and Santana narrows her eyes in confusion as Edie leads her inside and forces her down into the chair beside the bed. She's not sure what's happening when Edie takes the duffel bag from her and hangs Brittany's clean coat over the back of the chair.

"I don't…" Santana starts but Edie cuts her off again.

"She's in the bathroom," she tells her. "She'll be back in a sec but you should get comfy."

Santana looks up at the woman and finds a smirk on her face.

"You're in for a rough morning."

/

When she hears wheels approaching, Santana prepares herself.

As the curtain pulls open, Santana holds her breath, preparing herself for what she's going to see. She's scared; she knows that. Brittany's hurt and she hates it. She hates it almost as much as she hates Brittany being mad at her and knowing that she's going to have to face those two things at once almost makes her want to run for the hills.

She's kind of glad that Brittany isn't paying attention when the grey-haired nurse wheels her in. She's staring into her lap and Santana manages to get a good look at her before she notices.

She's wearing one of those weird blue hospital gowns and there's an IV in her arm that leads to a bag of clear fluid that hangs above her. There's a pillow on her lap and her wrist rests on it, swollen and at an odd angle. There's blood all down the other arm, all coming from beneath a bandage that's wrapped around her elbow.

Weirdly, that's what concerns Santana the most and she gasps, bringing attention to herself quicker than she wanted because less than a second later, blue eyes glance up at her and instantly form into a glare.

"I told you not to call her," Brittany says sharply, turning to her nurse.

The woman narrows her eyes then peers over bright orange glasses at Santana sitting there in the corner.

"I didn't call her," she says in a thick Brooklyn accent as she puts the breaks on the wheelchair. "I've been with you. Now stop complaining and get back in bed."

Brittany scoffs out a growl but lets the nurse help her get up and into the bed anyway. She puts the bars up on it and arranges the thick pillow so that Brittany can rest her arm on it again. She checks the IV in Brittany's arm and covers her bare legs with a blanket, rolling her eyes when Brittany kicks it off.

"Fine, get cold," the woman says, turning away from her. "You must be Santana. I'm Wanda. Did you speak to Edie?"

Instead of speaking, Santana nods, scared for what Brittany might do.

"Did you bring this little ray of sunshine some clothes?"

Santana nods again and reaches for the bag beside her.

"She doesn't need it yet," Wanda says moving closer to stop her. "I just wanted to make sure. Now, I'm going to go see where the doctor is… why don't you keep Brittany here some company?"

Santana nods, even as Brittany ignores both of them, and turns her head away.

/

They manage to sit for twenty minutes in awkward silence before Santana can't do it anymore.

"Britt…" she mutters but soon trails off when Brittany shushes her.

Part of Santana almost wants to smile; Brittany always was kind of a brat sometimes.

Instead, she sighs and ignores her. "Britt, I just want to know if you're—"

"I didn't want them to call you."

Santana takes advantage of Brittany not looking at her to close her eyes and steel herself against the urge to cry. Her hands curl to clutch at the fabric of her jeans and she clears her throat.

"I know you didn't, but there's nobody else and you're gonna need someone to look after you," Santana tells her quickly.

"I can look after myself," Brittany mumbles. "I don't need you."

Santana swallows and her eyes clench closed even tighter. Those words, for some reason, make her feel like she's dying. "I know… I know you can but you shouldn't have to."

It confuses her when Brittany has nothing to say to that. They lapse into silence; Brittany lying against the bed while Santana leans forward in her chair, just in case. There's an occasional beep from a machine, or a rush of people at the other side of the department. Neither of them speaks and Santana doesn't want to make conversation because she knows she'll just make Brittany more mad.

Every so often, one of the nurses—always Edie or Wanda—comes in to check on them but leaves shortly after. They tell Santana she looks exhausted and that there's a coffee machine along the hall or a Starbucks just down the street. Santana gives in after the fifth time and asks Brittany if she wants anything but she doesn't answer. Santana just takes a few dollar bills from her pocket and her cellphone and tells her she'll back soon.

