a/n: just reminding you that there's a switch in voice from Sam to Santana for this part :)

"I'm here to get her back," you say, and you almost laugh as you watch Sam's face turn from surprised to disbelieving in less than a second.

"No way," he says with a dopey grin on his face, like he's just been asked to single handedly save Gotham City or something. "For real?"

"I'm going to try to at least." Your confidence is wavering, because, god, this is either going to be the best day of your life or it's going to break you like never before.

"You'll get her back," he says, as he puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Now what's our plan of action?"

The use of the word 'our' instead of 'your' makes you feel loved and wanted in a way you know you need right now and your heart aches in the best way possible. You swear if you were straight you'd never have broken up with this guy.

Even though you drove to his house and your car is like, right there, he still offers to drive. He tells you it's because being alone is something you probably don't need right now, but you know that the real reason is left unsaid. If she turns you down and you're driving home in that state- well. You don't really blame him for driving you.

You don't say a word on the ride over, but Sam looks at you every few minutes as if to check that you're still there. (As if you'd be anywhere else.)

The closer you get to Brittany's house, the more intense the sick feeling in your gut becomes and you swear you're going to throw up before you even get there. It's only occurred to you now - you don't really understand how you didn't figure this part out before - that you're going to see Brittany in person for the first time in months.

"Santana?" You feel his voice, soft and comforting, more than you hear it, and it snaps you out of your thoughts and back into reality. "Santana, we're here."

He's right. You look at Brittany's house and begin to panic slightly. Your breathing speeds up, becomes shallow. Sam unclicks his seatbelt and reaches over to you. "Santana, look at me." His voice is firm and unwavering, so you do as he says. You turn and you look at him. "It's going to be okay. She loves you, you love her. That's all there is to it," he smiles. "It's Brittany."

The way he says her name makes everything fall back into place and you know what he means. This is the girl you've grown up with all your life. Who's stuck a band aid on your knee when you were seven, stuck a metaphorical band aid on your heart when you realised that sleeping around with boys wasn't going to make you any less gay. It's Brittany and you're Santana and that's all the reasoning you need.

"Thanks," you say quietly. "For everything. I mean, I know I've been an idiot and kind of unbearable recently."

"Recently?" Sam jokes, and seriously, you don't understand why other people can't see how amazing he is.

"Shut up," you laugh back as you punch him playfully on the shoulder.

"Go," he says, lifting his gaze to Brittany's house. "Go get your girl."

You reach over the console and hug him tighter than you ever have before.

You've been at Brittany's front door more times than you can count, but you don't think you've ever been this nervous. Maybe when you came to pick her up for prom, but that was a completely different type of nerves. That was a butterflies in your stomach, overflowing with happiness kind of nerves. This kind of nervousness feels like the one last piece of hope in your chest is the only thing holding you together, and if Brittany says no that one last thread will snap.

It seems like an enternity since you knocked, but you finally hear the tell tale signs of life in the house and someone coming towards the door. You don't even notice that you hold your breath. The door opens and-

"Santana!" Brittany's mom exclaims. "What a lovely surprise! It's been so long since I seen you. How are you?"

You start breathing again because it's so familiar and so right and so like home that you don't know how you ever stayed away.

Brittany isn't in. You don't know if it relaxes you or sets you even more on edge. All you know is that when Mrs. Pierce said Oh, she's not here dear, she's out with- every single fiber of your being hoped that the end of that sentence wasn't Ryder. When she'd said Sugar you felt a happiness like you haven't felt in a long, long time.

You tell Brittany's mom all about Loiusville, about your cheerleading scholarship, about your new classes, your dorms, college life. You tell her about keeping in touch with Sam and how Quinn's flying high in New Haven and how Rachel, well, she hasn't changed at all and is still on a mission to get her name in a Playbill.

You talk and you talk and you talk but you don't mention Brittany.

That is, until she arrives home about an hour later, just as Brittany's mom is getting up to make you another cup of coffee.

You hear the door open and your heart instantly speeds up.

"Hey mom!" you hear her say and the happiness and joy in her voice is so obvious that you hate yourself a little because you know you're going to take it away again.

"Britt, you have a visitor..." her mom trails off, and you hear the warning tone in her voice.

"Oh cool, really?" Brittany says. "Who?"

Her mom must point in the direction of the living room because the next thing you know Brittany's standing there looking at you as if you'll disappear if she doesn't.

"Hi," you say, timidly.

Brittany takes a few steps closer to you, but she's being cautious. She's never been cautious around you before, and it makes your heart sink a little.

"I- can we talk?" you say.

She looks at you, and something shifts in her eyes, like she's decided that you're not going to run away and she smiles slightly. You swallow because her smile has always been the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. But this smile? This small, scared, fragile smile? It might be you favourite.

"Sure," she says. "Let's go to my room."

Both of you are acting like you've forgotten how to be around each other, but there's a small part - small, but still there - that is so familiar and so normal that you don't know what to do with it. Like how Brittany sits on her side of the bed, not yours, even though you can see the blankets are messed up like she slept in the middle last night. Or how she pushes one of the pillows on her bed over to you, because she knows you need something to do with your hands when you're talking about things that scare you.

