Something was very wrong with Santana Lopez. That was the general consensus circulating around the Ministry but no one was sure how to handle the situation or, truthfully, what exactly it was they felt was amiss. Still, they did know that she was most certainly not herself.
For a start, she seemed to be handling her grief with far more quiet grace than anyone had anticipated. In fact, if anything, she was almost... pleasant... with most of the people with whom she interacted on a daily basis. She had stopped snarling at other members of the council. Also, she no longer kept long, irregular hours in which she holed away in her office and did not wish to be disturbed. Rather, she came in bright and early every morning and left in time for dinner, just like everyone else in her department. Her status as the fiercest and most scrupulous Chief Witch of the Wizengamot remained untarnished. However, she no longer indulged in any post-ruling self-glorification or bragging of any sort.
Yes, something was undeniably wrong.
Quinn had been watching her old rival and sometimes-friend from a distance for quite a while now and she was inclined to agree with this collective opinion. She knew without even the slightest doubt that Brittany's death had destroyed Santana's entire world, yet here the woman was walking out of work each day with a smile on her face. It bothered the blonde that she was unable to riddle out what could possibly have changed. So, finally, she decided that she would just have to dig into the matter further and find out.
"Hello, Santana," she greeted the brunette in the most offhand manner she could manage. They were waiting in line at the end of the day and filing slowly toward their respective fireplaces.
"Hello, Quinn," the dark haired woman returned slowly. Her brow furrowed as she stepped forward into the green flames.
A moment later, as they emerged from their adjacent bathroom stalls, the blonde was right there again at her side and seemed inclined to follow her home.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked.
"No, not really," Quinn replied with a rather forced-looking smile. "I just wanted to know how things have been with you."
"They've been great," Santana responded, still eyeing her warily out of the corner of her vision. "How are things in your department?"
"A bit tricky, actually," her companion admitted. "A couple of young wizards had a duel in the middle of the street in broad daylight at the end of last week. There were countless muggle witnesses, and the other Obliviators and I have been at wit's end trying to track them all down."
"Sounds like hard work," the widow said as they reached the sidewalk. "Well, good luck with that."
She tried to make her escape but could not seem to shake her human shadow.
"You appear to be holding up really well," Quinn remarked. "Even better than the last time we spoke."
"Well, time heals all wounds and all that," Santana said, aiming for flippant but ultimately ending up with a cross between elusive and annoyed.
"That's good. Keep thinking positively."
The shorter woman's lip curled and at last she had to bring this conversation to a stop.
"Look, 20 Questions, if you're going to keep screwing with me, you're gonna have to buy me dinner first."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what the hell do you want?" she snapped.
"Nothing," the other woman protested. "Just to talk."
"Bullshit."
"Honestly. I just want us to be friends."
"So, what, you wanna sit down over a cup of coffee or something and hash this out?" Santana demanded.
"Yes, actually. That would be lovely."
Damn it.
"Fine," she agreed with a huff. "But we're drinking it at my place. The local shop's no good."
"That's perfectly all right by me," Quinn said brightly.
Me and my big mouth...
... ... ...
Once again, Santana found herself seated awkwardly opposite Quinn Fabray at the small table in her kitchen. Two cups of coffee steamed before them, but the brunette scarcely touched hers. She was far too preoccupied with trying to discern the other woman's angle. Try as she might, she couldn't figure her out. Her irritation increased and she drummed her fingers against the tabletop. As the time passed, her tongue curled around her teeth while she held back dozens of insults and biting remarks. The idle chitchat was wearing her nerves thinner by the minute.
Then, by some miracle - although she had never expected to view it as such - an owl flew through the open window. Santana crossed the room quickly and accepted the note in its beak. She slipped a few coins into the bag tied to its leg and sent the creature on its way, scanning the contents of the letter at the same time.
"Oh, damn," she swore in feigned vexation. "Urgent business from work. I'm going to have to answer this straight away. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this little tête-à-tête short."
"That's okay," Quinn told her with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You take care of what you need to do. I'll just wait here and finish my coffee."