At first she plans to go to the coffee machine, but then she realizes that she needs some air. It only takes a few minutes to walk to the Starbucks but it's enough for her to feel like she can get a hold on herself. She orders herself a coffee and gets Brittany a gingerbread latte, just because. She buys some sandwiches and cookies and packs them into her coat pockets before heading back to the hospital.

Brittany's still in the same place she was before Santana left and she doesn't move when Santana puts the coffee or the sandwich on the table at the end of her bed. There's a familiar look in her face that Santana recognizes. She's pale and her brow is furrowed. Santana's first instinct is to jump into the bed and rub her stomach but it isn't that. There are things making Brittany hurt that Santana can't fix and realizing that is something that catches her off-guard for a second.

"Are you okay?" she asks even though she knows she shouldn't. She waits for Brittany to bite her head off but instead she just shakes her head and turns into the pillow slightly. "Anything I can do?" she asks nervously.

Brittany shakes her head again. Santana's not sure if she's given in or if she's just in too much pain to care. "The more sober I get the more it hurts," she mutters.

Santana moves closer. "Can they not give you something?"

"They already did," she says and Santana watches as her eyes flutter while her good hand reaches down to clutch the sheets.

"I got you a coffee and a sandwich," Santana says, like that might take away the pain.

Brittany just shakes her head and turns onto her side, into her injuries and towards the wall away from Santana. "I'm not hungry," she says quietly. "I feel kind of nauseous."

"Maybe it's because you need to eat something," Santana says, picking up one of the sandwiches. "Here."

She flinches her hand away when Santana makes to put it in her hand.

"I said I'm not hungry," she repeats and her voice raises as she shakes her head in disappointment.

Santana swallows and puts the sandwich back down on the table. She moves back to her chair and stares at Brittany's back, her bare skin poking through the gown.

"Sorry," she whispers. Brittany doesn't respond.

/

By the time that the doctor arrives, Brittany's let herself lapse into some sort of trance as her body tries to deal with the pain. Her breathing is low and steady and she almost looks like she's asleep. The blankets are pulled up snug around her and the lights are low. Seeing her like this would normally relax Santana but sometimes she still hears a hitch of breath at the pain or sees the stiffness of her body.

"Brittany," Edie says when she walks in with a middle-aged, red-haired woman behind her. "Brittany, the doctor's here."

Edie's warm hands sweep Brittany's blond hair back from her face and Santana has to look away. Brittany stirs and Santana stares at the pattern of the closed curtain. It feels claustrophobic all of a sudden and, as Brittany turns to lie on her back, Santana feels the urge to flee.

She feels strangely out of control.

"Where's the pain on a scale of one to ten?" Edie asks, still pushing Brittany's hair from her face and tucking the blankets around her.

Brittany swallows thickly like she's going to be sick. "I feel nauseous," she mutters a second later.

Edie smiles comfortingly.

"We'll get you some more morphine."

/

It's clear that the morphine isn't working so well when Brittany throws up after the doctor tries to feel her wrist.

Santana doesn't know what to do as Edie and the doctor try to help Brittany. She stares into her lap, unable to control the constant bouncing of her legs.

She wants to push them both out of the way, to wrap her arms around Brittany and tell her everything's going to be okay. She knows all it will do is make Brittany worse. She'll feel nauseous and angry, if she doesn't already, and it'll just make everything harder.

It doesn't matter how hard the sounds of Brittany whimpering make things on her.

"You're okay, you're okay," Edie mumbles, perched on the edge of the bed.

The doctor leaves and Santana looks up to see Brittany resting her head on Edie's shoulder. Her gown is falling off one shoulder and she's pale and clammy with sweat. When the doctor returns, she has a syringe of something that she shoots into the IV in Brittany's arm. She doesn't know what it is but Brittany's shoulders relax after a while. Edie keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulder and Brittany looks exhausted.

/

They move Brittany to a different room about half an hour later. It's bigger and has cupboards and counters lining the walls, glass doors revealing equipment and bandages. There's a pile of stuff sitting on one of the counters and Edie helps Britt up onto the bed as the doctor moves to prepare it all.

