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"

4. Positives

Fic: Rhythms (Part 4)

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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/

They don't talk the whole way home. Rain beats down heavily on the top of the cab and the driver talks away to nobody in particular about every thought he's ever had.

Brittany's duffel separates them and when Santana turns to look at her, she always finds her staring out of the window. Her face is expressionless and all Santana can wonder is what she's thinking, if she's in pain, if she needs anything. She doesn't know if it's okay to ask her questions, if she'll get mad once she finds out that Santana filled the prescription and that it rattles around in her coat pocket.

She wonders, for what feels like the millionth time, what the hell is going to happen in the coming days.

When the cab stops outside their building, Santana isn't prepared for Brittany to talk to her. She's in a world of her own, wondering and worrying, but quickly breaks out of it when Brittany speaks.

"I don't have enough cash on me," She says quietly. "Can I borrow like… twenty bucks?"

Santana stares before her brain kicks in.

"No—I mean, don't worry about it…" She trails off when Brittany just stares at her and swallows deeply. "I'll get it. It's fine."

She gets out of the cab to hand over the money and panics when Brittany's door opens. She shoves cash at the driver as Brittany struggles to get out of the cab by herself and he looks at her in bewilderment, shoving money back at her, before she runs around to the other side of the car.

She's surprisingly too late and Brittany's already halfway up their front stoop by the time she makes it to the curb. She tries to get beside her but Brittany just waves her off stubbornly, her eyes dark and full of warning when Santana tries to put a guiding arm around her and open the front door. It makes her hang back and she keeps her distance as Brittany opens the door herself and heads up the stairs.

And it takes her at least four times longer than normal to get to their floor, but Santana doesn't interfere, keeping her distance far enough that she can intervene if she needs to. She stands at the top of the stairwell as Brittany heads for their door and doesn't say anything when Brittany struggles with her keys the minute she gets them out of her pocket.

Santana wonders if Brittany's regretting all the key chains because she can't even grip the bunch in her hands. She can't even negotiate all of them in her fingers and they slip in her hand as she tries to find the right key. Santana's not even sure why she has so many. Brittany's mom doesn't lock their front door and there's never any room for Brittany's car in the garage. They only have two locks on their front door and one for the mailbox. It's something she's never really thought about until she spends five minutes staring at Brittany struggling and not being able to help her.

"Can you quit looking at me like that?" Brittany mumbles.

Santana doesn't even jolt when she speaks. Instead, with her hands in her pockets, she narrows her eyes. "How am I looking at you?"

Brittany sighs as she drops the keys for the fifth time. "Like I'm some pathetic loser."

The words make Santana's chest tighten and she swallows away the need to correct Brittany in favor of telling her the truth. "Actually, I was wondering why you had so many keys."

Brittany scoffs and shakes her head. The look on her face could only be described as disgust.

"Shut up, Santana," she whispers and Santana does, not even saying anything when Brittany finally opens the door, fifteen more minutes later.

/

Santana goes to her room when she gets inside.

She ignores Brittany as she slumps down onto the couch and goes straight to her room, choosing to take her coat and boots off before she faces anything else. Tubbs is laying on her bed and, any other time, she'd be yelling at him to get off her new sheets but instead she just bends down and scratches him between the ears.

"She's home, Tubbs," she whispers and it makes her laugh when he lets out a meow of happiness before leaving the room.

She sits down in the place he vacates and runs her hands over her eyes. She's tired but there's nothing she can do about it yet. When she's sure Brittany's okay, maybe she'll think about it but… she knows that won't be any time soon.

She can hear her struggling in the living room and she listens carefully, trying to understand what's going on. She figures it must be something not good when Tubbs runs back into her room a few minutes later and curls himself around her feet. He meows, lower and softer, and Santana almost feels like she can understand him.

She walks to her doorway before stopping, watching carefully as Brittany hisses and curses while attempting to take off her shoes. And, sure, maybe Converse weren't the best idea to give her, especially when she has one broken wrist and a barely moveable other arm. She only has half of her coat off too. One arm remains hidden beneath the fabric as she thrashes to remove it and her shoes at the same time.

Santana decides that she can't sit around and wait for Brittany to stop being stubborn and ask. She's not even sure if she can even be bothered with asking. She knows that Brittany will say no regardless and that's all she thinks about as she steps up to the back of the couch and helps Brittany to pull the rest of her coat off.

She tries to push her away but it only lasts about five seconds when Santana increases her grip on the coat. Brittany scoffs under her breath and gives in, letting Santana help her until the coat is in her hands. Santana folds the coat over her arm and watches as Brittany tries to untie her shoelaces fruitlessly before she speaks.

"Would you like some help?" she asks softly.

Brittany doesn't turn around, just shakes her head and straightens her back.

"No, I'm fine," she says and Santana nods before leaving her.

/

The black bags under her eyes are huge. She presses her fingers to them as she stands in the bathroom, toothbrush in one hand.

She looks different. She feels different. Her body feels older and she wonders if it's because she's tired or purely because she really is. She doesn't feel the kind of tired that sleeping would fix. She feels the mentally tired, the emotionally tired. She feels the kind of tired that keeps her awake rather than making her fall asleep.

She's sitting on the edge of the bath with her head in her hands when she hears a loud crash coming from somewhere else in the apartment.

She hears the smash next and she jumps up with a gasp, her feet leading before her brain as she heads towards it. Her chest is heaving when she gets to the kitchen, the cursing and mumbling getting louder the nearer she gets. Her feet slip along the floor as she gets to the doorway and she sighs in relief at what she sees, even as panic and worry grow quickly inside of her.

Because she doesn't know what to think when she sees Brittany.

All she knows is that there's water all over the kitchen floor, littered with the shards of one of their coffee cups. Their tea kettle sits upturned amongst it all and Santana gasps when she sees that Brittany's still Converse-covered feet are soaking wet.

And she doesn't know what she's thinking when she steps into the puddle of water with no regard for her own safety. All she's worried about is the fact that Brittany's already lost most of the use of both arms; scalding her feet would just top the whole damn thing off.

Except she's shocked when she finds the water is freezing cold, that Brittany's utterances of noise are pure annoyance instead of pain.

The climb from panic into relief is so fast that it makes Santana feel dizzy. She falls back against the wall, indescribable anger welling inside of her for no reason whatsoever.

But Brittany just sighs in annoyance when she sees her. "What?!" she demands roughly and Santana just stares at her for a moment before she allows the anger spew out of her.

"'What?'" she repeats incredulously. "That's seriously what you're gonna say to me?" Santana offers out her hands, lost for words. "Like you don't expect me to come running out here when it sounds like you're fucking destroying our kitchen?!" Brittany continues to look at her angrily but doesn't say anything. "Britt, you could have fucking hurt yourself, do you realize that?" Heat rises to Santana's cheeks in uncontrollable anger. "You could have scalded yourself or worse, for God's sake! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

When Brittany doesn't respond straight away, Santana steps into the water, letting it soak into her socks as she tries to grab a towel from the counter. It gets grabbed from her a second later and Santana almost slips as Brittany tugs it towards her. She lets go of it quickly and steadies herself on the counter.

"What the fuck, Britt?!" she yells but she's cut off by Brittany's voice.

"Just GO!" she screams and when Santana looks up at her, her eyes are glassy and clouded with rage. "Just leave me the hell alone, okay?! I don't need your help. I don't need you treating me like I'm an idiot; so just leave me the hell alone, okay? I don't need it. I don't need you."

Santana feels the anger swell, feels herself aching with the need for answers and the catharsis of just letting everything go. Breaths pant from her and she doesn't know whether she's going to scream or sob when she grabs Brittany's good arm as she tries to turn away.

"What is your problem?" she demands, grabbing tighter when Brittany tries to yank her arm back.

She looks angrier than Santana's ever seen, angrier than Santana thought was possible for her to be. She struggles to get out of her grasp but Santana refuses to let go until Brittany pushes against her grip, moving closer until they're almost nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest. Brittany glares at Santana and her anger is a cloud of warmth that Santana refuses to leave. She doesn't want to let go. She's too desperate for all of this to end to care about what happens.

"You know what my problem is!" Brittany spits. "You know what it is so don't pretend you don't. You know what you did."

A mirthless laugh leaves Santana's mouth. She shakes her head and she almost feels disappointed in Brittany in a way she never thought she would.

"That's it?" She asks quietly. "Is that really what all this shit is about? Because I accused you of being a cheat?! Are you fucking kidding me, Brittany?" She shakes her head and Brittany is strangely quiet. Santana laughs again and finally lets Brittany go, giving her a shove away for good measure. "You never told me you broke up with Sam. You never told me that it was over between you!" Santana turns away before spinning back to her. "Jesus Christ, Britt! What the hell was I supposed to think?! You don't tell me anything! We're supposed to be friends but I feel like I don't know anything about you anymore! I sure as hell don't know this you!"

"And I'm supposed to believe that you tell me everything?!" Brittany bites back quickly. "That I'm the only dishonest one here?!"

Santana scoffs and steps closer. "Britt, I told you about Quinn. I told you more than I ever wanted to tell you about Quinn, or Carolyn or anyone else for that matter." She clenches her fist to contain the anger that overwhelms her. "Dammit, Britt! I even told you about a girlfriend who wasn't even real! I had to learn about you and Sam from Tina fucking Cohen-Chang!"

"And how the hell was I supposed to tell you that, huh?!" Brittany yells back but there's a slight falter in her voice, an insecurity. "We were barely talking to each other!"

"I don't know, Brittany, but it's kind of one of the things you'd expect your ex to have the decency to tell you herself!" Santana's voice quivers and she looks at Brittany like she's never seen her before. "But I'm not even talking about stuff like that Britt. I'm talking about the fact that I tell you every single thing that I can but the repercussions of every little single thing that happens between us are on your terms. I told you about Quinn and you didn't speak to me for days, Britt. You tried to kiss me and when I moved away we stopped talking again. We slept together and I tried to do the mature thing but now here we are and everything is fucked up. I didn't want to hurt you or your fucking boyfriend and you get pissed at me because you think I'm accusing you of cheating?!" Santana walks out of the kitchen, not wanting to be near her anymore, throwing words over her shoulder. "I didn't even know you weren't together and it's all because I should have known that you wouldn't move here if it wasn't over? What the fuck does that even mean, Britt?!"

Brittany follows her and Santana's glad because she can feel all her words bubbling up in her throat at once.

"And for the record," Santana goes on. "When you text somebody saying 'I need a favor from my best friend' it pretty much tells them how you view them. It puts them in their fucking place. I thought you moved here to go to school, Brittany, because that's what you told me you were moving here for. I would never assume that you came here for anything other than the reason you gave me. I would never assume anything of you because I want youto tell me."

Brittany's face drops and Santana doesn't pay any attention to it. Her brain is too set on letting out all the stuff she wants to say.

Santana paces backwards and forwards around the living room as Brittany stands still in front of her. The words that bubble up her throat are words that she knows will change everything. They'll give her answers. They'll give her more questions. She knows they'll give her more worries and sadness and tiredness than she knows how to handle.

"Did you move here for me?" she asks, biting the bullet and ripping off the band-aid.

Instantly, the anger leaves Brittany's face. Her shoulders slump and her eyes flutter. She looks like she's about to cry, like she knows she's lost or something worse.

"How is that even a question?" she whispers and Santana glares at her until her shoulders slump even more. Her eyes close and she shakes her head in refusal, even as her mouth opens to speak. "Yes. I did."

Santana rubs her hands over her face and shakes her head. She feels like she's at the bottom of an avalanche and everything's falling on top of her. Her chest feels tight and she breathes as evenly as she can, even as she feels like she may have a panic attack.

"Why?" she demands and Brittany flinches slightly at the question.

She swallows unevenly and her eyes close. She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders. "I honestly don't even know anymore."

Santana tries to remain calm. She stands still and covers her face with her hands again. She almost wants to claw her own eyes out, to pull at her own hair, just so that she'll feel something else. Her heart beats erratically in her chest and it scares her just how alive she is after feeling so not for so long.