Seriously?
"All right, if you're sure," she continued, smiling even though the effort made her face hurt. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll just be in my study, if you need me."
"Not a problem," the blonde assured her. "Take your time."
Santana stalked off in the direction of the room she had indicated. Nevermind that the letter had in fact been an overdue fine for a bill she hadn't paid. Either way, it had failed to serve its purpose in ridding her of her unwanted house guest. Oh well. At least with this quickly concocted excuse she could have a handful of minutes of peace and quiet on her own.
Quinn waited until the brunette was safely out of sight. She strained her ears for the sound of the door to the study clicking shut and then sprang into action. Somehow, some way, she needed to find the source of Santana's inexplicable contentment. Was she drinking to numb the pain? Did she have a stash of some sort of illegal substance? Had she obtained an extraordinary amount of Felix Felicis? A series of unlikely theories chased themselves in circles around her head, each more ludicrous than the last. However, a search of the woman's various cabinets and drawers surrendered no clues.
It was time to move into other parts of the house. With her heart pounding inside her chest, the blonde crept out into the front hall. She kept her eyes locked on the entrance to the study, but the knob did not turn. Its occupant remained out of sight. At last, she reached the bedroom. As quietly as she could, she turned the handle and slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
Where to start?
The nightstand. She yanked open the top drawer and scanned it quickly. Not surprisingly, it was an unorganized mess. However, there was one cloth pouch that caught her attention. Carefully, she picked it up and loosened the ties before turning the bag over onto her open hand. A small black stone attached to a leather necklace tumbled onto her palm. Her brow knotted as she turned it over and struggled to get a better look through the cord that bound it in place. Then she spotted a few thin etchings along one side. As she mentally identified the symbol, her jaw dropped.
"Holy shit!"
Her mind was instantly reeling. The Resurrection Stone? How in blue blazes had Santana Lopez found this when everyone believed it to be forever lost? Moreover, how long had it been in her possession? Even as she asked herself that last question, Quinn suspected that she already knew the answer: since the dark haired woman's extended "vacation."
As the pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place, it occurred to her that the brunette might have finished the letter by now. Cautiously, she opened the bedroom door and stuck her head out into the hall. The study door was still shut and she didn't hear any noises coming from the kitchen. She still had time.
Closing the door once more, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, still stunned. She had so many questions. Still, the woman didn't see how she could possibly get the answers she sought without giving away the fact that she had been snooping.
Unless...
Her gaze lowered to the stone clutched in her hand. Much as she wanted to reject the idea, she found that it seemed like her only viable option. Better to try it out and take on whatever consequences might follow than to allow things to continue as they were.
She filled her lungs with air and closed her eyes while she to focus her thoughts. The tips of her fingers trembled as she rolled the precious object end-over-end in the center of her palm.
One. Two. Three.
"Quinn?"
Her eyelids snapped open immediately. Sure enough, there on the opposite side of the room stood none other than Brittany Pierce. The other woman's heart skipped a beat and she stared in disbelief. Somehow, in spite of all the magic she had seen, there had always been a part of her that doubted a thing like this was possible. She felt a sudden surge of emotions upon seeing her old friend, and her vision blurred. Unbidden, her hair temporarily went from its usual blonde to a dark, somber blue.
"Brittany?" she whispered.
She rose to her feet and flew across the room. Then she hugged her companion so tightly that the other woman's eyes widened in surprise. Brittany returned the embrace with a warm smile.
"It's good to see you," Quinn said as she finally pulled away. "You look just like I remember."
"Well, I don't age anymore," she pointed out while shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you?"
Quinn reached out and grabbed the taller blonde's hand. While it was solid, it felt strangely like trying to hold onto someone under water: even if your skin was pressed directly against theirs, you'd still feel like you didn't have a proper hold on them.
"We need to talk about Santana," she said abruptly while still looking down at their hands.
"Why? What's going on?" Brittany asked in a tone filled with concern.