A weird C-shaped machine sits in the corner of the room and everyone around them is pulling on weird aprons as they move it closer to Brittany. She doesn't even really notice. Her good hand covers her eyes as Edie supports her broken wrist and she swallows slowly, like she needs to vomit but can't. The doctor prepares some syringes and Santana watches carefully as she brings them over and sets them on the counter beside her. She sits beside Brittany and takes her arm, bringing it out so that it's over the machine.

It's weird when pictures of Brittany's bones show up on the monitor. It unsettles Santana in a way that she doesn't like. It's all too revealing and all she can think about is that those are Brittany's bones, they're the things that keep her together and they're fragile. She hates the idea that Brittany is that easily broken.

"Okay, Brittany…" the doctor says. "Your wrist is more displaced than I thought but not so much that it's going to need surgery, okay?" Brittany nods slowly. "But it does mean that it's probably going to hurt a lot more regardless of how much pain relief and sedative I give you. Do you understand?"

With a strong jaw, Brittany nods timidly, soothed only by Edie's hand on her shoulder. Santana watches her carefully and feels a buzzing throughout her body that she doesn't like. It's desperation, a need. Her hands and feet itch to stand up and soothe Brittany.

Santana listens as Edie tells her that the sedative the doctor is giving her will probably make her feel weird and it doesn't take long before her eyelids droop slightly. Her body goes soft and pliant. Santana sees no tension or worry anymore. It makes her feel more than nervous.

And after nineteen years of being used to hospitals because of her dad, it's strange that all of this feels unfamiliar. The doctor grabs a syringe and Brittany physically winces when she pushes a shot of something into the area around her wrist before grabbing a second, bigger syringe. She feels around, checks the pictures on the screen before jabbing the needle right into where the break is. Brittany yelps out in pain, her once soft body going quickly going rigid, and Santana jumps at the sound of it.

"Santana, come here," Edie says and Santana follows her feet until she's standing beside the woman.

Brittany's head shakes as the doctor keeps pushing the needle into her skin, pulling the plunger back until blood seeps into the clear liquid inside of it. She whimpers when it hurts, and Santana clutches at the bars on the side of the bed to stop herself from grabbing her. It only lasts a few seconds because, when Brittany lets out a sharp, real, moan of pain, she grabs for her hand and holds it tightly.

And even though her eyes are closed, it's like Brittany knows exactly whose hand it is. She brushes it off sharply, grunting and thrashing a little until they have to settle her down again.

Edie soothes her anger but it doesn't really work because hopeless tears just start dripping down Brittany's cheeks and onto her neck.

"Okay, now we're going to put your wrist back into place, Brittany," the doctor says. "Edie I'm going to need your help over here, okay?"

Edie nods and turns to Santana, her eyes are dark and understanding. For a second, Santana feels like the woman knows more about her than anyone else in this room, more than she even knows herself. She lets go of holding Brittany's shoulder and speaks to her quietly.

"Britt, sweetie, it's gonna hurt," she says softly. "Let Santana hold your hand."

Brittany shakes her head. "No," she says adamantly but the pain weakens her words. Santana swallows and looks around the room to find eyes looking at her curiously. It makes her feel embarrassed. "I don't want her here."

"Well, she's here, Britt," Edie says carefully. "And, at the end of the day, that's got to count for something hasn't it?"

"Edie…" the doctor says, beckoning her.

Edie looks up at Santana apologetically, squeezing her arm as she moves around to the other side of the bed. Santana moves closer to Brittany, nearer to her face and watches her cry. She can't do any of the things she wants to, even if they feel like the most inherent and desperate things in the world.

Instead, she feels her own tears well too, especially when the doctor begins to roughly pull on Brittany's arm until she's sobbing and yelping in pain. She tugs on it and pushes at the place where Santana knows she's broken. The sounds of Brittany's sobs come deep from within her. Her stomach puffs in and out from the unsteadiness of her breathing, from the natural need to try and ease the pain herself. Her cheeks are soaked with tears and the sensation that Santana feels inside of her is unlike anything she's ever felt before. It takes her everything not to leave the room.