"That's not an answer, Brittany," she says lowly.

The anger inside of her feels unstoppable. It feels like a lifetime of words she's never even realized she wanted to say rising up her throat from some unknown place inside of her and she can't stop them. She can't even slow them down. Her heart beats faster and faster the more she tries to swallow them away. They seem to rise quicker as she stares at Brittany. She wonders how Brittany can be so quiet and stoic right now when she feels so completely out of control. There's some sick part of her that just wants Brittany to keep yelling at her, just so that she can yell back. She wants to see Brittany angry and upset and hurt. She wants to know everything, feel everything, hate everything. She wants to understand, to know what all of this has been for.

Words fly from her without her even thinking about it.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, Brittany. Stop being so fucking passive!" She shouts. "Open your damn mouth and say what you need to say instead of just standing there and waiting for me to ask! I'm sick of fucking guessing!"

A gasp rips from her own throat the minute the words leave them, like the closing of a vacuum because now all she wants to do is shut up. Her eyes widen as she watches Brittany's mouth drop slowly, her expression changing from one of nothingness to one of complete disappointment. Santana's so used to it that the feeling it gives her doesn't even register anymore.

The only things that really strike her are Brittany's glassy blue eyes, her pink cheeks and the fact that her own body has a once familiar urge to flee.

"Yeah?" Brittany says softly and Santana swallows and waits. A small part of her quietly works in the back of her brain, wondering where she could run to from here. It doesn't get very far because, as Brittany takes a step closer, she remembers that no matter where she goes, this is their home. "You and me both, Santana."

Santana breathes out when Brittany just stares at her with that same disappointed expression. Anger flares in blotches of red from Brittany's chest, up her neck and to her face. Santana watches it as Brittany fixes her with furious blue eyes and waits for whatever's coming as she pleads with herself to do something.

"If there's one thing I'm sick and tired and just fucking bored of… it's guessing," Brittany says, her voice level and steady. "Guessing what you want, guessing what I did wrong, guessing what the fuck we are, guessing what the hell is going to happen next… guessing what the hell happened to us… I'm just sick of it, Santana." Brittany shakes her head in disgust. "I'm sick of you. I'm sick of you being so fucking clueless, so fucking… stupid."

"Brittany…" Santana whispers. She thinks she's heard Brittany swear more than she's heard her say that word.

"I don't know how to tell you things, Santana…" Brittany says before she can say anything. "I don't know how to tell you things because you're so fucking… scared, all the fucking time. Telling you things is like winding up a jack-in-the-box… I know you're gonna blow up at some point but I don't know when or how badly. I don't know how to make you not run away or not lash out. I don't know how to fucking talk to you without something going wrong."

"That's not true—" Santana tries but Brittany releases a loud sound of frustration that cuts through her.

"God, you're doing it now, Santana!" she says, her voice louder and angrier. "I can't say one fucking thing to you without you becoming defensive." She shakes her head. "How the hell was I supposed to tell you that I started dating Sam eight weeks after we broke up? Look how you reacted four months later! You found a fake girlfriend and tried to win me back!"

"You didn't tell me!" Santana says defensively.

Brittany laughs. "You fucking broke up with me! We hadn't talked in weeks! I didn't see you rolling over while you were in bed with Quinn Fabray and giving me a call to tell me you fucked her!"

"That's different!" Santana shouts back.

"How?!" Brittany says around a laugh, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is louder than Santana thinks she's ever heard it without her shouting. "How is it different?! We both found someone else to pass the time! We both found something to keep ourselves—"

"Because I didn't try and fucking marry Quinn!" Santana screams and Brittany stops. Her face falls and Santana knows that it's her turn now. She watches Brittany carefully and shakes her head in her own, quiet and lost disappointment. "I fucked her twice when I was drunk and lonely at a wedding! I went down on her and I put my fingers inside of her… I didn't promise to be with her until the end of the world. I didn't let her tell me she loved me! I didn't let her think that I would be hers for more than one night. I didn't let her think that there was any possibility that I would ever love her!"

"No, I did that!" Brittany says quickly, jabbing a finger into her chest. "I let Sam love me. I let him do that because, guess what? You broke up with me!"

"So?"

"You broke up with me!" Brittany repeats incredulously. "You broke up with me because you didn't want us to cheat. You broke up with me so that we could do the mature thing." She pauses and takes a deep breath as the words fly from her. "You broke up with me, even though I didn't want you to. You broke up with me and you took everything away! You took it all away!"

Santana looks at her in confusion. "What?!"

Brittany stares at her in disbelief before shaking her head and holding out not broken arm. "You!" she shouts. "Us! You took us and everything I've ever wanted away and for what?!" Santana stops and listens. "You took it all away and it felt like I was being punished. Like I was finally, finally being punished for all the things I'd been scared of!" Brittany breathes out and shrugs her shoulders. "You don't get it, do you?" she says eventually and Santana can't help but notice the shake in her voice, the glassiness of her eyes and the way she keeps swallowing desperately. "You act like you're the only one of us who has stood there and begged the other to love them but you're not. You stand there and act like you did the right thing, but you didn't. You act like some fucking martyr but you're not. You're not, you're a fucking idiot, because you can't even notice that since the minute I met you, I have been waiting for you, begging you quietly to love me, and then you did. You loved me but then you took it away. And for what, Santana? Because things got too hard? Because I got mad at both of us for loving each other so much that we didn't even notice we were being ripped apart?" She stares at Santana incredulously, shaking her head and offering out her good arm at a loss. "It's bullshit," she spits and that's when Santana sees the tears dripping down her cheeks. "It's fucking scared bullshit because I would have waited for you."

Santana feels her throat seizing up at the words, her chest aching as she feels her lungs start to forget what they're supposed to do. They can't keep up with her heart, beating out of her chest, as she listens to Brittany speak.

"And do you want to know what the pathetic thing is?" Brittany says and she doesn't wait for an answer, she just speaks as the tears slide down her cheeks and onto her neck. "You broke my heart and I am still waiting for you. You ruined me for everyone else and I am still stupidly waiting for you. I'll wait for you until the day I fucking die if I have to because, when it's for you, that's just what I have to do!"

Santana doesn't say anything but that's mostly because she's not sure she can remember how to. She can barely breathe and Brittany just stares at her, looking at her like she's waiting for some kind of reaction, some kind of sign that Santana understood her. It never comes. Santana just stares at her and tries to take in everything that she says. She tries to understand the sheer enormity of what Brittany's just explained to her, knowing that that's just the beginning of it.

"Did you know that I could have died this year?" Brittany asks suddenly and it jolts Santana's awareness. She suddenly remembers where she is and who she's talking to. Brittany just narrows her gaze and sighs. "Did you even care?" she says softly and for a second, Santana's not sure if she even meant to say it out loud.

She doesn't respond, if only to give Brittany nothing to doubt.

"Do you wanna hear what happened?" Brittany asks. Santana swallows carefully and shakes her head as softly as she can. "Do you want to hear what happened to me?"

Santana doesn't know how to answer. She doesn't know what to say. There's part of her that wants to tell Brittany that she knows what happened to her. She knows that the gun went off when Brittany was in the bathroom without her cellphone. She knows that Sam nearly put everyone at risk by trying to go find her. She knows that Mr. Schue found Brittany cowering in one of the stalls in the girls' bathroom.

She heard it from Kurt who heard it through Blaine who got it from Sam.

She never called.

She didn't know how. She didn't know what to say.

She still doesn't know how to wrap her mind around the fact that for too many minutes, Brittany thought she was going to die. She doesn't know how to understand that there could have been a universe where Brittany Pierce died and she never got to say goodbye.

She doesn't know how to explain to Brittany that she doesn't know if she can listen. She doesn't know if she can think about that, even as she wants to be placated of all the things she's worried about.

Except it doesn't matter.

Brittany doesn't wait for her to answer anyway.

"I didn't even go to the bathroom for a reason," she begins instead and the words tumble out of her like they've been inside her too long. "I just didn't want to listen to another one of Mr. Schue's boring speeches." She shrugs and Santana just watches her quietly. "I didn't realize that guns were so loud, you know? Like, there was no mistaking it. It was a gun." She nods emphatically and Santana tries not to feel scared about something that she doesn't need to be scared of anymore. "And then all I could hear was footsteps and screaming, and I just froze. All I could think was 'this is it. This is how I'm gonna die. This is how everyone's gonna remember me; as the second year senior who got shot'." Santana feels the burn of vomit in her stomach, the urge to scream crawling up her throat. "One of the Sophmore Cheerios and this guy I didn't recognize came into the bathroom and they were panicking and I didn't say anything, I just walked into one of the stalls and closed the door." She wipes her cheeks and Santana tries not to cry. "I stood on the toilet and tried to stay still. I could still hear people screaming and I was just waiting for more shots… louder screaming."

Without warning, Brittany releases a sob. It makes Santana jump from her skin.

"It felt like I was standing there for hours," she whimpers and her eyes flutter closed as she looks away. Santana watches her shamelessly. "I couldn't feel my arms or my legs and I was just waiting for something. I was just waiting to die and I mean… I thought McKinley was my safe place. I was so scared to leave that when I didn't graduate I was kind of relieved but… when I was stood there just waiting to die all I could think about was how I shouldn't have been there. I didn't belong there. I should have tried harder and graduated because I didn't belong there. I belonged here, with you."

Another sob rips from her and when she looks up into Santana's eyes, Santana is frozen by the coldness and anger in her expression.

"So I may have done all those things, Santana. I may have almost married Sam. I may have let him love me but guess what?" Her expression is hard, even as the struggle in her voice betrays her. She sniffles and Santana can do nothing but listen. "When I was stood in that stall and I thought I was going to die, when the life I wanted flashed before my eyes, all I could think about was Sam and how he was the wrong person for me. I thought I was going to die and all I could do was regret not kissing you just a little bit longer that last time." Her eyes close again and Santana watches wordlessly as overwhelmed tears roll down Brittany's cheeks. "All I could do was wish that I'd stopped you from leaving me. All I could do was hate myself for losing you. All I could do was wish I'd never let you go."

Santana lets herself stumble back against the living room wall as Brittany lets out a breathless sob. Her shoulders drop and she just stares ahead of her as Brittany stands there, heavy tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She avoids her eyes and tries to take in her words, wondering how two people can become this confused. No words come to her. She can barely think. She lifts her hands to her face to peel away her glasses and runs her palms over her face. She suddenly feels so tired that it makes her wonder if all of this is even real.

"When everything was over," Brittany goes on. "When I didn't die… I didn't know what to do. I told Sam that I could only think of him because it was only a half lie. I tried to just… forget everything and go back to how things were because it was easier. It was easier than turning my life upside down again. It was easier than admitting I felt out of control." Santana watches her swallow as she talks low and fast. "When you left for Louisville I felt so out of control and I was just so freaking scared that I stayed with Sam because he was the only person who didn't make me feel like I was spinning out of orbit when you left."

Santana pushes her glasses back up her nose but doesn't look at Brittany. She stares at her feet and lets her brain just stop thinking and listen.

"And then my acceptance letter came, and I texted you because I thought that it would be awesome to live with my best friend in New York, you know?"

Santana doesn't speak but she does know that. To live in New York with her best friend is the only thing she's wanted since before she could remember, before feelings and before break ups. But she doesn't say that to Brittany. She's never said that to Brittany.

"I didn't tell anybody," Brittany goes on. "I didn't even tell my parents at first. I hid the letter because it was mine. No one could take it away if I didn't tell anyone about it. And then, I guess that Kurt must have said something to Blaine because Sam came to my house demanding to know why I hadn't told him about Tisch and he was saying we needed to make plans for him too." Santana looks up then, shocked but also confused. "At first I thought that maybe it was the answer to everything but then something went wrong because all the plans we'd been making… they were just undoing better plans and ruining them and I got mad." She shrugs. "I got so mad at him because he wanted to get an apartment of our own and he was going to get a job and all this other stuff…" She takes a deep breath. "I didn't want that. And when I realized that I didn't want that I realized all this other stuff too."