There's an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, but then you're surrounded by Brittany as she leans over and hugs you. Her hands grip at the fabric of the t-shirt on your back, and she tucks her head in against your neck. It's only when you feel the wetness of her tears against your skin that you snap out of your daze and you hug her back.

"I missed you so much," she whispers against you and that's when you start crying too. You don't care what she means. You don't care if she means as a girlfriend or a best friend or both. In this moment the only thing that matters is that she missed you. "I missed you too," you choke out, and she laughs in disbelief (you do too) because it feels so right to be in her arms again and you don't think you could control your tears if you tried.

You stay like that for a few moments, soaking each other in in a way you haven't been able to for weeks, months. For a second everything feels perfect again.

Then Brittany pulls away.

She sits back on the bed, crossing her legs in front of her and nervously plays with the sheets at her side.

"We... we should probably talk," she says, so shy and timidly that it almost hurts you to hear.

"Yeah," you breathe out.

Then there's silence again.

It seems to be getting louder and louder and you can't bear it.

"I'm sorry," you say, and you aren't sure if you actually said it or not so you say it again, louder. "I'm sorry."

You can tell by the way her face scrunches up in confusion that she wasn't expecting that. "What?" she questions. "Why are you sorry? Santana, you've nothing to be sorry for." She looks at you for a moment, so honestly and so seriously that you have to look away. "Nothing."

You're not going to let her take full blame for this. Not when you're as much in the wrong as she is.

"No," you start, and fuck. You still really don't know how to talk about these things, but her face and her eyes and just her, gives you the reassurance you need to know it's okay to talk about your fears.

"No, I have a lot to be sorry for," and then you don't know where to go from there. "When you..." the words don't come easy, "broke up with me... I... god, it felt like I was dying." You watch as tears well up in her eyes and she looks so guilty and so sorry that you can't bear it. You reach out and hold her hand. "Hey, don't. I didn't mean it like that." She smiles sadly and you know that you should continue.

"I was so wrapped up in how much everything hurt and how alone I was that I didn't do anything to get you back. I just... I just let you walk away. I didn't even fight for you. I just let you walk away," you repeat as if saying it again will suddenly justify why you did.

"I don't blame you," Brittany says, and you look up to make eye contact with her. You can see in her gaze that she's not just saying the words to comfort you. She truly means them, and it leaves you slightly breathless. You shake your head before you continue.

"I should have fought for you. I should have shown you how all the pain and all the shit we have to go through is worth it." You're struggling now, the tears threatening to take over. "You're worth all that and more, Britt," you say as softly as you can as you rub your thumb over her knuckles where you're still holding her hand. "I'd do anything to keep you in my life. Anything."

She lets out a sob and she leans over and hugs you again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cries into your shoulder, and you just hold her. You hold her and you breathe her in because, god, you love her.

She pulls away and wipes the tears from her eyes, but doesn't keep as much distance from you this time. "I hate myself for what I did to you," she says, and you can tell that she really means it. It hurts you probably just as much as it's hurting her because she should never feel like that about herself, least of all because of you.

"Don't," you tell her. "Please," you add.

She shakes her head as if she's refusing. "I hurt you."

You can't lie to her and tell her she didn't because over the past few months you've hurt more than you thought was even possible because of her, so you just look down at the bed and avoid her gaze.

"I hurt you so much, and I can't stand it. I can't stand it because it's my fault that we spent the last four months not talking and it's my fault that you've been crying so much and it's my fault that you're crying now, and I can't stand it."

"It's okay," you say because you don't know what else to say.

"It's not okay! I messed everything up! Everything we had, I ruined it! It took us so long to get there and then I messed it all up."

"We're both to blame."

"Santana..."

"No, we are. But there's no point wasting time worrying about who's fault it was when we can try to fix it instead." The way her whole face lights up at the idea of fixing your relationship makes you feel lighter than you have in as long as you can remember.

"You mean...?" The hope is so apparent in her voice and if you weren't so sure of what you wanted to say, it'd leave you speechless.

"I'm willing to try to fix us if you are."

She smiles so brightly, and she cries too, and you don't think she's ever been so beautiful in all the time you've known her than in this moment of sheer happiness.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, shyly.

"So we can try to work this out?"

"I mean it's not gonna happen overnight, and we have a lot more we need to talk about, but I'm pretty sure if anyone can get through this, we can, right?"

She doesn't respond with words. Instead, she nods and then leans forward so slowly, so she's on her kness leaning into you. She doesn't touch you with her hands, she just keeps them on the bed to hold her weight as she gets closer. Her eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and you know she's waiting for you to give her any indication that she's overstepping her boundary or that you don't want it. You know if you kiss her that everything isn't going to be magically better, and you still have a hell of a long way to go to be able to fully trust her again, but you want to kiss her more than you ever have in your life.

So you don't stop her.

It takes the longest time for her lips to touch hers, but you can't move forward to meet her. You're frozen in place, with the anticipation of kissing the girl you love for the first time in five months almost too much to handle.

When her lips meet your own you breathe out and instantly relax.

You swear to yourself you'll never go this long without kissing her again. When you smile into the kiss at knowing you'll never have to, you feel her smile back against you, and things have never felt so perfect in your entire life as they do right now.