"Britt…" she mumbles, her mouth dropping, not knowing what to do. Tears drip down her own cheeks like she's the one in pain, only she wishes that were true. She wishes the pain were hers because she'll take it gladly if it means she doesn't have to see Brittany like this.

Brittany squirms away from the doctor, her sobs sharper, more breathier, like it almost hurts to do that too when the pulling gets rougher. Santana hears the doctor and Edie muttering between them, hears Edie whispering out soothing words over the noises of pain. It feels like there's something wrong and Santana glances up to find the doctor trying not to look panicked, her brow sweating and her hands holding Brittany's wrist tightly.

Edie's eyes find hers quickly and Santana sees all the things she doesn't say staring back at her.

She doesn't even think when she understands them.

Instead, she ignores all of Brittany's wishes and leans down to comfort her. One hand presses to her shoulder to keep her still while the other strokes her hair to soothe her. Brittany pushes against the pressure when she feels it but Santana's too ready for her and leans forward, pressing her lips to her forehead as she hums out gentle words.

Weirdly, comforting her is the first time Santana's felt normal in days. Her heart beats to a steady rhythm and her skin doesn't feel like it's crawling. She feels safe and secure. She feels comfortable.

Brittany still tries to fight but only until Santana starts to wipe away her tears and clutch at her cheek.

"Just stop," she whispers gently, hoping only Brittany can hear. "Just stop and let me help you."

And it's strange how quickly the fight leaves her. Her body stops tensing and her tears lessen slightly. Santana whispers words that her brain doesn't even process into Brittany's hairline, smoothing the lines from her brow and the tears from her cheeks. Her words somehow have the same effect as the sedative and Brittany's body softens and relaxes, calming itself even as it endures the pain.

"You're okay, you're okay…" Santana whispers. "They're almost done… they're almost done…" she tells her, even though she doesn't even know. "Just a little bit more and it'll all be over. You're doing so good."

Brittany whimpers and the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. She swallows it away and blames the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin. Brittany's body tenses momentarily and Santana catches her other hand clutched into the sheets beside her. The doctor continues to pull at Brittany's wrist but the movements are less frantic, less panicked, almost reassuring. Santana takes advantage of the last few moments she has left and nuzzles her nose into the bridge of Brittany's, kisses her eyebrow. She runs her finger over the softest part of her cheek and lets her breath catch when Brittany lets out the softest of sighs when the pulling stops.

"All done, Britt…" Edie says and her voice is different than it was before. "You did great. All done."

When blue eyes open, Santana knows that the moment is over. They look at her just as they did before, only darker. In an instant, Santana knows that she's made things worse, that there are probably a million other things that Brittany's mad at her for now. She's completely expressionless and it unsettles Santana more than anything else. She moves away slowly, so as not to spook her or upset her anymore, until the only thing remaining is the fingers on her cheek and the hand on her shoulder.

"Can you let go of me, please?" Brittany says and Santana doesn't move. Instead, she nods and takes her hands away slowly until they're at her side.

They look at each other and Santana wipes away her tears, pretending they were never there. She knows that Brittany saw them anyway. She looks away from her a second later, to where the doctor is asking her questions. Santana breathes out uneasily and backs further away, until she hits another body and finds Edie.

The woman smiles in sympathetic understanding and guides her to the chair in the corner. "You did good," she mutters softly. "But you need to sit here until we've taken some x-rays."

/

The cast on Brittany's arm goes from above her elbow to just before her fingers. It's large and looks uncomfortable, but Brittany's so out of it she doesn't seem to care as they wrap her in plaster and padding. Edie holds her arm awkwardly in the air as the doctor finishes it up but she just looks cold and sleepy, just like they said she would.