Brittany's face softens and Santana feels her own heart rate pick up at the sight of it. Tears still roll down Brittany's cheeks and Santana's not sure if they're going to stop. She watches them carefully, watches Brittany carefully, just because.

"I didn't want to date Sam," Brittany says quietly. "But it was the only thing I could do not to lose him too." She shrugs like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I didn't have sex with him because I couldn't stand the thought of his or anyone else's hands on me but yours. I didn't let him move to New York with me—I broke up with him—because he was right when he said that I only wanted to be here because you are."

For the first time, Santana sees something else other than anger and disappointment cross Brittany's face. She watches her and she sees fear. She sees terror and worry. Brittany's brow quivers as she watches her and Santana doesn't know what to do. Her brain is starting to whir back into life, thinking a million things that she's not ready for yet. Brittany shrugs and Santana's not sure what happens next.

"He kept telling me that you wouldn't want me anymore," Brittany mutters quietly and there's a lift in her voice, a mirthless amusement that Santana doesn't understand. "He kept telling me that you would be over me and I just… I didn't want to listen because you came back… you wanted me back and maybe if I were here then things would be different. Maybe you'd see that everything could be how it used to be and it would be better and okay and… maybe when I first got here everything was great but the longer I've stayed here the further away you felt."

Brittany lets out another little laugh and, for the first time, Santana sees it. She sees what Brittany's really feeling. She understands where all this is coming from, all the anger and the disappointment…

She's embarrassed.

"He was so sure that things wouldn't work out once I got here," Brittany mumbles and Santana takes an unsteady breath because she feels so bad. "He was so sure that I had it so wrong and I was so sure that he had everything wrong that I just… I didn't think, you know? I didn't think and I just came here and I—I…"

Her eyes dart quickly to Santana's and then away, realizing she's probably said too much. Santana watches her and it's like something clicks, like too many things click. Everything inside of her feels like it's falling and she has to reach out a hand to steady herself as her body realizes what she needs to do before her head does.

"I just assumed, you know?" Brittany whispers and then there's another laugh as she reaches her good arm up to swipe away the tears from one cheek.

The words leave Santana feeling off kilter because she doesn't know anymore. If anything, the last twenty-four hours have taught her that she doesn't know anything. She wants to know what Brittany assumed because it sounds completely different to what she assumed when Brittany said that she was moving to New York. She wants to know how wrong she has everything, how much more everything is ruined because she was so blind again.

"Britt," she breathes and she hates how shaky her voice is. She can't help it, not when the same old inherent terror is rising within her. Louder than anything else, all she can hear is Brittany telling her that she felt like she was being punished, all she recognizes is the pain that she put Brittany through. It's a pain that she thought she was sparing her from by just from inflicting a small part it, a vaccination against the bigger disappointment Santana would undoubtedly give her in the end.

And there must be something in her expression because Brittany looks away from her and stares down at her feet, speaking quickly.

"It was stupid of me," she says softly, breathlessly, like she's seconds away from more tears, bigger sobs and a worse heartbreak. "I just thought that… you wanted me back and we made so many plans last year and I just… I thought that… I thought that we'd be together by now. I thought we'd be falling asleep in the same bed and watching movies on the couch on Sunday afternoons and… I thought we'd be arguing over rent and groceries and making—making love on the kitchen floor for no reason whatsoever than that we can and…"

A sob breaks free from her and Santana's hand flattens against the wall before her nails curl into it. She's not sure how much longer she can stand here and listen to this without something inside of her giving up and falling apart.

Brittany covers her face with her hand and sobs into it. Santana hates that all she can see in her expression is shame.

"I just thought that all the other girls… and the games and the…" she trails off and hiccups into her fingers. "I thought it was a game. I thought you were just making me try to prove myself. I thought I'd win… I thought…"

"Brittany, why are you telling me this?" she asks except it sounds like she's begging.

Brittany looks up and sniffs into the back of her hand. She shrugs and Santana watches her as she tries to compose herself, failing before she even tries.

"Because you told me to say what I needed to say," she whimpers. "And I did because I'm sick of being so sad all the time. I'm sick of crying myself to sleep over you…"

Santana swallows down everything inherent to her and closes her eyes, steeling herself before she opens them again. It doesn't do anything and when she looks up, Brittany is still standing there in front of her. Her shoulders are still slumped and her face is still relaxed with quiet resignation. Her cheeks are tracked with tears and Santana knows that there's nothing she can do to make things better—there never is. She knows that no matter what she says, she'll always end up saying something wrong in the end.

"Britt…" she whispers and she tentatively pushes herself away from the wall, making a small step towards Brittany. It tells her everything she needs to know when Brittany staggers away from her in response. "Brittany, I don't want to do anything that might end up with me losing you… or hurting you or…"

"You're hurting me now," Brittany cuts through her and it silences Santana immediately.

She folds her hands together and stops moving as Brittany shifts where she stands, uncomfortably lost. She takes in another deep breath and even that sounds like a sob. She eventually stops a moment later, turned away from Santana with her good hand bracing her against the couch.

"I don't understand what happened," she whispers and for a second, Santana's not sure if she's even talking to her. It's not until she pointedly looks behind her and her hurt blue eyes find Santana that Santana knows these words are meant for her. Her expression makes Santana feel like she's been hit by a car.

"We were going to get married," Brittany whispers and her sad smile is too much. Santana shakes her head, refusing to listen even as Brittany goes on. "We were going to have babies," she sighs reverently. "We were going to do all those things—I was sure of it…"

A sob hiccups from deep within her and Santana just lets her stare into her eyes as she speaks.

"Now I can't even tell if you love me or not…" she breathes and Santana grits her jaw to stop herself, clenches her fists to keep herself still as Brittany watches her for too many minutes with a look of disappointment unlike Santana's ever seen her have before. She eventually shakes her head and turns away, heading for her bedroom without another word. She doesn't look back and Santana doesn't breathe out until her door closes behind her.

That's when she lets her body give in to what it needs.

She sinks to the floor and curls her knees into her chest, rests her chin on her thigh and waits for the tears that refuse to come.

/

Sleep doesn't come easy.

It's still raining by the time she finds her way to her bed, the first crackles of thunder rumbling somewhere far away. The sky seems to be getting blacker and blacker but Santana isn't sure if that's because the weather is getting worse or because the sun is setting. Shadows flicker around her room and she watches them instead of sleeping because suddenly rest won't come.

She figures that she's possibly had nine hours sleep in the past two days. It's not enough, not for all the stuff that's happened, but her brain seems to forget that as she lies there hopelessly. All it wants to do is rehash what just happened, repeat everything it heard just to make sure that it understood everything and make her feel a million times worse.

Her eyes are too wide to sleep, her face too tense and narrow. She doesn't feel relaxed at all; in fact, she's never felt more on edge.

There's a part of her that doesn't think everything's sunk in yet. There's a part of her that refuses to believe that this is really happening. Maybe she really is asleep and this is all a dream. Maybe that's why she can't sleep. Maybe she'll wake up soon and it will still be last night. Maybe it'll still be last week. Hell, she'd take three days ago if she could. At least then she could do something to stop this happening. She could bite the bullet and talk to Brittany like an adult and not without all this anger and confusion.

If she's honest, she's not sure she understands how it came to this. She's not sure how it got to the point where she has no idea where she stands with Brittany. She moved into this apartment with Brittany with the intention of being her friend. That's what Brittany told her they were—friends—so how did it come to this? How is it that she's laying here replaying all those things that Brittany said to her? How could she have been that blind not to notice?

She was trying to be better. She was trying to be the kind of person Brittany deserves. She was trying to be a true friend instead of the same boundary-straddling disappointment she's always been. She thought that having a clear label—that being friends—would make things easier. All it seems to have done is make things worse.

And the worst thing is that she has no idea how to fix it. She doesn't even know if she can. All she keeps thinking about is Brittany's face and the resoluteness in her expression. She looked so resigned and that scares Santana. It scares her more than the fact that she knows they're going to be broken for a while… maybe a long time. It scares her but not as much as losing Brittany for good does.

Her head tells her that she's doing the right thing.

Her heart just thuds expectantly, hurting more than it helps.

/

It's the crack of thunder and the too-bright flash of lightening that jolts her.

Her eyes open too quickly for the rest of her body, shocking her enough that she flinches and buries her face back in the pillow. Her eyes burn and her limbs feel the heaviness that not enough sleep affords. She's disorientated and confused. She can't remember falling asleep or even the slow oncoming of rest. She just remembers staring at the shadows on her wall and that's it.

It makes her feel weirdly apprehensive and a little scared. It's suddenly dark in her room and it's cold too. It's too quiet and it unnerves her. This room doesn't feel like her room and she sinks into the protection of the covers as she tries to reacquaint herself with it because something doesn't feel right.

The first thing she notices is that the sheets are new and clean. They smell kind of funny but they still kind of smell like the same detergent her mother has used her entire life. She leaves her nose buried in them as she explores the rest of her surroundings.

The space beside her is cold. It stills feels starchy with the newness of her sheets and she almost wants to roll over into them until they soften up. It's weird but it's not unsettling enough. She runs her hands over her body to make sense of the feeling but can't find a reason why she feels so strange. She's wearing a t-shirt and boxers. It's nothing new. It's what she always wears when she's too tired to care. She's even wearing her too-thick bed socks and they're still both on her feet so that can't be the problem either.

She sighs and turns her face on the pillow. Another crack of thunder echoes around the room and brings her a little further into full consciousness. She tries to remember what she was doing before she went to sleep and that's when she remembers.

She remembers the words. She remembers the expressions. She remembers the tears.

And, just like normal, she reaches under her pillow for the same thing that's been there to comfort her for the past two years…

…Except it isn't there and that's when Santana realizes the problem.

Her stomach drops in an instant.

Her eyes open and she watches her hand as it delves underneath the pillow, searching for the same familiar fabric on her fingers. Her chest pants with instant panic and when she doesn't feel the soft plush against her fingers she tosses her pillow onto the floor as she searches through the darkness.

But her fingers never find what they're searching for and Santana scrambles across the bed, reaching for her lamp. Her hands shake in desperation and her head feels cloudy. She doesn't know why she's so worried. She can't even think and she tries desperately to remember if she put it in the laundry with her other sheets. She can't even remember where she put her other sheets.

She can't even find the fucking switch for her lamp.

She forgets all that with the next flash of lightening and the next crash of thunder. Especially when the bright white flash catches something on Santana's night table and makes it sparkle.

And it's weird because it's been almost two years but she can still remember exactly what it looks like. She can still remember exactly how it feels against her fingers, and against someone else's fingers held in her hands. The blue is too familiar, the sparkle too bright, to be something else. The fear makes her slow and her hands feel like they're vibrating, shaking but steady, as she searches again for the lamp switch.

And when she does find it, and her eyes fall with clarity to what's sitting there, it feels like her heart drops and all her hope oozes out of her onto the floor. It feels like she's numb all over, her body preserving and protecting itself from something bigger—something bigger than her, bigger than this apartment. Something so big that the world and her heart can't even contain the thought of it.

She's almost afraid to touch it.

It just sits there, on top of the black book that Brittany handed her the morning before. It looks as familiar as it does completely out of place. Her own hand reaches up to touch the chain around her neck that doesn't live there anymore. It's hidden and, as Santana stares at the ring in front of her, she thinks that it should be too.

Panic turns into fear which manifests itself as terror. Her heart is pounding so loudly in her chest that it feels like it's making the room echo. Her head hurts from the rush of blood around her body. The urge to scream and cry rises within her so quickly that she can barely feel it. The instructions in her brain are so quick that the rest of her body misses them. The scream her soul wants turns out to be the tiniest, pathetic whimper.

None of this feels real.

There's a complete disconnect between everything inside of her. Her head wants her to do things but her body does the opposite. She wants to flee and forget everything she sees, but instead her hands reach out for the ring. She stops herself before she can touch it and everything can become real. Instead, she throws back the covers and paces her room pointlessly.