"It's not that something is wrong, exactly," Quinn began. "It's just that something isn't right."
"What do you mean?"
"She... I... Oh, I don't know. It's just so hard to explain."
She struggled desperately for the right words to articulate what was weighing on her thoughts. Suddenly, a foreign presence appeared in her mind and began aiding in the search. Quinn gasped.
"Britt!" she chided as her shoulders tensed. She had forgotten how skilled her companion was at Legilimency. "You don't have to do that. I'll tell you. I just needed a minute to think."
"Sorry," Brittany muttered apologetically. "Force of habit."
"It's okay," the other woman said, still shuddering from the contact. "All right, here goes. I'm just going to go for it. I don't think Santana is dealing with your loss very well. Or at all, for that matter."
Her friend lowered her eyes guiltily.
"I know."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I do," Brittany admitted. "She won't even talk about it anymore, like not saying it out loud will mean it didn't happen."
Quinn nodded.
"So, instead of living out her life without you, she decided to create an alternate universe for herself where you're still here."
"But I am here," Brittany protested in confusion.
"I know you are, Britt," Quinn said softly. "But not the way that she's pretending you are. Not as flesh and blood."
The taller blonde's lip protruded at this last statement, but she couldn't argue against the truth of it.
"This really isn't good for either of you," the other woman pointed out as gently as she could. "I mean, it's clear that, as long as she keeps you here, she can't move on. The thing is, though, neither can you. She's holding your spirit in limbo."
"But she needs me," Brittany whispered as several tears trickled down her face.
"I know she does," Quinn assured her. "But how has all of this been affecting you? Do you even feel like you still belong here?"
"With Santana? Of course. Always."
"No, sweetie. I mean here. This life. This world."
The other woman pursed her lips while she debated whether or not she should speak.
"No," she said finally. "I don't. The colors all look faded here. It gets worse every day, like it's turning into a black-and-white photograph."
"And you haven't told Santana this?"
Brittany shook her head. Again, there was tightness at the corners of her mouth as she struggled with how much she ought to discuss.
"There's one more thing."
"What's that?"
"I can't feel anything anymore," she confessed. Her voice cracked in a sob.
"You mean, like, emotionally?"
"No, I mean I can't feel anything. When Santana and I are together, if she kisses me or touches me...," her voice trailed off and Quinn's heart nearly broke at the expression on her face. "I can't feel it. It's like when someone waves their hand in front of your face. You feel the air as it goes by, but you don't feel anything actually touch your skin."
The woman's tears were flowing freely by now. Her narrow shoulders shook violently. One fist pressed against her abdomen as she tried to fight back the rush of emotions she had been bottling up for so long. Quinn grabbed her hand again and pulled her friend in for a hug. She tried her best not to cry herself as she provided a shoulder for Brittany to lean on.
"You haven't told her that, either, have you?" she asked while rubbing the blonde's back.
She felt Brittany shake her head.
"I think you need to, hon," Quinn told her. "She deserves to know the truth."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because," the blonde explained. "In The Tale of the Three Brothers, when the second brother realizes that the woman is unhappy and that she doesn't belong where he is -"
She couldn't bring herself to complete her sentence.
"-He kills himself to be with her instead," Quinn finished. "Oh, God..."
Brittany was right, of course. If Santana had to let her wife go, permanently this time, what other reasons would she have left to live? No reasons that she would consider enticing enough to stay, that was for certain.
"What can I do?" the other woman asked her pleadingly. "Tell me something I can do."
"I don't know," Quinn admitted regretfully. "But you can't keep going through this in silence. Maybe don't say anything for now, but you have to find a way to talk about all of this soon. For both your sakes."
Brittany nodded.
"I'd better be going," her companion said sadly. "Santana will be finished with that letter any minute now, and I don't want to know what she'd do to me if she found me in here with you."
She embraced the other woman one last time and squeezed her tightly.
"You were my best friend," she whispered through the few rogue droplets that escaped her tearducts. "Hell, you were my only real friend while we were growing up. I miss you so much. I just wanted to thank you... for everything."