They let her curl up into a ball once they're done and Santana smiles at the doctor in thanks as she signs her paperwork and leaves the room. Edie lingers behind and clears everything away, tossing packaging into trash cans and syringes into special containers. She covers Brittany with a blanket and checks her over quickly before turning to Santana.

"We're gonna let her sleep it off for a while," Edie says, clasping her hands in front of her. Santana takes it as a sign to listen. "The sedative will be in her system for at least 24 hours and she's gonna feel really shitty for a while. She's probably going to be in a lot of pain too. We're gonna wait for her to wake up a bit, see how she is, and then stitch up her elbow."

Santana nods and brushes her hair from her face. She probably looks like crap but it doesn't really matter right now.

"She's going to need to come back for a follow up x-ray in about a week," Edie goes on. "Then again in two weeks maybe. She's not going to be able to do a lot and she might swell. We'll give her some painkillers and she should be okay."

"Okay," Santana nods. "And she just has to ice the bruises?"

"And the ankle," Edie corrects.

"Oh," Santana says. "Sure, of course." She grits her jaw from where it weirdly wants to shake with the need to cry for no reason. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Edie breathes in deeply. "Because she's asleep," she explains. "And because I don't want her getting upset when she wakes up and she might if I explain in front of you or to you. She's…" Edie trails off. "She seems really pissed at you, which I guess is understandable if you just broke up—"

"We didn't just break up," Santana cuts through her. Edie stops and stares at her and it makes her feel so uncomfortable that she forces herself to explain. "We broke up almost… fifteen months ago, I guess. I moved to Kentucky for college… It was really hard."

Edie nods, her face contorted in confusion like she doesn't understand a word of what Santana's saying. "And that's why she's looking at you like she wants to kill you?"

Santana shakes her head.

"No?" Edie asks.

Santana swallows. "We slept together."

Edie smirks. "And?"

"Things got weird," Santana shrugs.

Edie laughs. "Of course they did."

Santana swallows and shrugs. "Any advice?"

That just makes Edie laugh harder. She shakes her head and turns away from Santana for a second, tidying the counters around her. Santana's brow furrows and she's ready to bitch out this woman until she realizes that she kind of scares her… and that the control of Brittany's pain medication is in her hands.

"What?" she asks bitterly.

Edie smiles at her and she almost looks fond for someone who only met her a couple of hours ago. "You don't need my advice," she says.

"Why?" Santana asks quietly.

Edie moves closer to her and uses a finger to lift her chin. She inspects her carefully, turning her face from one side to the other before shaking her head with a sigh. She gives Santana a light tap on the cheek before turning away from her again. Santana just sits there and wonders what the hell is going on.

"You don't need my advice, Santana Lopez, because there is only one outcome for this situation…" Edie smirks and slips the pen on the counter into the pocket of her scrubs. "And that's the long and short of it."

Santana stares at her as she starts to leave. "What outcome?" she asks.

Edie gives her a grin.

"You'll figure it out."

/

Brittany's much more alert once she wakes up.

A doctor comes by to take out her IV and fix her elbow and she sips on a cup of hospital coffee while Santana remains forgotten and ignored in the corner. Brittany barely winces as he sutures her elbow, doesn't flinch when he injects her with more local drugs to numb the pain. She talks to him politely, telling him about how she fell and what injuries she has. It's the first time that Santana finds out about where the bruises are starting to come out and she takes a mental note to remember.

Edie comes in just as the doctor is covering her elbow with a dressing. Her arms are full of stuff and Santana watches as she dumps it all by Brittany's feet at the end of the bed. She brushes her hands off on her scrub top and turns to Santana pointing at the duffel bag. Santana brings it to her quickly, handing it to her before trying to escape.

It doesn't work when Edie grabs her arm and keeps her there. Brittany avoids her eye and remains looking at Edie.

"Okay, I have your appointments for your follow up x-rays…" Santana watches as she holds up a sheet of paper in her hands. She gives it to Brittany who holds it in her lap and looks at it curiously. "I also brought you some extra dressings, some tape, ace wrap, band aids…" Edie looks down at the stuff before stopping and holding up a hand. "Hang on, I need to get you a sling but you have to get dressed first."