Her legs feel cold and she's not sure if it's from the weather or from this. She ignores it and turns out of the room, searching for a more tangible sign of what she suspects, a sign that she can talk to and can give her real answers.

Brittany's bedroom door is wide open which is telling enough.

Santana doesn't even knock before she's crossing the living room to it.

"Britt?" she calls around a whimper and it's too loud but too weak at once. "Brittany—"

Her voice trails off when she steps inside and Brittany's room is empty. Instead, she turns around and heads for the kitchen, checking it and moving on to the bathroom when she finds it empty. They're all empty and she resists the urge to just collapse there and cry in favor of heading back to Brittany's room.

It almost feels wrong to be inside it without permission, which is the weirdest feeling in itself. She's never felt wrong being inside Brittany's bedroom. If anything, Brittany's bedroom was always the only place where she felt right. It was the only place that she felt like herself. Brittany's bedroom is where she kissed her best friend for the first time, where she felt the first stirrings that something wasn't quite what it was supposed to be inside of her. It was where she could act on the feelings she was so afraid of without the threat of her parents or anyone else seeing her. Brittany's parents never bothered them. They never encroached on their time together. Brittany's room was their space and, as Santana steps inside this room, this room she's only been inside of a few times, it hits her.

This isn't Brittany's room.

This isn't her space.

It's just a room she's been living in.

If at all possible, that makes her panic more. Her breath heaves from her, low and unsteady, and she looks around her, searching for something that might give her a clue. And it's not until she sees a blur pass her eyes and a large mass of fur moving to hide under the bed, that she sees what she needs to see. Brittany's laptop screen brightens to life and shows her the last thing she wants to find.

Santana steps over to it slowly and regrets not putting on her glasses. She thinks that if she was going to look at something that might change everything then she wants it to be crystal clear. She doesn't want to leave room for doubt or anymore panic. She doesn't want to have to wait any longer than she will.

But then, when she looks, she wonders if everything would have been better if she'd have just never looked at all.

Not when all she sees is webpages with the same thing.

Apartment listings in Williamsburg

Apartments for rent in Lower Manhattan

Roommate Needed!

One bedroom to rent in Queens

1 bed close to Prospect Park for rent

The NYU Roommate Registry

They just make her gasp and back away, not stopping until stumbling back towards her bedroom so she can get dressed.

/

She struggles to call Brittany as she pulls her overalls up her legs, the phone tucked into her shoulder as she waits for the line to go through.

It's awkward and she's panicking but she still fails to be surprised when it goes straight to voicemail. She sighs but she tosses the phone onto her bed as she tugs the straps of her overalls over her shoulders. She's going to be freaking freezing and she's going to look like shit walking around Manhattan but it's the least of her worries. She doesn't care what anyone thinks about her wearing her Fleetwood Mac shirt and her overalls. She just grabs the nearest warm looking thing she can find and tugs her oldest, grossest cardigan from her dresser and yanks it up over her body.

She finds her biggest purse and lugs it onto her bed as she tries to think of what she might need.

It turns out to be everything and she just walks around the apartment throwing everything into it. She starts with the bandages Edie gave them, then the painkillers and some spare socks just in case. She shoves in some tissues and a hand towel. Then she grabs for things that don't even make much sense and grabs granola bars and a random juice box Brittany left in the fridge.

She must do ten laps around the apartment, just looking for things that she can put in the bag, before she stops in front of her bedside table and can no longer ignore what is there.

It continues to sparkle in the half-light and Santana breathes out uneasily as she reaches out for it.

But she still can't face it so she drops onto the edge of the bed before picking up the book it rests on. It slides a little but is fine once it's in her lap. Her hand shakes as she reaches to pick it up, full with feelings she never thought she'd feel.

And it's colder than she expected. It shocks her a little and she puts the black book in the bag beside her without even really looking, turning the ring over in her hands instead. She dips the tip of her pointer finger into the ring before pushing it down. It doesn't look as good against her skin. Brittany's skin made it look brighter, made it look perfect, made it look—

She chokes out a breath before wiping away a non-existent tear and taking it off. She slips it into the pocket of her overalls and searches for her boots, readying herself to face the storm.

/

She doesn't know where she's going.

All she knows is that Brittany's coat and shoes were missing when she looked so that must mean she's gone somewhere.

And beyond all her own selfish reasons, the thing she's most worried about is Brittany being out in a fucking thunderstorm less six hours after leaving hospital for a broken arm. All she can think about is another phone call from a hospital that won't have such good news for her the next time.

She starts at the grocery store first.

The neon lights outside are on and Santana thinks that the streets are too busy until she remembers that it's almost seven o'clock on New Years' Eve. She works her way past crowds of people, of families finding their way back home and groups of teenagers laughing and joking as they make their way in the opposite direction towards the subway station. Her boots crunch into the icy snow and she resists the urge to break out into a run, walking as quickly as she can to get inside.

It's not as busy as she thought it would be. There are a few of the usual creeps buying their bottles for their brown paper bags and the usual old lady buying cat food. Santana has to worm her way past a gaggle of pre-teens counting their quarters to get to the counter and is glad when there's no line for her to get in.

"Mr. Broadsky, have you seen Brittany?" she asks before she says anything else.

The man just looks at her in confusion. "Miss Lopez, what's the rush?" he asks in his thick accent. "There's barely five hours left of this year. Why are you trying to rush them away?"

Santana breathes out harshly in frustration. "Mr. Broadsky, please. I need to know if you've seen Brittany."

He clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath, gathering up her usual packet of Marlboro Lights, a box of matches and some gum. Like normal, he shakes the box of matches before he puts them down. He rings up the purchase before he wordlessly holds out his hand for payment. Santana panics as she remembers that, of all things, she forgot to pack her wallet but sighs in relief when she reaches into her coat pocket. She hands over the cash, loving herself for being lazy and not taking anything out of her coat earlier. Mr. Broadsky gets her change and she shifts uncomfortably on the spot before he gestures for her to hold out her hand. He grabs it and holds onto it, pouring the coins into the well of her palm before speaking.

"I haven't seen her for a few days," he says quietly. "Your fancy dinner didn't work then, huh?"

Santana doesn't give him a response. She just drops the coins to the floor and leaves as quickly as she can.

/

Brittany's not at the park or at any of the local diners they usually go to. Santana even catches the bus to the diner they went to last week but she isn't there either.

She's not at the laundromat. She's not in any of the coffee shops Santana goes past nor is she in any of the ones Santana goes out of her way to find. Santana even looks in bars and calls Lil, asking her to keep an eye out for Brittany as she searches her pockets for her metrocard.

She tries calling Brittany again even though she knows it'll go straight to voicemail. She doesn't even leave a message, knowing Brittany won't listen to it. She figures that Manhattan is the only place to look next. It's the only place Brittany knows well enough.

The subway is packed full of party-goers and people heading to Times Square. Santana wasn't sure if people from New York actually, really did that but the amount of hipsters with 2014-shaped glasses she sees on the train gives her an answer.

She gets off at the stop closest to Brittany's school library but once she gets inside they won't let her in without a pass. She spends twenty minutes arguing with the creepy-looking librarian at the counter, asking her if she knows Brittany, if she's seen her. She even shows her a picture of Brittany on her phone but all the girl does is just stare at it and shrug.

By the time the security guard has ejected her from the building and the thunderstorm has reduced to a heavy rain, Santana doesn't know where else she's supposed to go. With quickly disappearing hope and steadily increasing panic, she walks as calmly as she can until she finds a subway and heads for one of the last few places she can think of.

And while it feels like a long shot, it also feels quite plausible that Brittany would come to Times Square. It was one of the things that they used to talk about when they were together: that one day they would be together in New York.

After that first, brave New Years' kiss, Santana had promised her that next years' kiss would be better. They'd go to Times Square and they'd be just like every other cliché couple. She thought that they would already be in New York together by that point, that she wouldn't be in Louisville and Brittany wouldn't be stuck in Lima, that they would still be together. She was stupidly sure that nothing would go wrong but everything did and Santana spent last New Year's Eve watching the ball drop on her roommate's shitty little TV by herself. She has no idea where Brittany was. They hadn't spoken since Thanksgiving. Santana had no idea why but a few weeks later and a phone call from Tina told her everything she needed to know.

Brittany probably spent her midnight kiss on Sam Evans.

Her New York dream was lost.

But now, after all this, after everything that happened today, Santana's beginning to wonder if that's true.

She never thought they'd get to New York but here they are. They're a year late but they're here together. Maybe Brittany would want to go to Times Square to see that she isn't missing anything special, that—really—Santana isn't anything special. Maybe she'll realize that Santana isn't exactly the biggest catch in the world, maybe all of this… bullshit… will make Brittany see that she's right. Santana's not good enough for her after all.

Maybe then, she can convince Brittany that she doesn't need to find somewhere else to stay, that their New York dream can still be theirs, just different. That they can do all the things they wanted to but as friends.

She braces herself against a nearby wall when a sudden rush of unknown and unwanted feelings overcomes her. It's weird and it's different and it fills her with dread, with strong and stubborn refusal. For the first time since Brittany moved here, her own words fill her with doubt.

Because what if Brittany still wants to move out anyway? What if she finds somewhere else—someone else—and leaves the apartment regardless? Just thinking about it makes Santana feel terrified. She can't imagine what it would be like to have to watch Brittany pack all her stuff and move out. And then what would happen to her? She wouldn't be able to find another roommate. She wouldn't want another roommate. She'd have to ask Kurt and Rachel if they have enough room for her at the loft. And even that would be completely different because now Blaine lives there too. What if there's not enough room and everything gets rough and they decide they don't want her there again?

Their apartment—

Living with Brittany—

The thought of not living with Brittany makes her feel—

It makes her feel lost in every sense of the word and she doesn't understand why.

Yet, trying to convince Brittany of why she should stay there when Santana's hurt her this badly feels as pointless as wading through a growing crowd of one million to find one person.

When she looks up, she can't move anywhere because the crowds have started to pack the sidewalk. She can barely see anything anymore, everything blocked by a wall of bodies all around her. It makes her feel claustrophobic, makes her feel too aware.

She shakes her head before pushing her way through the crowds, running until she can break free and gasp for air.

She heads to the subway and gives up, hoping to god that wasn't her last chance.

/

It's not until she arrives in Bushwick that she realizes she's on the wrong train.

She sighs and hits her head against the window before jumping off anyway. There's no point going back to the apartment and there's nowhere else she can think that Brittany might be. Maybe she should just give her the time she wanted before, the time that was taken away from her by Santana's constant searching. Maybe Brittany needs to think too and maybe she can't do that while she's in the same room as Santana.

Maybe this is a good thing.

Her feet take her in a familiar path towards an even more familiar building. She searches in her pocket for her keys, glad that Kurt and Rachel never asked for it back. She can always say she came over under the guise of checking everything was okay, that she was watering Kurt's plants and making sure nothing had been destroyed by the snow or the storm. She can always tell them she needed someplace to think and know that they wouldn't care, that they would only ask questions once she was ready.

It's fucking freezing inside and she tosses her purse onto the kitchen table before finding the kettle and putting it on the stove. She makes herself some tea and then drops down into one of the seats, letting her head fall into her hands as the steam drifts up to warm her cheeks.

She feels out of control, like there's a fight happening inside of her that not even she can understand. It feels like instinct, it feels like something in of the core of her warring itself, something unknown. She hates it as much as it makes her feel free. She hates that she has to embrace it, that there's nothing she can do about it, that she just has to sit here and wait.

She tips over her purse; it's contents half spilling out onto the tabletop, just so she can find her cigarettes and matches.

She tosses everything she doesn't want back inside until she lifts the black book Brittany gave her the morning before and finds her cigarettes half-crushed underneath. She rips open the pack, even though most of the cellophane is half off anyway and shoves one between her lips without preamble. She reaches back inside of her bag for the matches, finding them at the bottom, covered in all the dusty crap that lingers there. She shakes them off and strikes one against the pack before lighting the cigarette. The first pull warms her and relaxes her at once.