"The pleasure was all mine," Brittany replied sweetly while swiping a few of her own tears away with her knuckles. "You helped me a lot, too, you know."
"Good luck with what you still have to do," Quinn said as she reluctantly released her. "I know, when the time comes, you'll think of the right words to say. You always do."
"Thanks."
Hesitantly, the other woman picked up the cloth pouch and opened it. With her free hand, she crooked her fingers to wave farewell to her companion.
"Bye," she whispered, sniffling.
"Goodbye, Quinn."
With that, the shorter blonde dropped the necklace back into the bag. Brittany vanished and she restored the sack to its proper place in the drawer. With the heels of her hands, she rubbed away the last traces of emotion from her face. Then she straightened her shoulders and left the room to return to the kitchen.
... ... ...
"Finished!" Santana exclaimed with mock relief as she came back into the room. "Are you through drinking your coffee?"
"Yes, thank you," Quinn said as she handed her the empty cup. "It was nice getting to catch up for a bit. I really should be going, though. Thanks for inviting me over."
"It's a pity you can't stay," the brunette lamented as she took the other woman's coat off the back of the chair and helped her put it on. "We'll have to do this again some time."
"Sure, that would be great," the blonde agreed while she buttoned up and slid on a pair of gloves.
She walked out of the kitchen and toward the front door. Santana followed immediately behind her, maintaining her gracious hostess smile the whole time.
"Well, I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow, then," Quinn said.
"Not if I see you first," Santana returned with a wink.
She held out her hand for the other woman to shake. Her companion looked down at it for a moment and then side-stepped around the brunette's outstretched arm to give her a hug. Santana's eyes bulged but she patted Quinn's shoulder as kindly as she could.
"Goodbye," the blonde said as she released her friend from the embrace.
Quinn twitched her hand in an awkward little wave. Then she darted out of the house and into the street, pulling the door closed behind her. Santana immediately leaned her back against the wall and threw her hands in the air.
"Finally!" she exclaimed. "Thank God!"
She made a beeline for the bedroom and strode quickly toward the top drawer of her nightstand. When she had her necklace securely in place, she turned it between her fingertips and waited.
As soon as Brittany appeared, Santana pressed their bodies together and locked her hands at the small of the blonde's back. The last traces of irritability faded from her expression and were replaced by complete warmth and tenderness.
"Sorry I'm a bit later than usual," she apologized. "I had some unexpected company for a while."
"Oh, really?" Brittany asked lightly. "Who?"
"Quinn Fabray again," the brunette replied. "I'd tell you more about it, but I'm honestly still not sure why she was so bent on coming over in the first place. It was a really weird visit. I swear I'm starting think there's something wrong with that woman's mind."
"Well, I'm sure she had her reasons," her wife murmured.
"Enough about that," Santana said with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter. She's gone now, so I can finally relax and just enjoy the rest of my day with you."
She braced herself against Brittany's arms and stood on tiptoe to kiss her nose. Then she took her by the hand and led her to the bed. The dark haired woman climbed in first and then held out her arms to reach for her spouse.
"C'mon," she urged when the blonde hesitated. "Is everything all right?"
"Yeah," Brittany replied, shaking her head.
She lowered herself to her knees on the mattress and sank down to lean against Santana. The brunette traced the tip of her index finger around the other woman's face, staring directly into her eyes as she did so. Brittany saw something flicker in the depths of her wife's pupils. She wrapped her hand around the one currently trailing across her cheekbone and held it still.
"What are you thinking?" she asked her softly.
"I was just thinking about how lucky I was that you and I ended up in the same boat when we were eleven," the brunette replied. "If we hadn't, we might never have met. I know it was entirely possible that it could have played out that way, but I just can't imagine what it would have been like. I don't know what I would do without you in my life."
Brittany folded her arms around the back of her spouse's neck and pulled her close enough for their foreheads to touch. She leaned in even nearer and, as the blonde brought her lips to Santana's for a kiss, she whispered quietly:
"Neither do I."