Brittany stares for a moment before nodding. "Okay…" she says and sits up slowly, waiting for her help.

Edie smiles. "Okay, get to it. I'll be right back."

/

Brittany doesn't get dressed straight away. She just stares ahead of her in disbelief before Santana breaks the silence with the sound of the bag unzipping. She swallows nervously and runs her hands over the clothes that she pulls out. The sweatpants come first, then the layers of t-shirts.

"I thought that they'd be comfier than jeans and stuff," Santana mumbles as she piles pairs of socks and clean fresh underwear in a pile beside her. She pulls out Brittany's NYU sweatshirt before she thinks better of it and puts it back in the bag. Instead she pulls out a plaid shirt and begins to unbutton the sleeves on the left arm.

When she's done, she tosses the bag on the floor before playing with the sheets at the edge of the bed.

"Do you… want me to stand outside?" Santana asks. Brittany huffs out a large breath. "Is that a yes?"

When Brittany doesn't say anything, Santana moves to stand outside the curtain anyway.

/

It isn't until Santana's heard Brittany drop the sweatpants for the fifth time that she thinks she should do something.

"Are you okay?" she asks through the curtain. She hears her drop something else before the crash of what sounds like the supplies falling to the floor fills her ears. "Britt?" There's no response. "Britt, I'm coming in."

When she walks in, her heart clenches at what she sees. Brittany's in the chair that she just vacated, all the clothes and all the supplies littering the floor with all the blankets and pillows too. Brittany stares into her lap and Santana sighs before moving towards her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, softer this time. Brittany shakes her head.

"No," she says and sighs loudly. She's acting more like a bratty teenager now than in the entire duration that Santana's known her. "Can you help me please?"

Santana nods slowly. "Sure," she whispers and doesn't wait before she bends to the floor and picks up the clothes. She piles them all atop the duffel before she kneels in front of Brittany and pulls it towards her.

She picks up some socks first. The floor is colder than she thought and Brittany's barefoot. Santana rolls the socks over her fingers, stretching them until she can push them onto Brittany's feet. Brittany sits back and doesn't watch her but Santana thinks it would be weird if she were. Especially when Santana finishes with the socks and pulls fresh underwear up her legs instead. Brittany winces as the fabric goes over the curve of her ass and, when the hospital gown lifts, Santana sees the bruises starting to stretch up her thighs and around her hips to her ass. She moves around quickly to make sure that they're settled comfortably on her body and Brittany lets out a slow breath as she smooths out the fabric.

She quickly pushes the sweatpants up Brittany's legs, just to prevent further embarrassment.

It's not until Santana's trying to untie all the knots on her hospital gown that she remembers what happens next. They tied one gown on the right way but another one on backwards when Brittany was moved and Santana is okay while she's doing the front one, but when she has to face the bare, black-bruised skin of Brittany's back, her hands start to shake.

"Do you want a bra?" she asks, trying to keep cool.

Brittany turns slightly to look at her. "Did you bring one?"

Santana swallows. "No."

"I wasn't wearing one when I got here," Brittany tells her. Santana nods and unties the gown anyway.

And it's not the huge bruise that's starting to form on Brittany's back, or the dry streaks of blood up the backs of her arms and body, that catch Santana's attention first. It's the small bruises that litter her chest. Tiny round bruises, dotted with teeth marks and speckled with blood catch her eye first and Brittany watches her carefully as she eyes them. She doesn't say anything but she actually looks at Santana for the first time since she arrived.

Santana has to swallow away the need to speak, the need to apologize and explain. It's all she really wants to do but she knows that Brittany doesn't want to hear it. Instead she turns away and reaches for the too-big NYU shirt and gathers it into her hands.

Thankfully, Brittany's no longer looking at her when she turns back and they both stare at her cast as they struggle to get the t-shirt over it before slipping it over the rest of her body. Santana can't help but wonder about what's going to happen for the next two weeks… or even the four weeks after that. She's not sure she'll be able to handle six weeks of being this up close and personal with Brittany if she's going to be this mad all the time but she doesn't think there's anyone else. She'd do it willingly but she knows that it won't make anything better. She knows it will only make things worse.