She reaches behind her to grab one of Kurt's least favored coffee cups and lets the used match fall into the bottom. She puts it beside her, with the cigarettes and matches lined up next to it, before she closes her eyes and pushes her fingers into the corners of them.

She's tired. She's more than tired. She's whatever is beyond exhausted, past desperate and almost lost.

Another unsteady breath in and she opens her eyes, letting them fall to the tabletop in front of her.

The black book sits in front of her and she tries to remember what Brittany said when she handed it over. She hadn't been paying attention then; too busy concentrating on the woman in front of her and the fact that she was storming out of the apartment to care what she had in her hands.

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 make something shiver inside of her and she feels like she should have looked sooner. She would have found out easier, without the anger and the second round of storming out and leaving each other. It would have been softer, maybe. Maybe Brittany wouldn't be looking for somewhere else to live if Santana hadn't made her have to scream what she'd already tried to show her.

It's the guilt at still not being good enough that has disposing of her cigarette, her fingers opening the book before she can realize. Her eyes look down a second later; just enough to see the last thing she expects… except that it makes complete sense.

Because there, sitting in front of her, mounted onto the first, thick and heavy card pages is a picture of Brittany. She has her back to the camera, her head tilted to the side. She's in the auditorium at McKinley, facing out over the empty seats of the audience. The picture is dark but it's cold. It's black and white and it's eerie. Brittany's made the auditorium into a scary space instead of the usual safe space it is. Santana runs her hand over it before turning the page to find the words she'd been expecting.

"Homesick"

Fifteen Images of Home by

Brittany Susan Pierce

Fall 2013 Admission Portfolio

Department of Photography and Imaging

Tisch School of the Arts

New York University

Santana frowns and narrows her eyes behind her glasses in confusion. She runs her fingers over Brittany's handwriting, noticing how she writes in plain old black pen and doesn't put circles or hearts over her dotted letters. It's clearly Brittany's handwriting even at the same time that it doesn't look anything like it. Santana turns over the page, just to find out more.

Assignment: Produce at least 5 images demonstrating different concepts of "home". Submit a maximum of 15 images.

Santana's eyes start to feel brighter as she turns to the next page, not expecting to find a photograph overlooking the whole of Lima. It looks just as miserable as ever and Santana turns the page to the next picture, wondering where this could possibly be going.

Next is a picture of Brittany's house, her mom's kitchen to be exact. Santana guesses that it's probably from around Christmas last year. Her mom has her decorations everywhere and there's a bowl of candy that's only ever allowed to be there from Halloween until New Years' Eve. Underneath the picture are some words.

When you're little, home is your house. It's the smell of your mom's cooking at Christmas and the sound of your dad in the garage fixing something. It's the smokiness of the fire and the sweetness of cinnamon and fresh baked cookies.

Santana reads the words and feels her face start to relax. She turns the page quickly, only to come face to face with a picture of Brittany with her family. Brittany and her sister sit in front of the Christmas tree while her mom and dad sit on the couch and sip coffee. Brittany has Tubbs in her lap and she's drinking hot chocolate; you can tell by the mountain of marshmallows. They're not facing the camera again and, somehow, Brittany's managed to make the picture look like it's been tinted with the colors of the Christmas lights. It's bright but it's warm. Santana feels like she can feel it and a smile quirks at her lips as she turns over the page.

The next picture is beautiful. Santana recognizes where it's taken instantly because she used to go there too. It's of Lima's only real dance studio where she, Brittany, Kurt and Rachel all took their ballet classes when they were younger, except the people lined at the bar in this picture aren't young and they aren't anyone Santana recognizes. They're all framed perfectly, modernized and beautiful, and Santana looks at it for a long time before she notices words written underneath.

For a while, I thought home was a place. Somewhere I fit in, somewhere I can stand out and shine.

Santana turns the page only to find a picture she's never seen before. It's a picture of all of them from last year's Nationals. It's obviously from after they won because their trophy sits in front of them. The Troubletones Cheerios dancers stand at the back while everyone else is at the front. They're all on the stage in Chicago, Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury on one side with Sue on the other. Rachel and Finn hold the trophy with Artie in the middle of the frame and Santana's eyes instantly go to where she's standing. Her breath catches a little because, sure enough, Brittany's there with her, catching her off guard. And just like that, Santana remembers.

She remembers Brittany standing by her camera, setting up the timer. She remembers everyone screaming for her to hurry and get in. She remembers Brittany instantly squeezing in behind her and wrapping her arms around her middle. Hyped from their win, Brittany's cheek had pressed against hers. Her arms were tight enough that Santana never thought they'd let go. A nose had curled to press into her cheek and now, Santana can finally see Brittany's content smile, soft and proud, as her blue eyes stare happily at the camera. She can see the happy expression on her own face, the wide smile and the way her own cheek habitually presses back into Brittany's. Her own hands clutch at Brittany's around her waist and she looks relaxed. She looks more relaxed than she's felt since before she can remember.

A community, is written underneath the picture and Santana breathes in.

Overwhelmed, she turns the picture, only to feel worse. It's a day she can remember just as clearly.

Because she wasn't going to go wave Rachel off but Brittany made her. It was their first week of summer break and all Santana wanted to do was sleep in her big bed with Brittany beside her. Brittany was wearing a tank top and her underwear and waking up to find her lying beside her, propped on one elbow with the covers pushed away, was kind of distracting. Santana had blinked slowly until Brittany had smiled fondly and leaned over to kiss her quickly. She'd taken it as an invitation and Brittany had tried to fight her as she tried to prolong the kiss. She'd been sucking kisses into Brittany's neck when the subject of meeting everyone at the station had come up. And hell if she hadn't tried harder to get Brittany to give up that idea once she heard it. Her hands wandered but Brittany batted them away, kissed her on the nose before reminding her that they were a family.

Little did Santana know that, only a few weeks later, she'd find out how true that really was. First it was Rachel, and then it was Quinn and Puck and Mercedes. They all left and soon it would be Santana's turn. They were a family and standing on that train platform was the last time they were all together.

Or the family we choose… is written in block capitals at the bottom of the page. Santana holds her breath, a feeling pulling at the hairs on the back of her neck as she wastes time not turning the page. She wants to know what's next but she can't help but be wary of it. She knows deep down inside of her that it's probably going to change everything.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she finds just a page of words, even if they are confusing.

But as the saying goes… she reads and doesn't think before she turns the page. She just does it, quick and fast, like pulling off a band aid, except it still hurts. It hurts more than she ever thought a few words and a photograph could.

…Home is where the heart is sits proudly written across the page and Santana sucks in a slow breath as she stares at the picture, her own brown eyes staring back at her. The rush of feelings and memories that come to her make her feel dizzy and she pants for breath as her fingers toy with the corner of the picture. Her eyes study it and it's familiar. She only saw it once, on the small window of Brittany's camera. She'd asked her to delete it, not wanting people to see a picture of her in her glasses, or her comfy underwear, or with bedhead but, most of all, in her dorky t-shirt with a heart on the front that she'd had since she was thirteen. And Brittany had promised her that she had but here Santana finds it, only she can't help but feel glad that it still exists.

Because it's kind of funny. She has a scowl on her face but a playful quirk to her otherwise unhappy expression. Her eyes are glassy with fondness and as she looks at the picture, she can remember what she was staring at when it was taken. Cheeky blue eyes, blushed cheeks and a tired body. Brittany had been wearing her Fleetwood Mac t-shirt—the same T-shirt Santana's wearing at this very moment—and Santana's hands had been clutched at her thighs to keep her close, even as she told her to quit it.

And she can remember Brittany's words as she'd taken it, the playful but somber 'I need a picture of you like this so I don't forget it when you're in Louisville'. It had caused Santana to scoff but now the honesty, the fear Brittany had tried to hide behind a teasing smile, is crystal clear. Even four weeks before Santana had left, Brittany was already worrying about the things they'd miss.

It makes it even harder when Santana turns the page to escape it only to find a lone picture that makes her feel worse. It's another one of herself and the worst thing is that it's from four weeks after the previous one. The sun shines brightly and she sits in the open trunk of her mom's SUV. Her face is blurred because of the sun but you can see all the boxes sitting behind her, ready to make their way to Louisville. Santana doesn't remember Brittany taking the picture but then Santana's face kind of says it all. She looks preoccupied, scared, and thinking back, all Santana really remembers is being worried about Brittany. Brittany, who had come up to her when she was quietly packing boxes into the back of her mom's trunk and clung to her like she was jetting to the moon and not driving four hours away. She hadn't said anything but after all those weeks of her being playful and excited for Santana, it was the first time that Santana had seen her look sad. And maybe that's normal but there was something else, something scarier than jitters and nerves. Brittany had kissed her like she might never get to do it again.

No.

She had kissed her like it was the only thing that was going to save them.

Santana blinks the tears back slowly and turns the page. She prepares herself for another picture but all she finds is words. They don't make her feel any better.

And if home is where the heart is, then I never left home…

Santana turns the page to the next picture and a sob breaks free from her throat without any warning. She lets her hands drift up to her eyes and she sobs into her palms, the picture of her empty bedroom burned into her eyelids as she cries.

She left me.

The caption makes the breath gasp from her and ugly, pathetic tears rush down her face as she contemplates the words. Her guilt grows and for long moments, she stares at the picture of her empty bedroom, void of her things and her usual mess, and lets it consume her.

She didn't really look at her room when she left. She didn't even go back to make sure she had everything. It was one of those things she did so that she might have an excuse to come back. But there wasn't anything to come back and get and, when Santana finally returned to do her laundry, it didn't take long for everything to become a mess again. Her clothes were everywhere; she had a pile of DVDs to watch. The only weird thing was her mother's spare white sheets that looked completely out of place.

But, looking at this picture, she can feel what Brittany felt. She can feel the fear and the abandonment. She can imagine Brittany returning to Santana's room once she got back with her parents from dropping her off. She can imagine her, just as she can see, looking at empty shelves and drawers and being disoriented. She knows she would be if it were the other way around. If Brittany's room were void of her posters, her random trinkets and her vast array of photo frames, Santana wouldn't know what to do.

It's a loss that Santana's never had to feel. She's never had to watch Brittany pack up her stuff and leave. She can't imagine it. She doesn't want to but right now it feels like a possibility.

She turns the page, determined to see this through, as much as she wants to close the book and cry until her tears soak down her wrists. The next picture makes her breathe a little steadier when she sees that it's of Brittany, her face out of focus while everything around her is. She's in her bedroom and she's lying on her bed. Santana can feel the sadness and her eyes flick down to the bottom of the page.

And home is what keeps level, keeps everything in perspective and reminds us who we are, keeps us sane.

Santana turns the page only to find a picture of Brittany at school, walking against the crowds in the hallway, with everyone else out of focus while she is. Her face is pale and Santana instantly reaches out to try to smooth out the creases on Brittany's brow, to ease away the pain in her face. It's not hard to see the meaning of the two pictures.

Home is what keeps us grounded, reminds of us where we need to be. Home is an anchor.

Santana wipes the tears from her face as she turns to the next page. The picture she finds makes her smile at the same time it makes her want to cry and throw herself out of the window. She tilts the book to get a better look at herself, lying on her mother's living room floor in her Fleetwood Mac shirt and underwear. Her hair is fanned around her on the carpet, the rest of her littered over the cold hardwood floors. Her face is relaxed, her eyes closed. Her hands are resting over her diaphragm as she listens to a record on her mother's old beaten-up player. The shadow of a human being looms over her and a slight smile toys at her lips.

She doesn't remember Brittany taking a picture, but she does remember tugging on Brittany's ankle until she lay with her, resting on her belly as she played with Santana's hair and kissed her forehead

Home is where we can be happy without restraint, laugh without control. Home is something that makes us smile just thinking about it.

The tears slow and Santana tries her hardest to wipe them all away before she gets to the end. And it's close. She can feel it. There's barely three or four pages left in the book. She has more tears than that. She tugs on the edge of her shirt and wipes her face with it, not stopping until it's dry.

And that's when she turns the page.

She has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying, her jaw quivering and aching as she stares down at the next picture.

Because it's a picture of them and she doesn't know how to explain it. She doesn't know the words to explain what she and Brittany are. She's never tried but she can remember how they feel. Because looking at this picture, all bright and soft and beautiful, reminds her. It makes her feel protected and warm. She looks at how Brittany's nose presses against her ear, at how her hands curled into Santana's hair, and she feels adored. She feels wanted and needed but she feels terrified and hopeless too. Brittany makes her feel all-consumed to the point that she doesn't know what happens without her. She feels like she could not possibly exist if Brittany wasn't here, like they were made for each other.

The realization makes all the air escape from her body.

Her fingers stroke over the picture and she rubs her fingers over her cheeks, just to keep the tears at bay.

Home is a safe place, are the words written underneath the picture and Santana breathes in a shaky breath before she turns the page.

The breath instantly leaves her in a sob she can't help but release. Her eyes close because she doesn't need to look at the picture. She knows it from memory and her hand reaches up to her neck to the place where that picture used to live. But still, it's been a while since she opened her locket and saw that picture truly. Hanging around her neck, she'd taken it for granted. It's been a while since Santana's seen that picture and been reminded of the girl Brittany fell in love with. It's been such a long time since she's been reminded of the fact that she gained something from all her losses.

It's exactly what she needs.

Her eyes flutter open to look at the picture of herself again and she shakes her head.

This girl is the girl Brittany fell in love with. She was brave. She refused to give up. She refused to believe that she wasn't the person who could give Brittany everything she deserved. Santana is not this girl anymore and she doesn't know why. That girl would be so ashamed of who she is now. She was happy. She was strong. She was determined. She was willing to do anything to give Brittany everything she deserved. She wanted to make her happy. She wanted to be with her forever.

And what has Santana done?

Left her? Made her miserable? Pussied out? Given up and gone for the easy option?

Santana chokes out another breath and lets her eyes drop to the last caption.

She is my home, it says.

Her breath becomes a sob.

/

She can't breathe.

Everything feels like it's spinning. Her chest feels tight. Her heart feels like it's probably beating a thousand times a minute and her hands are shaking. They're shaking and she's dizzy. She's really fucking dizzy. She feels nauseous. She feels like she's not sure of anything anymore and she pushes back from the table to try and regain some of her control.

It doesn't work and as soon as she tries to take a step her legs feel like jelly and almost fall from underneath her. She forces them to move regardless, until she can reach the wall. She slips downs it until she hits the hardwood floor beneath her. It's cold but she barely notices. Her hands clutch at her chest as she struggles to breathe.

She reaches into her coat without thinking, shaking fingers grasping for something, anything, as she tries to get a grip on herself.

She's glad that she finds her cellphone first. Her knees pull up to her chest as her hands scramble to hit buttons and swipe the screen. Her eyes are kind of blurry and, when she tries to think why, she can't decide if it's from the dizziness or the tears or her askew glasses. She finds the number she wants anyway. It's the only number she can think to call, the only number she knows will have a person who can actually help her on the other end of the line.

It rings for more than she wants it to and when the call connects, the silence on the other end unnerves her.

A tiny and weak "Kurt?" breaks free from her mouth and she's glad when she hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Have you decided to tell me the truth?" he asks softly and what she hates most is that the softness of his voice instantly calms her and she suddenly doesn't feel so scared.

She hiccups out a tiny sob and she hears him make an almost uncontrollable consoling noise across the line.

"I fucked up," she sobs and he doesn't reply. She sniffs and swallows to gather up the words. It's hard because her chest is still tight, her heart still beats irrationally and her breathing struggles from her. "I can't breathe," she tells him. "I can't breathe."

"Yes, you can," he says instantly and it sounds harsh but she knows him. He's probably just as worried as she is. "Just go slow. Don't rush it and you'll be fine."

She listens to him and breathes with him as he coaches her back to a regular rhythm. It's not until she's down to pure and simple sniffling down the line to him that he speaks to her properly. She leans her head back against the wall and listens to the line. She can hear the sounds of the beginnings of a New Year's Eve party and it makes her heart beat just a little faster as she remembers the last New Year's Eve party Kurt held in Lima. It ended up with Santana on his living room floor, cold and happy because there was a ring on Brittany's finger and a locket around her neck. Not that they meant anything; the fact that Brittany was laying next to her was the biggest consolation, the thing that made her most happy. She'd been without her for days and it had been the worst thing in the world. She had no idea how bad it would be mere months later. She had no idea that things could be like this and, if she could, she knows she'd go back and just tell herself to cherish all of it.

"Talk to me, Santana," Kurt says and she breaks free from her reverie to listen to his voice.

She breathes in slowly, a hopeless sadness seeping into her bones as she remembers and remembers and remembers.

"I fucked up," she says again, a whisper that she's not even sure if he heard.

"That doesn't tell me much," he says and she can hear the smile in his voice. "Start from the beginning, sweetie."

And Santana wonders how she can do that. Where the hell is the beginning? Where does all this fucking start? Two days ago? Two weeks ago? The minute she met Brittany? She closes her eyes and shakes her head, deciding to begin with the only thing that she knows Kurt will care about.

"I slept with Britt," she whispers softly, carefully. "I slept with her and then we fought and she left and she broke her arm and when I tried to help we fought again." When Kurt doesn't say anything, she goes on. "She wants everything, Kurt. She wants everything but I don't know if I can do that again."

He sighs though Santana's not sure she was supposed to hear it. "Why?"

"Because I'm not good for her," Santana instantly shoots back. "I'm not good for her. She's—she's—she deserves the best and I dance on a bar almost seven nights a week and I've been looking for a job forever and nobody wants to give me one. I mean… I broke up with her, Kurt. It already didn't work once and it was so hard to be together the first time. There's more now, you know? There's more things to break. There's more stuff to ruin us and make us hate each other. I mean, she's in college and she's going to meet people and they're going to be people I don't know, you know? They're going to be really fucking awesome people and I'm a girl who dances on a bar who can't get a real job. I'm a college dropout who dances on a bar and can't get a job who hurts her constantly. I lash out and do irrational things instead of talking to her and she doesn't tell me anything anyway." She pauses and wipes her cheeks. "And, I mean, we live together, right? I can't just fucking jeopardize that for something that probably won't work, can I?" A whimper breaks free from her throat and she shakes her head as she finally allows herself to say the things she's wanted to for so long. "I don't want to hurt her, Kurt, but I can't help it. I can't lose her."

There's silence on the line for a minute and Santana uses it to cry silently into her hand. Her shoulders shake and her breathing shudders from her. She must look like shit and she wipes her cheeks knowing that Kurt would probably kill her if he saw her.

"Sweetie, tell me honestly, what did you expect to come from all this?" he asks gently. "This is exactly what I told you would happen and I honestly don't know how you didn't see it coming." Santana's eyes flutter open and she stops crying to listen to what Kurt's saying. "Did you really think that you two could move in together, that you could see each other in such close proximity every single day and just be friends? Did you really think that nothing would happen? Come on, Santana, you're not that naïve."

Santana doesn't respond because she's kind of shocked. She was expecting some sympathy, some advice on what comes next. She was expecting him to tell her what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear.

"I think you need to come to terms with the fact that perhaps you and Brittany aren't good for each other," he goes on when Santana's spent a whole minute in silence, searching for words. "I mean, sure, she was your first love and your high school girlfriend. That's great. That's beautiful and it'll be a great memory when you're fifty. But it won't be if you keep letting it hurt you like this, you know? I think a lot of us have trouble admitting the fact that maybe things won't last forever, that maybe they're just high school… We don't realize that that's fine. It doesn't matter if someone we meet when we're sixteen isn't our soul mate..."

And, if she's honest, the words Kurt speaks start to scare Santana, purely because they're so honest. They're logical and they make sense. It's all the truth she needs but doesn't want to hear and she shakes her head softly in growing refusal the more he speaks.

"It's a nice thought but is it realistic?" Kurt carries on, not waiting for an answer. "I mean did you really buy Brittany a ring expecting that you'd marry her one day? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a nice thought. But, honestly? Did you see you and Brittany making it far enough that you'd get married? Did you see your relationship lasting that long? I mean, Brittany obviously didn't—She married Sam—but did you honestly think that—"

"Just shut up," Santana spits. Her head shakes frantically from side to side and she straightens her back as anger and pain and worry shoots up her spine. "Just shut up. Just shut up and stop talking about things you don't know about. You don't know."

Kurt pauses and Santana's eyes dart around the room, trying to find something, anything that she can use to calm herself down enough that she doesn't hang up. The line is quiet enough that she can hear him breathing and she feels her body rush with a million things as she replays his words over and over again in her head. She tries not to get too angry but it feels impossible.

"But, did you?" Kurt prompts and all her control flies out of the window.

"Of course, I did," she shouts and her voice only barely breaks. "Why else would I fucking do it? Why else did I spend the next three days after I gave it to her, reassuring her that we would be together forever if I thought it was all just a fucking joke?" She pauses to breathe and finds she can't see through her tears. "I wanted to marry her. I wanted to fucking marry her because the thought of not spending every fucking day of my life..." Her voice breaks completely. "…loving her… It makes me not want to be here, Kurt."

"Then why did you break up with her, Santana?" Kurt asks around a sigh. "Why would you do that if you wanted to marry her?"

"Because I was losing her," Santana instantly replies. "I left her and she was starting to hate me and I was going to lose her completely if I didn't do something. I had to make her proud, Kurt. She wanted me to go to Louisville and I wanted to make her proud. All I could fucking think about was that I promised her that I'd be everything she needed me to be and I couldn't! I couldn't fucking do it so I fucking broke up with her and it was fucking stupid. I didn't want to let her down and I didn't want to lose her." A sob hiccups from her and she slows down, her own words hitting her squarely in the chest. "It wasn't supposed to be an official break up. I was going to be at Louisville for a year and then when she graduated I was going to make new plans, you know? I was going to follow her where she needed me to go and everything would be okay. But then she started dating Sam, and then she tried to marry him and then she picked him over me and I thought…" Her face falls as the need to burst into incoherent baby-like tears overwhelms her. "I thought it was over so I decided I'd be her friend. I'd do whatever I could not to lose her because I can't do that… I can't. But I could love her and support her in the safest way I know how. And now we live together and I need her to stay. I need her to stay with me in my safe way because I can't lose her."

She speaks before he can and she goes on quickly, swallowing deeply and staring off into the distance as she contemplates Kurt's questions, his words. All she can think is that he's wrong.

"But did I really think I'd marry her?" she says softly and bites away the shake in her jaw and the ache in her throat. "Kurt, I still think it. I still think it now because I refuse to believe that we live in a world that would not allow us to have a happy ending." She shrugs softly and sniffs. "But I don't even know what a happy ending is anymore."

There's a silence. Santana wipes her eyes and allows her breathing to slow down. She feels that weird ache of the unknown in her stomach, fear and dread with just the slightest hint of excitement. She's confused and hurting and Kurt's being no help whatsoever.

But soon Kurt speaks, a deep breath being dragged into his lungs over the line before the words leave his mouth.

"Santana, what do you want?"

And the words leave her without a thought. She shrugs and sighs them out like they're the easiest words she's ever said.

"I just want her to come home," she says and she isn't prepared for the wave of understanding that suddenly hits her.

She gasps and, for a second, her brain's working so fast that she's not entirely sure what's going on. Her mouth forms around words she can't quite voice and her brain almost shortcircuits.

Because now she gets why Brittany showed her the book, except Santana's sure she never meant for it to mean as much as it does.

She's still Brittany's home. She's still the safe place. She's the thing that grounds her and keeps everything in perspective. She's her anchor. She's the thing that makes her laugh, makes her smile, makes her happy.

And she gets it.

She gets it.

Home is where the heart is and Brittany never left home.

"Oh god," she chokes out, breaths instantly heaving from her as the true enormity of her misunderstandings catch up to her. She never knew a person could fuck up this much.

A laugh flutters into her ear and she stops and listens as Kurt breathes out softly before speaking. "Exactly," he whispers. "It's about time you caught up."