"Here," she whispers, pulling herself out of her thoughts and reaching for the plaid shirt. "It's still really cold outside. Put this on."

She's glad when Brittany does as she asks. She even lets Santana fasten the buttons, slowly starting from the bottom until she gets to the top. When Brittany holds out her arm, the sleeves of her shirt hiding away her fingers, her request goes unspoken. Santana instantly reaches up to fold the sleeves back, finding no argument when she does the same thing over the cast.

Santana's helping Brittany to put on a pair of red chucks when Edie returns. She's got more things in her hands and she barely glances at them as she puts it all down onto the bed again.

"Oh good," she smiles when she finally looks at them properly. "You're done. Great. Stand up for me."

Brittany does as she's told with Santana's help before Edie steps over and begins manhandling her arm to where she wants it. She pulls a piece of blue fabric off of the bed and Santana watches as she tucks Brittany's arm into the fold of it, making her elbow snug in the corner. She pulls the straps over Brittany's head so it snugly fits around her back. She tightens it until it's where it should be before she looks up at Brittany and smiles.

Brittany gives her a reluctant smile back. "Can I leave now?" she asks.

Edie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Not quite. We need to talk about pain relief."

Brittany stops before she shrugs. "I'll take some Advil."

Edie stares at her for a moment before giving her a knowing smile. "Sweetie, you might think that it's stopped hurting now, okay, but you're still riding the morphine wave. Along with that, you've been filled with lidocaine as well as some other stuff. You're probably not feeling the pain now but come tomorrow morning when your bruises have come out and your hip is stiff from where you fell on it… that's when you're gonna be needing something a bit stronger than Advil."

Brittany shrugs and shakes her head, shuffling her arm in her sling and moving around the cubicle.

"What are we talking here?" Santana asks, watching Brittany for a reaction.

Edie reaches into the pocket of her scrub top and pulls out a piece of paper. "Vicoprofen. Dr. Knowles asked me to offer it to you. It's there if you want it. I'd completely understand if you didn't. I'd think you're foolish, but I'd understand."

"I don't want it," Brittany says at the same time that Santana reaches for the prescription. Brittany turns to her and shakes her head. "I don't want it," she repeats, reaching to take it from her. When Santana lifts her arm in the air, out of her reach. She glares at her. "I don't want it, Santana."

Santana ignores her even though her head is screaming at her to just give the damn thing up. She holds it higher and keeps her gaze at Brittany stern, adamant in her refusal. She doesn't want to see Brittany in pain for the next God knows how long, all because she's too stubborn. She doesn't want to be arguing with her about this for the next six weeks. She's heard her father talk about stubborn patients. He always says that he knows he'll see them again soon because they don't listen. They don't want the help they're being offered until they're forced to have it.

Brittany steps closer to her and, instead of moving away like she wants to, Santana moves closer to her. Brittany's eyes are wild and dark, her pupils large and dangerous. Her skin is pale but there's a dark blush to her cheeks that makes Santana nervous. She swallows as discreetly as she can and holds still.

"Give me it," Brittany warns but her voice is quiet, like she doesn't want Edie to hear.

Santana shakes her head. "No," she says. "Just in case."

Brittany's whole body shakes with the anger inside of her. It scares Santana that she can do this to her, that she can make Brittany, the happiest person she knows, turn into this person full of anger and hate.

"Give it to me now, Santana…" she asks and her voice is harder, sharper. "Give it to me or I'll…"

"You'll what?" Santana asks because she's curious to know what Brittany thinks she's capable of. Brittany doesn't say anything, she just breathes hard and clenches the one fist she can. Santana shakes her head and sighs. "Just in case, Britt. That's all I'm saying."