"What?" Santana gasps out in confusion, only for Kurt to laugh gently in her ear again. "I don't—You just…"

"Sweetie, you're an idiot," Kurt says carefully, even as she slowly begins to have another break down on the end of the phone. "You're an idiot and we've all just been waiting for you to catch up." Santana sobs into her hands as Kurt talks to her, giving her the soft consoling hush noises she'd wanted ten minutes ago. "Sweetie, what are you doing? She moved to New York for you."

"You knew?!" Santana chokes out.

Kurt laughs. "No, not until yesterday. Not for sure, anyway, but it was kind of obvious." He pauses and sighs. "But Sam came back to town. Apparently it's the first time he's been back since leaving after graduation. He was kind of bad mouthing you… and Britt… saying you'd stolen her from him but… I knew the truth so I worked it all out. He told me that they haven't been together since before graduation." Santana listens and sucks the tears off her top lip. "He said the last he heard from her was sometime in the summer, when he asked her to get back together and she refused."

There's a pause and she shakes her head. She still feels guilty. She still feels scared. Her hands are still shaking and she kind of needs a hug. She wishes Kurt were here.

"Santana…" Kurt sighs hopelessly. "Do you really think you can just be friends with her?"

Santana shakes her head. "No," she says softly and the relief she feels from admitting that is enormous.

"Do you not realize that it will only make things worse?"

She breathes out and nods. "I know," she gently agrees. "But like… what if… what if something goes wrong? What if I hurt her?"

"Santana," Kurt starts. "I want you to listen to me. It's been almost six months since Brittany moved to New York. Do you understand that?" Santana nods and makes a noise. "It's been six months and she has stuck around regardless of whatever shitty things you've done. She stuck around when she found out you slept with Quinn and she stuck around when she found out you dance on a bar. When you started looking for jobs, I don't think she circled the secretary position and the ventriloquist position because she wants you to have a real job regardless of what it is. I think that she did that because she wants you to live your dreams, whatever they may be, and you're not doing that singing Paula Abdul songs on a bar for sweaty, middle-aged men." He groans in frustration. "Santana, she encouraged you to date and she watched you bring a girl home. She isn't leaving. She's waiting. You're keeping her waiting and the longer you take, that's when she'll leave."

Santana nods and wipes the last of the tears that roll down her cheeks.

"And I know that you think that being safe is the best thing," he goes on. "But it's not going to make you, or her, happy."

Santana nods. "I know," she whispers but despite everything, she still feels scared. She brings her knees up tightly to her chest and rests her forehead against them. Kurt just breathes down the line and it soothes her. It soothes her, even as she continues to panic. "But what if I'm already too late?" she asks. "She was looking at apartment ads, Kurt… and I said no to her. I turned her down. I ruined it."

Kurt sighs and she can almost feel him beside her, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her tightly to him. "You'll figure something out," he says gently. "You always do."

Santana sits quietly for a few moments longer. She notices that talking to him now is the first time she hasn't felt completely out of control. And she knows it's not going to last much longer so she relishes it.

"But what do I do now?" she whispers when it's the only thing she can think of.

His answer is obvious.

"You go home," he says. "You go home to her."

/

She decides to walk back to Williamsburg.

It's cold and she's tired and the closer she gets, the more noise she can hear, but it's kind of refreshing.

It makes it easier to think and as she keeps her head down and walks the forty minutes back to their apartment, all she does is let the thoughts she never wanted to consider run through her head. It makes it easier to be honest with herself.

And she is honest with herself.

As she walks down those sidewalks she admits to herself that she's scared, that she's angry but, most of all, that she feels guilty for hurting Brittany and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to make this better, or how to stop herself from feeling like she's ruining everything. She can't think of anything to fix it, just that she knows that nothing can get better if it goes on like this.

Because she was stupid. She sees that now.

The idea that she and Brittany can be friends is about as possible as Rachel Berry being quiet or Kurt keeping his nose out of other people's business. It's about as possible as Blaine dressing like a normal human being and Santana knows that now. If she's honest, she's always known that but she was just scared. She was scared of the only thing that she's ever been scared of: that everything will go wrong and she'll lose Brittany and she won't know how to live her life.

But now, as she replays Kurt's words, she's sure that she's never felt further away from Brittany than since Brittany moved in. Being best friends, being roommates, has made her feel further away from Brittany when all she'd wanted was to feel closer. None of it feels right. None of it feels normal. And now Santana thinks that's probably because that's not how they're supposed to live. They're supposed to be together and they're not. Not how they should be. They should be waking up together and sharing their lives.

They should be Brittany and Santana: insatiable and beautiful and meant to be.

Their apartment isn't just an apartment. It's their home, it's the life they were supposed to have and it's waiting for them. It's been waiting for them longer than they've been waiting for each other.

It's their home and it doesn't feel right if only one of them is there. It's their home and it represents everything they're supposed to be and, if Brittany moves out, Santana can't stay there. She can't exist amongst everything she's longed for. It would kill her.

And that's why, as she comes to a halt outside their building, she doesn't want to go up. She can't go home because without Brittany there, it isn't home. It doesn't have the warmth or the safety. She'll sit here, on their front stoop, in the freezing cold, if she has to. She'll do it because the thought of going up to that apartment and waiting for something that might never come, is the scariest thing she can think of.

She pulls her coat around her as she falls to sit on the third step up. She instantly feels a breeze of cold rush across her. The step is damp and it's also crunchy from where someone laid some salt. She tugs her collar until it shields her face and tugs her scarf so it might cover her ears.

She never does it as well as Brittany.

She finds her hat deep in her pocket and tugs it over her head. It makes her feel only the slightest bit better and she breathes out slowly so that a long cloudy stream of vapor slips from between her lips.

It's almost as satisfying as a cigarette.

She can hear loud cracks across the sky and they make her stop. People are already setting off fireworks, but when she checks her watch it's only 11:30.

There's still thirty minutes to go.

When she thinks back to this time last year, she never thought that this was where she would be when she was laid there in her dorm, moping. She fully expected to be in the same place, in the same predicament. She had no resolutions other than to not eat herself into a coma and she was fine with that. It was easier than trying to think of other things like being better in her classes, making more friends or finding a new girlfriend. None of those things seemed like they were worth it. She was never going to be good at the whole school thing and there didn't seem any point in making friends or getting a girlfriend because she always had every intention of leaving and going back to Brittany.

But now here she is in New York, with Brittany, and they're thirty minutes away from the ball dropping in Times Square. It's all the things she wanted two years ago. It's all the things she wanted before that but she still hasn't achieved them and she won't.

She could never make it to Times Square in time and, even if Brittany were there, she'd never be able to find her.

She breathes in slowly because she's never felt more like a failure. She's never felt more sad and angry.

She doesn't know why she's always so fucking late for everything. She always takes too long to figure things out and make them happen.

She never even tries anymore.

She grabs her phone from her pocket without another thought. It's almost out of battery. There's maybe enough left for one phone call.

She toys with it in her hand, her heart willing her to just make the call while a voice in her head reminds her that she probably won't pick up anyway. It's loud and it would be so easy to listen to it but Santana can't. She can't because she can't just give up anymore. She's done it too many times.

She just wants to try, just one last time, because it's the only thing she thinks she can do to make Brittany stay.

Her thumbs stroke over the screen of her phone and she's making the phone call before she's ready. She has no idea what to do, no idea what to say, but the phone is already at her ear and she's waiting, desperately, just to prove wrong the voice in her head that says that it's useless.

And when the line clicks through after only a couple of rings, Santana's so caught up in proving herself wrong that she doesn't even realize.

Brittany doesn't say anything and the silent line catches Santana unaware. She vaguely registers that she can't hear crowds or screaming or Ryan Seacrest. She doesn't hear fireworks or anything really, just the soft sounds of a too-gentle wind and Brittany's slow and steady breathing.

And she knows that Brittany's waiting. She knows Brittany has nothing else to say but she's not entirely sure what she's supposed to do either. Only one thing—one ridiculous thing—occurs to her to do and it makes her feel like she's going to cry, even if she feels like it's the dumbest thing in the world.

But it's the only thing—the only thing—that she can think of and that's all she has left. So, despite her better judgment, she swallows away the fear and closes her eyes and lets her instinct take control of her.

"I give her all my love… that's all I do…" she sings and she can't miss the gasp that leaves Brittany's mouth. She sings on because of it, desperate to hear more. "And if you saw my love…" she sings softly. "You'd love her too… I love her."

When Brittany makes no further sound, Santana opens her eyes and carries on regardless.

"She gives me everything…" she sings and her voice is shaky, hoarse from days of rest. She swallows before she goes on, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. "And tenderly… The kiss my lover brings… she brings to me…" She shakes her head as the urge to cry overwhelms her. "…and I love her."

She pauses before she sings the next part because it's her favorite part and the part that always meant the most when Brittany sang it to her. No matter how hard she shakes her head, a tear still rolls down her cheek at the thought of being able to sing it back.

"A love like ours…" she sings as sweetly and as honestly as she can. "Could never die…" She shakes her head for different reasons this time, her eyes opening as she stares out in front of her because she can hear it. The sound of Brittany's breath slowly leaving her in sobs. It makes her sing harder, makes her want Brittany to hear it more. "As long as I… have you near me."

She goes with her own momentum and sings as hard as she can. "Bright are the stars that shine… dark is the sky…" Her breath leaves her as she sings out the note. "I know this love of mine… will never die… And I love her…"

Brittany cries openly, her tiny sobs sounding like music. As her eyes flutter closed again, Santana can imagine her, her lovely face and her beautiful blue eyes. She can see them staring back at her and it just makes her sing harder, makes her want to force Brittany to believe it. This is her last chance.

Except all it does is come out softer… because the only person who needs to hear it is Brittany and she can hear her.

Santana knows she can hear her.

"Bright are the stars that shine…" she whispers and turns her face to the phone, pressing her cheek into it. "Dark is the sky…" A sob breaks free from her and she presses her hand to her chest as her heart beats faster. She doesn't think she can sing anymore but she knows she has to. She has to finish, even if she's croaking out the words. "I know this love of mine…" she hiccups and she's sure she hears Brittany laugh. "Will never die…" she says adamantly, pausing before she finishes the last line. She hears Brittany take in a deep breath and Santana's eyes flutter closed as she admits the only thing she's ever really known.

"And I love her…"

She hums out the rest of the song and stops when it's over. Silence washes over them and Santana curls into herself, waiting. She has nothing else to say. There's nothing else she can say until she's looking Brittany in the face and making sure that she believes it.

She's glad when Brittany breathes out a shaky breath. It means she's still listening.

"Santana," she sobs out and Santana doesn't think before she speaks, not when she knows that tone of her voice, not when she knows what it means, not when she's more than willing to make it stop.

"Where are you?" she asks quickly.

Brittany breathes out again, sniffs and Santana can tell that she's thinking. She's wondering if it's worth it, if she should tell her. She's debating if she should give Santana this last chance.

It doesn't take her long.

"I'm on the roof," she whimpers out and at that reveal, Santana runs.

Her feet slip on the ice and the salt and she almost drops her bag as she pushes open the front door and runs upstairs. She runs and she runs, her breath panting from her as she walks up floor after floor, tripping over more steps than she'd care to count. And as she gets closer to the top, the ache in her chest makes her remember why she stopped coming up here to smoke. It's a killer and it makes everything hurt. She practically has to crawl up the last two sets of stairs, getting her breath back as she goes, until she gets to the door that leads out onto the rooftop.

And she can hear that same whistle of wind, can feel the draft seeping underneath the door that makes all the windows randomly slam closed all the way down to the second floor. Santana drags her coat back up her arms before she pushes open the door and steps out.

Her purse drops to the floor the minute she sees her.

The relief doesn't feel anything but wonderful.

All of her worries are instantly superfluous the minute she sees her. Brittany sits under the small tin shelter that overhangs from the next building, dry and completely safe. There's a few chairs littered underneath it and she sits in the best one, an old leather armchair that's probably been up here for decades. She curls into it comfortably, illuminated by the tiny Christmas fairy lights that decorate the entire rooftop. She has her coat wrapped around her and Santana can barely see her face from where she wears her hat and scarf. All she can see is her blue eyes and her top lip but she ignores all of that because she's more interested in the blanket that lies across Brittany's lap.

Because it's her blanket and the urge to reach out and grab it overwhelms her.

She controls herself in favor of looking at Brittany instead.

"That's my blanket," she whispers.

Brittany gives her a look before ignoring the comment completely.

"Why did you sing that to me?" she asks softly, even as her fingers toy with the edges of the blanket on her lap. She avoids Santana's eyes. "Why would you pick that song?"

Santana swallows and looks around her, thinking.

She shrugs because there's only one answer. "Because it's true," she says and she's unprepared for how breathless her voice is when she speaks. "It's true."

Brittany starts to shake her head, her jaw shaking as she quietly begins to cry again. As she turns her face away from Santana, Santana can see the silver tracks of tears on her cheeks, the glassiness of her eyes.

"Santana, this isn't fair," she whispers. "This isn't fair… you can't treat me like this. It's—It's not fair, okay? It's not fair." She swipes at her cheeks. "I don't get it, okay? One minute you're telling me that you can't be with me because you don't want to hurt me and then you're singing that song to me." She shakes her head again. "You said you don't want to hurt me but it's all you're doing."

"I don't want to hurt you anymore," Santana whispers. "I don't want to do that."

Brittany clenches her jaw and bites back a bigger sob. "Then what are you doing?"

Santana shakes her head and shrugs. She doesn't want to cry because she wants to be the strong, brave girl that Brittany fell in love with. She wants to be honest and she wants to tell Brittany everything she needs to hear.

But, as usual, the words never come out how she wants them to.

"When I heard about the shooting," she starts gently after too many minutes of silence. "Kurt had to hold me down." Brittany narrows her eyes and Santana nods. "I was sleeping after work and, I don't know why, but I woke up and I found out. Kurt was on the computer because there was no other way for us to know what was happening and Rachel was trying to call everyone and I just freaked out. I freaked out and Kurt had to pin me to the couch."

She shrugs like it was nothing when really it ended up with her sobbing so hard that her throat and her chest and her stomach hurt for days.

"Blaine had text Kurt and when I found out where you were—that you were all alone in a fucking bathroom stall—I was so angry because it should never have been that way. You, Brittany Susan Pierce, are not supposed to die that way and, if you were, I should have been with you. I should have been with you and all I could think about was you… dying… alone in that stall… without me and I was so mad at you."

Santana forces herself to smile regardless of the tears that form in her eyes and the blank, crestfallen expression on Brittany's face.

"I was so mad at you for leaving me here… for not even saying goodbye…" she breathes out. "You weren't even going to be able to say goodbye and that's not how things are supposed to end for you." Santana looks at her sternly and the tears sting in her eyes. "I am supposed to be the last thing your eyes ever see… I am supposed to be the last thing that your hands ever feel. I am the last kiss you are ever supposed to have…"

She turns away as the tears overwhelm her. Her hands fly up to her face and she lets one, lone sob leave her before she wipes away the tears and turns back around.

"I miss things with you I haven't even had yet," she shrugs. "I miss you this very second and you're standing ten feet away from me."

She shakes her head and Brittany just stares at her with disbelieving tears running silently down her cheeks.

"I miss my wife I haven't even married yet and our babies that haven't even been born," Santana chokes out. "I miss waking up every morning in our perfect house and tripping over cats I haven't even met yet. I miss Sunday afternoons in our huge ass bed reading the paper while our kids read their comics by our feet. I miss—I miss coming home and finding you dancing around our kitchen and washing baby onesies and grass-covered soccer uniforms." She sucks in a breath as she goes on. "I miss getting up at 4am to go buy diapers or ice cream or cold medicine. I miss dancing at our daughter's wedding and spoiling our grandchildren." It throws her when Brittany gets up and moves towards her. "I miss—I miss everyone cheering for us at our 60th wedding anniversary and—and—"

"Santana…" Brittany tries.

"I miss waking up to you…" she goes on. "I miss holding your hands I miss… I miss everything, Britt… I miss everything."

"Santana…" Brittany tries again but Santana cuts straight through her.

"You have never been an if," Santana tells her, shaking her head and shuffling back. "You have always, always, always been a when. In my mind, there has never been any question that it'll be me and you forever and I thought you knew that. I thought you knew that when I broke us up because the thought of it not being us… the thought of losing you, the thought of you hating me… It hurts me more than not being with you." She looks up at Brittany and shakes her head. "I would rather die alone… cold… and frightened, than lose you." She shrugs. "Because I can't be happy until I know you are—my happiness depends on you—and I wasn't making you happy, Brittany. I wasn't making you happy so I thought I would let you be free to find yourself something that would…"

She pauses and Brittany just stares at her, holding the blanket around her like a cloak. She shuffles where she is because she feels on the edge of falling apart, like she'll cease to exist if she stops.

"I wouldn't have cared about you dating Sam, Britt…" she whispers and looks up until she finds blue eyes. "But you tried to marry him… You tried to agree to spend the rest of your life with him and then you picked him over me and I felt… I felt completely replaceable… like I didn't matter anymore…" She shakes her head. "I had to make a whole new plan."

Brittany gasps out a sob and Santana has to clench her fists to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing her.

"But then you came here and the plan changed again and everything scared me…" She looks away because looking at Brittany would hurt too much. "You came here and I didn't know what to do. I thought you were with Sam and I was just trying to do what I said… I thought you were happy so I was happy. I didn't even think that there was a possibility that you had come here for me…" She swallows. "That seemed too good to be true but then here you are, telling me that you did and I got scared because I didn't think I was good enough. I thought I was… replaceable…"

"You're not—" Brittany starts but Santana shakes her head and cuts her off.

"Please let me finish or I never will," she requests and when Brittany doesn't talk, she goes on. She licks her lips and takes a deep breath as she looks up. "Without even knowing it, I have gotten everything I ever wanted."

Brittany gives her a look and she shrugs.

"I'm here with you, in New York, and I see you every single day," Santana says and she tries not to lose it when Brittany gives her a tearful smile. "And regardless of everything else, that makes me happy. To see you, every single day, makes me happy and it would only be better if I got to see you smile… and that's not happening right now and that's because I'm hurting you."

Brittany's lips part and Santana stares at her mouth for a moment before looking back up into her eyes for the next thing she says.

"I once promised to give you everything you deserved," Santana says. "And you deserve to be happy…" She shrugs. "And even though it scares me and that I'm terrified that all this will do is make me lose you for the last time, I'll tell you the truth because you also deserve someone who is brave and fearless." Brittany breathes out and Santana takes a step closer as a sadness washes over her. "You said you couldn't tell if I loved you anymore," she whispers and Brittany lets out a whimper as Santana moves closer and closer. "And I told you that I will always love you the most except… really, what I should have told you…" Santana pauses and shrugs one shoulder as her bottom lip quivers. "…is that I'll never love anything else."

Brittany chokes on a sob and Santana shrugs.

"It's like you changed the shape of my body," Santana whispers as Brittany stares at her with wide eyes and a quivering jaw. "No one else fits me but you."

A hand grabs for the sleeve of Santana's coat and she lets out a shaky breath as Brittany tugs her until their bodies gently press together. When she glances up, Brittany's eyes are wide with wonder and disbelief. She swallows slowly and Santana reaches up without thinking to wipe away her tears. Brittany snuggles into the touch, her cold cheek warming the second that Santana's hand meets it.

"We're home, Britt Britt," she whispers softly. "This is our home."

Brittany nods and Santana's breath gets caught in her throat when she bends down to press their foreheads together. Her eyes narrow slowly and everything around her gets warmer. She can feel and see everything and Brittany's good arm wraps tightly around her as they nuzzle into each other. Santana lowers her hand and she breathes Brittany in as her hand reaches into her pocket. She quickly pulls out the cold piece of metal and holds it between them.

"I want to marry you, Britt Britt…" she breathes and Brittany just looks down at the ring in gentle disbelief. "Please, don't take it off again…"

Brittany shakes her head and before Santana knows it, a kiss is being pressed to her mouth. Soft little pecks rain down onto her lips until Brittany is breathless and wanting. Her good hand moves up to clutch at the back of Santana's neck and Santana's arms worm around her until they're clutched at the back of her coat.

Her eyes are dark blue and dazed when she pulls back. She bites her bottom lip nervously before kissing Santana quickly.

"I didn't," Brittany whispers almost too quietly to hear. Santana stares at her in confusion, looking between the ring and Brittany's face for some kind of understanding. Brittany just kisses her cheeks, preoccupied until she smiles and shakes her head. "I couldn't if I tried," she says. "Look."

Santana's eyes drift down and find Brittany's left hand where it pokes out from beneath her coat and sling. She pushes them both aside until she can find Brittany's swollen fingers, bare and devoid of any sign of what Brittany's talking about, as they poke from the end of her cast. She looks but then Brittany lifts her ring finger and Santana sees it… the smallest hint of black against her skin. She grabs it as gently as she can and her heart beats wildly as she finds the small mark, hidden there between her ring and pinky finger.

SM, it says and the words are ripped from Santana as Brittany tilts her head back and kisses her deeply without warning.

It's soft and reassuring. Brittany's good hand curls into the soft hairs at the back of her neck beneath her scarf so that fingers can scratch at her scalp. She feels small and protected and her arms wrap around Brittany as she kisses her. Brittany kisses her until Santana's soft and pliant, like jelly in her arms. It's like a years' worth of kisses in one and Santana clings to her when she pulls back and smiles, her lips swollen and her eyes glassy.

Brittany grins before she speaks.

"Sam made me smile but you make me happy, even when you're making me sad," she whispers softly. "You make me feel happy and safe and loved just by being you and I'm sorry I got mad. I'm sorry that I made you feel like you were making me unhappy but it was easier to get mad at you for leaving me than it was to feel guilty that I wanted to ask you to come back…" Brittany's hand cups her jaw and she looks at her gently. "Being yours makes me happy, Santana. Knowing that I will be able to love you forever makes me happy. And lots of things are going to hurt but that doesn't mean that stops. You will always make me happy, Santana. You make everything make sense. "

Santana just stares at her, her own left hand reaching to grab Brittany's. Brittany looks at her in confusion but Santana just leans up to search for her mouth, kissing her messily until they both pull back long moments later, gasping for breath.

"You had my initials tattooed on your skin," is all Santana can dreamily say.

Brittany grins and nods slowly, her mouth slipping to kiss Santana's temple as Santana looks back down at their hands.

"When did you do that?" she asks as she runs her thumb over the letters. "It feels like… it feels like it's been there a while…"

Brittany smiles at her, her mouth littering kisses to Santana's eyebrows before she buries her mouth into Santana's ear.

"December 18th," she whispers. "Just before I married Sam…"

Santana breathes out at the words and turns her head until Brittany's facing her. Blue eyes look at her playfully and she just searches them for a lie until a kiss is pressed between her eyes.

"You will never, ever be replaceable," Brittany whispers honestly.

The words make Santana sigh and she lets Brittany kiss her, lets her breathe her in and touch her while she tries to take it all in. It doesn't seem real until something occurs to her.

She nuzzles into one of Brittany's kisses before she pulls back and rests their foreheads together.

"Why does it only say SM?" she asks and watches Brittany smile widely.

It softens soon after and she shrugs carefully, pulling Santana closer until she's all Santana can see.

"Because Lopez won't always be your last name," she whispers.

Santana stares at her, her mouth dropping open as she contemplates the words. Brittany smiles again, biting her lip before she nudges their noses together. A hand finds her face again and Brittany strokes her hair behind her ear as she watches all the expressions cross her face. It's only then that she reaches back down and kisses her. It's soft and full of gasps and sighs and Brittany pulls Santana backwards until they can collapse into the armchair, instantly lost in each other.

Unbeknownst to them, somewhere far away in the distance, fireworks begin to go off turning the black and white sky into a sea of color.