"I don't want it!" Brittany shouts and before Santana can realize, Edie's found a way between them and pushed Santana aside.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey…" she whispers. Her hands go to Brittany's shoulders and rub soothingly to calm her down. Brittany stares over Edie's head at Santana, and Santana doesn't do anything but fold the prescription and put it in her pocket. Edie looks back at her and sighs. "Why don't you go wait outside?"

Santana takes one more look at Brittany before nodding.

"Sure," she nods. "I'll be in the hall."

/

Edie finds her at the pharmacy twenty minutes later. She's scraping through her coat pockets to find more cash and the pharmacist behind the counter just looks bored when she tells him for the fifth time that she needs this fifty for a cab.

"Hey dumbass," someone calls and Santana jumps at the voice. She stops what she's doing and waits. Edie steps up to her and Santana stares at the money in her hands as she tosses something down onto the counter. "Need this?"

Santana looks and finds Brittany's insurance card sitting there. She looks up at the pharmacist who's too busy looking at Edie.

"Hey, Edie…" he says kindly. "Friend of yours?"

Edie smiles back at him. "Phil," she says. "This is Santana. She's here to get her ex-girlfriend's Vicoprofen."

Phil smiles. "I heard." He takes the card and Santana watches as he disappears behind the counter. She hears some keys tapping before he hands back the card and takes a twenty and a five from Santana's hands. "Give me five minutes."

He disappears again and Santana stands there, playing with her cash and waiting for Edie to speak. When she doesn't, Santana has to break the silence.

"Where is she?" she asks softly.

Edie remains staring ahead, her hands folded together at her front. "Wanda's helping her pack her things. She can go home when you're ready."

Santana nods. "If I get a cab, can you bring her outside?"

Edie glances at her quickly before nodding. "Sure," she utters softly before they lapse back into silence. "Is there anybody who can help y—"

"No," Santana cuts her off, knowing the question. "We're from Ohio and all the people we know here are with their families. There's no one to help until next week." Santana pauses. "Hopefully she'll be able to look at me without glaring by then."

Edie smiles softly and as Santana looks at her, really looks at her, she sees that she looks tired. There are bags under her eyes and lines around her features. In that moment, Santana realizes she doesn't have to be scared of this woman. She has to admire her.

"For what it's worth," Edie says. "I think you're doing the right thing." Santana's brow furrows. "We see too many people through this place that have people with them who just agree to everything because they're sick and they have to… We see so many people who are willing to just agree because they don't really care what happens… they just want the trouble to go away." She pauses before going on. "We don't see enough people who are willing to do whatever it takes to make sure someone gets better. Selfless people."

Santana blushes and looks down at her hands. She shakes her head. "I'm not selfless."

Edie looks at her like she's the most naïve thing in the world.

"I think you are," she says quietly. Santana just stares. "I'll have her out the front in ten."

Santana nods and Edie leaves.

/

It's raining by the time they leave the hospital.

After days of snow, it's kind of annoying. Santana stands by her hailed cab and hides herself in her coat, hands clenched tightly in her pockets as she waits for them to bring out Brittany.

Edie holds an umbrella over her head when they finally bring her outside. Santana pushes her glasses up her nose to watch them closely and steps up to help Wanda when she struggles to control the wheelchair over the slippery sidewalk.

Brittany gets up from it without a word and holds her duffel bag in her useable hand as she gets into the cab. It's hard for her but she doesn't ask for help. Santana's glad that Edie gives it to her anyway, taking the bag from her and helping her in. Brittany thanks her quietly and takes the bag back, not saying anything as Santana turns around to check with them both that they're good to go.

"Don't forget her follow up appointment," Edie says quietly.

Santana nods. "I won't. Do I bring her here?"

"You need to take her to x-ray but you can come find one of us and we'll take you," Edie says kindly. Santana gets the feeling that Edie kind of likes them.

Wanda hums out a sound of agreement. "We're always damn here," she mutters around a sigh. "And just make sure that you bring her in a better mood next time."

Santana smiles but the words make her feel nervous. "I'll try my best," she whispers.

Edie leans over and squeezes her elbow.

"Good luck, kid."

Santana nods and gets in the cab.